#sauron x oc

[shierak-inavva]

have not the sons of fëanor done you far more harm than i?

[jewel-pixelheart]

Tolkien Universe OCs

Here you will find all my Tolkien Universe related OCs and Arts :

OC -> The Silmarillion/The Rings of Power

Elmyr - Ref Sheet

Alruna - The Rings of Power Ref Sheet

Elmyr and Mairon

Elmyr and Mairon - First Met (coming soon)

You remind me of my husband - Halbrand and Alruna

Bounded by Love - Alruna & Halbrand

Alruna and Halbrand - Gift Art

Cavalry (coming soon)

OC -> LOTR/The Hobbit

Gilda Great-Oak - Ref Sheet

[lover-of-villains]

The Lover of Villains' Masterlist

Hey there, darlings! Below the cut, you will find a list of stories I am currently working on, their soundtracks, and more!

Face-claim List

The Magnificent Seven (No Way Out)-Vin/OC, Chris/OC, Ezra/OC (AU)

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

The Vampire Diaries (Wicked Game)-Doc Holliday/OC (AU)

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Teen Wolf (World on Fire)-Stiles Stilinski/OC

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Breath of Life (Twilight)-Garrett/OC

Part One

Part Two

The Wanderer (Rings of Power)-Halbrand/OC

Part One

The Rogue (Stranger Things)-Eddie Munson/OC

Part One

[marimosalad]

Commissions for my artwork are open! 💕🎨

Will do fan art, OC, NSFW, portraits of your Tav, scenes from your fanfic, and many more. Details below 👇

[cilil]

AN: A gift for the wonderful @merilles. Please check out the beautiful art for this ship here and here! I always feel so very honored when I get to write other people's OCs ♡

dark romance prompts

♡ prompt: despair | Dúvain (OC) x Mairon/Sauron ♡ synopsis: after having survived the dungeons of Barad-dûr, Dúvains finds herself face to face with the dark lord. what does he want from her? ♡ warnings: captive/captor dynamic, power imbalance ♡ short oneshot (~900 words)

The first thing Dúvain saw when she awoke was the gaze of honey-golden eyes, bright and warm like sunshine. They appeared to illuminate the ethereal, perfect face hovering above her with an otherworldly glow, and she was met with a smile a little too sweet and teeth just slightly too sharp to belong to a mortal man. 

The first thing she smelled was the subtle, soothing scent of tea and a cosy fireplace, with only the slightest hint of flame and ash; a scent that one hardly ever noticed until it was gone, a scent that spoke of home. 

The first thing she felt was a hand on her cheek and another on top of hers, long fingers searching, reaching, intertwining with hers like serpents of smooth skin and hard bone. 

"Dúvain..."

That voice. The loveliest Dúvain had ever heard, soft and melodious, surpassing even the most famed minstrels of Númenor. There was a subtle lilt to it as if it was singing to her, slowly coaxing her out of slumber. 

"Dúvain..."

She blinked. It felt as though her mind had been shattered into tiny shards and fragments of memories and sensations, yet she knew she recognised this man – this miraculous being.

It's...

Annatar.

No. No. It's – 

Tar-Mairon. 

Dúvain squeezed her eyes shut. No. These thoughts, these names, they came with such certainty and precision that they felt out of place, as if someone was speaking inside her mind with her own voice. 

Yet now that she was free from that alluring golden gaze, clarity suddenly returned to her. 

It's... the enemy. It's Sauron. 

She sat up abruptly, eyes wide in panic, and freed her hand, scooting backwards until her shoulders met the headboard of the bed she had been sleeping on. 

Liar. Torturer. Deceiver. Murderer. 

Dúvain raised her hands, only to realise that her sword was gone – had been gone for a long time. They had taken it from her, as well as any other blade or sharp piece of steel she could have used to defend herself. 

If he can even be hurt by such things. Either way, her own flesh and bone was all that remained; though she knew already that she was weakened and had little hope of resisting whatever he planned to do to her. 

Would it be worse than the dungeons of Barad-dûr? Under normal circumstances she would doubt it, but the tales of the dark lord's bottomless malice and cruelty made her think otherwise. 

Sauron made no move to stop or apprehend her. He sat on the edge of the bed, his hands still resting on the sheets where Dúvain had withdrawn from his touch, and he seemed amused rather than angered by her reaction. 

"You are awake," he noted, speaking in the same lilting sing-song voice he had used to talk to her in her sleep. "Have you slept well?" 

The nonchalance of his demeanour felt like mockery. 

Dúvain didn't deign to answer and clenched her fists. Knuckles white, nails biting into her skin, she forced herself not to tremble. Sauron was the kind of creature that could sense fear, she knew instinctively. 

Could she escape? If not from his dungeon, then maybe from whichever chambers he had brought her to? Nervously, her eyes roamed her surroundings. Even if she could somehow outrun a Maia, guards would be everywhere, and she had no idea where she was, not to mention the battlements, the stairs, the gates – 

Sauron was suddenly in front of her again, now kneeling on the bed. Dúvain flinched; she was certain that she hadn't looked away for even a split second, yet somehow he had still managed to move faster than her eyes could see.

So much for getting away from him... 

His hands reached for her again, and she had nowhere to go. Her gaze fell upon a single golden ring adorning his finger, gleaming proudly and thrumming with strange magic and powers she did not understand. 

"No..."

Dúvain didn't want to be touched. Not by Orcs, not by other Men, most certainly not by the dark lord – 

And yet, his hands were warm, and she was cold, so cold. 

Her breath quickened and her heart raced, like a trapped bird fluttering in its cage. 

"Kill me," she challenged. 

I don't want to die. 

But Dúvain would be brave, like a knight of Númenor should be. 

Sauron merely smiled. "You don't truly want me to." 

Had he read her mind or was he able to see past her facade so easily? He had both hands on her cheeks now, holding her head in a gentle yet inescapable grip, and was examining her panicked expression like an amusing curiosity. 

"My dear Dúvain." The subtle song was back, incessant and unrelenting as if he intended to serenade her into submission. "There is no need for such antics. You have already proven your strength to me, have you not?" 

His smile was so sweet that it sickened her to her core, but Dúvain found herself unable to look away or close her eyes. 

"You have indeed, and I wish to reward you for it."

"I don't want what you offer. I choose death over your treacherous gifts," Dúvain mumbled, though it was becoming harder and harder to focus on her words. 

Sauron laughed lightly, and despite the gentle melody of his voice, there was an edge of cruelty to the otherwise pleasant sound. 

"You fear death as all mortals do, Dúvain. Why don't you instead ask me for something that you truly desire – such as deliverance from its grasp?"

Thanks for reading!

taglist: @angbangbaby @asianbutnotjapanese @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @bluezenzennie @edensrose @i-did-not-mean-to @singleteapot

[90shaladriel]

A Lord and his Builder: Chapter 11 - Triangulation

Chapter 11 - Triangulation

9k words

CW: depictions of violence and war (and mild flirting)

Summary: The adversaries lick their wounds and prepare for a greater battle in advance of the under construction Black Gate. A meeting of old friends and enemies brings new surprises and dangers.

[animatorweirdo]

The Dragonkeeper’s oath

This is a continuation for Imagine drifting away into Middle Earth with dragon eggs ... so I recommend you read that one first. This one is with a male reader so I hope you enjoy.

You miraculously survived after being trapped in the sea and almost dying from exhaustion. You find your way to the island of Numenor which seemed to be in an internal struggle between its king and the Faithful. You try to live quietly, trying to raise your dead companion’s offspring but find yourself under the pressure when the Numenor’s priest turns his unwanted eye on you.

Warnings: Mentions of war, death, violence, a giant sea snake, missing children, sauron is kinda creepy, some angst and a lot guilt. 

----------------------------------------------------

You look over to the horizon as the boat sails across the waves. Feeling the wind on your face and watching as the island in the distance comes closer. It was too far away to see anything in detail, but you could see the great mountain that stood in the middle of the island and the ships that sailed in and out from the cities. 

So this was Numenor. You have never heard about such a place, so you had a nagging feeling that you were no longer in Westeros. It was a sight to behold. You don’t think you have ever seen an island with only one mountain standing alone in the middle, rearing into the sky like an unyielding ruler. 

You had a knack for adventures but felt anxious and frightened due to the late events before your rescue. You were still shaken up by what happened during the attack in the Dragonpit, your escape, the giant sea snake, and— Joffrey. 

You felt grateful to be rescued before the ocean could take you. However, you didn’t know what to make of this world since you didn’t expect to live after pushing yourself to the brink of exhaustion and having no hope of ever being found. 

You were tired and didn’t know what you would find once you stepped on Numenor’s soil, so perhaps it was why you felt frightened. 

You touched and felt the hard shells of the eggs inside your bag. They were warm, so you knew they were still alive. You could only hope everything would turn out well for you and Dreamfyre’s hatchlings. 

“A lovely sight, isn’t it?” A voice broke you out of your thoughts. You turn to look at the man beside you, seeing him watching the island. “Yes. It’s pretty impressive. I am curious what I will find when I step on the land,” you replied. “Most likely aggressive street vendors, screaming children, and some men laughing and drinking in the local tavern,” he said, making you snort. “Sounds good,” you said. “I can still remember two of my boys sneaking into one of the local taverns and finding them passed out half naked in the bushes of my home. The scolding my wife gave was unlike any other,” he chuckled, and you smiled at the thought. 

“My uncles did something like that too– except we found them trying to make out with a fish,” you said, making him snort. 

He handed you a wooden box. Curious, you took it and opened the lid, finding cooked fish and vegetables inside. “I didn’t see you dining with others, so I had a feeling you forgot to eat — again,” He emphasized as you lowered your head in guilt. “I’m sorry, Elendil,” You said, taking a bite out of a carrot. 

“It’s alright. I understand it must be difficult to cope after losing your companions to the sea snake and being trapped in the sea for so long,” Elendil said. “I wouldn’t know what to do either if I lost one of my boys or men to the sea,” he said. “I only ask that you at least try to look after yourself. You were lucky that we managed to find you before it was too late,” he patted your shoulder. 

“I know –” You reply, feeling a bit down at the thought of being lucky and the only one to survive. “Thank you. You're more compassionate and understanding than most men I have met,” you stated. 

Elendil hummed with a smile. “I’ll do what I can, and I can ask my father to send out word for people to look out for Joffrey. Maybe Eru will be kind and allows us to help you reunite,” He said, making your eyes widen. “You’re too kind, Elendil. I don’t know how to even thank you for saving me yet,” you find yourself stammering to express your gratitude. 

“It’s the least I can do. My father taught me to help those in need. I think he would beat my arse if I just left you in the streets to fend for yourself,” Elendil continued to smile with the most sincere look in his eyes. Your heart swelled after hearing those words. 

“You know, I’m starting to think you might be one of those Valar the elves keep talking about because I have never met a man kind as you,” Your statement made him chuckle and shake his head in disbelief. “How about you try to eat? It won’t be long before we set foot on land,” He said as he walked back toward the cabin. You smiled and started eating fish and vegetables, feeling your appetite rising after such a long time. 

When you arrived at the nearest port city, you were amazed. It was beautiful. The construction and the architecture were unlike anything you had ever seen in your life. The place reminded you of Dorne in a way, simply less sand and more ocean. 

You follow Elendil to the city and streets after docking and walking off the ship. 

The city was beautiful from an outside view, but it was now even more interesting as you walked through the streets with Elendil. You observed as people walked past you, children ran around, laughing and enacting faux battles. 

There were intriguing smells in the air. You could smell the fish, fruits, and even more exotic scents from nearby shops. A dragon would have felt dizzy with so many smells in the air.

“So, what kind of governance do you have here?” You asked while memorizing all the roads and streets. “A typical monarchy, ruled by a king and a queen. Though the king has taken a liking to decide everything on this island,” Elendil explained, sounding somewhat distasteful. “How come?” You asked curiously. 

“I’m – not certain what is the relationship between our current king and queen. In our culture, there should be mutual respect between the two. However, I have not seen our king Ar-Pharazon show even a speck of respect toward our queen Tar-Miriel, or Ar- Zimraphel since he’s not fond of elven names or anything related to the elves,” Elendil explained. 

“He does not heed her advice on anything, and to me, it seems like he simply keeps her inside like a pet,” he added. You frowned at the thought. “That sounds more like a caged bird. She has a voice but can’t fly,” you explained, thinking about Helaena. There was something oddly similar to her and the Numenor’s queen.

“Well, I think that is the better definition for it. Our queen can’t even use the name she was born with, only to be addressed by the name her husband had given her,” Elendil further elaborated. You re-arranged your thoughts after hearing that– Helaena’s brother was an asshole and raped innocent girls, but compared to Ar-Pharazon, he fell short of committing such vile cruelty to his own wife.

“Some of us want to show support for her decisions, but now with the king’s new advisor around. It has become difficult to have our voices heard,” Elendil said. “Have you heard about Sauron?” He asked, then looked at you with a guarded expression. “No— who is he?” You asked. 

“I’m surprised you do not know. Sauron is the one called the dark lord, one of Morgoth’s mightiest former servants,” Elendil started. “Wasn’t Morgoth the fallen Vala that brought evil across the land?” You questioned. “He was till he was defeated, and Sauron decided to follow in his footsteps, forming his orc armies, enslaving the free people, and even calling himself the lord of men,” Elendil explained. “That was until our king heard about it and decided to march toward Middle Earth to fight him. I do not know all the details, but apparently, Sauron surrendered, and our king brought him here as a captive, but now he is this so-called trusted advisor,” he added, making you frown in confusion. 

“If Sauron’s captive, how is he –” you started. “That is what I would like to know as well. I can only guess that he whispered things to our king’s ear and gained a position as an advisor and a new position as the new priest for a temple at Meneltarma,” he pointed at the mountain. 

“It used to be a place to pray for blessings and good fortune, but now no one knows what kind of things have been happening there,” Elendil said with a sorrow-filled tone. 

You stood quiet momentarily, thinking about the odd similarity between the current situation and what happened with Shepherd and his mob of followers. 

“Well, he must be a talented liar to gain the trust of his captors and gain such power,” you said. “Indeed, I have never seen such manipulation of words, and the worst of all, our king believes everything he whispers to his ears,” Elendil answers. “He had caused a bad trifle between the common folk and the Faithful with his rumors,” he said, catching your attention. “What kind of rumors?” You asked. 

“He claims that the Valar favor the elves. He claims it to be unfair that humans get to live such a short life and get subjected to the whims of death. These rumors have caused issues between the king and the Faithful since they are allied with the elves. I’m worried the rumors might get worse, and someone will get hurt because of them,” Notes of concern fill his voice. 

Your mind returned to the night when the Dragonpit got attacked by the common folk, led by the man who preached about Targaryens and dragons being spawns of hell. It felt all too familiar. 

You could still remember that night like it just happened. 

“But let us not worry about these problems in the court. You are new here, so I shouldn’t bother you with our politics,” Elendil tried to dissipate the heaviness of your conversation. “No, it’s okay. It’s good to know something than try to live in ignorance. Are there other things I should look out for?” You asked. “Stay clear from people who follow Ar-Pharazon’s ideals. They can be troublesome and hard to reason with, so it would be best to stay out of their way,” he explained. 

“But let us go now – there is someone I would like you to meet,” he said as you followed him through the meandering streets. 

You followed Elendil to what seemed to be grand halls. You were amazed by the colors of jade and pearl that decorated the walls. Great white columns stood on each side of the halls and the floors seemed to be sculpted from the finest stone. 

People walked past you, carrying scrolls and looking busy. You and Elendil approached a man who was talking to another. 

“Father, there you are,” Elendil called out to the man. The man turned around, and you noticed similarities between him and Elendil. He looked older and was slightly taller, but despite the differences, the man had Elendil’s gentle smile and sincere gaze.

“Elendil, it is good to see you again. I hope the trip went well,” Elendil’s father greeted him, smiling softly. “I advise you to visit home. I heard Isildur and Anarion have been causing some racket during your absence,” he chuckled. 

“I see. I got to go and see what my boys have been up to once I have finished what I came here for,” Elendil said and turned toward you. “Father, I would like to introduce you to my friend, (Name),” he said pointing towards you. 

“It’s a – pleasure to meet you, my lord,” you bowed nervously. “The pleasure is all mine. I am Amandil. What brings you two here?” Elendil’s father glanced at both of you. “You see, we found (Name) stranded in the ocean. He told us he got attacked by a sea snake along with his companions and was separated. So, I was hoping you could spread some word since there might be a missing young boy somewhere,” Elendil explained. “Oh dear, is this missing boy your son?” Amandil questioned, looking at you. “No, but you could say we’re family of a sort,” You said. 

“Well, say no more. If you can provide some description– I will make sure word gets out for people to keep a lookout,” Amandil said as another person stepped in holding a quill and a board. “Right, his name is Joffrey. His family name is Velaryon. He’s about thirteen years old, about this size, has brown curly hair, and last time he was wearing a black cloak with a red tunic,” you tried to describe while using your hand to show Joffrey’s height. 

The person wrote it all down and then left with a curt nod to Amandil. 

“Once we find something, we'll let you know,” Amandil said. “Thank you, my lord. I fear I do not have high hopes that he’s alive, but it would ease my mind to know what happened to him,” you said. “I will pray fate will be kind,” He said, holding his hand on his chest. “Thank you,” you bowed your head.

“Elendil, there is something I must discuss with you–” Amandil started, and the two started conversing. You waited patiently, allowing your thoughts to wander for a moment. 

Your mind came back to Joffrey and all those times you spent together. You used to find him annoying, sneaking into the Dragonpit and being reckless. He was the very definition of an annoying younger brother, but after everything, you went together… You couldn't help but feel even worse for losing him because you were the one who took him away from King’s Landing and brought him to the sea. He could be dead, and it was your fault. His mother would have you executed if she knew and you would have most likely accepted it. 

You felt shivers run down your back. You turned your head, observing your surrounding. Working with the dragons helped you gain keen senses, so you felt someone was watching you. It felt ominous, sinister, and right behind you. 

In a quick reflex, you grabbed your dagger, twisted it around, and pointed it at the neck of the man behind you. You held your pose, locking your eyes with him and keeping the tip of your blade a fingertip away from his throat. 

You said nothing. The man was tall, towering over you like you were a mere mouse in his eyes. Red locks flowed from his shoulders like a bloody river, his golden eyes sharp like a venomous snake. 

He looked unnatural and almost amused as you held your dagger at the middle of his throat. You could tell from the sharp points of his ears that he was not a human. 

You stared at each other before you pulled back after Amandil let out a couple of coughs to break the sudden tension. “Tar-Mairon, surprising to see you here out of all places,” Amandil stated as you didn’t break eye contact with the red-haired being. 

“I was simply passing by, running some errand for our king,” Tar-Mairon said. A sweet, honeyed sound accompanied his voice, making it sound pleasant. 

“I then heard about Elendil’s return and his new guest. So, I came to greet them myself,” he said, looking at you. “I certainly did not expect to receive such a greeting,”

“I apologize, my lord. I tend to get easily startled when approached from behind unannounced,” you kept your voice contained from expressing your current suspicion while sheathing your dagger back to its place. 

He chuckled. “No hard feelings. Having fast reflexes is a good thing because you never know when something or someone might try to strike you from behind,” he said with an odd glee in his eyes. You could feel your skin break into goosebumps when he continued to look at you with a conniving look, especially with everything you had heard about him. 

“What is your name, esteemed guest?” he asked. “(Name), my lord,” you said, reluctant to share your last name with him. “And what brings you here to our lovely home?” He asked with an airy laugh like it was a joke of sorts. 

“I got lost and was rescued by Elendil. I hope to find someone and simply find a peaceful home here,” you answered. “Aww, then I humbly welcome you to Numenor,” he said with a tiny bow. Mockery of a bow. “I hope you will find all that you seek,” he said, his eyes falling on your bag. His threat did not go unnoticed as you pulled your bag behind you– away from his prying eyes. 

“I will take my leave now. Do visit the temple if you face troubles?” he said and soon walked away. You let out a breath of relief when he was out of sight. 

“We only recently arrived, and we’re already targets of his interest,” Elendil stated, sounding angry and frustrated. “He has Ar-Pharazon’s people working under him, so we must be careful of our actions, son,” Amandil said. “Are you alright, (Name)?” He asked, looking at you with concern and lacing his eyes. 

“I’m fine. I now see what kind of man you’re dealing with,” you said. “So, that was Sauron?” You asked. “Correct. I apologize for the unpleasant experience,” Amandil said. “It’s okay. I have met unpleasant people before, and now I know where not to go when I face troubles,” you said, making them momentarily chuckle in amusement. 

“Come along. I think it’s time to find you a place for your stay,” Elendil said as he prepared to leave. You bid Amandil farewell and followed Elendil to his home, where he introduced you to his family. They were kind and offered you a room to rest in after your exhausting journey.  You didn’t ask for anything extravagant. You only wanted a room with a good fireplace which they kindly gave you one. 

You thanked the maid for bringing you there and enjoyed the peace when you were finally alone. The room was nice and quiet. It had a bed in the corner, and a steady fire was burning in the fireplace, bringing light and warmth to the room. It almost resembled your old quarters in the Dragonpit.  

You took out an empty chest from the corner and started gathering some soft rags inside, building a little nest before taking out Dreamfyre’s eggs and carefully settling them inside the chest next to each other. You stared at them as they lay in front of the fireplace, slowly warming up and incubating the life inside them. 

Tears began to form in your eyes, blurring your vision as you thought about Dreamfyre. You remember how she attacked the sea snake to protect you and Joffrey and how the sea snake pulled her into the sea. You couldn't do anything to protect her. It now felt like all your efforts were for nothing. 

You began to sob, holding your hands against your face. Tears flowed across your face like a relentless river, releasing everything you felt for the past weeks. You thought about Helaena, your beloved queen. 

“Forgive me, Helaena. I couldn't even protect Dreamfyre from the stranger,” you sobbed as you continued to cry alone with nothing but the eggs to keep you company.  

In the morning when vendors prepared for another day to sell their goods. A little hooded figure walked past them. The little figure stopped, observing his surroundings and waiting for an opportunity. He watched a man going inside, leaving his boxes of bread and vegetables unattended. He took the chance and grabbed a loaf of bread, carrots, and apples when no one was looking. 

He then walked away, carrying the stolen food. “Hey!” The man shouted when he saw the little figure, who then ran away– not giving the man a chance for a chase. 

The little figure escaped from the city, walking past herds of sheep and cattle until he found a suitable place to eat his breakfast. Joffrey pushed off his hood, allowing his dirty hair to fly with the wind. He watched the sea, taking bites of his bread and wondering about you and what happened with the giant sea monster that still haunted his dreams. 

He was lucky to survive and found refuge in Numenor, but what about you and Tyraxes? Where were you? Were you even alive? 

He began to remember the voices of people, those who looked down on him and his mother because he was a bastard. They used to say bastards always had the worse luck. They always end up alone, get their loved ones killed, and look where he was now. Alone and lost with no one to turn to. He is most likely the reason why you and his dragon were gone. 

Joffrey screamed and threw the apple over the cliff in anger. Tears fell from his eyes as he stared at the sea.

He held on to his knees, leaning his head against them. He wept alone until his ears picked up something over the cliff. He looked up, trying to listen. It sounded like a shriek of some sort. 

Joffrey slowly leaned over the cliff, trying to see what was beneath. Suddenly, a giant creature with wings and bronze-colored scales ascended before him.

It was moving its wings, creating gusts of wind, and looking down on the little boy. Joffrey held his breath as he recognized the creature. It was no other than his own dragon, Tyraxes, but something was wrong. Tyraxes had this odd look in his eyes, like he did not recognize him. It made Joffrey back away in fear. 

Tyraxes growled, flying over him toward the herds of sheep. Joffrey watched as his dragon breathed fire down on the innocent sheep and snatched one of them, flying away with the scorched body with a shriek. 

The little boy took a deep breath, trying to relax his beating heart. He wanted to feel happy that his dragon was still alive but couldn't shake off the dreadful feeling after watching his mount kill a sheep without hesitation. You taught him it was in the dragon's nature to hunt prey and that they could go wild if separated from their rider for far too long. His dragon has gone wild. Joffrey didn’t know what to do except hug his legs and wonder if his life could turn for the worse.

[marsconer]

what if sauron never beats the john mayer accusations?

[thedeadthree]

SÉRËDHIEL X SAURON -> LORD OF THE RINGS

YOU’RE MAD — GODSTRUCK GODSWEPT GODNONSENSICAL.

(x.x)

[shierak-inavva]

things unseen

instagram voted and here's. more of Them™. this is my favorite of elowen's outfits so far, her lindon & eregion gown, though minus her favorite circlet here

[jewel-pixelheart]

The Silmarillion OC

Here she is, my beloved Elmyr 🩵

If you want to see more content about Elmyr/Alruna: click here

And yes, I have a second Tolkien Universe related OC ✨️

She can be include (so far) into : The Silmarillion, the series The Rings of Power, The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit.

Small Disclaimer :

I'm not an expert on Tolkien's work/world. I've only seen the movies/series.

But, I'm currently reading The Silmarillion, and even though I love it so much so far, this is the hardest book I have ever read 😵‍💫 Not sure I get all the story right, but I'm doing my best to understand everything ✨️

This is why my OC is more based on the movies/series than the books. Well, only until my knowledges on Tolkien's books get stronger 💪🏻

I will also make a Rings of Power timeline that will be different from her original one from The Silmarillion. I know a lot of people don't like this series (and I can understand why since I'm reading The Silmarillion), but I personally like the series as it is: Inspired by Tolkien's work and not a direct adaptation.

Things being said, and despite not having finished writing her full story yet, I still have some basic information about Elmyr to share with you:

Other Names

Alruna, Astal

Titles

The White Knight

Mother of Wolves

Great Protector of Númenor (formaly)

Birth

Before the Ainulindalë

Death

Immortal

Race

Ainur (Maiar)

Maia of Tulkas and Nessa

Realms

Valinor

Númenor

Middle-Earth

Soupse

Mairon

Weapons

Powers of Maiar

Shapeshift (especially her Wolf form)

Magic

Sword

As I already said, I'm not an expert on Tolkien's work, so any help or corrections would be welcome 🙏🏻

Do not copy, retrace or use my art without my consent !

[lover-of-villains]

The Wanderer * Halbrand/OC (part 1)

Summary: In spite of her mother's wishes, Tilda wanted to see the world beyond their village. She wanted to know its secrets, and to find her father as well. But when orcs attack, she will soon be swept off on an adventure far different than the one she imagined. And it will lead her not only to unanticipated discoveries about her heritage, but about her own heart, as well.

Warnings: original female character, multi-OC fic, angst, potential for toxic relationship, unrequited love

Other: Please let me know if you'd like to be added to a tag list!

The rain had come upon her without warning. Or rather, without any sort of warning she heeded, the entirety of her attention absolutely fixed upon the tattered old book held between both hands. Half the day had passed in such a manner, though to Tilda, it hardly mattered, her mind far happier spending time in faraway lands with peoples a hundred times more adventurous and bold than she was, herself.

By contrast, when the first drops of moisture begin to fall from the sky, bringing her back to the present with a start, Tilda finds herself feeling a certain sense of reluctance. Her limbs move slowly as she closes the tome, and pushes herself to stand. By the time she is fully aware of her surroundings, the rain is coming down in fat drops, threatening to soak her to the bone, and the realization is enough to lend speed to her movements, whether or not she truly wishes to depart for home.

She has known the village almost all of her life, but never does it seem more confining than when she spends the better part of an afternoon allowing her mind to roam where the rest of her likely never will.

Still, she cannot allow the thought to take over completely. Not if she wishes to make it home without taking a tumble in the mud that spreads over the path winding down the hill. Getting indoors out of the pouring rain is a far more important task, to be sure.

With such thoughts in mind, Tilda continues to make her way towards the village, her feet slipping on the path even in spite of her efforts to prevent it. Several times, she nearly falls, but with luck, she manages to avoid it, and it is not long before she is clearing the bottom of the hill, and crossing the last few feet that rest between herself, and the familiarity of her home's front door.

Ducking inside, she does not miss the look her mother gives her, resignation mixed with amusement in familiar green eyes. It is an expression she has seen many times before, and in fact, it brings a ready smile to her lips as she moves to join her mother in the small kitchen, the older woman's hands busy kneading dough even as her daughter gently brushes against her side.

"And where have you been hiding yourself?"

"Where do you suppose?" Tilda replies, sidling past her mother's taller frame in favor of placing the tome she had been reading upon a shelf beside the small table that rests nearby. The scent of smoke from the fire hangs heavy in the room, along with the smell of something cooking for their supper.

She has known such things all her life, but even that reality is not enough to shield her from the sudden admonition in her mother's response.

"Off in the forest, chasing the heroes of your books?"

"There are heroines, as well—"

"And you desire to be one of them."

Whatever teasing had been present behind her own words, Tilda soon finds it fading away, a frown pulling at the corners of her mouth as she pauses in the act of reaching for one of the potatoes her mother has resting on the table for chopping. Though she tries to resist, she cannot fully avoid the flare of aggravation that bubbles within her chest, knowing that it always comes down to this. Her desire for adventure at odds with her mother's cautions against it.

She supposes her mother has reason enough to feel the way she does, not that she would know the full details behind it. And that is perhaps what lends her the courage, foolish though it may be, for her reply.

"Is that truly such a crime, Mother?"

"It is foolhardy, certainly."

"I am hardly the only one to yearn for a different life."

"Yet you have someone standing before you, prepared to tell you exactly how many ways that desire may be harmful."

"Perhaps if you would simply tell me of what you have seen, I might judge for myself—"

"What I have seen is never to be spoken of again."

The words are harshly spoken, and Tilda catches herself recoiling almost immediately, her pride stung whether she truly wishes for it to be or not. It would be a lie to say she does not already know of her mother's reluctance to entertain any thought or discussion of the past. It has always been such, no matter her own insistence upon learning the truth.

Whether it is pain, or something else entirely that enforces her mother's silence, Tilda does not know. She likely never will. It is a reality far more troublesome than Tilda truly cares to admit, for in denying her daughter any chance at satisfying her thirst for knowledge of her past, her mother is also robbing her of a chance at something else, as well.

A chance to know her father, and to decide if he has earned the very same exile to memory that her mother has given him from the start.

"And who you have seen, apparently."

"Enough, Tilda. There is supper to tend to."

Knowing that any further attempts at discussion on the matter would only spur dissension between them, Tilda forces herself to remain silent. Her lips thin into a line as she reaches for the potatoes to begin peeling and chopping them for stew.

Soon, conversation rises between them once more, both of them carefully avoiding any mention of books or adventures, or anything else that could be linked to either. Bit by bit, Tilda finds her own tension abating, and she even manages a smile over something humorous her mother proposes in jest.

The remainder of the evening passes without further incident or strife, but it does little to lessen her desire for answers. It does not sway her disappointment over being so efficiently thwarted.

Though she is keen to appear content to simply allow the matter to fade into nothingness, Tilda refuses to let it go completely. Instead, she directs her focus toward finding another source for the knowledge she seeks.

Her mother may not approve of such a decision. In fact, Tilda is already convinced that she will never hear the end of it, should she choose to proceed. But that is hardly enough to sway her from her intended course, consequences be damned…

After all, what her mother does not know of, she can hardly bring to an end.

…

The following morning finds Tilda in the same clearing in the woods she had occupied the afternoon prior, only this time, she is not alone, a young boy hovering at its edge while she prepares to fire an arrow at a target hastily decided upon in a nearby tree. Together, the two of them have engaged in a little competition, desiring to see who can land their shot closest to their desired goal, and Tilda has to suppress a smile in amusement over what she hopes will be an easy victory.

It has become a habit of theirs ever since her mother taught them both to shoot, and although Bain had taken quickly to sparring with a blade, her own strength remained steadfast with the weapon held firmly in her hands. Regardless of her mother's apparent reluctance to discuss her past, ensuring that her daughter—and by extension, her friend—were capable of defending themselves at an early age had been something she would not compromise on, no matter the questioning glances she had earned from other villagers as a result.

Where the majority had always assumed they would continue to live in peace as they had for the last several years, her mother's belief in such a thing had always been tenuous at best. And even if she has long since given up on asking why, Tilda would be a fool to pretend she is not grateful for being granted yet another means of passing the time.

The thought provokes a fuller smile, this time, a laugh rising to accompany it as the arrow flies free of her bow and sinks into the outlined target, dead-center. She does not miss the low groan Bain gives, as well. Though his arrow rests close by, it is not nearly close enough to grant him victory.

Not wanting to appear as though she is gloating, Tilda presses her lips together to keep her silence while Bain draws nearer to her side. She carefully avoids looking him in the eye. But no matter her best intentions, it appears he is determined to comment on the apparent disparity in their success, himself.

"It would seem you have been practicing without me."

"Only during the harvest season."

"For shame," Bain teases, reaching for the arrows lodged in the bark of the tree before Tilda has the chance to do so, herself, and holding them just out of reach with a grin pulling at each corner of his mouth, "What am I to do with you, I wonder?"

"If you are thinking of enacting vengeance, I would advise you to reconsider."

"And what makes you think that I am?"

"Perhaps it is the look in your eye," Tilda explains, regarding her companion with a slightly raised brow, though amusement remains readily apparent in her tone, "It seems suspect."

"I see."

"Do you doubt this?"

"Would it truly surprise you if I did?"

"Perhaps, but for the fact that you are reaching for your right side as though your blade is there."

"Something about the woods seems different this morning," Bain admits, whatever amusement and jest he possessed mere moments ago quickly fading, only to be replaced by a growing sense of wariness, instead, "Have you heard any birds?"

"Birds?" Tilda repeats, brow furrowing as she casts her mind back to the moment of their arrival, earlier that very day, "Not that I can recall."

"Doesn't that make you curious?"

Frowning, Tilda considers the answer to Bain's inquiry as closely as she can, her gaze tracking around the clearing while a shiver rolls down her spine. She cannot explain her sudden apprehension, as she had been perfectly content mere moments before.

Instinctively, her fingers tighten around her bow, as though anticipating a threat to spring up out of absolutely nothing at all. She spins in a slow circle, while Bain hovers almost protectively at her side. The silence is nearly stifling, where before she had hardly noticed it at all, and then she hears it. The sound of rustling, soft at first, but steadily growing louder…

The first of the orcs breaks into the clearing not long after, a serrated blade flying free of one of the creature's hands in the blink of an eye. And not long after, Tilda is turning back to Bain, her eyes blown wide in alarm as her mind seizes upon a single word.

"Run."

…

[benslittlestarkiller]

This is my LOTR OC, Amber Greenleaf for my upcoming fanfic A Light in the Dark. Below is her character profile.

Name: Amber Greenleaf Aliases: Amber, Thranduil calls her “ithildin” (means “starlight” in Elvish) Gender/Pronouns: she/her Sexual/Romantic Orientation: straight Age: 3458 years old Birthdate: she was born in the Second Age Occupation: assassin Height: 5′5″ ft Build: curvy but thin, wide hips, huge breasts, fat ass, long legs Skin Tone: tan Hair: long (reaches her ass), blonde, and wavy Eyes: one blue, one brown (represents her duality) Identifying Marks: has a long scar on her back (will be discussed in her background...) Appearance: stunningly beautiful, she seems to glow in the moonlight (which is why Thranduil calls her “ithildin”), beings of all realms are captivated by her. Many love her, but no one truly knows her... except for Thranduil. Personality: Motivations: is sent by the guild of assassins to kill Thranduil, she had been brainwashed from birth to follow her leader (Sauron)’s orders, however meeting Thranduil changed everything. She left the league of assassins and Sauron sent assassins after her, but Thranduil saved her life. When she became pregnant with his child (Legolas), she vowed to take down the assassin syndicate so that her child would be safe.  Current Goal: kill Suaron and protect her unborn child Life Goal: Amber wants to live a happy life with Thranduil in Mirkwood, and have lots of his babies. Motto: “In the darkness, we found a light many never see...” Best Quality: her beauty Worst Quality: None. Fears: losing Thranduil Hobbies: fighting, assassinating, killing, maiming, torture, sex. Talents: sex, killing, singing Skills: sex, killing Alignment: grey, neutral. Group/Organizational Affiliations: Brotherhood of Assassins, Thranduil Family: marries Thranduil and has Legolas, and then some more kids too. Best Friends: Thranduil Relationship Status: Married to Thranduil Significant Other: Thranduil Other Relationships: none Secret: Is part of assassin group (Thranduil doesn’t know at first) then pregnant (she doesn’t tell him for a while - elf pregnancies can last for up to 4 years) Influential Memory: being tortured by Sauron, it’s how she got her scar on her back Role Model: at first she admires Sauron but then she sees the error of his ways Crush: Thranduil Source of Embarrassment: her scar Source of Pride: her big happy family with Thranduil

Backstory: Amer grew up in an orphanage, she was abandonded as an elf baby, and was found by Sauron who raised her. However he was abusive and mistreated her. He taught her to fight, and then she joined his Assassin League, and he gave her a task to prove her loyalty: Kill Thranduil. Amber left for Mirkwood where she met Thranduil in the woods one night. She gripped her dagger tight, its tip laced with poison, but before she could strike him down, he spoke. Instantly, she was captivated by him. Fate had brought them together. Theirs was a love that would change Middle Earth irrevocably. 

[feyhunter78]

Snapdragons (10/?)

Description: Maeria is let in on Halbrand's plan, and Elrond gets some assistance from Durin's daughter Gerda.

Next chapter

Maeria sat on the low wall that kept the lava Halbrand used to forge with in, watching as her brother hurried around his smithy until he found what he was looking for.

“Look at this!” He presented her with a piece of parchment.

She took it and looked it over. There were a few scribblings, and some circular drawings. “What am I looking at?”

“My plans.”

“I thought taking over Middle-Earth and bringing order to its lands was your plan?”

He pointed to one of the circles. “Which I will do, with the aid of this.”

“A circle? Are you going to make a disc?” She tilted her head, then her eyes lit up. “Oh it is a weapon! You throw it like a disc, and it decapitates your enemies. Very inventive brother.”

Halbrand took back the parchment. “I never can quite tell if you are being sincere or cruel, when you say such things.”

Maeria leaned back, stirring the lava with her hand, basking in the warmth. “I am being sincere, I always thought that a weapon would be your best way to bring order, there is too much anger associated with you for you to try a diplomatic approach.”

“I can be diplomatic; the people of the Southlands believe Halbrand is their rightful king.”

“But you are.” She said, looking up from the magma to meet his gaze.

“Yes, of course, but not in the way they think.” He said quickly, turning his back on her.

“Why does it matter what they think? As soon as we free them from Adar, they will follow us.” She pulled her hand from the forge and got to her feet, coming to his side at his workbench.

“I am making a ring, one ring that will rule over all others.” He told her, showing her the mold, he had been working on.

“Only one, what will I have then?” It was a dangerous question, and she took a step back as soon as the words fell from her lips.

“Only one, for there will only be one queen, and it is Galadriel. She possesses her own ring of power, remember?” He said, turning to look at her, an unreadable expression on his face.

“I remember, and I am sure it is as beautiful as she.” Maeria said, bowing her head.

He took a step closer to her and raised her head gently. “Do not fret, little one, you shall have your crown.” He pulled another piece of parchment from the pile on his workbench and handed it to her.

On the parchment was a beautifully designed circlet that dipped down in a ‘v’ at the center of her forehead and jutted up on the sides in both a mimic of her pointed ears, and Halbrand’s own helmet. She could see the time and effort he had placed into the design. “It is…so beautiful, what will it be made of?”

“Gold, just as my ring will be.” He motioned to the large chunk of gold, she was surprised she didn’t see before.

“The other rings are made of mithril, will yours be able to withstand a combined assault?” She bit down on her nail, eyeing the malleable metal.

“This is not common gold, it is imbued with the essence of Morgoth, and soon will carry our blood as well.” There was a look in her eyes that set her nerves on edge.

“Blood?” She echoed nervously.

He noticed her hesitance. “I am speaking metaphorically, of course. We will simply add a small amount of our powers into the objects, tying them to us.”

Maeria relaxed and nodded. “When will this need to be done?”

He thought for a moment. “I am still working out flaws in the design, and I still need to breach Galadriel’s dreams. Her anger did not lessen as she slept.”

Part of her wished to bring up her dream, how Elrond seemed more aware than she was, but another part of her thought it was better to wait. She would feel foolish mentioning it to him if it only happened once.

Elrond sat up in Durin and Disa’s guest bed, hand still curled as if holding Maeria’s, but she was nowhere to be found. He uncurled his hand and pushed back his hair, her face still lingering in his mind.

 It felt so real, as if she was, there blinking up at him, as she called him her husband in her sweet voice. So beautiful and lyrical that he wondered if perhaps after she was born all music was created in an attempt to imitate the sound. Though it all paled in comparison to the symphony that was his name falling from her lips, the joy each syllable radiated.

He closed his eyes and tried to recall each moment of the dream, searching it for something, anything. Galadriel had told him of how Halbrand invaded her mind, perhaps Maeria could do the same? She seemed so confused, though, when he told her it was all a dream.

A soft knock at the door had him throwing back the sheets and straightening his nightclothes.

The door cracked open, and Gerda poked her head in and motioned for him to close his eyes. He did so, keeping one cracked.

“I’m a dreamwalker.” She whispered, moving around the room in a slow, deliberate manner as if she were underwater.

“A dreamwalker?” He asked, cracking his eye further open.

Gerda nodded. “Maeria told me about them. They’re beings who can walk in and out of your dreams, but it takes a lot of practice, or you get sucked into the dream and forget it’s not real.”

She continued her loop of the room, and Elrond sat up. “Gerda, was Maeria a dreamwalker?”

Gerda pressed her lips together and shook her head.

“No, or you will not tell me.”

She nodded her head.

“Perhaps I shall ask your brother, I am sure he will tell me.” Elrond said, taking his time standing up and moving to the door.

“Okay, yes, Maeria was a dreamwalker, but she wasn’t very good at it.” Gerda said, prompted by the power of sibling rivalries.

He knelt down so he was on her level. “What do you mean?”

Gerda looked at her feet. “Maeria said her brother was better, and that she got lost in dreams, so she stayed in hers unless he asked her to go into someone else’s. She didn’t like doing that.” She hugged the stuffed bear she had closer to her chest. “But she would do it when I had nightmares, even when they were really scary. She would come and defeat the monster with her fire.”

Elrond smiled softly at Gerda. “Thank you for telling me that.”

Gerda nodded and darted out of the room.

He would never understand children, but he consoled himself with the knowledge he acquired. He needed to return to Lindon and find everything he could on the subject of dreamwalkers, if there even was anything. Perhaps this was a dark art, a side effect of her creation. Tonight, if he saw her again, he would try to glean information from her.

Maeria spent the day organizing her brother’s notes while he was bent over his workbench, scribbling then erasing, then scribbling again. Her eyelids were heavy once she finally collapsed in her bed, and she walked right into the awaiting door, skipping past the inn. Her brother was still awake, there was no need for the waypoint.

She was back in her room once more, and she gravitated towards the bed, wanting nothing more than to sleep in a familiar place.

“Maeria, do not fall asleep.” Elrond’s voice jolted her from her path and she turned.

He emerged from the bathroom and cupped her cheeks, eye scanning her face.

“Elrond? You are acting odd, I am tired and wish to sleep.” She tried to pull away from him, but he held her tightly.

“Stay up with me for a moment, I have missed you.” He said, a measured look in his eyes.

“Alright, though, we saw each other this morning.” She sat on the rug with him.

His hands dropped from her face and instead claimed hers, playing with her fingers absentmindedly. “My starlight, I know.”

“You know what?” She looked at him trying to catch his eye, but he refused to look at her.

“I know you are a creation of Sauron, that you left to aid him in his quest, I simply do not know why. He is a foul evil responsible for many deaths.” He said carefully, grip tightening on her as if he feared she’d run away.

“Is this a game? I told you of my mother and my father, of my upbringing.”

He shook his head. “No, Maeria, I have seen the evidence, and perhaps you did truly have parents, a mortal mother, but you are no longer of mortal flesh.”

“Do I not bleed? Not tire and hunger? Do I not feel? I am a person, not a creature.” She said, voice rising in pitch as she stood and began pacing. Why was he saying these things? What did he know?

Elrond stood as well. “You do, you are a person, but my starlight, you have aligned yourself with the Dark Lord, are you aware of this?”

She spun on her heels and glared at him. “He is the rightful king, he will bring order, Morgoth was wrong, but Halbrand—he desires repentance, and this is the way it will happen.”

He grabbed her shoulders. “Maeria, he is evil, he tried to kill Galadriel, left her in the river to drown.”

She feels the tears prick at her eyes. This isn’t how her dreams are supposed to go.

Tag list: @nyctophilic0vitnir, @elronds-pointy-ears, @elrondscalaquendi, @dilf-superiority

[sturthepotofmadness]

This should’ve been posted a few days ago, so uh… oops.

No read more because I don’t want Tumblr to eat up my images.

LONG POST AHEAD.

Anyways, here’s my favorite drawings I did for Inktober 2022!

Reasonings:

10: Look at the crab!!!! Also an attempt at Mer!Formers, but I mostly like this because of the crab.

15: I just like this drawing of Wallop. :) Also yes I am aware Wallop’s eyes are blue, I just drew them as yellow.

17: The only picture of my BotBots OC Finalist I actually like. (Psss the text says “See?”)

22: This pic is actually connected to one of the AUs I did for AU-gust, which the link for can be found on my side blog linked in the pinned post on my profile. I really like how I drew Whirl and Hot Shot here, but yeah, nothing much else to it.

27: Suddenly X-Men. I like how I drew Sauron in this image, along with the mouse. Dunno why, just kinda do.

28: (ProwlOP, ProwlOP, ProwlOP—) I really like how I drew all of the TFA crew in this image, along with just the general vibe of the image, if that makes any sense. (Look, I really like ProwlOP and the other ProwlOP drawing sucks, ok?)

You might notice these next seven are separated from the other six, and that’s because they’re connected!

Unlike when I was posting these separately, I put these in order, but… if for whatever reason Tumblr messes up the order, the order is as follows: 5, 13, 8, 20, 25 (psss text here says “You can… bring me back to brother?”), 18, 29.

Want a rough outline of how this went? Well, I call it Jetfire Suffers and it’s what it is on the tin. The divergence point is when the Jettwins discover their fire/wind abilities, but Jetstorm never gets his wind. That’s image one, the event. Also, the fire that spread killed Preceptor (who I always call Perpetrator so that’s fun) before it was tamed. Image two is the aftermath of said event. Jazz is a good friend/caretaker. Between two and three, Jazz helps Jetfire get to Earth. For what reason, who knows, I’m not too sure beyond angry science division minus Wheeljack. Image three is on Earth when Jetfire has to use his fire for lighting some sort of cave, but using his fire always reminds him of his dead brother. Image four… the prompt was “bluff” and its a Decepticon. She attempted to tempt Jetfire into joining them, but in the end failed because they couldn’t actually bring Jetstorm back. Image five, hey look it’s Jetstorm and an implied Unicron! For the record, I would image in this AU, Unicron is more of a chaotic neutral than the incarnation of evil and destruction. He just wants to cause chaos and do fun stuff. Anyways, Unicron takes notice of Jetstorm and they talk, leading to that question in the image. Image six, Jetfire is for whatever reason back on Cybertron and Jetstorm has been “revived”. I say revived, I more mean like he’s a zombie that can control himself. This is when they encounter each other, Jetstorm wandering around and Jetfire, for whatever reason, being in the area. Image seven, hey looks it’s a very disformed Preceptor! Unicron took one look at Preceptor hurting the precious child named Jetstorm, went “you do not get to rest peacefully” and made him into this monstrous.

Nothing else after that so… fun. :)

And that’s everything I wanted to share on Tumblr from Inktober!

[i-did-not-mean-to]

imagine being Manwë and Melkor's baby sister and falling for Sauron 👀

Dear anon...I'd rather not imagine that, because that's a very sad thing to imagine haha...

I don't know if you wanted this to be written or just make me think 🙈

If you wanted a ficlet, find 1k of pain under the cut, if not...I think that would be really difficult and problematic...I'm sure it would end in heartbreak to be honest...

If I've misunderstood you, please forgive me ❤️

Words: 1k

Characters: Mairon x OC

Warnings: slight angst

(Also, the lovely people from the SWG server might have inspired me more than was good for either one of us, anon, because they were so sweet and helpful and hence, my original plan of writing some 100 words about this might have...turned into a full ficlet...sorry)

She – her name would by now be lost in the sands of time or the dark crevices of the marring – had seen him first in a world still in becoming and he had defied words and melody by his sheer glory.

In those early days, they had still called him Mairon but – through the ages – he would wear many names like mere robes to be cast off when worn or stained, whereas she would lose the only she had ever claimed as her own; giving up things willingly was in her nature after all.

No-one could escape their destiny and hers was so vague and seemingly inconsequential that being forgotten seemed inevitable; she didn’t mind it though for she knew that everything needed a background and a base to even be visible.

Her function was to be that backbone of patience and belief that held all others aloft and made them shine.

While her brothers – mighty and as beloved as they were feared – had squabbled amongst themselves, she’d wandered around the still young realm, drawn to the creative powers like a moth to a flame. 

While everything had still been thriving, there had been very little for her to do as her heart’s desire and only might was unwavering trust in the face of defeat; her brothers’ sisters in strange and unforeseen ways, she had utter faith in both of them and believed that their respective ambitions would come to fruition and complement each other.

Hitherto, the limitations of her own power and influence had been an absence of creation, a mere shadow, a void as passive as she was; it had only been upon meeting this disciple of Aulë and being cowed by the radiance of his presence that she’d understood how regrettably lacking she really was.

Mairon was a masterful being – skilled, organised, and fair – with a sharp smile and a yet sharper mind, and before she had been able to but pursue that thought, blown away by the winds of her brother, she had found herself helplessly enthralled by the pulsating energy and promise emanating from this creature. 

By rights, he should have acted reverentially towards her but all she had been able to discern was an indomitable desire to unravel and rethread the natural order of things for them to make sense to him, and, evidently, she couldn’t help relenting and pouring herself into his vision, she never had had the strength for that.

She would follow him around – devoted and hopeful still – in hopes that he’d look upon her and find her adequate; steadfast but blurry around the edges, she would have been raw material for him to twist and mould as it pleased him.

Cutting and slightly haughty smiles were all that she had ever gotten from him though and – in the end – he’d followed her brother, Melkor, without casting any lingering glances into her direction. A genius such as his always needed a source of power – be it chaos to put into order or fury to hammer into a blade – and that was when she’d truly understood how impuissant she was. 

Until this moment, she had never resented her brothers for being so formidable; she had been content to live in their shadow and do their bidding if needed but – in that second where all her most cherished dreams had been offered to a seemingly indifferent Melkor – a small flicker of hate had rippled across the still waters of the well of loyalty that was her soul, effectively poisoning it for all the eons to come.

Much later, she sought him out once more, flitting like a wraith across the scarred land she still envisioned healed and hale, while her treacherous brother was confined under the watchful eyes of the other mighty, self-important Powers.

Surely, he would now recognise how wrong he had been in choosing Melkor over her; finally, her patient confidence would be rewarded, and she would be granted what she deserved – it was so very little she asked for, wasn’t it? – and the whole creation would be better for it.

She pleaded, she charmed as well as she could, she gave him her fondest, most brilliant smiles but it was all for naught in the end.

His interest – flaring like a wildfire in those deep eyes – abated almost instantly when he understood that it was selfish longing that brought her all this way rather than a much-awaited message from his master.

He would have treated her with honour had she been a messenger, but – as a supplicant inspired by the need of her own heart – she was cast out of his dark fortress like an unwanted beggar.

“I love you,” she cried in a voice barely above the sigh of the wind or the crunching of feet on fresh-fallen snow, “I have always loved you!”

Gorthaur’s fair brow darkened in confusion before – and this was so much worse – his face smoothed into the gentle, expressionless mien of a butcher about to put the blade to a beast’s throat.

“That’s a pity,” he sighed, “for it means nothing to me. Now run home to your brothers and only return if you have something to tell me that actually is of any interest to me.”

If only he had raged or heaped insults over her bent head, she thought bitterly, she might have fought back, but – as soon as she had spoken those fateful words – she had known herself that it was too late already and that her most intimate and desperate emotions were not even worth a reaction beyond studied and bored politeness to the one she adored so. 

And so, she waited, trusting still that what was rent should be mended and what was lost should be restored eventually; if necessary, she’d linger thus – suspended in agony –  until the world was torn asunder and made anew and time itself started afresh. Next time, she told herself with that quiet confidence that was her gift, she’d turn the tide.

Dearest anon, I am shite at world building 🙈 and I am haunted by the things I've read, so I am very very very sorry if this is not living up to your expectation; I've given it my best shot <3

Lots of love from me :D