#manwe x varda x eonwe | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cilil · 8 months

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Indeed, he was. Eönwë was a pretty thing with his azure eyes and messy, silvery blonde locks, looking so shy and innocent despite being hailed as the greatest warrior of the Maiar. His fána was shaped accordingly as well, tall, strong and agile, and Varda knew she was going to enjoy toying with him – and watching her husband do the same.

✦ ⁺ ‧ Day 3 ⁺ Manwë x Varda x Eönwë ✦ ⁺ ‧ Synopsis: Eönwë is in need of attention during mating season. Manwë and Varda decide to take care of him. ✦ ⁺ ‧ Featuring/prompts: Master/servant, D/s elements, threesome, authority kink, creampie, oral sex (female receiving), heat, avian Ainur* ✦ ⁺ ‧ Warnings: Smut; written as consensual, but just to be safe I'll say that some aspects of this could be read as slightly dub-con ✦ ⁺ ‧ Writer challenges fulfilled: 4, 5 Also available on AO3

AN: Here's my contribution for day 3 of @silmsmutweek. Enjoy ♡

"I see you have brought your dear herald with you."

Varda was lounging on her throne, fingers idly tapping the armrest when Manwë arrived with his favourite Maia in tow. She could already tell her husband had something in mind, luminous eyes observing how he stood closely behind a rather flustered and blushing Eönwë and how his hands rested on strong shoulders, rubbing them as if to soothe him, but she was going to let Manwë explain himself. Though, admittedly, she knew him well enough to guess, her lips quirking upwards in amusement as she spotted the faintest hint of excitement in the Vala's usual placid smile and watched how his fingertips seemed a little too eager to slide underneath Eönwë's tunic.

"I have," Manwë said, gently guiding the Maia until he stood in front of the throne while continuing his little massage. "Because I believe it would be cruel of me not to take care of my most beloved herald when he is in such dire need of companionship. Isn't that so, Eönwë?"

An uncharacteristically high-pitched whimper was the only response he received, and Varda noticed just how tense Eönwë was, now that he was in full view, though she wasn't entirely sure if he was ashamed, excited or a mixture of both.

Manwë, however, was relentless, in spite of his professed motivations. His hands squeezed his herald's shoulders, and he leaned closer. "Why don't you tell your queen what ails you so she may understand why you need our attention?"

Eönwë swallowed, seemingly fighting with himself, and his cheeks reddened. Yet despite his visible reluctance, he wasn't in the habit of refusing his lord, a rather endearing trait of his in Varda's opinion. "I... I am... a bit lonely at present, because I... require companionship due to... the season..."

"Mating season," Manwë supplied helpfully. He sounded almost *too* delighted upon making that statement.

"So he is in heat. And I am assuming it has been interfering with his duties."

Eönwë lowered his head in shame before his queen could look at him. Varda merely smiled to herself – whether he had been causing trouble or not was none of her concern. What mattered more to her was that her suspicions were now confirmed, and even though the conversation hadn't shifted to addressing this issue quite yet, she didn't need the divine foresight of a Valarin queen to know what her husband would propose as a solution. She watched Manwë trailing his hands down his herald's arms, his talons leaving faint red marks in their wake that hinted at his desires. Just this small taste of intimate touch had Eönwë shiver and bite his bottom lip to stop himself from giving a vocal response, still keeping his head down.

Once again, Varda decided to take control of her husband's games before her patience ran out.

"I take that as a yes," she stated, her tone cool and imperious, contrasting the growing smile on her face. "And now, he requires assistance."

"Indeed, he does," Manwë agreed, his arms wrapping around Eönwë's waist as his hands made their way to his lower body.

"Show me." Varda's order was directed at both of them. While Eönwë merely stiffened and remained silent, unsure what to do, Manwë pulled up his tunic with one hand to reveal his cock straining against his breeches, already hard and eager for attention. Once he deemed that his poor herald's state had been sufficiently put on display, he reached between his legs with his free hand to cup his groin, lightly massaging him through the fabric. Eönwë began to rut against his palm, his need finally overcoming his shame, and Varda allowed the scene to unfold for a while.

Oh, they were going to enjoy this.

"Prepare him," she finally told Manwë. "He's yours to take, but I want him to pleasure me while you do."

"As you wish. Where do you want him?"

"In our chambers, on the bed. I trust he knows how to behave and present himself properly."

"He does. And he promised to be good."

With that, Manwë whisked Eönwë away to their chambers, Varda following closely behind. He wasted no time undressing their new toy, much to the relief of the flustered Maia who seemed close to overheating, sighing in relief as cool air caressed his skin. Content to leave her husband to do the rest, Varda placed two fingers on Eönwë's lips, pushing until he granted entrance, and began playing with his tongue to entice him to lick and suck on her fingers.

"You will put your mouth to good use," she ordered. Whether he knew what to make of that or not wasn't entirely clear – a faint whimper was all she got in response – but she was certain he knew at least what she wanted him to do. Pleasuring the queen was a privilege, everyone knew, and one granted to only a select few she deemed worthy and who received Manwë's blessing – though of course he wouldn't dare to deny Varda anything she desired.

With the grace and elegance befitting the Lady of Light, she made herself comfortable on the bed, leaning against a heap of pillows and spreading her legs. A quick tap on the mattress was enough to signal Eönwë to follow suit, and he knelt down in front of her with his head lowered and his wings fanned out. Ready to be mounted. She could hear Manwë's thoughts through their bond and laughed lightly.

She pulled up her skirt and beckoned him closer before placing her hand on his head to push him down, guiding him between her legs. Eönwë seemed to understand what was required of him, though the way he tentatively began licking his queen revealed that he wasn't too experienced. Graciously, Varda decided to be patient with him and watched Manwë joining them instead, feathers rustling softly as he knelt down behind his herald.

It was then that she decided to reach out to him in spirit and see through his eyes instead, moaning when she was met with the wonderful sight of his hands kneading Eönwë's backside and spreading him open for their shared viewing pleasure. His cock had been hard already, and now his hole was beginning to glisten with wetness as he realised what would be required of him. Merciful as Manwë was – though Varda could feel his impatience – he still produced a vial of oil from the depths of his robes and poured a generous amount on his fingers to swiftly prepare his Maia.

She smiled to herself, tightening her grip on Eönwë's hair to remind him of his duty while he was trembling between the two Valar, trying his best to serve his queen. His resolve would be tested, she knew – with every movement of Manwë's hand she could feel just how tight he was and how desperately his muscles clenched around the fingers inside him. Varda was almost tempted to fuck the heat out of this poor Maia herself, but she was going to let her husband have him first; after all, this one belonged to him.

Manwë saved himself the trouble of asking if he was ready, deciding that Eönwë had better things to do with his mouth. Swiftly, he removed his robes and pushed into the tight heat that awaited him so eagerly, causing his herald to cry out in pleasure.

"He feels so good." The thought sent a shudder of bliss through Varda as well, and she threw her head back with a long, drawn-out moan, encouraging Eönwë to continue in spite of the vigorous pounding he was now being subjected to. She could feel the vibrations of his muffled voice deep within her core, adding to the pleasure of his tongue servicing her to the best of his ability.

And as if their precious toy wasn't already delightful enough in his helpless rapture, Eönwë was also the first to climax, staining the sheets underneath – even though his cock remained untouched.

His need must have been great. Varda smiled to herself. But by the time we are done with him, he shall be satisfied.

Obedient as he was, Eönwë continued to pleasure her despite being shaken by the force of his orgasm and Manwë's movements alike, fucking him through without respite. Varda focused on the tension within herself, feeling her own release approaching, but she forced herself to be patient; for this greatest of all rewards, both her husband and his heroic herald would have to continue to work.

Thus the Queen of Stars lay back and enjoyed herself, watching Manwë relentlessly chase his own pleasure until his harsh thrusts forced another orgasm out of Eönwë and he finally found his own; only then did she let go and allowed the Maia's diligent tongue to complete its task. Varda's climax was silent, safe for a long, content sigh falling from her lips. Her fána tensed up for a moment and the constellations on her midnight blue skin glowed, then she gingerly patted Eönwë's head as a sign of dismissal.

"Do you feel better now, dearest?" Manwë reached around the exhausted Maia, cupping his chin to lift and turn his head so he could have a look at him.

Eönwë was a sight to behold, his eyes glossy with bliss, his lips dripping with Varda's essence, his hair messy from being tugged on by her hand. Before he could attempt to respond, he was embraced from behind and pulled onto his lap, the still-hardened cock of his lord settling snugly between his muscular thighs.

"I think you should stay for a while longer so we can make sure of it," Manwë cooed, his intentions more than obvious despite his gentle tone.

"You may keep him warm tonight, but you may not have him all to yourself," Varda said warningly, a devious smile on her lips. She hadn't forgotten that wonderful tightness her husband had so thoroughly enjoyed, and all it would take was a mere thought to alter her fána so she could experience it herself. "I may have need of him as well."

{*If you're curious about my headcanons for that, please refer to this post.} If you enjoyed, please consider liking and reblogging!♡

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and-the-stars-collided · 1 year

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Ainur as Aesthetics:

Melkor — eye-rolls, either sleep for the week or sleep is for the weak, great music taste, extremely passionate, smarter than you'd think, abandoned cities, alcohol, doesn't care about opinions, midnight hours, black coffee, hates humanity, cold hands, barely-there eyeliner, sharp smiles, lace-up boots, doesn't like to be told what to do, anger so blinding that you forget where and who you are, staring at the mirror until your features start to disappear, bad decisions, their words can hit you like a gunshot, the chilling sensation of metal on your skin, sharp claws ready to slash anyone they encounter, shattered antique mirrors, long dark scarves, dark and tousled hair, swallowing hard, a little broken.

Manwë — pale white snow, red cheeks, dried flowers that used to be the colour of the sun, quiet half-smiles, sunlight coming through an open window in the morning, hair tucked behind ears, gives the most thoughtful gifts, always neat, sparkly jewellery, beautiful poetry, comforting hugs, light footsteps, kisses on cheeks, a laugh like wind chimes, thunderstorms that you feel in your chest, intelligent eyes, collector of small objects, windswept hair, loves their friends with almost an unhealthy amount of loyalty, the colour of the sky at dusk, a crisp autumn breeze, soft hair, gold-flecked souls, the one who is there for you even when you think you don't need them, singing under their breath, smiles as the rain falls down and laughs as their hair lifts in the breeze.

Varda — cracked spines of leather-bound classics, sharing pieces of your soul with the world, starting revolutions with simple words, rosewater, cherry blossom petals floating through the wind, making promises, midnight conversations, writing into abysmal nothingness, stargazing, knowing smiles, doesn't open up easily, soft skin, crystals, a night where the clouds hide the moon, stories swirling in your mind, cursive letters, piercing eyes, whispers filled with secrets, studying things that do not exist, bright flashes of light outside your window, silk bedsheets, mysterious, handwritten notes, stays up so late it's early, plays quiet music for ambiance, fingertips stained with ink.

Ulmo — bodies full of stories, a will that ebbs and flows, lazy smiles, no real devotion to anything but existence itself, wordless lullabies, glassy blue eyes, moves with grace and rhythm, late night swims, blue tie dyed sheets, flowing outfits, the rough ocean at night, tall waves and bitter winds, salty hair, long limbs, kind of sad and tired but you've never see them cry, goes with the flow, quiet voice but loud meaning, walks with purpose, always looks their best, very kind and giving, seashells, loud laughter, perfect posture, habit of overthinking, bare feet, ice-cold lemonade, laying on the ground to soak up the sun, sand in the air, intricate designs, high ceilings, dim lights, bitten nails.

Aule — confident, likes to perform, acts cool but is secretly emotional underneath, bold/dark colours, loves challenges, gets mad and forgives just as quickly, wouldn't change for anyone, laughing so loudly that strangers stare at you, running around like crazy person with your lover, compliments a stranger's crazy hair colour and feeling so good when they smile, unhealthy amounts of candy, fiery red sunsets, getting back up after being knocked down, they know that their friends are right behind them wherever they go, the burn in your lungs after chasing something you'll never be able to catch, always does their own thing.

Yavanna — warm days, soft smiles, making sure everyone is happy, walking barefoot, falling asleep in the sun, wishes everyone would be kinder, mugs of too-sweet tea, the person who screams don't kill the spider, adores animals, covered in freckles, one can never quite tell exactly what their eye colour is, pointing to the stars as they peek out from behind the clouds, large yawns early in the morning, a question left unanswered, honey, one hand catching another, tea that is swallowed for its warmth and not the taste, faded patterns on well-loved t-shirts, dew beading on flower petals, the imprints tight socks leave behind, wanderlust's yearning pull.

Orome — long hair, loves nature and animals, mist, sharp features, dirt under their fingernails, very down to earth, always willing to help, the strong friend, always has new, interesting facts to tell, tough as all hell, doesn't love easily but always loves deeply, walking barefoot everywhere, wildflowers threaded into messy braids, laying in the afternoon sun, big adventures, crisp air, deeply opinionated, climbing the tallest trees around, muddy feet, toothy smiles, accepting of everyone, follows their own path, stargazing off mountain cliffs, running through tall grass, folklore stories of fairies and dragons, a child at heart.

Nienna — honeyed and sulky dark summers, pomegranates, thunderstorms, magnolias, unkept promises, cinematic and shadowy, existing in a trance of melancholy, feels passionately though feigns detachment, slightly off-putting, their presence is announced but even if it wasn't you'd still know they were there, constantly underestimated, desperately afraid of silence, red-rimmed eyes, always appears serene, broken handwriting, short hair, foxes, dead leaves, large coats and scarves, numb fingers, old stone walls, steaming black tea, tears, gazing at a past lover down the hall, the smell before rain, old songs, nostalgia.

Námo — set features, eyes the color of dead souls, candles melting wax atop a piano, tragic smiles, an inexplicable sense of sharpness, hot tears, decaying cores, irreversible tornadoes, infectious whispers, heart is always pounding, doesn't like to be seen, nightmares, dark circles under their eyes that they can't hide, doesn't know their limits, slightly self-destructive, the silent one, bitter coffee, quiet observation, black eyeshadow, knows a bit of everything, no-nonsense, cold fingers and colder gazes, being misunderstood, sitting alone in a hard wood chair late at night, dead roses, losing a loved one too soon, moss covering broken gravestones, shattered glass, the taste of melancholy.

Irmo — glows when they talk, dewy eyes, radiates with a blessing from the sun, gentle hands, dandelions, white clouds, the shy warmth of the first days of spring, afternoon naps, soft pillows, carefree laughter, fields of reeds, basking in the moonlight, flower crowns, sunbathing in creeks, gloriously alive, hours among the leaves, kind soul, often lost in their own thoughts, nights spent watching the river, dancing in a circle, holding hands, soft clothes, sun kissed skin, always listening to music, either works too hard or not at all, warm smiles, dancing in the rain, catching fireflies, wanting to do everything and nothing all at once, innocent hope, paper stars in glass jars, bittersweet goodbyes, looking for beauty in everything, water-coloured skies.

Estë — dried orange garlands, snow on green tiled roofs, a bit in love, quills dipped in metallic ink, daydreaming, angelic singing, very fond of cuddling, homemade bread, constantly buying gifts for people, talkative, will hold your hand whenever and wherever, friends with almost everyone, convinced that sleeping at 10pm is late, strawberry ice cream, calming eyes, telling old stories, rosy cheeks, wanting the best for everyone, sunrises, loves nature, passionate about dreams, self-made flower crowns, will stay up late to comfort you, unexpected hugs from the back, not afraid to tell people they love them, humble.

Vairë — silver knitting needles, velvet skies filled with twinkling stars, red embroidery thread, hot black tea with spoonfuls of sugar, ballet shoes, hearts carved in birch bark, denim jackets, distant bells, foxgloves, rain moving over hills, cheek caresses, a bedroom left alone, walking in the mud and rain at dusk, resisting change, dead ends, unspoken feelings, finally coming home, looking up at the stars in hope of something more, simultaneously brimming with hope and lifeless, wiling the hours away, staring at the ceiling, wanting to write but not knowing the words, hiding from the world, afraid of the future, a sense of dread.

Vána — soft features, the smell of lavender, long walks in the sunshine, singing in a choir, sincere laughter, pastel colours, reading poetry aloud, baking cookies and sharing it with friends, kind gestures, painting on random objects, flower print clothes, lacy socks, handwritten love letters, forgiving people, graceful movements, writing poetry, roses, standing up for those who can't defend themselves, walks through nature, positivity, white lace, long hair, very graceful, always there for you, nostalgia of a time that you never knew, undeniably beautiful, the sweet breeze of a spring morning, slowing drifting off while laying on a green meadow, calm and collected, the best friend you could ask for.

Tulkas — loud laughter, hammocks, doesn't know when to stop, can't sleep, jacket with so many fixed holes it has been reduced to patchwork, flashing smiles, living on the edge, free spirit that will rip you to shreds if you dare to try and tame it, bloody knuckles, the moments of silence after a loud screaming match, riding into the sunset, dogs barking in the distance, the smell of fire on the air, running from person to person, unbridled chaos, aimless wandering, on the verge of greatness, call of the void, empty avenues, walking between worlds, wanting to hold the planets, melancholy nights, seeing things that aren't really there, wishing for more, overgrown unkempt gardens, bright colours against dark greens, tripping up on vines and logs, scraped knees.

Nessa — can go from laughing to serious fast if necessary, little bits of dark humour, staying up late, they do the little eyebrow thing when they get insulted, doodles, everybody else thinks they have friends but they don’t, red lipstick, lively, can be implosive, forgotten, mood swings like crazy, but very calm when they are happy, regrets decisions they made in the past, affectionately called a little brat, out until late in the afternoon of the next day, does not let anyone kill their vibe, seeing their escape in a person, the echo of your own steps on a tile floor, the sensation of being the only one left, a way that seems to have no end.

Eönwë — intimidating, has a soft side but only a few people see it, loves the forest, natural beauty, combat boots, deep thinker, false formality, a chord of music that breaks the silence, clouds rolling in, doesn't get angry but instead just fucking glares at you until you crumble, loves thunderstorms, mind like caverns, hands like stone, to hold or to hurt, heavy irises, earthquake tempers, unrequited love, soft voice, they know you whether you know them or not, lingering touches, people watching, the smell of old books and rain, faint music in the distance, won't let others break their friend's hearts, clearing their throat as a type of warning, moral righteousness, faith in humanity, towering buildings.

Mairon — sarcastic comments with a smile, glares that could kill, speaking in such a pretentious way that no one even understands you, obsession over studies, being a good person but getting corrupted, setting fire to the city, eyes like flames, heeled boots, soft aching hands buried in messy hair, ancient ruins, cups of tea gone cold, flawless eyeliner, impulsive decisions, false pretences, sickly sweet smiles, daunting realisations, masquerade masks, too stubborn to admit their regrets, waking up from a nightmare, hands cold to the bone, chest pains, the sharp cold of winter, rotting apples, dark circles under the eyes from not sleeping for days, hands stripped from over-washing.

So! Still trying to work out my masterlist and first few posts I have pre-written. In the meantime, please enjoy this messy aesthetic thingy.

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lamemaster · 1 year

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Love That Writes My Doom

Wordcount: 6.3 k

Genre: tragic romance

Pairing: Eonwe x OC

Summary: While most Valar had tangible elements there were some who held abstract domains. Nienna shed her tears that carried sympathy for all, Nessa danced with youth, and Irmo provided healing, so it was not surprising but why would there be a Maia for lust?

Note: sorry this is kinda long but I did not want to split into chapters because this was word building practice for me.

It had been a long time since the trees of Telperion and Laurelin had been withered by the hands of Melkor. Since then, Anar and Ithil had emerged to grace the skies of Elbereth. Even though the passage of time had been a vague concept to the Ainur, it had not gone unnoticed. Months, years, decades, ages grated on their sense of restlessness.

Even the surreal gardens of Lórien did little to quench the yearning for the halls they had once been mere thoughts of Illuvatar. Nevertheless, silver lakes and trees that lulled everyone present into a peaceful mood were a source of healing to many.

Long ago these gardens had hosted the roots of Telperion. Dimly lit halls of Irmo were surrounded by trees that were nurtured by the dew of Telperion during its wake. Enchanted by gifts of Aule’s mist and Yavanna’s poppies, Lórien brought joy to aggrieved hearts.

Ulmo, who was seldom found outside of his seas and oceans, too cherished the gardens that were devoid of noise that lingered throughout Arda. The Vala of water visited Irmo to find solace when the burdens of Arda grew heavy on his shoulders.

Nightingales sang a mellow tune, in a tone that rang of acceptance of the past and hope for the future. Such songs were loved by Quendi who came here after the Halls of Mandos.

However, all the peace and quiet was lost to Eönwë. He wandered the gardens aimlessly. These songs were a reminder of the past that he had to forget and let go of.

The Valar had gathered for the festival of spring. Maiar from all over the Valinor had come over to witness Yavanna’s blessings. Some came in their chosen hroa whereas others drifted formlessly. The Valar rested by the shimmering fountains as they reminisced about their days of creation.

Eönwë had been dismissed by his Vala. He had been trailing after Manwe and Varda when his Vala had turned to face him and urged him to relax while enjoying the sights Lórien offered. He had bowed his head and accepted it. He had already made a choice and the choice had been his Vala. He would stand by it no matter what it cost him.

But now as he roamed alone, he could help but be mournful. His anticipation had worn off long ago. It was clear that she would not be coming. The gardens of Lórien were brimming were Ainur yet, the one he desired the most was nowhere to be found. He had never experienced such solitude before.

Coming to existence was a blur even to Eönwë. He had felt the warmth of Illuvatar’s conscience in the first few moments of his coming to life. Then in the next instant he had for the first time met Manwe. The purpose of his being came to him in those few minutes. He was the herald of the Valar and the Chief of the Maiar. Great deeds of valor were written in his song, and he had embraced it from the very beginning.

For ages, he served his Vala, Manwe. Next to his master, he had witnessed joy, peace, contentment, and sorrow. He experienced love, anger, care, and most of all the fulfillment of his purpose. Manwe and Elbereth had been kind to him. In Arda, where the music shaped everything, he had found solace in the rulers of the entire world. Estrangement from Illuvatar was made easier by all the affection the King and Queen of Arda had showered on him.

But as he walked Irmo’s halls he could help but ponder about the only one who had evaded the feast. Isolated and aggrieved, would her heart be swayed by the same dark that had clutched Melkor’s essence? She had every right to resent the Blessed Realm that was a solace to many. A resentment well earned by the entire kingdom.

An abrupt fear grappled Eönwë’s mind. Had not everyone in Valinor expected that of her already? It would prove everyone correct. Most of all his Vala. A cruel song that did not waver from its path. Was her fall part of the song etched into Arda’s fate in the first place? She had evaded it once but how long would she hold the weight of everyone’s scrutiny? If so, then that fall would drag him with her. End of him and her…it would be fitting.

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Years ago, they had met for the first time. It was miraculous that despite existing thoughts of the same being they had been ignorant of each other. At least he had been. He had not seen her before that day. In fact, he had assumed her to be one of the newer Ainur.

It had been a gathering in Vana’s fields. The quendi had all come for Oromë’s hunts whereas the Valar had met to witness the merriment of their subjects. He had accompanied Manwe, Varda, and Ilmarë. It was pleasant to forget the wounds left behind by the marring of Arda.

Unlike most feasts and banquets of Valinor, the gatherings hosted by Vana and Oromë were quite… tempestuous to say the least. Away from Aule’s creations and marbled halls of Taniquetil, Vana hosted a celebration in valleys of flowers that bloomed with Yavanna’s powers.

Luminescent moss covered the ground to form the softest carpet. Trees rejuvenated and huddled together to make a thick canopy that shielded from cold winds but left Varda’s sky viewable during the night. During such celebrations, even the Valar indulged in food and drinks well-loved the Quendi.

Oromë’s horn could be heard throughout the woods as the game of hunt was initiated. While quendi and some Maiar competed in the hunt, the rest stayed back in Vana’s company.

Music flowed freely and it would be a task of utmost depravity to look away from Nessa’s dance that blessed the land. The strain of ages vanished when Vana and Nessa danced. Nessa’s powers gave life and revitalized anyone who bore witness to her dance. The dance, which soon was joined by her Maia, then some quendi ventured in, and soon even ever mellow Nienna had a slight smile on her face. Maybe at that moment, her tears were of joy.

All this Eönwë watched from a distance. He had been accompanied by Ilmarë who had just been dragged into dancing by one of the Maia of Yavanna. He was watching them all dance and for a moment it was easy to imagine that they had all played their part in the song, Arda’s music had been finished and they were back in The Timeless Hall of their father.

His eyes had lost focus and somehow, he found himself plopped on the ground with his back resting by a tree. All the voices and sounds had dulled into nothingness and the dark sky was all he could see. Dancing Maiar were blobs of color his eyes refused to focus on. It was not fatigue but the nothingness of the moment that made him so calm. Everything dulled and he wondered if he could feel Illuvatar, the way Manwe did. Maybe if he tried harder, he could catch a glimpse of the music that made up the One.

His unfocused eyes were stilling when they landed on a figure. A Maia. The music…sudden jolt back into Arda pulled him from his daze. He had first seen her just when he thought he had felt a whisp of the One.

Cascading long black hair that blending into the dark sky. Glimmering silver eyes that were different from the gray stormy eyes of the Noldor. They were brighter, sharper, and ancient. If he had focused more at the moment, he would have noticed the way the crowd parted around her, singling her out as if something untouchable and despicable marred her being.

However, at that moment he did not care for anything else. His world had narrowed to her. She, who smiled despite the sly looks thrown her way. Swaying like tall blades of grass dancing to the song of the wind, she moved with an aura of carelessness and freedom. Her arms swung around idly, uncaring of all who cringed from coming in contact with her.

Surrounded by envious glares but undivided attention she twirled ignoring all who pierced her with hawk-like stares. One of those gazes was Eönwë’s. He could not help but stare. He had never seen her before. Dressed in black with a sea full of Ainur and Quendi dressed in pale blue and green robes, it was difficult not to notice.

The air surrounding them had shifted. If Eönwë had been more aware of his surroundings he would have noticed the sudden quiet of the Valar who had earlier been humming to Vana’s tune. Even the nightingales who followed Irmo had silenced their song.

This effect had not gone unnoticed by the source of it. She had known of it even before stepping into the celebration. Yet, she had dared. She had dared to come and test the residents of the blessed realm. She had scoffed at the obvious contempt and scorn thrown her way. It was all expected…

But then their eyes met. Eönwë, the herald of Maiar was staring at her. Unlike the rest, his gaze held none of the judgment that other’s eyes had carried. It was innocent and full of curiosity. His eyes were glazed with a dazed look and for a moment she wondered if he truly had been looking at her.

Mailë, she had whispered her name in his mind and that had broken Eönwë’s reverie. Then as if with a snap of fingers that music started again, and noise filled the quiet from minutes ago. Mailë…Eönwë said the name out loud in his mind and then as if hearing her name being said the Maia smiled towards his way.

Her smile was sharp just like her gaze. Everything revolving around seemed to carry biting edges. Some would call it cunning or scheming but it did not feel malicious. Eönwë had witnessed the viciousness of Morgoth and his spawns. They carried within them a sense of brutality that she did not have. There was no malintent there, he knew that.

He wanted to know…he wanted to find out more about her who seemed to live indifferent to the world around her. Despite the voice of caution, he wanted to dive right into the hidden fea behind eyes that mirrored Telperion.

“Don’t go near her,” his step flattered as he felt a tug on his arm. It was Andate, a Maia under his wing. Andate had been younger, it hadn’t been long since he had honed a hroa. Eönwë and Ilmarë had found themselves quite taken by the curiosity of the Maia who had once been a dove in the ponds of Taniquetil.

Before Eönwë could caution him to speak carefully. It was quite rude to speak- “she’s the Maia of lust,” Andate had whispered much quieter than his last words.

Lust… Eönwë had not known of it. He had heard of Melkor succumbing to it, Mairon falling for it, but he had not known of its existence.

While most Valar had tangible elements there were some who held abstract domains. Nienna shed her tears that carried sympathy for all, Nessa danced with youth, and Irmo provided healing, so it was not surprising but why would there be a Maia for lust?

Nothing good came out of it. Many had fallen blinded by it. So, what was the reason for its song’s existence?

“I’ve heard she serves no Valar,” Andate now communicated telepathically as they walked around the woods. Eönwë had lost sight of Mailë when he had been distracted by the fluttering dove by his side.

“Some say she served Melkor but even he failed to overpower her. Stay away from her Eönwë. It is said that she can influence anyone to fall under her spell,” it seemed unlikely that Mailë would care enough to lay spells on anyone, but Eönwë let Andate talk his mind.

He had nodded in assent and found a very pleased Andate. The prospect of saving his senior from the scheming Maia seemed to have puffed the dove’s feathers.

Eönwë had thought that to be the end of the topic yet, it had not been it. He had been caressing the tired nightingales and sparrows when he met her again. With one nightingale in his hands, one each on both his shoulders and one on his head he had stumbled upon Mailë who turned around just in time to witness the party of birds heading her way.

“Pfft-” she barely held in her laugh, “tucking in your dear fellows?” Some impression the herald of the Valar had made on her. Looking at the startled birds and Eönwë with equally wide-open eyes she struggled to maintain her suave smile. The sight in front of her eyes threatened to crack her unmoved façade.

From what she could see one of the birds on Eönwë’s head had tugged his hair quite painfully in its claw.

“Here…let me just,” she tried to pull away the still bird who held Eönwë’s hair without letting it go. All five of the birds, including Eönwë, stilled, unmoving as she extracted the one who ended to rip Eönwë’s scalp off. Ripping the stubborn bird off she had tried, to the best of her abilities, to fix Eönwë’s messed up braids.

Eönwë could not believe that he had walked in front of the Maia of lust in the silliest possible way. Now that he looked at Ólsónd, who now sat frozen in Mailë hands, he believed it served the bird right for trying to uproot all his hair and almost making him screech in front of another Ainur.

“Are you seeing them off to their nest?” Mailë asked again and Eönwë realized how awkwardly quiet he had been. Well for his part he was trying not to yank the stupid bird in her hands. For some weird reason, Ólsónd let out the shrillest chirps as the other Maia pet its feathers. He could feel the wandering eyes of the other birds who were very much staying on him.

“Ah! Yes,” seeing the approaching nests Eönwë rashly put the bird in his hands in its nest. “Here we are,” he turned to Ólsónd, “his nest is here.” He took a reluctant Ólsónd from Mailë and put him in his nest. One second more of him and Eönwë would have physically closed its beak.

“Rest well,” it was good that Mailë could not see Eönwë’s gleeful expression in return for Ólsónd’s offended squeak. Then with equal enthusiasm, he tucked the rest of his companions.

“What do you-”

“I’ll leave-”

Eönwë cut off his sentence as he saw Mailë do that as well. He did not want her to leave. Not yet. So, he tried again.

“You can-”

“Go ahead-”

They both paused. The quiet making things even more embarrassing between them. It was a scary possibility that they would end up speaking at the same time again. Before any one of them could take the step to speak up an indignant squeak from Ólsónd the sparrow interrupted them.

“Hah,” Mailë gently covered her mouth as her shoulders shook with slight tremors. Giving up on whatever semblance she held on to, she let go of her hand and felt waves of laughter rock her body. It had been long…so long since she had laughed.

The laugh he heard was different from the smug smile in the clearing. Her eyes no longer carried the challenging look that scared many. As if a veil had been lifted to reveal a totally different painting than what she had painted for others.

Eönwë was fascinated. Lust as it seemed was not all that unfeeling after all. Soon he found himself joining in with his own giggles growing wilder. And no later than 5 minutes he found himself laughing manically with a Maia he had never met before that night. Whenever one of them tried to reel in their laugh watching the other one sent them into another fit.

What was this gleeful sense of joy? Why did it feel so freeing to laugh with someone who had not existed in his world a few hours ago? He had always been a herald, a chief, reliable, dependable, clear-headed but never was he just Eönwë.

Being with Mailë, who was just Mailë and nothing less or nothing more, he felt he could be just Eönwë for those few moments. Weight of Arda, the loud of music around them, duties, and expectations dulled into background noise.

That night no one noticed Eönwë’s absence from the clearing. None would have cared for Mailë anyway. The world went on without them and for once they were grateful. It was liberating to not be a part of it for some stolen instances.

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“What is lust?” Eönwë tilted his head mirroring his interest. “Tell me what is it? Evil or good? Or a grey area in the middle of both?”

“Hmm,” no one had asked her that before. Holding a conversation with someone was new. Someone who did not aim to belittle her or use precious words to express their disgust. It should have scared her to talk to someone like the Maia next to her, but it didn’t. What scared her more was the impending silence that waited after he left.

“When I first gained conscience, I had felt others like me around. Maiar who had sung darker songs. Though they were all gone with Melkor. I have not heard of them since then.” Maybe she was resented by others because she resisted the fall she was supposed to experience. It made sense the blessed lands were not supposed to house the likes of her, she wondered. “As you know Arda in its primal form is destined to be marred. For its song to come to fruition the Children of Illuvatar must go through their trials. We formed those trials. Others who fell have come to play their part… and I too have done whatever fate had in store for me.”

“So, to answer your questions. I do not know if my song is good or evil. What I know is that it is needed for this world to function. Lust is not just sexual attraction between hroa. It is an all-consuming want that has often been the originator of most wild things. The Valar lusted for a world of their creation, and it was that lust that aided their efforts to make a world designed by Illuvatar, though Melkor failed to wield it and got devoured by its fervor.” A slight frown on Eönwë’s forehead made it clear that he had not found the talk of Valar pleasing in the conversation.

Uncaring Mailë continued, “Silmarils, the Lamps, the Trees, dwarves, even the languages spoken by us are the result of this unquenchable thirst that lives in our very fea. We were made to look for more, to desire, and to learn. But it is how we chose to get our wants, how we learn to not be slaves to our instincts and not succumb to the ease of this passion.”

A distant voice in her heart scoffed at her high and mighty words. ‘Trying to manipulate your morality to conquer him?’ It mocked her relentlessly. Had she truly made up all her feelings and words for the sake of Eönwë’s company or was this her truth?

She had been giddy. An unnatural feeling to her. The prospect of meeting Eönwë did that to her. A chance to sit and talk for hours. Those hours where silence was filled with joyful chatter. Was it friendship? Love? Or just the convenience of a void filled? She did not know. She had not received any of them prior to this.

Despair from all those years of resisting her fall had vanished when Eönwë walked in. It scared her how endearing he had become to her. So, she tried her best to make him stay. The idea of him leaving…she would lose herself. That would be her fall.

It was unfair to burden Eönwë with such things, but she would shield him from her darkness. Never…he would never be the one to pay the prince of their friendship. If her doom was by his hands, then so be it. It would be better than any of her long-lost kin.

One day when the songs and music would cease, that day she would be free of the labels the world had put on her. Maybe then she would be worthy of such company…

Until then she would bear this everything. She would put on an unabashed face of an abomination and attend every feast, festival, or celebration. She would end her exile for him for as long as he would allow her to come. Chat with him and treasure it. Until then she would let herself be fooled.

And when it becomes too much for him. That day she would return to her penance.

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He had waited for a week before sending the briefest note.

He wanted to show his disinterest. Make a point of his callousness. Not that he needed to. He had done enough to hurt her. Yet, he had waited to show how little it mattered to him. To disguise the note as an afterthought.

A single line written with haste. He had made sure to make it seem an effortless afterthought.

I don’t need you.

He didn’t write the paragraphs of hurtful things he had thought of throughout the week. He couldn’t bring himself to do that. What would hurt more than what he had done? He rolled the small parchment and attached it to Ólsónd’s leg. He found find her and then they would no longer be bound by anything.

He imagined how his message would find her. Her tucked away cottage or some lake deep in unvisited woods. Would she be eager for his word or had rage settled in her heart already? He had promised to meet her… by the gardens of Lórien.

He had left her waiting and then with a heart made of stone spent the rest of the week without doing anything else. She must have waited for him. Stood up by the one she had given her faith to.

Would she write him back an equally spiteful message? He hoped for her rage-filled words…those maybe could dull the pain that seared through him. He would summon Ólsónd for a last glimpse of her. If Illuvatar willed perhaps he would catch a fleeting glance of her. Something to remember the wrong he had committed against her. He would carry that as a brand for the rest of eternity that stretched beyond them.

It was only fair that he carried this burden when he had made the choice of his own convention. He had chosen his Vala and his purpose. Mailë did not matter. He tried to rationalize by repeating in his mind. He would never betray Manwe. Not after his lord had already suffered such fate at the hands of his brother.

He had found a home in Lord Manwe’s halls. He had found mercy, forgiveness, and acceptance. He and many others had found this for all, leave for one.

His Vala spared no love for the one he had loved. Lord Manwe resented lust; one thing that had doomed his brother, Melkor. It was the reason behind Arda’s marring. There were others before, but they had followed Melkor as their master. Greed, wrath, gluttony had fallen with the darkened Vala.

All leave for her. His Lord grappled with the unjust fate that dragged his brother to the pits of the void but spared the one who he thought to be the core of chaos.

So, he chose to stand by his Vala. He decided to resent her. He would force his fea, his hroa, and his heart to not crave for her. Erase her side of pleas that she had offered as an explanation, he too would despise her. He had to.

Maybe in the distant future, during the quiet hours of the night when the quendi would be busy admiring Varda’s skies and men asleep, in those hours when the world quieted down…then he might dare remember. Whisper her name to himself and reminisce the eyes with Telperion’s shine.

Until then, he would let himself burn. Let the guilt and regret hollow his heart so he would find some peace.

For weeks he tried to summon Ólsónd, the one he had sent as his messenger. He sought to contact the sparrow, but he failed every time. It was gone. It was fair… he did not deserve any mercy after what he had done. Why should he be given a last glance? He did not need it. He needed to stand true to his words. He repeated in his mind.

Then a month later he found the sparrow seated by his window. The message from its leg was gone. The finality of his actions settled in his mind like a heavy rock on the undisturbed seabed. Ripples of anxiety flooded him as he approached the silent bird.

“Show me…please…” he whispered. The sparrow stared back at him. An empty stare that held judgment. “Please,” he asked again.

Before he could beg the quiet bird, he was struck by a scene. Silver trees, gleaming lakes, and an army of red poppies that stood out from the dull and peaceful scenery. Not the isolated cottage or dense woods he had imagined to find her by. No…she had been there by the gardens. ‘Waiting for you,’ a voice whispered. A voice he tried to shun these days.

For the first time ever since his existence, he felt his legs stumble. He had never found his hroa to be this heavy before. Why had she not left? It must have been weeks when Ólsónd found her after looking for so long. What had she waited for…his words? Those words that offered no comfort for her patience.

He saw her crouched next to a tree. Her hair still dark, her robes deep violet. He saw her head snap towards the flutter of Ólsónd’s wings. The bird landed on her hand as it had when they had first met. A slight jitter of her hand betrayed the otherwise calm-faced Maia.

The twitch of her brown and almost unnoticeable tremble of her eyelash were the signs that most would not notice. But he did even as he looked through another being’s memory. He wanted to snatch away the piece of parchment from her. Take it away and never let those words go to her.

He wanted to stop. He did not want to see how he had broken the hope in her eyes. But he continued. This was small, so small compared to her pain. He deserved it.

Taking the letter Mailë, smiled. A vulnerable smile with the barest lift of her lips. Nothing like the liberal laugh he had come to love. She clutched the message in her palm and caressed the bird.

“Go,” was all he heard as his room at Taniquetil came back to view. Ólsónd’s memory ended.

Silver eyes, black hair, suave smile, warm hands, he tried to recall but all he could muster to remember was that faint smile. A knowing acceptance.

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I don’t need you

‘You should have seen it coming. It’s the truth after all. What could you offer? Nothing.’

It was the truth, but the honesty of his brief message did little to ease the pain. Some part of her tried to come up with ways, some way that she could prove her use. Her purpose…anything for him to keep her by his side. She wanted to acquire him or for him to possess her. It was her nature to want yet, she had nothing.

The silence that had been circling around her during the weeks at Lórien now gripped her mind. She had been walking for so long, but she couldn’t find him. 'Eönwë,' she wanted to call out but couldn't. He would hate her. Despise her weakness more than he already did. If she figured out any advantage, any use of having her maybe then he would come.

I don’t need you

She read it repeatedly. Stared at the words expecting them to change and say something else. An explanation for his delay or a promise of another meeting. Anything but this.

Was this what the One wanted all along? Were her sins too heavy for her to suffer? Was this the path to darkness the rest of her kin had faced? This immeasurable pain that dulled everything. Would her fall satisfy the cruel writer of the song? Did Illuvatar truly want this?

Why must she suffer scorn from others when none other had to? Even Melkor was given multiple chances. She…she wasn’t even considered.

‘Come to me.’ She felt a pull. A tug from her hroa.

‘I’ll take it away.’ The voice whispered in her mind. ‘Come.’ It said again.

Her eyes darkened. She could see her kin from the past. Greed, gluttony, and wrath before they had become Thuringwethil, Ungoliant, or Gothmog- the lord of Balrogs and many others. She had known them before the world had turned against them. Before they had trusted their father to love them as he had for the rest of his creations. It was a betrayal of their faith.

Were they all not sacred thoughts of Illuvatar? Then why did her kin have to bear the judgment of their own people?

‘Leave them,’ the insistent voice made its presence known again. ‘Join me and show them your true power. Let them see the might of the ones they have mocked.’

Yes, she could prove her worth. Then the entire world would know of her abilities and powers. Then…Eönwë would realize her merit. He would come back to her and if he didn’t then she would have him anyway. A snap of her finger would be enough to bend his will to her wish. For all the majesty of Valinor and its residents, they had yet to see her true form.

‘Yes. Show them who you are. Do it. Embrace your strength.’

Her thoughts spiraled as the voice cackled. She had heard this voice. Long ago before the fall of her kind she had heard it. The same mocking tone that had ensnared the rest of them. Promises and hateful words it was the same. She felt her steps speed up as the voice rang out in her mind.

She saw a grand hall. Dimly lit with floating shadows. She saw Maiar, Quendi, and Men all lost to her powers. Depraved and uncaring of modesty, clinging to each other. Pleasuring and being pleasured. Their eyes rolled back with ecstasy. Broken moans and whimpers rang out loud. She saw herself as well, untouched by the chaos around her and dressed immaculately in her black gown. A prideful smile on her face.

‘More! More! More!’ The screams filled the hall. She laughed. More they would get.

‘They would worship you like this,’ the voice now had a form, but she could not decipher it. It was as if the form was covered by mist. ‘How great would be a world where nothing existed leave for pleasure? Your pleasure.’ Yes, she agreed with the voice. She wanted to be worshipped and praised. Revered like the rest of her kin or perhaps even more than them.

She saw herself snap her fingers in the dream and the crowd grew louder. Many cried with completion while others grunted. A withering lady cried at her dream self’s feet. Just as she bent down to stroke her tear-stained face, she saw him.

His righteous shine unharmed from her powers. Eönwë, the herald of Valar stood unmoving and sane. Golden eyes, gleaming armor, hair that she remembered playing with. The voice shrieked in her ears, and she flinched, but it mattered little. He had come at last. Eönwë, she wanted to call out, but her words died in the loud hall.

‘Eönwë,’ she called again but he went away. The hall vanished into the darkness, and the voice left. She tried to look for the misty figure, but it was nowhere to be found. She felt wetness on her face and the awareness of her hroa came back to her.

“-dy…wa…p,” an unknown force shook her body. “Lady Mailë,” A childish voice echoed. So different from the one from her dream. She forced open her eyes and saw a shadow looming over her.

A child or more specifically a young Maia hugged her as he cried in a mournful tune. He was familiar with his golden eyes and clingy nature. Before she could ask him his name, someone spoke.

A much larger figure. She craned her neck to face them.

“I congratulate you on resisting your fall for a second time Maia Mailë,” a gentle yet quiet tone. Long silvery cloak and white hair that reached the speaker’s knees. A grieving face but not devoid of hope. It was the face she had seen in her dream. It was the one she had seen crying by her feet. Nienna, the name came to her.

Barren landscape with a gray sky. Next to her was the edge that held the void. One step away from her doom. The voice in her head had dragged her here. She had been close, so close to succumbing. It had been harder than the last time. Her will, non-existent. Still, she had made it.

Desolate Halls of Nienna stood next to her, the Valier, and the child who she had yet to remember. It was far from the grandiose of her dream, but it was better than any power. Eönwë, as it seemed, was her doom and redemption at the same time. His four words were potent enough to challenge her existence and his mere sight was greater than any illusion.

She would grieve the loss of her love but one thing that her near-fall had taught her was that whatever she felt was far greater than the entire world’s worth of pleasure or pain. She had made that choice on the edge of the world. She would choose him and pine for him over anything anyone could offer.

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In the gloomy, isolated Halls of Nienna lives a Maia. A Maia who serves no Vala not even Nienna, whose halls she resides in. It is said that the tearful Valier who takes no servants and lives alone is sometimes accompanied by a companion. One gazes into the void with sorrow and hope, and the other stares towards the looming peak of Taniquetils. Both yearning but not doomed.

It is also said that another lives in the Halls of Nienna. A Maia barely of age. They call him Ólsónd. He flutters around bringing life to the quiet. He flickers around, sings, and dances to his own songs. A close confidante of the mysterious Maia by Nienna’s side.

There also lives another Maia. A newer addition. They call him Olorin. He too does not serve Lady Nienna, instead, he learns from her the art of sympathy and empathy. With each passing day, he finds himself growing fonder of the mismatched company.

The halls of Nienna are no longer hauntingly solitary. Instead, they carry small proofs of a budding acceptance. On serene evenings, the company gathers and talks with a drum of wine snuck in from one of the cities.

Halls of Nienna where laws and etiquette of the world hold little weight.

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Eönwë waits. He obeys commands and fulfills his duties. In hope of one day meeting her again. One day when the One would unbind him from his purpose, and he would be free to love her. That day loving her would not come with the bargain of hurting Manwe,

He lives and awaits.

#the silmarillion #ainur #eonwe #Eonwe x OC #Maiar #Maia #Manwe #Varda #Nienna #OC Maia #Hurt #ansgt #sad ending #long fic #ao3fic

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