#i don’t agree with the idea that the valar gave the elves no way to safely leave

[warrioreowynofrohan]

Hypotetical Silmarillion AU:

Let’s say the Noldor don’t commit the Kinslaying and instead get Finarfin and his kids and some of their friends to help them build boats, despite knowing that this will take a while. By the time the Sun and Moon rise, they’re ready to leave Valinor.

[jengajives]

Part four Caranthir is a dick

Part one

Part two

Part three

Up close, Daeron noticed that the Fëanorian dinner table was smaller than he’d imagined; granted, he had been imagining a cartoon rich-person table with about fifty seats at it, and it was big, to be sure, just not as big. There were maybe fifteen chairs pulled up, each of them carved of twisting metal and dark wood to match the elegance of the dining table. A stream of red silk ran down the middle. No food was set out yet, and now that Daeron thought about it, he couldn’t imagine any of these people making their own meal. He’d seen Maglor attempt to cook before, and it had not gone well; judging by the established patterns of behavior, the rest of his family would be much worse. The help would probably bring the food out once it was all done.

What a bizarre thought to pass through his mind.

Five of the chairs were occupied, all at the nearest half of the table. Two redheads sat talking back and forth, apparently blind to their surroundings and dressed in almost identical, expensive-looking sweatshirts; a frowning man with deepset eyes and hair of the deepest auburn, so dark it was almost indistinguishable from black, dressed in a silken suit that gleamed violet in the sunlight (Curufin took Celebrimbor from Daeron and took a seat at his side, looking smug); a tired red-haired woman who sat with her arms folded, a drawn scowl on her face; and, of course, the one Daeron assumed to be Fëanor himself, comfortably seated at the head of the table and weighing Daeron with his silver gaze. The family resemblance hit Daeron hard. Fëanor’s face was almost identical to Curufin’s, but he had Celegorm’s sharp jaw and Maglor’s eyes. He also saw the compact build on the red-haired twins, and there was something in the brow that Fëanor shared with the man in the suit. A bit of every son present there, except for Maedhros, who seemed to take after his mother. Unlike his boys- indeed, unlike almost any Noldo Daeron had ever met- Fëanor wore his black hair cropped short and close to the skull, without braiding of any kind. He didn’t look like a particularly nice man.

“Maglor,” he said, and a smile crossed his face that did nothing to put Daeron at ease. “Glad you could make it.”

“Hey, Dad.”

“Hello, dewdrop.” The woman smiled, too, but Daeron liked the look of hers. He got the impression he was going to like Nerdanel. Her skin was brushed with dark freckles, and her nose was crooked, but she had a warmth to her where Fëanor had only intensity and heat.

Maglor put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently.

“Everyone, this is my boyfriend, Daeron. Daeron, this is my mom and dad, Caranthir, Amrod, and Amras.”

One of the redheads rolled his eyes. “Last again.”

“I was hoping you all wouldn’t mind speaking Sindarin tonight?” Maglor seemed to be staring at Caranthir as he spoke. “Switch it up a little.”

Nerdanel looked like she was about to say something when Caranthir interrupted.

Just hearing his voice, Daeron got a bad feeling about him. Too calculated and much too smooth.

“Why should all of us have to speak a lower language just to cater to him?” He glanced at Daeron and there was a dismissive flash in his inky grey eyes.

Maglor took a step forward before Daeron even had time to process how offensive that was, and put an arm protectively in front of him, apparently on instinct.

“That’s pretty rude,” he said. His voice was calm but the glare he gave his brother certainly was not. “We all speak Sindarin. It’s not a big deal.”

“Can your friend not speak Quenya?” Caranthir glared right back. “I thought the Dark Elves had finally picked that up, but maybe that’s an overestimation on my part.”

“Lay off, Caranthir, seriously-“

“I just don’t see why he can’t use our language if we’re his hosts.”

“My Quenya is fine,” Daeron butted in, though of course he knew his accent was all off. He understood it a lot better than he actually spoke it; he just didn’t want to cause a fight over this. Maglor was too staunch a defender. Daeron didn’t want him to feud with a brother over this.

“Fine might be too generous a word,” Caranthir said. He looked mad. Daeron couldn’t fathom what had possibly set him off.

“That’s too far,” chided Nerdanel; her use of Sindarin didn’t go amiss. Her son grumbled and flicked out his phone instead, and Maglor’s fists somewhat relaxed.

“We’re happy to have you, Daeron.” Fëanor had a very good voice, and his Sindarin was flawless. Daeron suddenly began to understand this man’s popularity; he might not look friendly, but he sounded like an ally. Simple as that. “We don’t get Grey Elves very often. And since your Quenya needs improvement, we are all happy to share your language. It’s no difficulty, is it, boys?”

No one answered him. The twins were whispering to each other, checked out, Curufin had a stupid, knowing grin on his face, and Caranthir was still pouting.

“Quenya needs improvement.” He should be grateful I even bothered learning this much. Stupid language.

“Thank you,” Maglor said shortly, glaring at his brothers.

He pulled out a chair and motioned for Daeron to take it, which he did, rather hesitantly. Caranthir was still staring at him, and it felt as if Fëanor was trying to pick him apart with his eyes. He shifted uncomfortably as Maglor sat down beside him.

“Food is almost ready- where’s Nelyo?” Fëanor looked at Maglor like he thought he was hiding Mae in his pocket somewhere. Mags only shrugged.

“Upstairs, I think.”

“Got another mysterious phone call, did he?” Curufin smiled smugly. “Any clue who his secret lover is yet, Mags?”

“I didn’t realize I was supposing to be investigating.”

“Course you are. You’re his favorite.”

“Mae is entitled to his privacy.”

“Sure, sure. You think it’s one of the Valar again?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Fëanor spoke firmly, putting an end to any speculation. “Nelyo knows better than to tangle with that lot.”

“One of them would be better than a Sindar,” Caranthir said. It was quiet, but not quiet enough; he’d meant for Daeron to hear it.

Maglor had really neglected to mention how much of a dick this one was.

“Did the Sindar do something to you?” Daeron asked as politely as he could manage, ignoring the way Maglor gripped his thigh in a clear signal not to engage. “If we did, I’m sorry, but there’s no need to generalize like that.”

Caranthir met his gaze, cool but undeniably angry. There was a slightly purple tint to his storm-colored eyes.

“Don’t like Dark Elves,” he said in a particularly chilling voice. “Bad for business.”

“That’s good, because I’m not a Dark Elf.”

If this smug little bastard wanted a fight, Daeron would give it to him.

“Babe…” Maglor said, tugging at his arm.

Caranthir looked like he was about to stand up and start laying into him, so Daeron braced to get to his feet, but the boiling tensions were somewhat lessened when Maedhros came into the dining room. Initially, it looked like he was out of breath from taking the stairs too fast, but his face was also a bit flushed, and a strand of hair that had been up a few minutes ago was loose and clung to a line of sweat on his forehead.

“Sorry. Am I the last one here? Didn’t mean to keep anyone waiting.”

“Celegorm is still outside,” Maglor offered. “Daeron and I can go get him.”

“No, don’t worry about it. I’m already up.” Mae flashed his tired smile and vanished again; Maglor looked very worried about it. He knew Daeron was close to chewing his brother out at the dinner table during his very first family visit, and that wouldn’t exactly be a good look, but before he could think of another excuse to relieve tensions, his mother did it for him.

“Caranthir, stop glaring and leave our guest alone. We’ve agreed to leave politics away from the dinner table, yes?”

“Like we ever do that,” he grumbled.

“Shape up. You’re a grown man and more than capable of putting on a courteous front for a few hours.” Nerdanel folded her arms, and Daeron was stricken by how muscular she was. The biceps strained against her sleeves- it was a miracle she even fit them in at all.

Caranthir looked like a scolded puppy, but still he whined, “But I-“

“No. You owe Daeron an apology.”

A long silence. Caranthir looked like he’d rather kill Daeron then apologize to him, but his mother kept him locked in a death stare, so eventually he caved in and grumbled, “Sorry.” It was not very convincing.

“It’s fine,” said Daeron in a clipped voice. It wasn’t fine, but he would rather Maglor’s family not hate him, so he could pretend. It seemed to put Mags more at ease, at the very least.

The skittering off claws on hardwood indicated the arrival of Huan and his master, and as Maedhros and Celegorm took seats on either side of their mother, Fëanor said something about eating, and the smell of something fragrant with herbs drifted in along with the small herd of cooks and servers. It smelled a bit too much like poultry for Daeron’s tastes. He got the feeling the Fëanorians would not approve of his not eating meat.

This whole thing was starting to feel like a really bad idea.

[chaos-of-the-abyss]

Anon: I loved your Celebrian headcanons, do you have any on Manwe?

Ohhhhh anon, you’re asking if I have headcanons on my favorite bird boy? Do I ever. Get ready for this, because I’m about to give you way more than you probably asked for. Also please forgive how rambly and unorganized the headcanons are - I simply do not have the space of mind to be neat when I’m gushing about Manwë. 

(I’ve already done some previous headcanons on him xD You can find them here and here, even though this was a while ago and I don’t necessarily still agree with some of these anymore. What’s unchanging, though, is my eternal love for Manwë Súlimo.

The post got ahead of me and it’s quite long, so I’ll put most of the headcanons under a cut. 

Split off of the same thought of Eru, Manwë and Melkor were “born” at the exact same time. Because of this, there is no “younger” and “older” between them - they’re simply siblings.

I also consider them two halves of one whole, given that they’re literally products of the same thought broken in two. 

He and Melkor are chronologically the oldest beings, aside from Eru; they were the Ainur first created by Him. Nevertheless, they aren’t much older than a lot of the other Aratar, like Varda, Ulmo, Námo, Niënna, and Yavanna, and it’s definitely nothing so considerable that it would matter in the slightest to cosmic angelic beings like the Ainur

His closest friends among the Ainur are Varda and Ulmo, but he’s close with all the Valar, and at least on familiar terms with all the Maiar that serve the Valar in Arda

In addition, all of the Valar are part of the #manwëdefensesquad. I don’t make the rules. There are times when they don’t agree with their king, there are times when talk to him and voice their disapproval, but when it comes to action, they will always support him.

Varda and Manwë met in the Timeless Halls, sometime after their creation. (I’d pin it around a few centuries, but again, what the heck is time to the Ainur?) She was singing while she experimented with the light and the making of the stars; Manwë raised his voice, tentatively singing with her. They became fast friends. He was charmed by her quick wit, her willingness to share, and her open-mindedness and creativity.

He and Varda have made all kinds of odd structures together, combining their authority (Manwë over the air, wind, and skies, Varda over light). One time they produced a miniature tornado with stars swirling inside of it.

They got married before the creation of Arda, but after Aulë and Yavanna did 

He also met Ulmo in the Timeless Halls; they both found each other’s elements intensely fascinating. Manwë was intrigued by this water, and Ulmo became curious about this air and wind. They came up with clouds together, combining Manwë’s power over air and Ulmo’s power over liquid, to form vapor.

When Arda was extremely, extremely young, long before the Eldar awoke in Cuiviénen, the two of them were testing out their respective elements in the new planet and got a little carried away. Winds picked up, the sky darkened and flashed with thunder and lightning. The ocean rose, waves crashing and roiling, and the first sea storm happened as a result of their combined powers. After that, Manwë and Ulmo both decided they should probably be a bit more cautious if they didn’t want to render the place uninhabitable. 

At one time, there was no one Manwë was closer to than Melkor. Even though they were diametrically opposed in personality, they both had the same passion for Creation, the same love for their Father, and the same fascination with just the idea of creating in general.

Even now, with Melkor in the Void, a sensation of emptiness tickles at Manwë from time to time. It’s vacant and it’s bleak, like a phantom pain along the borders of his being, as if he’s missing something. This is his connection with his brother, severed now that they’ve gone down different paths and can no longer see eye to eye again

The break in their bond has left holes in both of their spirits. I mean this quite literally - because they were split off from the same thought, neither of them are complete without each other. Manwë is content now, because he (unlike Melkor, I might add, who can never be happy without him) is capable of finding meaningful and fulfilling relationships outside of his brother, but he will never be truly whole again. There’s always that sensation of something that was once there being gone. 

Canon says that Manwë has little understanding of evil, and I tend to agree. He doesn’t comprehend selfishness, the desire for domination, or the idea of wanting to hoard all the power, beauty, and joy to oneself. Where’s the good, the value, in that? But I do think that he knows intimately how Melkor’s mind works. It’s not the same as knowing how evil itself works - it’s just that he’s too well-versed in the way his brother in particular ticks. 

Despite this, he, along with most of the Valar, still gave Melkor the benefit of the doubt during his false repentance. He remembered the ages when Melkor was not so self-centered and not so concerned with only his own power and glory, when he would talk about Creation and about life with shining eyes, and how he envisioned a breathtakingly beautiful world full of vigor and possibility and opportunity. That was once who Melkor was, and he sincerely believed his brother could be that again. And besides, he wanted to let others try again - not only because this is his brother whom, despite everything, he loves deeply, but also because he doesn’t want to be the kind of person who won’t give second chances.

He was... disappointed, saddened, shocked, and discouraged, when it turned out that he was wrong. And, ultimately, he realized what betrayal felt like. 

Manwë is a natural charmer. I mean, he is magnetic. But it’s not because he flaunts his power and wisdom and has the “holier than thou” attitude that intimidates others - even though he’s just as capable of it as his brother, who utilizes that particular method to attract followers. Manwë’s  charisma comes from the fact that he’s just so down-to-earth, unpretentious, friendly, and warm, that you can’t help being drawn to him.

People are, like, in love with him and he’s thinking, “This is not what I meant to happen...”

He loves meeting people, talking to them, and getting to know them. Part of the reason so many people are loyal to him is because he’s a genuinely good boss. Treats everyone politely and considerately, gets to know everyone who works for him, makes all of them feel valued as individuals, lets them know how much he appreciates their hard work. 

As far as demeanor goes, he’s unassuming, modest, open, and relatively casual with everyone (unless there’s a reason not to be). Has been called “charming” more than once. He tends to be playful too, especially with the people he’s close with. 

An introvert. At the end of the day, he needs time to himself to unwind. 

He’s not closed off, per se, but he isn’t the type of person to actively start talking about his problems or insecurities. Someone he’s close to and trusts will have to notice he seems to have something on his mind and bring it up, to get him to mention what’s bothering him. 

During the darkening and after the Flight of the Noldor, relations between the remaining elves and the Ainur were strained. Manwë was distressed by the dissatisfaction of the Eldar and worked tirelessly to mend the subsequent rift. Negotiations, explanations, visits, apologies, reassurances - you name it, Manwë put his heart into it if it meant reconnecting with the elves. 

A much better singer than his brother, and among the most gifted Ainur in terms of song (although a few, like Ulmo and Melian, equal or surpass him). Once, Melkor loved and truly admired the beauty of the music that Manwë could create with his voice alone. Now, he deeply envies it and is extremely bitter, seeing it as another way that their Father “favors” his brother over him. This resentment only grew worse as Melkor gradually lost his ability to produce anything beautiful at all, including music. My headcanon is that Melkor was once a decent singer among the Ainur, but as he grew more corrupt and evil, that ability went away until he could no longer sing at all. But, as much as Melkor refuses to admit it to himself, he also desperately longs to hear Manwë’s songs again.

Very patient, very compassionate, very understanding... but Melkor can get under his skin like no other. Who, by the way, will attest that Manwë can whip up with some sick burns when he wants to. Manwë has facepalmed exactly three times in his existence, and all three times were because of his brother. 

The standard physical form that Manwë uses has long silver-white hair, copper skin, luminous, pale blue eyes, and full lips. It’s tall, on the slimmer side, and due to how pretty the face is, very androgynous-looking. However, he has a tendency to fool around, meaning that other bodies he’s taken include but are not limited to: a female version of his standard appearance, various other “human” shapes, male or female, a cat with wings and the feet of a bird, and an owl with the wings of a fly. 

Varda’s personal favorite incident was when he adopted the form of a petite young woman with black hair, purple eyes, and purple, black, and blue butterfly wings scaled to the size of the body. When interacting with the Eruhíni, though, Manwë, along with most of the Ainur, sticks with the standard appearance to avoid confusing them.

Speaking of changing appearances, in the beginning, he, like the rest of the Ainur, had little concept of a “humanoid” form being “normal”. This resulted in him becoming all kinds of eldritch abominations, again including but not limited to a mass of eyes surrounded by several sets of wings, a nebulous, writhing pinprick of clouds and light, and even a being that resembled a humanoid but with a single eye in the middle of the forehead from which two wing-like appendages, covered with more eyes, sprouted. What can I say, he was always creative. 

He still takes wacky forms from time to time for the fun of it, often when joking around with the other Ainur, but nowadays he tones it down for the sake of the Eruhíni’s sanity. 

Interacts regularly with elves of Valinor. It’s a common sight for him to be spotted mingling within the Eldar populations of Valmar, or Alqualondë, or Tirion. Gets invited in for tea quite often. Children love him. He has had dinner arrangements with several families before.

The elves send him gifts, usually in the form of clothing since he likes trying on all kinds of different styles. Manwë doesn’t care to appear kingly or sophisticated, so he has no problem going out dressed plainly, or even ridiculously. That weird experimental garment that didn’t turn out quite the way the designer wanted? He’ll take it, and wear it gladly! 

He also doesn’t care to be treated with particular veneration by the Eruhíni or by the other Ainur. He’s much happier being on close enough terms with someone for them to address him like, “Hey Manwë, my man, what’s up?” rather than “All hail the Lord of the Winds, the Breath of Arda, blah blah blah”.

BFFs with Ingwë, often either visits him or invites him to Taniquetil. This means that Ingwë’s entire family regular interacts with and is very familiar with Manwë. (Varda's with him most of the time - everyone loves her, too. It’s a wholesome family friendship.)

One time, Ingwë’s kids witnessed another elf being extremely formal and stiff with Manwë (the classic, “O Manwë, Viceregent of Eru, Elder King of Arda, etc., etc.”) and had whiplash, because that’s like... Uncle Manwë! He was telling us bad jokes at the dinner table last night! 

Also has a fairly confidential relationship with Finarfin. They both understand the pain of dealing with troublesome impetuous brothers, after all.

He used to be close with Finwë and Olwë, too, but their relationship became somewhat strained following the matter with the Flight of the Noldor and how the Teleri were caught up in it via the Kinslaying at Alqualondë. They’re still on good terms, but it’s no longer as carefree as it once was. 

Was also once close with Fëanor, having known him since he was a child due to his friendship with Finwë. That sapphire scepter that was said to have been made for him by the Noldor? Yeah, that was Fëanor’s handiwork. It wasn’t until after Melkor’s release that Fëanor and Manwë’s relationship began to sour. 

A natural with kids. He can get any child to cheer up, whether they’re crying, pouting, or throwing a tantrum. Knows just what to say and what to do and when to do it, but also draws a firm line between being kind and spoiling them. 

I know Tolkien discarded this idea, but I love love love the thought of Eönwë and Ilmarë being his and Varda’s children. They didn’t have them in the sense that we’d think of having kids - as in physical sex and labor - but they did put their powers into “conceptualizing” them, so to speak. Eru would still be their “creator”, since (for the most part) only He can create conscious, sentient beings, but Manwë and Varda had enough influence over their creation to be called Eönwë’s and Ilmarë’s parents. 

Speaking of sex, again I’m contradicting Tolkien’s canon, but in my mind the Ainur can and do have sex. Some might choose not to, but it’s fully possible. (I mean... Melian and Thingol had Lúthien, so clearly the idea of physical relations is not lost on the Ainur.) Manwë doesn’t have a high sex drive, but if he loves someone, he also loves being intimate with them. 

Sexuality is a complicated matter to talk about for the Ainur, and I articulated by thoughts on it here, but to summarize how I see it is that they’re all bisexual. They don’t care; they don’t even need gendered physical bodies to begin with. Therefore, whoever strikes their fancy is is whoever they’ll be happy to get it on with. It’s the same with Manwë. 

The Lost Tales and the Silmarillion have conflicting versions of the Valar’s Siege of Utumno. In my book it’s a combination; after aggressive, devastating battles that changed the face of the continent, the Valar decided to take a more roundabout approach. Manwë comes up with the plan - they’ll pretend to have realized that they’re unable to break the might of Utumno, and are ready to acknowledge Melkor’s victory. Some of the Valar aren’t sure about this, but they follow their king’s lead. 

Now, Manwë knows that Melkor isn’t stupid, but he also knows his brother’s prideful mind the best. (He might not understand it, and he definitely doesn’t agree with it, but he knows it.) So he deliberately phrases the message in a way that he knows will best stroke Melkor’s ego and satisfy his craving for acknowledgement. He also makes sure to tell his messenger to let Melkor’s herald know that Manwë specifically said these words.

As per Manwë’s plan, Melkor calls the Valar into Utumno to pay homage before him. They arrive, and to let Melkor’s guard down even further, Manwë kneels in front of him. 

It’s a moment of surprisingly complicated emotions from both brothers. Melkor, about to thoroughly revel in his perceived victory, was shocked into silence - he actually was not expecting this. For a moment, it dawned on him that maybe, he and his brother’s bond, which was once stronger than anything else, didn’t have to be severed forever. He still saw it from a self-centered angle of having Manwë serve him, but nevertheless the possibility that he could reconnect with his brother, have Manwë at his side again, something he thought he had resigned himself to as being impossible, filled him with emotion.

For Manwë... similar thoughts about their once unshakeable relationship, but unlike his brother, he knows the whole thing is just a ruse. Still, he couldn’t help imagining what it would be like if he really gave. It was never a serious consideration, but the thought of what they had once been like, and the emphasis on the realization that they never could be that carefree and open with each other again, saddened him.

Manwë cherishes Creation dearly, loves it, fiercely and with every fiber of his being. Because of this, the utter destruction that he and the other Ainur wrought on Arda during the War of the Powers haunts him deeply, and he’s become wary of unleashing any might that is even similar to it onto Middle Earth. That, combined with his impression that the Noldor who left wanted nothing more to do with the Ainur, and his caution of interfering too heavily with the Eruhíni in Middle Earth lest the Valar start acting like Melkor, kept him from action until Eärendil and Elwing pleaded for help on behalf of the Children. Seeing all the suffering the Eruhíni went through, he sometimes regrets it, wondering if he had been more calculated about his moves, he could have prevented such heavy losses.

Nevertheless, he is firmly against meddling too much with the events of Middle Earth, especially because he understands that it’s difficult for the semi-prescient Ainur to see things on the same scale as the Children. He believes that there is always a possibility that they would get too heavily involved and end up unintentionally dominating the Eruhíni and the paths that they take, which is something he won’t allow. He was, however, very receptive to the idea of the Istari, and is also grateful for Ulmo’s occasional assistance and advice for the Children. Furthermore, he won’t hesitate to send the Eagles if anyone communicates the message to him.

There was one single time Manwë ever contemplated rebellion against Eru. It was during the Downfall of Númenor, when Eru made His intention known to wipe the island off the face of Arda known. Manwë pleaded with Him, argued with him, to reconsider, to find some way to punish only Sauron and Ar-Pharazôn, without the need to drown thousands, millions, of innocent people. Eru simply told him, unmovable, that Númenor had to fall, that there was to be no mercy, and Manwë genuinely wondered what would happen if he refused to comply. If he told his Father, “This is wrong. I won’t accept this.” 

But in the end, he realized that he was thinking the way his brother had, in the beginning. That it was unfair, that it was wrong, that only Eru have the Flame Imperishable and that no one else was able to create, in Melkor’s mind, true life. That’s the way Melkor thought, before it quickly became corrupted into, “It’s not fair that I don’t have the power to create true life.” And Manwë refuses to think like Melkor does, refuses to even let himself start down that path. He saw how it destroyed and twisted his brother into a menacing echo of who Melkor once was. And so he watches, still and silent, as Númenor is wiped out.

Manwë is loving. Very loving. He doesn’t hate anyone, doesn’t hold personal grudges, and he would like nothing more than for everyone to get along and be happy. He truly would love to forgive Melkor and everyone who sided with him, take them back and make amends. However, he knows that that’s impossible - that no matter how dearly he wishes to fix everything, if the other side (aka Melkor) isn’t willing, it’s just not going to happen. Sometimes he has moments of insecurity, when he wonders if it was due to his own shortcomings, his own failure to understand the Theme, that things won’t patch up. Objectively he knows - and the other Valar reassure him of this too - that he couldn’t possibly have prevented everything, and that Melkor and his followers made their own choices. But at times, it still stings him, thoughts of if only I did better or if only I was better.

As kind as he is, he is not a doormat - there are some things he will never tolerate. The destruction and pain Melkor caused the Eruhíni and brought upon Creation is something he will never approve of, will never condone, and you can bet he’ll use every ounce of his power to bring his brother to heel if it means putting a stop to that. 

Also, you can hurl barbs at him all you want and he won’t begrudge you, but do not insult his friends. He won’t smite you outright for it, but he’ll never forget it and certainly will never like you. 

There are times when you’re reminded that this is Melkor’s brother, that they came from the same thought of Eru, and that if Manwë was ever to allow himself to go down the same path of craving domination, he would be just as terrifying. Because on some days, he doesn’t feel like forgiving, doesn’t feel like Melkor deserves amends. He’s furious at his brother, furious at the things he’s done and the things he’s willing to do, and his eyes will glow so blindingly bright that it can be dangerous for any of the Eruhíni to look at him in that moment.

Sometimes during the First Age, when Manwë hears about his brother’s latest misdeed, all the wickedness and enslavement he’s attempted to bring into Arda, he doesn’t bother hiding his displeasure, his disapproval. Storm clouds roll in, the skies open up, rain starts to pour, lightning illuminates the entirety of the sky, and thunder crashes deafeningly - so loud that Melkor, even in the depths of Angband, can hear it clear as day. And he knows this is Manwë saying, “I know what you’ve done. You can’t hide it from me, brother.” 

[darkdevasofdestruction]

Eternal Love ~ Diavolo x Reader

Today was supposed to be just an ordinary day of school, until I was informed by Lucifer that Diavolo wants me to attend the council meeting as well, so who am I to deny such a gracious invitation?

Apparently, we were supposed to discuss the plans for the school’s festival, and they picked me to be the leader, which should be pretty fun!

“That sounds like fun! Thank you for trusting me with something as big as this! But...What do I have to do? Is there anything fixed already, or do we brainstorm and come up with the most exciting thing?” I asked, giving the prince a cat-like smile of excitement. “We change ideas yearly, so I’d like to hear all your thoughts and ideas that come into your mind.” Diavolo asked us, which made us all ponder.

After discussing the official problems, like budget, what each class wanted to do, if there were any problems, or two classes who wanted to do the same things, any objections, we started coming up with ideas.

“How about a band? I’ve seen you during Karaoke nights, and Asmo’s voice is amazing! Besides, you’re all thousands of years old, I’m sure all of you know how to play at least one instrument. And Levi, if you don’t want to take this as a Guitar Hero type of game, and are too socially anxious, you can make the band’s costumes!” I suggest, which made the brothers talk between themselves. “I wanna be the vocalist! And we gotta sell lots of merch...How much are we gonna charge for admission?” Mammon got incredibly excited, which made Lucifer sigh and shake his head. “Well, that settles it. The idea is rejected.” he muttered, making me sigh as well. “Great...No more music...But how about a play? Doing little plays is quite a thing down there in the human world. What do you say?” I asked, snapping my fingers in realisation. “Ohh, I bet that would be fun!” Asmo chimed in, along with his brothers. “And it means we can cosplay! I’m all in!” Levi grinned in glee. “Sounds like fun! Y/N, you’ll be in charge of putting together the production.” Diavolo nodded at us, giving the approval. “That means I am allowed to come up with the play’s script? And the roles? What to do with the background, music, costumes, magic effects and all that?” my grin widened even more, as did his. “Of course! Have fun, that’s the most important thing! By the way you’re so enthusiastic, I’m sure the end result is going to be great. Do you already have an idea?” he asked, which made me nod vigorously. “Y/N, what are you going to work on first? Also, you’re going to have to give all of us an assignment.” Lucifer pointed out, but most of it got overlooked. “I’m going to write the script! I am inspired by a beautiful story from the human world, written a century ago, but only published recently. Is that okay?” I asked, trying to hold on to my excitement. “Ohhh! Is it a tragic love story, like Romeo and Juliet?” Asmo asked, jump behind me, and hugging me. “Yes, much so much better! It has romance, it has fantasy, it has adventure, it has tragedy, it has despair, it has sorrow...It has everything you can think of, all thread together in such a wholesome story!” I explain, which made Asmo take a hold of my hands, waltzing together messily. “I love it! Let’s do it! Can I be the prince charming?” he giggled, which made me stop and smirk. “I...Had something else in mind. Diavolo, do you want to be in our play?” I let out a low chuckle, which seemed to make him widen his eyes. “Of course! I would be honoured to get included in it!” he grinned, giving a mirthful laugh. “Sweet, then it’s settled! I will do my best to work on the script and give everyone their roles, come up with some music, special effects, the background decor and costume ideas. Now, you’ll have to excuse me, I have to go have a talk with Simeon.” I smirked mischievously as I skipped out of the council room, not caring about Lucifer’s protests, since I wasn’t officially dismissed.

The whole night I spent revisiting the book I had in mind that would be the influence for the script, and started writing on my laptop everything, while listening to Eurielle’s many angelic songs and sending them to Simeon, so he would know what to do.

Needless to say, I was nothing short of excited beyond borders of imagination, clearly never having expected to be able to take part in something so great, as to create and take part in a play of such caliber...There’s no way I won’t make this anything more than perfect, that’s for sure, especially since this book has been so close to my heart and soul for a long time now.

And so, days passed, Simeon agreed to be the harp player, since he’s an angel and nobody could best him, and the narrator was Solomon, who would help me and Satan with the magic effects.

I would be the female protagonist, while Diavolo would be the male protagonist. Barbatos would be the one to sacrifice his life to save Diavolo. Satan was going to be the frenzied werewolf, while Lucifer will be the enemy hound turned ally that would fight alongside Diavolo.

Belphegor will be the evil king, and Beel will play the role of his most loyal servant, while Asmodeus shall be the girl’s father, and Mammon would be one of the Gods, the Judge of the Dead, Master of Doom.

This left Luke to be one of the enemy werewolves, while Levi, who would have as few lines as possible, considering he would be too busy with the costumes, would be the owner of the Hound.

And so, we began rehearsal for the play, earning lots of praises from everyone for writing something so great in such a small amount of time, while also keeping it short, making sure nobody would forget their lines and timings by mistake.

“You’re doing very well, Diavolo! But try to be a little less stiff, okay? Try to relax, it will make things more natural.” I started massaging his shoulders as soon as I gave everyone a little break. “Sorry, I guess I’m a bit intimidated since you are a natural at this.” he chuckled lightly, offering me a thankful smile. “Hmm...I wouldn’t say I’m a natural, per se, but I read the original book a few times before, and I wrote the script. Or maybe it’s because I’m a human...I don’t know, it’s always been easy for me to act.” I shrugged, dragging a chair to sit in front of him. “That much is obvious. Look at them, you inspire all of them to learn their lines and come up with the best version of themselves. It’s very rare when I see everyone working together so diligently...Thank you for you effort, Y/N.” Diavolo took ahold of my hands, squeezing them lightly. “No need to thank me, Dia...I’ve always dreamt of doing something like this, but I never really had an opportunity to do anything more than 1 minute skits. This is a dream come true...So really, I should be the one thanking you instead.” I chuckled, tilting my head slightly. “I’m glad to hear that, then. There is no doubt in my mind that the festival is going to have more success than it ever has before.” he grinned, making him look something like a Golden Retriever puppy. “And you don’t even know about my Trump Card. Well, in truth, nobody really does...Except for Simeon, but I have a reason to that, so you better be eager and awaiting for that.” I winked at him playfully, which seemed to get him in an even more curious and cheerful mood. “I certainly can’t wait until we perform on stage.” he nodded, making me take a deep breath and smile softly. “Yeah...Me too.”

I said that, and yet, time sure flies so fast that I barely realised today was the day of the play, and Asmo and Levi were helping me into my costume, doing my hair and make up, while the others were in their demon forms - Except for Diavolo, of course - and so, we went backstage, checking that the lights were perfect, the background decor was in check, Solomon had his lines written down, since he will be backstage, yet his voice will resound throughout the room regardless.

“Is everyone ready?” I clapped my hands together, grinning and biting my lip, trying to keep my nervousness in check. “I’m a nervous wreck!” Levi whined, and yet, he was thankful he didn’t have to do too much on stage. “I can’t wait to get up on stage and SHINE!” Asmo chimed in, pushing Levi to the side. “Diavolo...Are YOU ready? You are the protagonist, after all. You have the most lines, the most interactions with everyone and so on.” I look at him with a gentle smile. “Y/N, Diavolo has been doing public speeches for centuries and longer, I doubt he’d be as anxious as others are...Or you, that is.” Lucifer gave a side smirk. “Don’t speak for others, Luce~!” I thrilled playfully, earning nothing more than an amused scoff. “I am more excited, than nervous, but Lucifer isn’t wrong.” the prince chuckled softly, giving me a nod of thanks. “Very well, then, the play is going to start now. Solomon, Simeon, it’s your cue.” Lucifer pointed out as Levi and Satan raised the curtains just as Diavolo got on the stage, and was surrounded by fire and some magic-made enemies.

Diavolo’s make up made him look as if he had been fighting long and bravely, and yet, he and his army lost, his father was defeated by the enemies, and now, he was trying his best to escape with his life.

“Diavolo, the son of the Leader of Men, was the sole survivor of the attack from the Dark Lord, the feared Belphegor, the once God of Valar, who turned evil and stole the Sacred Jewels, the ones who gave immense power to Elves, the pure Silmarils, and so, he was able to easily wipe out every village of men, dwarves, dunedain, trents and elves alike, with no such thing as discrimination. And so, the brave Diavolo ran away from the place he once called home, that was now nothing more than fire, ruin and ashes flowing in the sky, and found himself in another place altogether. It was the realm of Elves, the most beautiful and gracious beings alive, and here, in Doriath, he ended up in a glade, filled with so many colourful flowers, illuminated by the silver light of Mother Moon...And there he saw her.” Solomon narrated the story, and then stopped for a few seconds, allowing him, Satan and myself to mutter some spells so the background will change, along with the holograms and the lights.

There was nothing more than darkness, for just a split second, which allowed me to jump up on the stage, and thus, a gentle light appeared, with me in the spotlight, as I did a small dance, while surrounded by holographic forest critters and a unicorn.

“There, his eyes found her, a maiden more fair than any he has seen before, and he was unsure whether he was being cheated by some spell, or if what he was seeing was reality, for the pain he felt was no more...And he was wondering whether seeing her cured if of all wounds. Blue was her raiment, as the unclouded heaven, but her eyes were grey, as the starlit evening; her mantle was sewn with golden flowers, but her hair was dark as the shadows of twilight. As the light upon the leaves of trees, as the voice of clear waters, as the stars above the mists of the world, such was her glory and her loveliness ; and in her face was a shining light...And so, Diavolo fell in love with the Elleth dancing in front of him.” Solomon continued the story, which was my cue to stop dancing.

“What is this I am seeing? A mortal ranger, wounded, seeking refuge in Doriath, the Realm of Elves? You must be rather bold, are you not?” I stopped dancing, and approached him, circling and interrogating him. “I had nowhere else to go, My Lady, for the Dark Lord, Belphegor, has laid waste to my home and my family. I am the sole survivor, yet my heart burns with sorrow and need to wreak vengeance upon the enemy who took my father’s life so cruelly.” he explained, regaining his senses and breath. “I see...So Belphegor has started his rampaging once again...It truly is a pity that life cannot be without death inflicted before its time. Very well, then...I shall welcome you in my home, so you can feed yourself and have your wounds treated.” I nodded at him, motioning for him to follow me, only for him to stop me with his questioning. “My Lady...May I know the name of the fairest elleth in the world?” he asked with such a gentle and sweet tone, that it made my heart skip a few beats. “My name...Is Luthien.” I answered, looking down for a few seconds, before turning away once again. “Y/N...Y/N...Such a beautiful name, for such a beautiful woman...And your voice rivals any nightingale. You are a wonder among wonders.” he spoke out, making me widen my eyes and blush, flustered, turning around to face him properly. “You should not speak such sweet words without telling your name first, stranger. It would be nothing less than disrespectful, especially should my father be informed of this folly of yours.” I spoke a bit harshly, yet the jesting tone was obvious in my voice. “My name is Diavolo, my dear, and from the moment I laid my eyes upon you, I fell in love with you. You will have to forgive me for being so bold and rash with my words, I am but a simple mortal man, yet my heart will know no more joy unless you know my feelings for you.” he spoke, kneeling in front of me, which took a lot of effort not to blush more than I already was. “Raise up, brave warrior, and let me heal your wounds, both the flesh ones, and the ones your heart felt so far, for I seem to share the same feelings as you do.” as so, I put my hands over his, and humming a little song, I made a spell to remove the dirt and make up from him, so it would look as if his he had his wounds treated.

The lights went down once again, the background changed to that of a kingdom, and Asmo, wearing a crown, as he was the Elven King, sitting on a throne, and of course, he was shining, beautiful, glorious, just as he always is.

“You think you are worthy of my daughter’s heart? How foolish! You, nothing more than a mere human, whose life is hanging by the thin thread of a spider that could be so easily severed, even by something as insignificant as an illness? I commend you for your braveness, so I would not say, foolishness! I shall allow you to stay here, but you are a mortal, and your place is not here, among the elves!” Asmo’s voice was serious and booming, which was something not many would expect from someone as soft and adorable as him. “My Lord...With all due respect, but my heart belongs to your daughter, and no power in this world is strong enough to erase my love for her. I beg of you, Lord Asmodeus, allow me to marry your darling Tinuviel, and if you need me to prove my worth, give me any task, and it shall be done!” Diavolo kneeled in front of the throne of the lord, who frowned in displeasure. “Tinuviel...? Now you went as far as to give my daughter the nickname of a Nightingale...You heard her angelic voice...You are truly undeserving!” he leaned forwards in the throne, slamming his fist on one of the armrests. “Father, please, hear him out! His love for him is as true as the beauty of the stars, and so is mine for him! You will doom me to an eternal life of sorrow, should you not accept him, so father, please be reasonable!” I fell to his feet, hugging his legs, and I was sure Asmo’s face softened with conflict, as he put his hand on my head, as a way to make me raise my gaze. “My daughter...You, an immortal, fell for someone who will die before you can even realise you were courting him. However, if you are so sure of your own feelings for him, then I shall give him a task, to prove himself worthy of you, my darling. Listen carefully, Diavolo, for I will only say it once - Should you succeed in getting back at least one of the Sacred Jewels, I will allow you to wed my wife.” he spoke, which made me jolt to my feet in an instant. “But father...! The Three Silmarils were all stolen by the Dark Lord Belphegor, the very foe who destroyed his family and village! You are dooming him to sure death!” I gasped, letting a few tears fall down my face. “If that means I will be allowed to marry you, then I will do anything you wish me to. I thank thee for this opportunity, and I shall depart at morn, at the earliest hour.” Diavolo nodded, sharing a look with Asmodeus, which made me throw myself at the man. “No, Diavolo, don’t go! You will perish, if not by the Dark Belphegor, but by his lackey, Sauron, or one of the countless orcs he’s making! You cannot succeed...Not on your own!” my eyes were wide with fear, and he only smiled softly, kissing my forehead gingerly. “Have faith in my, my darling nightingale, for I shall return to you, no matter what. I vow on my pride as a human, so wait for me, and if I shall not return, I beg of you to sing me a wonderful requiem, but not to mourn for me. I love you, Y/N.” he spoke, before leaving off the stage, and so, the lights went off once more.

The stage became now an elvish stronghold in the middle of a wasteland, where Diavolo met Barbatos, Leviathan, Lucifer and a few more generic elf-holograms, and they talked about how to get inside the enemy’s garrison.

“And so, Diavolo arrived in the wasteland, the territory of the enemy, only to stumble upon an elvish stronghold, where he met Barbatos, another Elven King, Leviathan, one of the sons of the Elven Lord who once created the Silmarils, and his loyal Hound, Lucifer, the most powerful Hound, dating from the First Ages. Prophecy has it that only the most powerful werewolf could ever defeat Lucifer, so Leviathan knew that he could trust his companion. While Lord Barbatos agreed to join Diavolo’s cause, as he once swore an oath to Diavolo’s father, to aid his kin if in need, so they took a few warriors and went to the enemy territory disguised as nasty orcs. Leviathan, however, was very much against their quest, as he believed the Silmarils belong to him, legacy from his father, so he took Lucifer and went after them.” the white haired wizard spoke out, letting the scene unfold before him.

“Are you with me, brothers? I will be honest, my quest is a selfish one, and by taking the Jewel, I will be allowed by Asmodeus, the Elven King, to marry his daughter, the fairest maiden to exist. However, I am sure that no matter what, as soon as the Jewels are out of Belphegor’s posession, the world will have less peril and ruin.” Diavolo spoke out, which seemed to impress the Elven King. “As per the oath I swore to your father long ago, when we first fought side by side in wars, I shall aid you in any quest you will find yourself, young Diavolo. To hear that my old and dear friend met his doom by the hands of the Belphegor’s lackeys is nothing short than an insult! I am with you.” Barbatos spoke out, patting Diavolo on the shoulder and taking a few trusted men by his side. “You cannot take the Silmarils from the Dark Lord, Diavolo, no matter with how many men you march to his garrison. The Silmarils belong to my family, for my father forged them, and they gave power to the Two Sacred Trees of Valar! You have no right to take them, no matter the affections your mortal heart holds for some elleth you don’t deserve!” Leviathan frowned, at them, but Diavolo didn’t heed any of his warnings. “I am sorry, Leviathan, but this must be done. I shall not allow Belphegor to wipe more innocent lives from Arda, out Earth!” Diavolo spoke with much confidence, fire and conviction, leaving the place, while also igniting a fighting spirit in his men. “Not fair...That’s not fair! How could they even think of doing something like that?! Lucifer...We must stop them at all cost! And did you hear that? That stupid, wretched human wants the hand of the daughter of King Asmodeus! Ha, as if! But imagine...If we take the Silmarils, and I give the King only one, without him knowing that I possess the other two, he will surely let me wed Y/N, and we will create a strong alliance this way! Everyone will bow down to me, the Mighty Leviathan!” he chuckled darkly, motioning for Lucifer to join him as they ran away after Diavolo’s party.

“What nobody was aware of, however, was that Y/N, afraid for her paramour’s fate, fled from home in search of Diavolo, to aid in the task he was given - And yet, just as she arrived on the enemy’s territory, she was found by Lucifer’s keen sense of smell, which allowed his owner to kidnap her and imprison her in a tower, guarded by Luke, one of the most powerful werewolves in Beelzebub’s army. As she was left alone, in a cell, she pleaded to Lucifer to let her escape, and it seems he, for once in his long life, felt pity for the elleth, and decided to aid her.” Solomon continued the story, and so, the stage changed to the prison tower I was held captive in, with Luke, dressed very uncharacteristically evil, was guarding me, and Lucifer’s eyes bore straight into my soul.

“Why would one, so strong and great as yourself, aid the cause of evil? Leviathan, a once proud elf of benevolent will...His heart became darker than the nightly abyss. Look at what he is doing - Trying to cheat my father, to deceive him, only for his own selfish desire to quench his thirst for power. He is miserable, that one, but he is more pitiful than ever. I wonder, my poor Diavolo...Have you seen him? Is he still alive and well? Oh, how I miss him so, and fear for his life, for he is fragile, and brittle, nothing more than a human resembling the first Snowdrop of Spring. May the great Eru Illuvatar watch over him, for I cannot but mourn and sing for his glory the way I am now.” I grabbed the bars of the cells, letting tears fall down my face as soft sobs escaped my throat. “Tell me, Y/N...” Lucifer spoke, for the first time in ages, as he crouched down to my level, and said, in a softer voice, as to not alarm the enemy. “Are you willing to do anything to save your beloved mortal? You speak of my master’s pitiful state, and yet, you do not see yourself and the misery in which you wallow as we speak. I can sense your magic is strong, and you could aid the one you hold so dear to yourself. Should you lend me your power, I will be able to properly defeat your enemies and help your reunite with him. Will you accept me, Elleth Princess?” his voice was velvety, as with one hand he raised my chin up, to look into my glistering eyes. “Yes.” was the only answer I gave him, as he raised with a smirk, piercing poor Luke with his glare.

Muttering a spell, I proceeded in putting a protective shield around Lucifer, that grated an improvement in his powers, and so, he was easily able to take down Luke. However, sensing danger, Beelzebub, the Dark Lord’s most powerful vassal, came forth to attack him, in the form of a werewolf, knowing the prophecy, the only way of defeating the Great Hound Lucifer.

But it was in vain, for my power, combined with Lucifer’s, meant for nothing short of greatness, and so, we were able to defeat him.

“Beelzebub, you have been defeated, and so, you must free all the prisoners you have taken! There is nothing more for you to do, except to obey!” my voice was firm, and clear, and with a growl from the defeated lord, he begrudgingly freed the prisoners, before he became one himself. “You will not escape this place with your lives still your own, you silly elleth! You think anyone can defeat the Dark Lord? Never! Belphegor is undefeated!” Beel’s dark, booming voice echoed throughout the dark prison tower. “We seek not to defeat him, but deprive him of most of his power. And we will succeed, without question, nor fail.” I spoke with grace, sure of myself, until Lucifer guided me away from the cell. “Maiden, you must flee. Enemies are making their way here. Take this passageway and be reunited with your lover. I will make sure not even one of these disgusting orcs may come and hinder your path.” Lucifer said, staying on high alert. “I will eternally be grateful for your aid, Lucifer. I wish to see you soon, and well.” I nodded at him, running away, and the scene cut with Lucifer getting ready to fight some holograms, while Beel was able to flee by transforming into a fly and getting out through the barred window.

“But not everything turned out as great on Diavolo’s side, as he, too, was ambushed by enemies, and his whole little army was taken captive, and executed one by one, until only Diavolo himself, and King Barbatos remained. Enraged by this folly, just as the human was about to get mangled by the great werewolf executing them, the Elven King managed to break the shackles and wrestled the beast with all his might, until both of them perished, and thus, successfully completing the vow he swore to his father.” Solomon continued on the narration, as the stage showed, for just a little bit, the heroic act of Barbatos sacrificing himself, allowing Diavolo to escape with his life.

“Go, and complete the task you set yourself on! Be successful, and reunite with your lover once more. There may came a day when you will die, but I assure you, today is not that day. I have already foreseen your greatness.” were the Elf’s last words, as Diavolo thanked him, and the scene was cut once again, to where I and Diavolo are reunited at the gates of the throne room.

“Diavolo, my darling, you are alive! I prayed and prayed for the great Eru Illuvatar to shine his light upon you and protect you from harm...And here you are, alive, and in my arms once more! I cannot but weep in joy, seeing you before me, my beloved Diavolo!” I cupped his face, examining him for any wound, before kissing his face, not caring that the height difference was making it pretty difficult. “Y/N...! My beautiful nightingale, what fareth thou in this terrible place? You should be safe, at home, with your father, not on this plagued wasteland of death, in the heart of the very enemy we fear the most!” he was shocked, and afraid for my well-being, but before I could reply, a long tail swept him away from my embrace, throwing him to the ground, and the enemy was revealed none other than Leviathan, who wore an evil smirk on his face, looking down at the mortal. “You...! How dare you do such a thing! First, you imprison me, wanting to use me for my father’s power and title, and now, you try to destroy the one being I love the most in this life? Unforgivable! You will never be welcomed back to Valinor, not matter how much you beg and grovel on your knees!” I threatened him, but he only seemed to laugh mockingly. “How adorable of you, some weak elleth, to think that you could come between me and my aspirations. You truly believed some mortal would be able to take the great Silmarils, feat that so many armies of Elves failed to do? You have lost your mind, Y/N! But here, with his death, you will have no more reason to be here. I heard your voice is truly magical...If your voice was to put to sleep the whole place, stealing the Silmarils would be an easy feat, and so, I will be the most powerful an Elf can get!” Levi spoke out, his long tail swishing left and right, as I ran to Diavolo, holding him to my chest as I healed his wounds...Only to notice a figure rushing towards us, and it was now my turn to smirk, as the enemy was trampled to the ground, easily destroyed. “Lucifer, you have returned so fast! The enemies proved to be no match for your might, did they?” I grinned brightly at him, as he only scoffed in amusement. “And your paramour seems to be doing great now that you’ve healed him. It seems that my former master became driven by evil more than I anticipated...It truly is a pity that he turned this way, but there was no way to live the way he did.” Lucifer spoke, and so, the place went dark, so the stage would change to Belphegor’s throne room, him, wearing a crown.

Taking a deep breath, I started singing a spell, just as Leviathan previously suggested, which put to sleep every living being in the place, and so, Diavolo was able to cut away one of the Jewels from his crown. He continued with the second one, but misfortune seemed to follow us, as a little piece from the crown fell on the Dark One’s face, waking him up from his slumber.

“You...! You, puny worms, truly think you could defeat me? Steal away the Silmarils from my possession, and walk away, unscathed?! How impertinent of you! You shall be tortured for an eternity, and even longer than that!” Belphie’s growl resounded through the place with an even graver tone, thanks to Solomon’s magic.

Diavolo took my hand, and we started running, the light flashing, to make it look as if we were going for a longer pace, until we arrived at the gates, guarded by none other than Satan, a werewolf bred specifically to kill Lucifer, to complete the long-foreseen prophecy.

“Satan attacked Diavolo, and before he, or Lucifer, could retaliate, Satan bit off the hand that was gripping the Jewel tightly. As Diavolo ell to the ground, gripping his hand and wailing in agony, the purity of the jewel emanated a strong light in the werewolf’s belly, which set him on a frenzy. He was berserk, clearly lost his mind, and there was nothing that anybody could do to reverse the process. This feat of luck, however, allowed the maiden to call out to the mighty Eagles, who flew them back home. Together, they spoke the tale of their adventure to King Asmodeus whose heart softened by everything they have been through, and despite not completing the task, allowed the two lovers to marry.” the sorcerer spoke the tale, that seemed to be the happy end...

The scene cut to just a few weeks later, the background showing the Kingdom getting destroyed by the Werewolf Satan, and Diavolo and Lucifer going to bravely destroy it, but unfortunately, the triad ended up perishing altogether.

“The story that was fated to have a happy ending, became drenched in blood, as both her beloved Diavolo, and her trusted companion, Lucifer, died together to prevent the rampaging Satan from destroying anything more in his path.  The girl, who was waiting by her father’s side, was worried beyond belief, as her father embraced her, trying to sooth her concerns, as Diavolo was a strong human, and had Lucifer by his side... But not long afterwards, a ravaged Diavolo, barely dragging himself upwards, grabbed Asmodeus’s hand, putting the Sacred Jewel that he extracted from the Werewolf’s belly.” Solomon continued the story, as the music turned even graver.

“No...No...! Diavolo, my darling, hang on, please, I will heal you! You cannot die! You cannot leave me like this...After everything we went through! We weren’t even given the time to marry...!” I sobbed, holding Diavolo’s body to my chest. “My beautiful Y/N, all I did, was for you, and now, I am truly worthy of even daring to ask you to marry me. It is selfish, I am aware, but I am but a mere mortal, and thus, as my life ends, I ask you to please hold me in your heart and memory, as dear as I hold you. I love you, Y/N” he spoke with his last breath, before going limp in my arms. “Y/N, my sweetling, I’m so sorry this happened...” Asmodeus knew no words were going to stop my wailing, take away my sorrow, or mend my irredeemably broken heart, and only held me, as I screamed to the sky, cursing fate, and the Illuvatar, the stars, the moon and the sun. I cursed everything in existence, even time, for taking away the one I loved the most, until the scene was cut by the lights, and we could hear the audience gasping, some of them lightly weeping, some even cursing as well and telling their pity.

“There was nothing more her father could do to bring back the joy in his darling daughter’s life, and with his heart broken, just like hers, he allowed her to leave his home, and watched her walk away, to the Halls of Mammon, until he could see her no more, and the horizon was overshadowing her unseeable form.  So, she arrived at the Halls of Mammon, the Judge of Death, the one who was stoic and unmovable in front of everyone, never wavering from his judgement of anyone’s souls. The walls were covered by tapestries woven by his wife, depicting life as it is, from the beginning of times, until the present. Y/N laid on the ground, singing the song of her ill fate, of how she will never be able to meet her beloved once more, not even to properly say goodbye to him, feat that would break her heart even more.” the scene revealed only myself, in the Halls of Mammon, in front of the stairs to his throne, as Simeon’s harp started slowly mellowing everybody’s senses, giving them a sense of amplified sorrow, as if the play so far didn’t already play with their heartstrings.

“Oh great Mammon  High among Valar I come to you in sorrow And with a broken heart Long has been my journey That led me to these halls But now I kneel before thee As grief my spirit calls I seek a man named Diavolo  Whom I bid await me here I pledged that I would find him Before he leaves this sphere This man of whom I speak He gave his life for me But thence my soul grew weak And at last it too broke free So borne upon an urgent breeze I travelled to this place Where only one thing could appease The torment I now face Oh tell me I am not too late To see my love once more For that would be too cruel a fate I beg him be restored That we may take a little time To bid our last farewell And remember all we shared erstwhile Such joy no one could quell For never was a greater love Than that within our hearts Once born, forever binding us E’en though through death we part”

My voice was powerful, mournful, my face wet from the river of tears streaming my cheeks, and I am sure I shocked all the demons present, for sans a few basic, simple songs, I never showed them my skill in singing, nor that my voice was, as Simeon described it, pretty angelic, so adding the harp was nothing short of heavenly.

The scene ended with me, dying, as I laid on the stairs of the throne, and through the silence, as the lights were slowly dimming, I could hear Mammon sniffing and trying his best not to sob.

“I cannot let this be the end of you and your fateful love story. With the power that has been bestowed upon me, I shall change this dreadful fate, into one more wonderful, as you deserve. You have fought and braved such a storm to be together, and death will not be the place of your eternity.” Mammon spoke, his voice wavering, barely able to keep himself straight.

“The Great Mammon, for the first time in his eternal life, felt his heart moved by the elleth’s song, feeling pity for the fate of the two lovers, so ruthlessly torn apart, so he allowed himself a tiny bit of self-indulgence, for as soon as the fair maiden’s life ended, from her broken heart, he restored both her and Diavolo’s life, yet this time, he awarded her mortality, so she would be able to live her whole life together with him, in happiness, as they deserved.” Solomon’s words were the cue for the scene to change back again, to the glade where he first laid his eyes upon me, and we were embraced in each other’s arms, gazing at each other with love.

“Why ever would you give up your immortality, my darling Tinuviel? You were immortal, had the time on your side, and your father, and people, there for you. I do not understand, my sweetling, so please explain to me.” he asked, looking down at me, brushing away a strand of hair from my face. “I would rather spend one short life time with you, then be teased with a few years by your side, that would pass for me similar to blinking, and then realising that you are in my life no more. Life without you is meaningless, my beloved Diavolo. I love you, and this time, an untimely death is not going to keep me away from letting you know my feelings loud and clear.” I spoke out in a soft voice, getting on my tip toes and pulling him into a loving kiss, which he reciprocated. “I will love you forever, with all my heart, my beautiful Y/N.” he said, as so, the curtains were closed, indicating that the play was over.

The audience started cheering, whistling and clapping loudly, as I motioned for everyone to come on stage so we could give the final courtesy to them, as a thank you for watching our play.

As we got off the stage, Asmo jumped on me, kissing my cheeks, and continuously praising me for how amazing I was. “You, my darling, were truly the star of the play! Why did you never tell me you had such an angelic voice?! Honestly, we should definitely go to karaoke and have you sing more!” “Sure, Y/N’s voice was a shocking surprise for everyone, but we have to applaud how amazing Lord Diavolo’s performance was as well, don’t you think?” Lucifer mused, earning an agreement from the butler. “And let’s not forget that Levi’s costumes were absolutely amazing. And the magic was amazing.” I pointed out, clapping for everyone. “Everyone was completely awesome today. Thank you for doing your absolute best...You managed to make my dream come true, and I’m very happy.”

And so, we all changed into our comfortable clothes, and went to celebrate at Diavolo’s castle, drinking and eating things we ordered from Hell’s Kitchen, setting off some fireworks, doing karaoke and all that...

But for some reason, I was feeling rather...Off, so I went out in the garden, taking a nice and relaxing stroll through the flower-guarded path, until I reached a nice gazebo by a pond and I sat down on the grass, dipping my feet in the cool water, looking up at the moon and letting my thoughts wander.

I wasn’t sure for how long I was there, alone, until a voice woke me up from my trance, and Diavolo sat down next to me.

“It’s not safe for a human to go wandering carefree in Devildom, you know?” he spoke jokingly after a few seconds of silence. “I am in your gardens, aren’t I? I find this the most dangerous, and yet, the safest place in Hell.” I let out an amused breath, which he seemed to mimick. “You wouldn’t be wrong to believe that. Why did you leave?” he asked, looking at the reflection of the silver moon’s on the mirror sheen of the water. “I needed some fresh air, I guess. And you?” I asked back, doing the same as him. “I noticed you weren’t around, so I went to look for you.” he smiled softly, leaning back a bit. “Thank you for your concern, but I am fine. Go back there and have fun. You earned it, after the amazing performance you put there. You were absolutely terrific.” I tilted my head to give him a small smile. “But there is something on your mind, isn’t it? You can talk to me, if you want and feel like it.” I tried to encourage him, as he nodded to me. “You are unbelievably perceptive for a human, aren’t you? No wonder you managed to get Lucifer’s brothers to finally get along. I was just thinking why you chose me to be the lead of the play. I wasn’t expecting that, to be fair. I thought you’d choose Lucifer, or Satan or maybe even Asmodeus...But you didn’t, and I’d like to know your reasoning.” he asked, his voice going softer with each sentence he spoke. “...I wonder if anyone noticed how lonely you are. You try so hard to have the brothers, and others, forget that you are a Prince, and act with you normally, to include you in their activities, so chat with you leisurely...And yet, they all get intimidated by your status. I know what it’s like to be an outcast, and it’s the last thing I’d want you to feel like. I know you like to have fun, so I thought that maybe, for once, you would have enjoyed playing the mortal, while I am the immortal one.” I chuckled softly, hugging my knees, I was met with more seconds of silence. “I was right when I said you would be an amazing influence on us. You are right in everything you said. I’m grateful. If I think about it, it has been a long while since anyone said such nice things about me, without wanting to gain something...Especially since I am a demon. The Demon Prince, nonetheless.” he explained, making me sigh, shifting my gaze to the moon. “I...Well...I think I drank a bit too much champagne, so I guess telling you this won’t hurt, in the long run, anyway. You don’t even have to acknowledge anything I say. Just play it off as a tipsy rant or something...But honestly...You are amazing. You are the kindest person I’ve ever met in my life. I know it’s very short compared to yours, but it’s much more meaningful and impactful to us. You have showed me nothing but kindness and understanding, lots of opportunities to have fun with events, and pranks, jokes, trips...You looked out for me all the time...Especially when Lucifer almost killed me...Which wasn’t few times, really. And you try to bring everyone together, no matter their race or ranks...You are like a big golden retriever who just wants hugs, attention and affection...And your smile and laugh is to die for. If only you’d see the way your eyes sparkle when you’re happy, or feel the warmth of your embraces and how soothing they are. I picked you for more than one reason, Diavolo, and I’m pretty sure it’s obvious now.” I chuckle lightly, not caring about the consequences of my words. “I...Am speechless. Nobody managed to stir such feelings inside me since I first saw Lucifer as an archangel, and this tops it. I cannot but thank you...But now it seems like you’re the one who has things on her mind.” he pointed out, wiping away a stray tear going down my face. “My performance on the stage was so great because those feelings of mine were genuine...But reverse. I am going to die before you even realise it, and just a little later, you’re going to forget me. There is no place for my feelings, no matter how I look at it. I’m mortal, and you’re not. I’m a simple, ordinary human, while you’re the Demon Prince. I will never even be close to being as great as you are. I’m selfish, I’m a jerk, I’m mean, I’m jealous, I’m not talented, I’m not smart, I’m not beautiful...I’m nowhere close to your level, no matter how much I try to get better. Soon, I will have to return back to the human world, and you will still be here, becoming the best Demon King the Devildom ever had...” I shook my head, smiling sadly. “How long have you felt this way?” he asked softly, putting his arm around me, pulling me close to his chest. “A long time...And it only got stronger since then.” I sighed, leaning my head on his chest. “I’m glad to hear that...Because my emotions from the stage were as true as yours. Every word I spoke up there, is true. For a while now, I have been thinking about you and how we could make this work without any of us having to suffer like Beren and Luthien from your story. You are the most unique and beautiful person I’ve met, and I don’t mean only your looks, but your personality and heart as well. I hate it when you bring yourself down and compare yourself to me, because everyone has their own traits that make them who they are.” Diavolo’s voice was gentle and heartfelt, making me raise my head to look at him, searching for the truth in his eyes. “Did you know that this story was written as a tribute to the author’s wife, whom he nicknamed Luthien? The author, Tolkien, fell in love with her when she danced and sang for him in the glade, and since then, he has been very much in love with her...Going as far as to have her nickname, Luthien, written under her name on her grave stone. If that isn’t true love, I don’t know what is.” I smiled softly, feeling my heart skipping quickly. “Humans are truly capable of the most incredible things. They never cease to amaze me, no matter how much time passes. In your short, mortal lives, you are capable of unbelievable potential and wonders. You praised me so much today, but trust me when I say it, I could go for ages complimenting you, and I wouldn’t run out of nice things to say about you. Y/N, trust me when I say it, I love you, and I promise you that your feelings are safe with me, and I won’t let you die. I know a way to make it work.” Diavolo said, putting his hands on my face, as his eyes held only love. “If you’re certain you are okay with it, and aren’t afraid of any consequences, then I can say with no fear that I love you as well, Diavolo. Endlessly.” I grin at him, chuckling lightly as he leaned in, sharing a loving kiss, yet this time, the emotions were flowing much more powerfully than on the stage.

It was true, it was pure, it was ethereal, and definitely, it was eternal.

[onthesandsofdreams]

Towards the Future

Characters: Celeborn & Oropher Rating: G Summary: “And what will you do now, cousin?” It was Celeborn who finally broke the silence. “I know you do not intend to stay, but I worry, so please dear cousin, ease my mind.” Words: 1038 Notes: For day 7 of @doriathweek

Read @ AO3

It was late and everything was quiet, but in the privacy of a home, there was still a roaring fire and two silent figures who nursed wine cups. A small plate of finger foods between them. Silence reigned, neither elf in a particular hurry to break it. They alone remained from the small family dinner that had taken place earlier, Celeborn and Galadriel had hosted both Oropher and Thranduil, and now, Galadriel and Thranduil had gone to bed.

“And what will you do now, cousin?” It was Celeborn who finally broke the silence. “I know you do not intend to stay, but I worry, so please dear cousin, ease my mind.”

Oropher turned, green eyes dark as a leaf beneath the moonlight, a small frown on his handsome face. “I intent to go East.” He stopped and hesitated, but shook his head and sighed. “I know there are others who will come with Thranduil and I. Others will follow you and your lady, but while our Lady’s sons are lost to us, it falls to us to look after them.”

“And you have been offered a crown.” It was not an accusation, it was more a question than a statement. “Will you take it, cousin?”

“I have yes, but I have not decided as to if I should take it.” He hesitated for a moment. “You have refused one, a curious thing cousin.”

Celeborn took a sip of wine, then gave him a sad smile. “The title of King is not one I wanted or I am seeking, why should I take it? Being a Lord is enough for me. But, please don’t let me discourage you from taking one.”

Oropher shook his head, “I know that, you and I are different. I will not deny you that a crown is swaying me, but I also know that with it, I will have a duty to those who uphold my title.”

“You have never been one to take your duties lightly,” Celeborn agreed, then took a piece of cheese and bit into it, it was a sharp one and he let the flavor wash over him. “And it would suit you well,” then, he hesitated. “Galadriel foresaw it, you would be a good King.”

Oropher nodded, it was true that he was not overly fond of the Noldor, he had no quarrel with the Lady Galadriel, for she had stood with then, even against her own kin. And the late King Finrod had been a good friend. “Then, give her my thanks. Rhovanion would be a good place to settle in. The question would be, if any native elves would accept me and those who would follow me, accept us.”

Celeborn smiled, settled his cup down and rested one hand on his cousin’s shoulder. “If anyone can, it’s you. You have never looked down on the Avari, the Silvans or the Green Elves, that alone would make it easier. So long as you accept some of their traditions and way of life, I’d say they would.”

Oropher nodded, “Indeed, a poor leader – much less King, would I be if I were to simply impose my way and just ignored them. And what about you, what are you and Galadriel planning?”

“My lady wishes to establish a city, I like the idea of it. We’ve spoken of Eriador, so if you make it to Rhovanion, we would be West of you and yours.”

Oropher grinned, “I like that, we’d be close enough should we have need of one another. But no crown, huh?”

Celeborn shook his head, “No crown. But a simple Lordship would suffice, if anyone wishes to come with us, they will be welcomed.” Then, he grew sad. “That is a somewhat sad thought, that us, who had a wondrous kingdom, would split ourselves.”

Oropher grew serious and took a gulp of wine, he rested his cup on his lap and looked down at his hands, “It is indeed a sad though, but, we must look to the future. Something I’m sure I need not remind you of that, so, let us honor and remember the best of Doriath and Menegroth, and take care of their people, however many of the follow us.”

Celeborn emptied his cup, “Well spoken cousin,” a small grin made his way to his face. “You have grown wiser than I would’ve expected.”

Oropher looked up, one brow arched and a sardonic smirk to his face. “I am wiser than what you think, I just simply don’t go around flaunting it. I’m not you.”

Celeborn took the wine bottle, offered more to his cousin who accepted and filled both their cups halfway. A quiet chuckle escaped him, “Oh that big head of yours will grow more with a crown.”

“Mmh, oh Valar, you might be onto something,” Oropher swirled his wine, a smirk still on his lips. “But that is no trouble, I will make my crown not of mithril or gold, but of nature. Flowers for spring and summer, branches and berries for autumn and winter.”

“That is a lovely thought.”

“But I’m sure you will be opting for some sort of metal, after all, I assume some Noldor will follow your lady, so, you’ll be fine yourself.”

“That I will be. Have you spoken to Thranduil yet?”

“I have, he is my heir and should know what is happening regarding all of this.”

“True. Perhaps in Eregion, once our city is settled, Galadriel and I will try for a child.”

“You better hope you have a son,” Oropher smirked, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Because if you have a daughter, once she reaches her majority, elves will be knocking down your door for her hand from all over.”

Celeborn groaned, “Elbereth, you might have a point.” But as soon as he spoke, his face softened. “But I find that I do not mind, any girl child that looks like my beloved lady, I would consider myself a very luck elf.”

Oropher raised his glass, “So, a toast, for a girl child for you and Galadriel.”

Celeborn touched his coup to Oropher, “And here’s to a good reign for you.”

And at the same time, they spoke, “To the future.”

[guardianofrivendell]

PERFECT SECRETS - CHAPTER 1

Legolas x OC multichapter 

Requested - Nope

Summary - Mira. A short and unusual name for a short and unusual Elf. After an audience with Galadriel goes sideways, she leaves her birthplace Lóthlorien and the Elves for good.  That is until a certain Gandalf asks for a favor. Come along on her journey, as she reluctantly agrees to accompany Gandalf on the quest to destroy the One Ring.  She befriends every Fellowship member, except one. Legolas and Mira are water and fire from the very first moment they laid eyes on each other. Will this be an obstacle during the quest or is it going to make everything just a little more interesting?

Warnings - none, a lot of sarcasm

Masterlist Perfect Secrets

Mira. 

A short and unusual name for an Elf, but it fitted her perfectly. After all, many would call her short and unusual too. That is, if they had known she was an Elf to begin with. But more of that later.

You see, her name hadn’t always been Mira. When she was born, she was given the name Eímiraelyn. [εɪ-mirəlɪn]

Mira used to live with her parents in Lóthlorien. From the moment she was born, she had been different, or as her parents like to call her ‘special’.

Elves were fairly tall, elegant and light footed. She was anything but. Short with long hair; not blonde and perfectly straight like most Elves, no, Mira had to have dark burgundy hair that curled at the ends, which turned fiery red when the sun touched her head. 

And as if that wasn’t enough, she was clumsy. No big deal, you would think, but a clumsy Elf, that was unheard of. 

The only thing that made her a typical Elf on the outside, were her pointy ears. 

The other children teased her for not being a pure Elf because she looked different and she had often asked her Nanneth and Ada if it was true. 

And every time they would assure her that she was one of the purest, that there was no other as special as she was. That one day she was destined to do great things. 

Mira hated it. She didn’t want to be special, she just wanted to fit in.

There was one thing about her appearance that she was proud of: her eyes. They were dark brown at the edges, turning lighter towards the iris and in the lighter section you could see small green freckles. It reminded her of the trees in the forest. 

When she grew older, she started to withdraw herself in her room or the training grounds, showing interest in the archers and guards who trained their sword skills. 

One might expect she would constantly hurt herself in training because of her clumsiness, but to her own surprise and especially that of others she was a natural in archery and wasn’t all that bad with knives. She had tried to wield a sword but it didn’t feel right to her. Relieved she finally found something she was good at, she spent all her time perfecting her skills. 

Her peaceful time in Lóthlorien came to an abrupt halt when she turned a hundred. 

It was tradition for every Elf in Lóthlorien to have a private audience with Lady Galadriel when their 100th winter passed. Mira was excited, even though she had no idea what to expect. No one was allowed to discuss their audience, because it was different and very personal for each. 

For Mira it was her only chance to ask for a favor of the Lady of the Light. And she was going to take it with both hands. 

To say it didn’t quite go as planned was an understatement. What Mira learned that day would change everything. 

The Lady Galadriel welcomed her and had asked about her expectations of their meeting. When Mira requested if her appearance could be more like everyone else, she had immediately declined, repeating the words her parents told her countless times.

“You are very special, Eímiraelyn. Destined to do great things, it would be highly unwise to turn away from your own destiny.”

“And what may that destiny be?” Mira had asked. Lady Galadriel had smiled kindly to her. 

“That is for you to find out, hîn nin.” (My Child)

She had rolled her eyes at that, earning a chuckle from Galadriel. 

“Tell me, Eímiraelyn, have you noticed something different about you?”

Mira gave her a very sarcastic look, as if to say ‘Seriously?’. She grabbed a lock of her hair to emphasize what she meant. 

“I do not speak of your appearance. You, hîn nin, have been touched by the Valar and were blessed with the gift of foresight. It is not as strong as mine, but it can be trained.”

Mira blinked a couple of times. Foresight? As in seeing the future?

“Your gift is still very small, only flashes from what is to happen. Mere seconds, not easy to read.”

“Suuuure… And I’m a princess too?” Mira couldn’t help but roll her eyes again. One day her sarcasm would get her into a lot of trouble, but it just came natural to her. 

Lady Galadriel only stared, a knowing smile on her lips.

“You’re kidding me right?”

“You carry a remarkable fierceness within you, Eímiraelyn, it is one of your greatest strengths. I’m quite certain the Prince of Mirkwood will appreciate it as much as I do.”

“Who?”

“Ever since you were born, hîn nin, there has been an agreement between the kingdoms of Lóthlorien and Mirkwood that you were to be wedded to their Prince as soon as you come of age.” 

Lady Galadriel had awaited her reaction to the news with caution. Mira had managed to keep herself together, but internally she was boiling with anger. An arranged marriage? Was that why they kept telling her she was so special? Because she was ‘reserved’ for some kind of stuck up, spoiled Elven Prince who was almost certainly struggling with Ada issues and had a brain as empty as the Mines of Moria?

“I suppose I don’t have anything to say about this?”

“My dear Eímiraelyn. I would have been surprised if you had gone along with it willingly,” Lady Galadriel smiled at her knowingly. “The King of Mirkwood and his son will arrive in a few weeks for you. I am quite sure you will take a liking to the Prince as soon as you meet him.” 

As much as she trusted Lady Galadriel’s judgement, she wasn’t planning on sticking around to see for herself. 

The audience had ended shortly after, leaving Mira extremely disappointed. 

She still looked the way she did, was ‘blessed’ with a gift that hadn’t yet surfaced and on top of that, she was on the eve of an arranged marriage to a prince she had never met. 

She tried countless times to persuade her parents to change their mind about the marriage, but they kept telling her that it was an honour that the Valar’s choice had fallen on her and that she was extremely fortunate to be able to live a royal life. Mira couldn’t disagree more. 

She said goodbye to Lóthlorien a few days later, taking her bow and knives and the clothes she was wearing as her only belongings. 

That was almost eight hundred years ago. She changed her name to Mira, kept her ears hidden beneath her hair and started swerving around Middle Earth on her own for a couple of years. 

Once in a while she would stay at a village of the race of Men, but not the larger ones. She avoided Edoras and Minas Tirith, too afraid to bump into Elves who might recognize her. Curse her dark red hair. 

 After a century or two, she decided to explore Middle Earth some more. 

It was during one of those ‘expeditions’ that she met Gandalf. He had immediately known who she was, even tried to persuade her into returning to Lóthlorien, but Mira had made it very clear that it wasn’t an option, begging him not to tell anyone that he saw her. 

Gandalf had gifted her a dark brown cloak, that was fairly short - it ended right at the top of her thighs - but the most useful part was the large hood. 

That cloak became her biggest friend. She wore the hood up constantly, keeping her burgundy hair out of sight. Because she didn’t look like your standard Elf, she could hide her race pretty well too. 

From that day on, Mira only lived with or stayed close to humans, helping them defend their village against Orcs and other scum. When they became suspicious of her not ageing, she simply left and traveled further. This worked just fine. 

Once in a while she bumped into Gandalf again, sometimes accompanying him on some of his ‘quests’, as he liked to call them. 

She always accepted his invitations, except for that one time. 

Almost 7 centuries after she had left Lóthlorien, Gandalf had asked her to be his ‘burglar’ for something he would call the “Quest of Erebor”. She of course had turned it down, asking him if he had lost his mind. It would take her way too close to Mirkwood. She couldn’t risk it. 

Gandalf had protested, but let her go. She learned afterwards that he succeeded in his journey and it had resulted in a massive battle between Dwarves, Elves, Men and Orcs. It almost made her regret her decision, it sounded like a lot of fun. 

She hadn’t heard from Gandalf since. 

That was until today. 

A/N: A chapter to get to know our lead character. Let me know what you think! My requests for imagines/HC are still open for LOTR/The Hobbit!

[meteor752]

Tilda in the fellowship AU

After finishing my Tilda Deep Dive I started thinking about how it would have gone if she did follow her brother to the council of Elrond, and if it would have affected anything. Enjoy

***

So the beginning is simple, when she is offered to go to Rivendell she agrees because yay adventure.

But she goes all princessy, like with a circlet on her head, make-up, some long elven robe all that jazz.

And before the actual council she mostly wanders around trying to make it look like she fits in, before she sees Aragorn where she just squeals and hugs him tight because she’s a hugger.

So at the actual council, the moment the ring is brought forth, she’s just immediately going hell yes I’m doing this, while Legolas is viciously glaring at her because you’re not doing this.

She tries to argue back at him when everyone is arguing with each other, because one, the ring needs to be destroyed and she’s willing to do it and two, it’s a chance to get out of her family shadow.

But alas, a fucking Hobbit offers to do it, and she’s just making the most annoyed face in existence.

Until Aragorn offers to come along, and then Legolas, and Gimli, and she’s just over here like “Yeah I don’t have a unique weapon but if Princess here is going then I am as well.”

And then there’s also three more hobbits, two of which she grows fond of immediately.

When she went to get prepared and to get out of the elven robe, she was basically bouncing with excitement. Legolas tried his best to talk her out of it, but Tilda could be more stubborn than a dwarf if she desired to.

He told her to send a message to their da and ada to ask for permission to do this, She agreed, while in her head she was just saying fuck that, and did not do it.

Tilda had a spring to her step when the journey started, chatting happily with two of the hobbits, watching her brother talk quietly with Aragorn, grinning widely cause she knows what’s up.

It took her about a day, a day and a half, before she stopped walking and started climbing stuff, much to almost everyone’s confusion.

She said that it was to challenge herself and to get a better look at the surrounding terrain, but in reality she just wanted to feel tall as she was the shortest out of the “Tall Folk” as Merry and Pippin so nicely put it.

And it took maybe a week for her to make the connection that the Baggins she was traveling with and protecting was related to the Baggins that changed her and her people’s lives, so that was something.

But Tilda took quite the delight in the fact that both The Hobbits and Gimli had heard many stories of the reclaiming of Erebor, but she had actually been there unlike them.

(Well, if going by film canon then Legolas was there as well, which we are going to do mostly because then the Legolas Tilda first met was the dramatic edgy one with eyeliner, which she would just love to tell the others about).

When it came to Moria, Tilda was a little less smiling and bouncy, and more jumpy and uncomfortable. She’d after all known some of the dwarves whose corpses were scattered across the mine, and she’d never been one for darkness.

It was even worse when they came to Balin’s grave with Ori’s corpse just beside it, as she’d definitely known those two.

Now, before we continue, I just need y’all to know this; Tilda does not like Gandalf. She thinks he’s a bad person, she does not understand the obsession that so many elves have with him, and she thinks he should mind his own damn business. So she was just ready kick his ass when he started yelling at Pippin, like this bitch was ready. But she never got the chance, because they have a cave troll!

Tilda was out of her environment, she was in a too small of a space, and she had to make sure that the pretty incompetent hobbits were alright during the whole thing, so everything that was going through her mind in that fight was just a string of panicked curse words.

Glorofindel had told Tilda about Balrogs once in her youth during a visit to Rivendell, so she kinda knew what was up when a fire demon came out of nowhere, and she was a tiny bit excited.

Mostly because again, she likes fire.

But that does NOT MEAN, that she liked that Gandalf fucking died, because despite the fact that she dislikes him a lot he was honestly one of the few things holding the Fellowship together.

They still managed to keep going for a while, and Tilda managed to befriend Boromir out of all people during that period, and they bonded over their willingness to protect their people, and Tilda loved hearing Boromir talk proudly of his brother (While she talked shit about her own siblings).

At the arrival of Lothlórien, Tilda was just ready to lay down on something soft and take a fucking nap because she earned it god damnit. She did have time to say hi to her Gram Gram Galadriel though, who’s been her favorite babysitter as a child (And adult time some extent) and basically her grandma.

When it came to the little gift giving thingy, she was just happy with a new quiver of arrows, because she’d started to run out. They tried to offer her a new bow, but she’s very attached to her own and ain’t giving it up anytime soon.

While riding the boats, she was dramatically posing at the front the entire time, except for when it got too hot and she just jumped into the water and swam for a while, because when you spend your first years in a place called lake town you basically learn how to swim before you learn how to walk.

If you would ask Tilda what happened next, she would just shrug because she literally has no idea.

All she knew was that Boromir went to collect fire wood and that Frodo wandered off (Which he does like all the time, like Tilda wouldn’t be able to count on her fingers the amount of times someone had to go find him),and then suddenly Orcs attacked, Merry and Pippin were taken and Boromir was bleeding out in front of the remaining four.

And as the sister of the best healer in Middle Earth, Tilda did not hesitate to push Aragorn aside and start screaming out instructions, because this man is not dying on her watch.

It took her a few hours to stabilize the wound, and she had Legolas, Gimli, and Aragorn running back and forth, giving her stuff like water and herbs, while she made Boromir talk the entire time just to make sure he wouldn’t pass out and possibly die.

But as soon as Boromir could stand on his feet without falling again, they took off to find Merry and Pippin, while Tilda was praying that Boromir’s wounds wouldn’t open before they got to a real healer.

Tilda was more than okay about running for three days straight, but she did made sure they took a few breaks for the sake of Boromir, and she hated it every time because it made her feel a lot like Sigrid.

Tilda got an uneasy feeling the moment they entered Rohan, especially when they ran into fucking Éomer, who she was just glaring daggers at, and it only got worse when he informed them that he’d fucking slaughtered the hobbits, like both Tilda and Boromir had to be held back.

But the news of their possible survival made Tilda go yay, especially when they got to enter Fangor forest, which was just a delight, and she basically prayed to herself that she would got to meet an Ent.

Instead, she met Gandalf, who’s back now.

She doesn’t really know how to feel about that, because on one hand it’s Gandalf who’s really powerful and is a great deal of help, and on the other hand it’s Gandalf who’s just the fucking worst.

And then he takes them to meet King Théoden, and Tilda just keeps thinking that that day really can’t get any worse.

While Tilda only dislikes Gandalf, she fucking hates Théoden. She met him earlier in her life when he was still young, and he immediately gave her a bad vibe. So Tilda was salty towards him, and he was rude back, and this gal is petty so she still hates him, and his whole family.

Actually scratch that, his niece is both pretty and powerful, she respects her.

As soon as Sauroman is banished from the king’s mind, Tilda drags Bormir to a healer before anything else so his wounds could be properly cared for, just to get that off her mind.

She sent a whistle to Aloe, mostly because she missed him and they weren’t moving around all the time anymore, before joining Legolas and the rest in the throne room with Théoden.

Until the escape to Helm’s deep, Tilda is just kinda vibing. She avoids Théoden the best that she can, she chills with her brother and Gimli, Aloe arrived just barely a day after so that was nice.

It’s mostly when it’s announced that they will escape that she starts to get engaged again, because just call for help for Valars sake it isn’t that hard, stop letting your pride get in your way.

And then Aragorn fucking dies on the way, and Legolas is over there getting depressed while Boromir is having a bit of a panic attack, so everything is just a mess, and she wasn’t okay either because that was her ‘We we’re both raised as humans in an elven society also we like hugs’ buddy.

But she had to be the stable one for once, mostly because she had two people falling apart on her and Gimli was not the best when it came to feelings. Actually, she wasn’t either, so everyone was just stressing out.

Until Aragon arrived not too soon after, in which she first gave him a real fucking punch because how dare you, and then she hugged him because she’s just glad that he’s back.

So is Legolas.

And Èowyn, because she ain’t slick Tilda saw the looks she were giving her, and she laid it all out in front of her because those two had been giving each other “The Look” for all of the sixty years she’d known them, and it was better to just rip the band aid off.

Èowyn took it pretty okay.

Tilda was even more heated with Théoden when they’d arrived, because fucking damnit just call for aid, to you want me to message my ada? He’d surely help!

When Èowyn told her that she was not allowed to fight, she just said fuck that and encouraged her to do it anyways, because males are idiots sometimes.

So she did.

And while Legolas and Gimli had their little competition, Tilda, Èowyn, and Boromir were on the other side of the battle just kicking ass.

The scream of joy that escaped Èowyn’s mouth when she saw her brother almost made Tilda go deaf (That’s what happened if you ask her anyway), while she only smiled a little to herself because enforcements, yay, but by Éomer and Gandalf, fuck no.

After the battle was over, Tilda had a real talk with Aragorn about her brother, because Legolas literally fell apart when he thought that he’d died, and they both nearly died once more, so please just get it on already.

Tilda was really proud of Èowyn when she stood her ground against her uncles anger for participating in the battle, and yes they did fuck when they got back to Rohan.

Tilda had a great time just vibing with a pint of ale and watching the hobbits dance around, but she was pretty much immune to normal human ale at this point after growing up with the The Wine King, and also because she was no lightweight.

And then she fucked Èowyn again.

Until she felt a deep darkness around from somewhere, and she just rushed to get her clothes on to check it out.

What she found was Pippin getting yelled at by Gandalf while Aragorn was quite weakened and had to lean on Legolas for support.

So once again something big happened but Tilda had no idea what it was.

And then suddenly Gandalf was leaving with Pippin for Minas Tirith and Boromir is arguing about him coming with despite Gandalf’s refusal, and Merry was just sad and stuff and once again, Tilda had no idea what was going on.

Except that Gondor was in danger and Théoden refused to help, so yeah she was all about arguing with him because of that, and with arguing I mean she yelled at him for a bit, walked away to cool off before coming back just to start yelling again.

Aloe was basically the only thing keeping her sane because she was really fed up with everyone else, so she just spent a lot of time in the stable with her elk.

The moment that “Gondor called for aid”, Tilda just threw her arms up in the air all “FINALLY”, while also trying to calm Boromir down who was worried about his land and his brother.

She sent Aloe off with a message for her sister, and then rode on a normal horse with a fucking saddle which was uncomfortable as hell.

When they stopped at the mountain pass, Tilda was delighted when Aloe find his way to her, but less delighted when she heard her full name screamed across the camp from a very familiar and annoying voice.

Sigrid yelled at her for almost twenty minutes of how ‘irresponsible it was’, and how ‘She risked her life for the sake of adventure’ and how ‘Da and Thranduil are so worried about you’, which also angers Legolas a bit since she lied to him, and it’s all a mess.

But it’s nice to meet Bain again, whom she introduces to Boromir and Aragorn and the three get talking on sword stuff, she doesn’t really care.

And she gets a chance of talking with Sigrid, and apologizes for worrying her while she apologizes for yelling, and they both are cool.

Overall Tilda has it pretty chill that night, mostly just checking over all of her arrows while humming on a tune, until Legolas notices that Aragorn is packing up his stuff and all four of them are just welp I guess we’re doing this now.

Tilda just hates the feeling of the mountain, and she has an insanely tight grip on the fur of Aloe while just trying to calm the uneasy feeling, while listening to the other’s talking about its history. Still, she can’t help but read out the best climbing routes of the place.

Aloe is the only one of the riding animals that doesn’t run away at the entrance to the path of the dead, which she was rather smug about, and with him by her side she was a bit more comfortable with entering.

She was not alright with the fucking ghosts however, like fuck that what the fuck take me the fuck out of here hell nah bro.

It was fun entering the battle of the Pelennor fields riding her trusted elk surrounded by her friends and an army of spirits, like that was dope.

They were all alright after the battle, Tilda met Pippin again after being away from him for a few days, and Tilda reassured him that Merry would be alright, that she’d seen so much weaker people battle so much worse pain.

She briefly got to meet Boromir’s little brother Faramir that she’d heard so much about, and got to know that their father had tried to burn him alive and were corrently locked in the dungeon, and a pretty angry Tilda had to calm down a down right furious Boromir.

She learned of Théoden’s death, and was pretty satisfied by it, though in private as both Èowyn and Èomer were devestated.

The battle of the black gate is just filled with happy tears and cheers as its over, because the war is over, the ring is destroyed, they had won.

Tilda finds all three of her siblings after it and hug them all tightly, because they all are okay and all made it out, and she was just so gosh darn happy.

When Frodo and Sam are brought to Minas Tirith, bruised, bleeding, and so skinny, Tilda almost cries. Almost. Because such pure creatures should not have to go through what those two did, and she knows that permanent scars will be left of the journey.

Aragorn is crowned king, and Tilda smiled so brightly as she could, proud of what the boy she fell on after jumping on the wrong branch had become.

He finds Legolas in the crowd, and they smile softly at each other before kissing each other, and no one can ignore the shout of “FINALLY” that escaped Tilda’s mouth, because she’d been waiting for that for almost sisxty years god dammnit.

Before leaving Gondor for Mirkwood, she showers the hobbits with as much affection and hugs that she can, because all four of them deserve it.

She says goodbye to the fellowship, to the friends that she would never forget and the people she would visit so often, and leaves on Aloe with Legolas, to return home.

Both Bard and Thranduil are both happy and very angry when she returns, and she argues back boldly against them, because they can’t expect her to stay in Mirkwood after being away for thirteen months.

So instead of sneaking off, she is let go and leaves with Aloe, a bright smile on her face.

She still has nightmares of the journey. Of Boromir dying in her hands, of seeing Merry and Pippin’s burnt bodies in the pile of orc, of Aragorn never returning from the fall and Legolas’ light fading away, of Frodo and Sam being brought back by the eagles, so scarred and broken, an image she never gets out of her head.

She cuts her hair into a single braid going down her back, she gets tattoos dedicated to the fellowship, she finds happiness in travelling peacefully across middle earth.

She gets an invitation to her brother’s wedding, and she arrives in Gondor with the biggest smile on her face, embracing the fellowship.

Tilda gets put in charge of the music of the wedding, and as she plays softly on her lute with her voice calmly echoing throughout the room as Legolas and Aragorn dances, she can’t help but she’d a few tears as she’s been waiting on this for so long and she’s just so happy for them.

It’s a lot less tears and a lot more laughter at Frodo and Sam’s wedding, as hobbits really do know how to party and she’s just having a blast being one of the tallest.

But then the request to kill that god forsaken Forest Dragon comes along, and she just can’t say no.

***

So apparently if Tilda joined the fellowship Boromir would have survived?? 😅

I just thought about this whole thing, and I knew that she would not have someone bleed out when she could’ve done something.

The reason Denethor is alive and not burned is because since Boromir survived, he wouldn’t go full on crazy, and also I want him to face his actions.

This last part just became a bunch of fluff, but my last post was just consisting of mentally torturing this gal, so I wanted to give her a break.

AU Masterpost

[sweetteaanddragons]

Implausible Character Interpretation: Fingon the Cowardly Lion

The fun thing about the Silmarillion is that with so little information about most of the characters, characterization is largely up to the fanfic author. Usually, though, there’s one or two characteristics that really aren’t all that arguable. Fingon, for instance, pretty much has to be valiant. 

Doesn’t he?

As a fan of the Ciaphas Cain books, I knew it was possible for someone to have an impressive reputation, an impressive title, a genuine and impressive list of accomplishments . . . and still rather be absolutely anywhere other than the front lines where everyone keeps insisting on putting them. 

So I decided to write this.

(If Fingon is your favorite character, please don’t take this as a genuine attack on his courage. Given the evidence, I agree that “valiant” probably is one of his main character traits. This was just done for the fun of seeing how far I could twist canon before it breaks.)

Fingon was six years old and visiting his cousins when he first heard stories about the monsters across the sea. He spent all night huddled up in his bed and watching the door with terrified eyes.

There was an uproar of some sort at breakfast - Ada and Uncle Feanor were fighting about something, he was too tired to really catch what - so Maedhros was the first one to notice the shadows under his eyes and come sit beside him. This meant Maedhros was now between him and the door that led down to the yawning maw of the cellar, so Fingon relaxed enough for the whole thing to come spilling out as soon as his older cousin asked.

He was a bit afraid Maedhros would laugh at him, but he didn’t. He just talked about how wide the ocean was separating them from the monsters, and how the elves had only gotten across it with the Valar’s help.

“And they certainly won’t help monsters cross it, will they?” Maedhros asked reasonably.

Fingon shook his head hesitantly.

“So you’ll probably never even see a monster,” Maedhros concluded. “But even if one did somehow get here, you wouldn’t have to worry about it. I’d never let it get you.”

Fingon had seen Maedhros practice with his sword, and his older cousin was already impossibly tall and might, he’d overheard, grow even more. Maedhros, he was quite sure, could protect him from just about anything. 

Much cheered, he turned to his breakfast, but he made sure to stick close to Maedhros for the next few days. 

Just in case.

When the light of the Trees went dark, Fingon froze.

Later, when someone else managed to get torches going and it was noticed that he, unlike most everyone else, wasn’t covered in scrapes and bruises from running around and bumping into things in the dark, he was commended on his bravery and sense.

Fingon smiled and deflected the compliments and got to work doing what needed to be done.

Sense, he told himself firmly. It had been sensible. Everyone said so.

He didn’t remember deciding to be sensible, though. He just remembered the choking terror as the illusion of safety was ripped away, and he realized that anything, absolutely anything, could be hiding in the dark.

When they got to Alqualonde, the first thing he saw was the fire.

There was a great mass of fighting on the docks, and Fingon had no idea what was going on - Was Melkor not the only one who had been hiding a monstrous face behind a fair shape? Were their Teleri kin monsters too?

He didn’t know. It was hard to know anything in a world lit only by nightmarish flames, but he saw the bright red flags of his cousins, and he could hear Maedhros calling to rally his soldiers, and if Maedhros was in the middle of it, that’s where he should be too.

It was like the stories, he told himself. Just charge into glorious battle, and victory and heroism would follow. Maybe that would wash away the memory of terror.

He charged forward. His men followed after him and then -

And then -

His sword was dripping red. His arm was dripping red too. That was probably significant.

All he could really focus on was that he’d just thrown up in an alley mostly ignored by the larger battle, and that it was only the way his hand was braced against the stone wall that was keeping him standing.

And Maedhros was there, holding his hair back from his neck, keeping a wary eye out for anyone who might try to take advantage.

“You’re alright,” he said soothingly. “It’ll be alright.”

Fingon stared down at the mess he had made and faced the terrible truth. “I’m a coward.” 

“You are not,” Maedhros said firmly. “There is no shame in - We’re fighting our kin, Fingon. There is no shame in feeling the horror of that.”

Yet Maedhros had not been the one to lurch away from the battle to do this.

He couldn’t tell Maedhros that, though. He had no interest in trying to convince Maedhros he was wrong. He couldn’t bear the thought of someone looking at him and knowing about the terrible choking terror that hadn’t left him since the lights went out and knowing him for what he was.

Easier to face a battle than to face that.

He forced himself to pick his sword up from where he’d dropped it like a fool and to push himself away from the wall. “I’m ready,” he said hoarsely. “Let’s do this.”

Maedhros clapped him on the shoulder. “Stay close,” he said. “We’ll watch each other’s backs.”

You mean you’ll watch to make sure I don’t start throwing up on the enemy instead of stabbing them, Fingon thought, but his relief at the idea was far too great to argue with him.

The Valar told them to turn back. The Doom they laid was heavy, and with every word, more of Fingon’s tentative hope that this would get better was stripped away.

There was no point in going. No hope for victory. Just death and more death, and no way out.

Uncle Feanor gave a rousing speech, and it seemed to ignite everyone else.

Everyone but Uncle Finarfin and some of his people, and Fingon badly wanted to turn to his father and say, “Look, they’re leaving, it’s not too late, we can turn back too.”

But his father came up to him and thanked him for everything he’d been doing to help on the journey with weary, grieving eyes, and all Fingon’s courage fled.

“Of course,” he said and got back to work.

Fingon stared across the sea at the distant flames. Beside him, his father said Uncle Feanor’s name like a curse. “He’s abandoned us.”

Abandoned - ?

Everyone else’s angry murmurs clicked together in his head. 

He had seen the flames and assumed whatever horrors awaited had burned them, but if everyone else thought it was more likely Uncle Feanor had, Fingon couldn’t argue with them. It did seem rather in character.

Uncle Feanor had burned the ships.

Shameful relief swept through him. They couldn’t possibly cross the ocean now. No one would blame them for not following.

At that moment, he could have happily hugged Uncle Feanor.

“We’ll have to cross the Ice,” his father said grimly.

His momentary shameful exultation fled and was replaced by sinking dread.

Of course. That was the courageous thing to do. They would cross the Ice.

Fingon flung himself into logistics, into supplies, into mediating disputes, into doing anything, anything at all, that meant he wouldn’t have to think.

The Grinding Ice was a slow slog of constant frozen terror kept manageable only by its monotony.

It’ll be better when we get there, Fingon told himself, told everyone who flagged or wept or looked nearly ready to give in. It’ll be better then.

What he kept to himself was the frantic thought that, It has to be.

The sun rose when they arrived, and with it came back some of Fingon’s hope. The light had come back. Surely now things really would get better.

Then Ada marched furiously into the Feanorians’ camp, and Fingon tagged along, blood tinged memories of Alqualonde playing on constant repeat. It couldn’t happen again. Not with such close kin.

Could it?

It was Maglor that came out to meet them, which surprised Fingon a bit, but maybe it shouldn’t have. Everyone knew Maglor had a gilded tongue. He was probably a good choice.

Apparently his father disagreed. “Where is Feanor?” he demanded. “I hadn’t thought he would hide behind his sons.”

Maglor’s eyes flashed. “He did not,” he agreed. “He never once hid. But the enemy’s forces did.”

Fingon’s eyes went wide as the implication hit. His father actually stumbled back a half-step. 

“He’s dead?”

“Yes.”

Fingon had no idea how long it had been, but even now, it was plain it wasn’t easy for Maglor to say.

And suddenly it seemed significant that Feanor’s eldest son was also gone. “Where’s Maedhros?” he asked, the cold pit of fear that was always in his stomach now growing larger.

“Taken,” Maglor said with equal grief. “We sent out patrol after patrol to try to take him back. None of them ever - We had to stop.”

There was more to the meeting after that, Fingon knew. There must have been because he knew it ended with shouting and his father stalking off. 

He didn’t hear much of it, though.

The monsters had taken Maedhros. And if they could take him, than they could take anyone, anyone at all.

He’d wanted . . . He didn’t know what he’d wanted. Some air. To feel less like he was choking on the anger still boiling in the camp. To forget.

By the time it occurred to him that he’d gone too far, he’d gotten turned around, the sun was going down, and he could hear noises that didn’t sound at all friendly coming in behind him.

Run. He had to run. Even if the only direction free to was straight towards the greatest danger of all.

He ran and ran and ran, till his sides were heaving and his breath was coming in sobbing pants.

The sun was coming up by now. The noises were gone. He could turn around. Go back.

Assuming he could find his way free from this nightmare labyrinth of cliffs.

He sang as he walked. It was stupid, he knew, but the distraction of the music was the only thing keeping him from panicking.

He paused to take a breath, and he heard a faint voice singing back in reply.

Another elf! He hurried towards it eagerly. It sounded familiar, almost like - 

Maedhros.

He broke into a run.

He nearly wept when he saw his cousin hung up on the cliff. “I’ll get you out,” he promised. He’d free his cousin and then - well, surely then things would somehow turn out alright.

He went to see Maedhros in the healers’ tent as often as he could. His recovery was swifter than anyone had dared to hope.

“Thank you,” Maedhros said abruptly one day. “I know I haven’t said it before, and I should have. I wasn’t . . . in my right mind then. Thank you.”

On the cliff, he meant. When he’d asked Fingon to kill him.

“Of course you weren’t,” Fingon said in relief. “No one could have been.” Hearing Maedhros say that on the cliff had scared him in a way nothing else had, but this made it better. Of course Maedhros hadn’t meant it. “I’m glad you’re doing better now.”

Maedhros gave him a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, but that would come in time, Fingon was sure. 

“You realize this proves me right,” Maedhros said. 

“About what?”

“What I said at Alqualonde.” They both flinched a little at the memory, but Maedhros pressed on. “You’re not a coward, Fingon. You never were. You walked up to Angband. Alone. You’re a hero.”

His cousin’s eyes were glowing with pride and faith, and Fingon couldn’t admit the truth now. He couldn’t.

It was an accident. I rescued you by accident, and I’m too afraid to tell you so.

“Fingon the Valiant,” Maedhros said with a smile. It reached his eyes this time. “That was the name you used to use when we played as children, wasn’t it? It’s even more fitting now.”

“Fingon the Valiant and Maedhros the Clever,” Fingon managed to say. “No monster too great.”

Of course, those monsters hadn’t been real.

It didn’t matter, he told himself. Maedhros was back now. Maedhros was overcoming the worst Morgoth could throw at him. If that wasn’t proof they could get through this, what was?

Everything was terrifying and awful, but it was a pretty consistent level of terrifying and awful with the brief exception of the dragon, so Fingon almost got used to it.

Then nightmarish fire erupted again, and his father wanted to go riding out to the very source. 

No, Fingon tried to tell him. No, you can’t do this to us. You don’t get to go riding out to certain death and leave us alone.

Or at least, If you go, I’m going with you.

But he couldn’t argue with his father. Not even now. The Sons of Feanor were not alone in that.

His father did not come back, as Fingon had known he wouldn’t, and that meant - 

That meant that Fingon was king.

Maedhros came as soon as he could, and Fingon’s first thought was, Oh, thank goodness, he’s come to contest the crown.

Fingon couldn’t possibly be in charge of this mess. He couldn’t even convince himself they weren’t all doomed; how was he supposed to convince everyone else?

Instead, Maedhros swore loyalty. Fingon accepted it glumly.

“I’m so sorry,” Maedhros told him later in private. “I remember - When Ada died, it felt like the end of the world.”

That was exactly the feeling.

“I didn’t know what to do,” Maedhros admitted wryly. “It’s probably why I got caught.” He hesitated. 

“If this is your cautious way of leading up to a suggestion of what I should do, I assure you, I’m more than happy to hear it,” Fingon said.

“Not yet,” Maedhros said. “Not yet. But . . . maybe soon. I’ve an idea brewing.”

“Good,” Fingon said in considerable relief. “You’re the clever one, remember. It’s your job to come up with these things.”

If anyone could get them out of this, Maedhros could.

Fighting a a concentrated battle against Morgoth was . . . not Fingon’s idea of a reassuring plan, exactly.

“If we unite everyone together, we’ve got a chance,” Maedhros said as he laid out page after page of facts and figures. “And then this could finally be over.”

Over. Fingon let himself imagine the bliss of that for one precious moment. No more terror. No more monsters. Over.

Surely he could be brave just this once if it meant a chance of achieving over.

“Alright,” he said. “Let’s do it.”

[grundyscribbling]

That last art reblog made me start thinking Finwë/Miriel/Indis again (as I do from time to time), and I decided I’d write out some of my headcanons about them, because who knows how long it will be before it really makes it into any fic.

It’s on the long side, so cut to spare everyone’s dash...

When the elves first awoke in Cuivienen, there were no “Laws and Customs”. Everything was new to them, and there were no rules but whatever they decided on for themselves.

Some elves, like Indis and Ingwë, woke up feeling kinship to other elves, and eventually the words ‘brother’ and ‘sister’ were made for elves like them. Others, like Miriel, awoke to find themselves without such close kin, but counted it no great loss, for the world was wondrous and the stars fair.

In those days, there was nothing to say an elf could not be drawn to more than one other elf as a mate, any more than there was to say that mates had to be of opposite sex. How elves chose to pair up was regarded as their own business, and no one gave much thought to it. When Finwë, Miriel, and Indis declared themselves mates despite there being three of them instead of two, no one quibbled, unique though it was. They were happy, and all was well.

The elves encountered the Hunter well before they encountered the Valar, and people began to disappear. The first time one of those disappeared died was a shock unprecedented in the elven experience - the mate of the missing elf knew immediately that something terrible had happened, that their mate was simply not there anymore. The entire community rallied around the bereaved survivor, and tried as best they could to help them carry on. When, eventually, the survivor re-married, no one was much surprised. It was clear that after such a catastrophic event they needed the support of a close relationship, the comfort only a mate could give, and at that time there was no expectation that the dead would ever return.

Then Oromë arrived, and eventually took three volunteer ‘ambassadors’ to Aman to show them what the Valar were offering the elves. Ingwë, Finwë, and Elwë returned and related with awe and longing what they had seen, and how this was very different than the Hunter. Some elves were skeptical, but others were convinced, and ultimately they all made their choices, to Journey or to Refuse. (Though the ones who refused would have said Remain.)

When the elves of the Journey arrive in Aman, they are surprised that their Valarin hosts have Opinions - which turn into rules, which eventually become Laws and Customs - about the proper structure of relationships and what they term ‘marriage’. It should be one male and one female, and it should last for the lifetime of Arda, because the dead will eventually return. (It was not Eru’s design that elves should marry more than once. Somehow they overlooked that it was also not Eru’s design that elves should die.)

This was a shock to the elves whose marriages don’t fit in that narrow box. Obviously some cannot comply, and quietly carry on. A rapidly expanding elven society manages to overlook those instances of same-sex couples living together as ‘friends’. The younger generation for the most part don’t realize, because when it comes to these couples, conversation simply slides smoothly away under the subtle guidance of those old enough to know that the pair are more than merely friends. Those elves who remember other ways may not protest - they already know the Valar refuse to be moved on this matter - but they give those who could not abandon their mates the protection of their silence, and they create enough doubt to prevent the Valar taking notice. (A nis may be friends with another nis and choose to live with her until such time as she finds a ner she wishes to marry. What of it if two neri share a house? Is there some reason why they should not?)

But unlike same-sex mates, Finwë, Miriel, and Indis find themselves in a bind- there’s no good way they can flout the decree of the Valar. As King of the Noldor, Finwë does not have the same degree of privacy other elves whose relationships don’t match the strictures of the Valar have, nor can he carve such privacy out for himself and his mates. There’s no plausible deniability for why the sister of the King of the Vanyar is constantly in the company of the Noldorin royal couple. It’s inevitable that sooner or later the elves who are not old enough to know differently will notice they are more than just friends in a way that no clever conversational segues will cover up. This is where it begins to unravel.

They eventually decide that since Indis, unlike Miriel, has a brother, she can better weather being separated from her mates for long periods of time. She goes with Ingwë to Valimar when the Vanyar relocate, and does her best to visit no more often than an ordinary friend would. Sometimes she slips, but for the most part she manages to stay away. Her brother is grateful for her assistance in his kingdom, and her young nephews are happy to have their aunt doting on them. It’s not ideal, and no one is happy, but it works.

The real problems begin when Miriel and Finwë beget their first son in Tirion. A pregnant elf requires as much support from their mate(s) as possible during pregnancy, since so much of their fëa and energy is being channeled into the creation of their child. But Miriel has only half of the support she should have, and bearing Curufinwë Fëanaro drains her to the point that she realizes another such pregnancy would destroy her. (Can a dead elf whose spirit has been wholly consumed return from Mandos? Do they even go there? And do all expectant mothers have such dark dreams? They didn’t even feel like they were hers...)

Finwë doesn’t entirely understand. He’s never been pregnant, and there is only so much Miriel can say or share with him given his lack of experience in the matter. She knows she’s asking him to imagine a country he has never seen and realize that the flowers are colored all wrong, and he’s trying his hardest. But he certainly understands missing Indis, because he does too. Without her to balance them, the scale has dipped so sharply that some days it feels like they’re flying off to crash into who knows what.

Miriel comes to the conclusion that she would rather defy the Valar than spend the entire lifetime of Arda pretending to be ok with this state of affairs when the reality is that none of them are. Indis is unhappy in Valimar, and if Miriel and Finwë are less unhappy, this definitely isn’t the bliss the Valar had promised. They were better off under the stars on the far side of the Sea. (She’ll wonder later if her rebellious thought had been unknowingly passed to Fëanaro.)

But if the Valar insist on this stupidity, Miriel doesn’t have to make it easy for them. Her retreat to Mandos is a form of protest - and she knows perfectly well that Finwë and Indis will certainly marry in her ‘absence’. She expects she will be able to return at some point - as elves who died before the Journey are expected to do also - and if the Valar don’t like elves having two wives or two husbands, or a wife and a husband, it will be too darn bad.

The problem none of them foresaw was the ruling of the Valar that elven marriage being for the lifetime of Arda, an elf could only remarry if their dead mate did not intend to return to life - ever. This went beyond just Miriel, Finwë, and Indis, because Miriel wasn’t the only dead elf whose living mate had taken another mate. (Nevermind that Miriel had taken that mate, too, and long before they’d ever met a Vala.) This she hadn’t expected, but she had little choice - if she agreed to return to life, Indis would be forever alone, and the damage still done to those already in Mandos whose mates had remarried. Eventually Miriel brokers a compromise with the Valar - those whose mates remarried before this ruling will not be confined to Mandos for something their mate did in ignorance. But she’s stuck for it.

What she didn’t realize until much later was the fracture lines the so-called Doom of Manwë created among the Noldor. (She’s darkly amused that it was later renamed the Statue of Finwë and Miriel as if the Valar had nothing to do with it.) By this point, the majority of the Noldor were descendants of the original elves, either begotten on the Journey or in Aman. They don’t remember the days before the Hunter and the disappearances, or the time when the elves governed themselves as seemed right to them. Many know the Journey only as stories their parents or even grandparents told them. They have no idea that Indis has a long-standing relationship with Finwë, they see only her usurping their Queen’s place, and they resent her for it.

When Finwë’s spirit comes to Mandos, broken in more ways than one, Miriel is shocked - and furious. This is twice the Valar’s failings have done serious damage to her mates and her family, and she is in no mood to forgive as she holds him for the first time in long Valian years and he relates to her between shuddering sobs what has transpired in her absence.

Yet when Mandos offers her the chance to return to life, to let Finwë take her place as the one who remains in his Halls for all time, she cannot refuse. Not when Finwë is all but demanding she accept, that she finally be reunited with Indis.

The life she returns to is not at all what she’d expected. Indis was no better off than Finwë - actually, she is much worse, for she has not only lost both her mates to death, by this time she also knew Fëanor, Ambarussa Umbarto, and Arakano to be dead as well. The first few years of her second life Miriel spends nursing her mate back to some semblance of health (and restraining her fury at the Valar.)

If Indis’ remaining daughter notices - and it’s possible she doesn’t, for when Miriel can spare a thought from her mate, it occurs to her that their eldest daughter looks like her spirit may be straining to reach the quiet numbness of the Halls - she says nothing. (What is there to say when Miriel is the one person who has made her mother smile since her father’s death?) 

It is only when Indis at long last begins to speak and move as a living elf rather than one half-dead that Miriel can cast her mind about for what to do. She had no mind to return to living in Tirion, not when the King’s House was nothing but pain to Indis, and even her own workshop was a quiet reproach, taken up as it was with the work of a grandson she has never met.

That was what gave her the idea. Her talent was unparalleled among the elves, and it had long been said that the only one who surpassed her was Vairë...

“But why do you wish to enter my service?” the Valie asked, as uneasy as Miriel has even seen one of them since the ruling on her marriage.

“You record the story of the world,” Miriel replied steadily. “If I cannot know my children and their children, I would at least know their deeds.”

She silently surveyed the Weaver’s discomfort - and through her, that of her mate the Judge. Had the Valar never before had to face the consequences of their own decrees?

If she did not often enjoy her work - so little joy, so many tears - at least she got to know her children and grandchildren, and was able to tell Indis, however belatedly, how they were faring on the Shores they had foolishly left behind so long ago.

[elrondsscribe]

The Seventh Avenger: Chapter 1

Nothing here's mine, of course. Tolkien and Marvel Studios own it all.

April 21, 2012

Glorfindel let himself into his apartment and hung up his keys on the rack next to the door. He set his phone down on the counter by the sink, opened the dishwasher to retrieve a clean glass, and retrieved an open jug of distilled water from the refrigerator. He drank deeply, the cool water soothing his dry throat.

He had been running, partly because it was a beautiful day but mostly because he'd needed the exercise to loosen himself up for the day's exercise routines. Now that his profession was so demandingly physical, he had to take better and more intentional care of his body than he'd had to in a few centuries. He quite relished the challenge.

He was just about to go for a much-needed shower when his senses belatedly went on the alert. He stiffened, and looked around.

Someone uninvited was in the house - was in fact in the next room, which was the living room. A tall, completely bald black man with a patch over his left eye was sitting comfortably on the couch holding a book. "You know, I used to love fantasy novels when I was in high school," he said conversationally. "Maybe that's why I still believe in heroes."

Glorfindel could honestly say that he had not had a genuine surprise like this for a solid decade. "Should I know you?" he asked suspiciously.

"You don't?" The man with the patch finally looked up and turned his head so that he was facing Glorfindel directly. "I'm surprised. Didn't you save my ungrateful ass from, to quote you directly, 'a Houseless in service to the Enemy' near forty-three years ago?"

And then Glorfindel remembered the lean, long-limbed boy who had come within an inch of death and worse that hot summer night. "You are Nicholas Fury," he said, and cocked his head. "I didn't recognize you at first; you've changed much since then."

The Man Nicholas Fury looked gave him a searching look. "You haven't."

Glorfindel's mouth tightened. "Is there a reason you are here, Mr. Fury?" he asked sharply.

But the Man smiled. "Now we're getting somewhere," he said, and he shut the book and turned the cover toward Glorfindel. "I'm now the director of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division, or SHIELD."

Glorfindel tensed, and wondered briefly if now after all these years he would be exposed. "What is SHIELD?" he asked warily.

Fury tucked the (rather large) book he'd been reading under his arm and got up. As he came into the kitchen Glorfindel saw that he was also holding a folder. "SHIELD is an international extra-governmental counter-terrorism intelligence agency," he said. "Our focus is on protection - specifically, protecting the world from alter-natural threats, and from alter-natural secrets they're not ready to hear yet."

And with these words he swept the book from under his arm and laid it on the kitchen table, and its title, The Lord of the Rings: One Volume, gleamed in large gold letters.

Glorfindel stared at the book and pursed his lips, trying to hide his unease. "Secrets people aren't ready to hear?" he asked. "This work -" he pointed to the book. "- is known the world over - been translated into heaven only knows how many languages."

"It's even been made into a motion picture," said Fury. "You probably already know there's another one scheduled to come out in November."

"That's the point," said Glorfindel. "Hobbits and Elves and Dwarves are popular everywhere -"

"Isn't that convenient," rumbled Fury.

Glorfindel became silent. He couldn't afford vehement denial.

"Then, on the other hand, maybe not," Fury went on. "See, a little while back, I remembered what you said to me that night. I started doing a little research - Fellowship, Silmarilllion, Unfinished Tales, Book of Lost Tales, Peoples of Middle-Earth. Hell, I even went through online forums and fan articles. I had a theory, see, based on what you said."

Glorfindel gritted his teeth.

"Like I said, I did some digging," said Fury. "And I found this story about an Elf called Glorfindel. He came back from the dead and was sent back to Middle-Earth as an emissary of the Valar, like Gandalf was later on. Glorfindel, I hear, was an extraordinary warrior, but he was even more than that. He could send Sauron's most terrifying minions running like a bunch of dormice just by showing up."

In spite of his worries, Glorfindel found his lips curling. "I wouldn't quite say that," he hedged.

"Too humble?" asked Fury with a smirk. "Not surprised."

Caught. Red-handed.

"Is there something in particular you need?" snapped Glorfindel.

"Well, I'm here for two things," said Fury. "The first one you already took care of - admitting to, you know, that." He gestured to the large volume. "You haven't been nearly as careful as you should about trying to protect your secret."

Glorfindel gulped. "What do you mean?"

Fury opened his folder, and began drawing papers and photos from it one by one. "Taylor Alexander, principal dancer with the New York City Ballet for three years, been with the company for ten. Laurence Matthews, flute teacher in Maryland for twenty-eight years until a fatal car accident in 1971. Adam Bartlett, promising intelligence agent during the Second World War, killed in action in 1943. Jonathan Davis, professional photographer that went down with the Titanic after nearly thirty years in business. Rare photo of Samuel McCarson, famed abolitionist and post-war Reconstruction activist, killed in a riot in 1875 - you have no idea how many strings I had to pull to get that one -"

Glorfindel felt his heart come into his mouth as all his last aliases were displayed one by one.

"- and those are just the identities we have photos for," Fury went on. "We've got painted portraits of a Bernard Mandeville, a Herman John Walker, a Raymond Vandeleur, and a Charles Williamson. I won't bore you with the entire list, but you get the idea, right?"

Glorfindel's jaw was tight. "What do you want from me?"

"What do I want from you?" Fury shook his head. "No, that's not the question here. The question here is, what do you want from me? See, there aren't too many people even in the intelligence community who know about all this -" he pointed to all the photos and documents on the table. "But when it comes to secrets, two's plenty and three's a crowd. You dig what I'm getting at?"

And just like that, when he'd thought things couldn't get worse, they'd worsened. "You're not the only one who's guessed about me, have you?" asked Glorfindel.

"I'm willing to bet I'm not," said Fury. "So here's the deal: I can make you disappear from every record about you that exists - SHIELD's good like that. Nobody'll ever find you - or any others of your kind, I might add -" Glorfindel let out a small groan. "- the way I did."

"Should have known I wouldn't be the only one," sighed the Elf, rubbing his neck again. "What's the catch? And don't play coy with me, I know there's a catch."

"Not a catch, per se," said Fury, his single visible eye gleaming in amusement. "Just a favor I'd like to ask, which you're actually free to turn down if you really want to. I do owe you that."

"What's the favor?" asked Glorfindel.

Without a word, the Man laid down the folder and turned it toward Glorfindel, who raised his eyebrows at the title, printed in large black letters under a logo designed like an eagle. "The Avengers Initiative?"

"Call me an idealist," Fury's expression was enigmatic. "Earth's mightiest heroes, coming together to fight the battles we couldn't."

Glorfindel opened the folder, and his jaw fell. "These are your other candidates?"

Fury's smile was shark-like. "You got an idea, now, what I'm asking you for?"

A slow grin spread across the Elf's face. He looked back up at Fury. "If I agree to this, may I ask a small favor of you?"

April 21, 2012

A bright yellow sun with eight rays set inside a larger circle of deep forest green glowed on Fury's office wall.

"So he actually wants to use the original Golden Flower device?" asked Agent Maria Hill, gazing at the icon.

"He said he was ready to 'step out of the shadows'," said Fury. "Thought it was 'time for the age of marvels to begin.'" His tone turned mocking at the last words.

Hill was not fooled. "You're enjoying everything about this, aren't you?" she asked, arching her eyebrows at her superior.

Fury's single eye glinted. "Maybe. Get the thing put on a suit of armor."

Hill took a look at the numbers underneath the image. "A suit of armor for a seven-foot-two creature out of an adventure novel. Should I put in an order a sword?"

"What else would he use?" snorted her superior.

She shook her head. "You know the Council wouldn't be happy to hear you're still working on Phase One."

Fury fixed his eye on Hill. "Sure they wouldn't, if they knew jack about it."

[From the classified personal file of Director Nicholas J. Fury]

May 1: Destruction of Project PEGASUS; arrival of hostile Asgardian force identified as Loki; brainwashing of unknown number of PEGASUS participants including Agent Barton and Dr. Erik Selvig.

May 2: Reactivation of Phase One: Avengers Initiative - call in and brief the following candidates: Captain Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, Dr. Bruce Banner, and Laurëfindel/Glorfindel (alias Taylor Alexander).

"This is out of line, Director," said Councilman Malick sternly. "You're dealing with forces you can't hope to control."

"You ever been in a war, Councilman?" snapped Director Fury, gazing up at the group of screens in front of him in a virtual conference room. Each of the screens displayed a real-time image of a member of the World Security Council. "In a firefight? Did you feel an overabundance of control?"

"You saying that this Asgard declared war on our planet?" demanded the American Councilman.

"Not Asgard, Loki," corrected Fury.

"He can't be working alone," interjected Councilwoman Hawley, a representative from the United Kingdom. She was writing busily on a notepad. "What about the other one, his brother?"

"Our intelligence says Thor is not a hostile," said Fury. "But he's worlds away. We can't depend on him for help. It's up to us."

"Which is why you should be focusing on Phase Two," said Councilman Malick. "It was designed for exactly -"

"Phase Two isn't ready," Fury cut him off. "Our enemy is. We need a response team."

"The Avengers Initiative was shut down," Councilman Malick's voice held a hint of warning.

"This isn't about the Avengers," said Fury dismissively.

"We've seen the list," said Councilman Singh, arms folded.

"We're running the world's greatest security network," Councilman Malick leaned forward. "And you're going to leave the fate of the human race to a handful of freaks."

Fury's frown deepened. "I'm not leaving anything to anyone," he said emphatically. "We need a response team. These people may be isolated - unbalanced, even - but I believe with the right push they can be exactly what we need."

"You believe?" asked Councilwoman Hawley, with a smile that held no warmth.

"War isn't won by sentiment, Director," added Councilman Malick.

"No," said Fury, and his voice rang with conviction. "It's won by soldiers."

Yeah, this chapter was slow. And brief. Sorry. The next ones will make up for it, though I can't guarantee they'll come very quickly.

Couple things straight off the bat - in case you couldn't tell in the first chapter, I've made Glorfindel the focus of my story, not Legolas. He's a lot older, more powerful, and in my opinion more the Avenger type than Legolas (at least canon Legolas). He will also be by far the oldest Avenger.

Also, I referenced the real 2012 schedule for the NYCB to see what a real dancer in Glorfindel's position would have been doing at this point - which on this particular day is nothing, since the winter season ended February 26 and the spring season didn't begin until May 1. [Which means that Glorfindel will get the call to come in at a really bad time . . .]