#varda x morgoth

[cliffdivingsblog]

Consume

Chapter 5 • 11k words • Rated E

A dark Melkor/Vards romance

The 🐉 chapter…

He is dramatic about it. Of course he is.

Stepping back from her and the water’s edge, letting his shadows engulf him, until all that remains are his eyes, burning at her with a dark, violent flame.

The shadows writhe and boil endlessly, solidifying into long limbs only to sunder again, a mesmerizing dance of his powers.

After a while Varda begins to feel impatient though, fighting the urge to ask him if he really knows what he is doing.

And then the shadows lift from one moment to the other, revealing his form to her. She draws closer in unabashed curiosity, a gasp leaving her lips, granting him the awe he so clearly wanted to incite in her.

The beast before her is gigantic. Its long limbs covered in gleaming red and black scales, that move with every deep breath it takes, its powerful body reminding her of the great predators roaming the wild forests and tundras of Middle-Earth. Coiled, ready to strike at any moment, its deadly claws sinking deep into the soft sand beneath them. Its triangular head is reptilian in nature though, long black horns rising from its temples, curling backwards towards its broad neck, a thick, even darker black mane covering its head between them.

She has seen Melkor in different forms before of course. But none that has fascinated her that much, none that made her heart race in such a wild mix of excitement and apprehension.

“You were right,” she says, voice a reverent whisper. “Beautiful and terrible.”

You can touch, if you want. His voice in her mind is full of smug satisfaction at her reaction.

The scales are not cool underneath her touch like she expected, no they are warm close to scalding, holding an inner fire that draws her closer still, her hand looking awfully small as she caresses the creature's flank.

“Keeping some secrets?” She asks with a laugh, suspecting there is a reason for the power she can feel smoldering underneath the surface.

You can try to find them out, he has curled around her, his huffing laugh sending a cloud of steam up from his nostrils, the warm gust sneaking underneath her cloak to dampen her naked skin causing a delighted shiver.

Her eyes wander to the leathery wings on his back as she wonders how they will look spread in flight.

“Do you think I could ride on your back?” The question is out before she can contemplate if this is wise. “While you fly?”

Do you want to? There is something unexpected in his tone now, something nearly coy. As if he is astonished himself how much she likes his little show.

“Yes.” Her answer falls from her lips in a breathless sigh, the thought of having all that strength and heat beneath her, between her legs, following her commands, sending an overwhelming thrill through her. He must have heard some of her eagerness in her tone, immediately offering her one clawed leg to climb up.

When she does, the brewing storm over the ocean breaks. Lightning striking down into the roiling waves, the growl of thunder in the air coming closer. Her face hardens as she settles down between the dragon’s shoulders, winding a thick strand of its mane around her hands.

None of their brethren is always aware of every occurrence in the elements aligned with their power. But she is not so foolish as to believe in coincidences. By now Oromë and Tulkas have no doubt informed Manwë about everything they have heard and seen.

And it seems her husband is not pleased. Too bad she does not care.

Perhaps not the wisest idea to fly into a storm, Melkor offers, a lilt to his voice.

“I am quite tired of being wise.” Varda leans forward, tugging on his mane impatiently. “Now, up! Or I will think you are incapable.”

Her insolence makes him spring into the air without warning, perhaps a not undeserved surprise, a little shriek escaping her as she has to use her powers to keep herself from tumbling off him. Her vicious cursing earns her an unapologetic laugh.

Really, my queen. I am shocked you know what even half of that means.

He is saved from a scathing retort only by the fact that she can’t catch her breath enough to speak, a wild scream on her lips, as he flies into a deep dive, the waves beneath them suddenly so close she thinks she could touch them.

This is both similar and so different from racing him in spirit form. There is the exhilarating thrill of flight yes, but now she has a body to revel in every sensation. The wind in her hair, the swooping sensation in her stomach, the tentalizing heat and friction between her naked thighs at his every move. It fills her until she feels she could burst with the immensity of it.

“What are you waiting for?” she asks when Melkor hesitates at the edge of the storm, lightning flashing down dangerously close. “Fly in.”

There is rain now, bitingly cold on her hair and her skin, soaking her in seconds. It does not dim her excitement, on the contrary she leans back her head to catch a few drops with her mouth. They explode on her tongue, icy and clear.

“Or are you afraid, oh mighty Lord of Darkness?” She calls out, when the dragon swerves to the side at the last moment one more time.

Are you challenging me? His tone hovers somewhere between amusement and annoyance.

Varda buries her face in the dark mane in front of her, her hands firm on those heated scales, his scent that somehow has not changed, all darkness and something enticingly spicy, all around her.

Always. She thinks back.

[overlord-of-fantasy]

Love in Arda

For Valentines day I have multiple cute shipping quotes for you!

Finwe, rushing into the council room: Greetings, sorry I’m late. I was doing a couple of things and got distracted. Miriel, casually walking in after him: I’m “a couple of things”. Indis, following her, grinning: I’m “got distracted”.

Nerdanel, nervously: Okay, but what if we went to dinner not as friends this time? Feanor, hesitently pulling out his sword: AS ENEMIES?! Nerdanel: ...

Melkor: We’re getting married, bitches! Mairon: And we're about to make it everybody else's problem.

Rog: I don't need to go to bed. I'm not tired, I'll be fine. Salgant: But, darling, I'll be so lonely without you. Come curl up in my arms so I can feel whole again. Rog: O-oh. Well. Are you trying to seduce me into healthy sleeping patterns?? Salgant: Is it working?

Melkor: Hey, what’s up? Manwe, lying in the grass, watching birds: The sky. The eagles. Melkor, rolling his eyes: No, I meant like, what are you doing? Manwe, innocently: Oh, Varda. Varda, over Melkors crying: *highfives Manwe* Nice!

[and-the-stars-collided]

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.

[cilil]

Which of the Yandere!Valar would be worst for you to reject?

𝓐𝓝 ~ Hmm... interesting question! I've given this some thought and decided to list a few of them plus the reasons why (hoping I understood what you meant correctly, as in which Valar would have the worst reactions - if not feel free to send another ask X))

𝓣𝓦𝓼 ~ Yandere, possessive and obsessive behavior, hints at violent behavior, emotional and psychological manipulation, unhealthy and abusive relationships

⊹ ࣪ ˖ Melkor

Probably the most obvious answer. Melkor is particularly obsessive and possessive and doesn't take no for an answer, believing that no one has any right to deny He who arises in Might, the true King of Arda. His love can turn into hatred in a heartbeat, and he will do whatever it takes to claim you as his.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ Varda

The Queen of Stars and Lady of Light is not only revered, but also feared for a reason. She's used to being adored by everyone and admired as the most beautiful being in Eä, so your rejection would be incomprehensible to her. How could you possibly deny her? And what most people don't know about Varda is that her wrath burns just as bright and hot as her stars, and she can be very vindictive.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ Námo

Námo never forgets and has power over fate and death. What a grievous injustice you have committed by rejecting him... but he knows already it won't matter. Because in the end, once death claims you, your soul will fall into his grasp - for eternity if that's his verdict. Even if you aren't mortal, all it takes is a curse for death to eventually find you after all. You can't escape Námo, no matter how hard you try.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ Irmo

To reject Irmo would already be quite a feat, as the Master of Desire has countless tricks up his sleeve to woo you. But even if you do, he too (much like his brother) won't let you escape. Irmo will invade your dreams, twisting them to suit his purposes, and slowly drive you insane with dreams, visions and illusions until you yearn for the sweet relief of his embrace.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

tag list: @a-contemplation-upon-flowers @asianbutnotjapanese @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @bluezenzennie @edensrose @singleteapot @wandererindreams

[aureentuluva70]

The song "You'll be back" from the Alexander Hamilton Musical but instead of King George singing about America it's Melkor singing about Varda after their catastrophic breakup. Do you see my vision

[archiveofthelibrarian]

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Manwion had hair of silver, which at night, reflected the starry sky yet glistened gold when Laurelin waxed. His long silver waves was adored by all, Quendi and Ainur alike, rivaled only by the gold-silver hair of Artanis which was said to have captured the very essence of the Two Trees.

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Love and Glass

Chapter 1

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Inspired by my conversation with @animatorweirdo as anon here.

I did not proof read this, so feel free to point out any mistakes.

Masterpost for the fic can be found here.

DISCLAİMER: I do not own anything you recognize. This is a fanwork for entertainment purposes and should be regarded as such.

Word count: 1.162

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It was just like any other night.

You were on your couch, relaxing and catching up on that show you had neglected for the past month.

It had been a very hectic month at work.

You didn't even want to think, so Netflix was it.

The hours went on and you became more engaged in your show by the minute.

But suddenly, your attention was torn away from the show by a very suspicious noise coming from your backyard.

Cautiously, you took your gun and went to investigate the matter.

What you found was a creature of such beauty, it was otherworldly.

Though he was the exact same height as you and appeared human, he was anything but a normal human.

His hair was silver and it went down to his waist in delicate waves as it reflected the starry night as an ocean, calm and deep.

His face was drained and his complexion was of unsullied light.

His eyes were the darkest shade of blue, capturing the light of stars in themselves.

You were completely entranced, but through some miracle, you managed to keep your guard up.

"Who are you?" you asked, pointing the gun to his forehead.

The creature tilted his head in curiosity. His eyes shined with childlike wonder and innocence.

"What is that?" he asked with pure wonder and innocence. His voice felt like liquid gold to your ears.

"Answer the question!"

The creature flinched and took a step away from you, terrified.

It would be very unwise to trust him, yet it seemed the creature was genuine in his every behavior.

It was almost like he was untouched by malice and did not know of any ulterior motives.

Ignoring the screaming voice of reason in your brain, you lowered your gun and started speaking softly. "Hey, hey. I am sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

The creature looked you in the eyes, his very gaze piercing your heart. "Really?"

You nodded. "Yes, I was just trying to be cautious."

The creature seemed to have believed you in an instant as he lowered his guard entirely.

"Now, what is your name?"

"I don't have a name," the creature said. You felt a tinge in your heart. How could someone not have a name? You so desperately wanted to ask, yet knew better than to pry into a stranger's personal matters.

"Then, how do your people call you?"

"Manwion," he said. "The Amanyar call me Manwion for I am the son of Manwë and Varda."

You felt as if someone poured a bucket of ice-cold water over your head.

"I am sorry, did you say Manwë and Varda?"

He nodded. "Yes, the King and Queen of Arda," he said tilted his head. "Do you not know them? How can you not know them?"

That was it. You had fallen into a coma during work and this was some coma dream shit.

You must have frozen since the creature gently took your hand, jolting you awake.

"Are you okay," he asked.

This was a dream. It had to be.

But the evidence was right here.

"Yeah, I am. Just, surprised..."

That part of your brain which has always been too kind decided to take matters into its own hands as you decided to go invite him in. Whether it was a dream or reality, you couldn't leave someone out here in the middle of the night.

"Why don't you come inside and then we can talk. It is quite a chilly night after all.

The creature smiled. "Okay."

Throughout the entire night, you two talked and as the first light of the sun dawned on earth, it became clear to you that this creature was truly what he claimed to be.

He was the son of Manwë and Varda, the King and Queen of Arda.

He was Manwion, the Silver Prince of Arda,, who was made out of silver crystal and given life.

He was the embodiment of innocence and joy.

He could never know any evil or malice for his heart was untouched by any of it.

But it did not mean malice was nonexistent because he couldn’t know it. And this was a world full of malicious intent.

He was so vulnerable here.

If anyone found out about his existence aside from yourself, they would take him and turn him into a lab rat.

The images of this creature of pure light and joy being experimented on played in your head.

It was so horrible.

You could not let that happen.

So you decided to hide Manwion’s existence from the world, letting him stay in your house.

Manwiom really wasnt hard to love with his cheerful and radiant personality.

He really was the embodiment of joy.

As days turned intp weeks and weeks turned into months, you found yourself liking Manwion more and more.

Looking at him when he wasnt looking, bringing him new things he had not known earlier so that you could see his face light up with joy...

You had fallen in love and you had fallen hard.

But Manwion was a divine being of another world, he was the Silver Prince of Arda and you were but a mere human from Earth who worked 8-5 and ran on cafdeine most of the time.

The thought of having your affection resipricsted seened like fever dream no matter how you looked at it.

But he did in fact return your affections. And he return them as much more beauty than you ever thought was possible.

And so began your days of bliss on Earth.

But it would not last as few things ever did.

Despite all your caution, the authorities managed to find out about Manwion and thus began a search for him.

With no other choice, you took the barest necessities for your survival and Manwion and you fled from your home.

You held the hand of Manwion tight as the light from police cars threatened to blind you.

Manwion's hands were shaking from terror.

There were so many guns pointed at you.

The officer repeated his demand for you to turn yourselves in.

You were hesitant to speak as anything you said would render you in an even worse situation.

Just when you thought it was all over, the very fabric of the space-time was torn, revealing a dark tentacle.

The tentacle started wreaking havoc as it blasted the police cars away.

In the chaos, you and Manwion got separated.

The moment you realized he was not with you, you started to look around frantically.

And suddenly, your world narrowed to the sight of him screaming as he was captured and dragged into the depths of the void by the dark creature.

Without thinking, your body sprang into action taking a gun one of the officers had managed to somehow lose, you held onto the tencale and got dragged with him into the void.

The tear on the fabric fixed itself, trapping you, the creature and Manwion inside.

[elfy-elf-imagines]

To Meet Under the Stars | Thranduil

▹ Pairing: Thranduil x Elf!Reader

▹ Genre: Fluff

▹ Words: ~3k

▹ Summary: In light of the stars, Thranduil finds himself entirely enchanted by a mysterious masked woman.

▹ Notes: I love masquerade balls, that is all. Unedited because we die as men.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

The light of starlight was something sacred to the elves. 

In the times of old, before the moon and sun had been created, Varda placed the stars in the sky, illuminating the world for the elves to see. For all other races, stars were just light that guided their way at night, but they were so much more for the elves. They held the promise of life unsullied by the evil of Morgoth. A beautiful display of glistening diamonds that held the light of creation. To honor the stars was to honor Varda herself.

Under the canopy of stars, the wood elves of Eryn Galen celebrated the first night of the autumn equinox. The moon was full and high in the sky as lords, ladies, and commoners alike gathered for the party. The echo of minstrels ensured there would be no corner of the kingdom not lit with joy. Dragonflies darted across ponds, and crickets hid in the forest, chirping to the beat of the lute. There were festivities all throughout the kingdom, but the main attraction was the masquerade ball held within the palace of King Thranduil. Only guests of high esteem were invited to dance under the lush canopy in the company of the royal family. 

And there you were, with summer in your hair and winter in your eyes. Dancing through the crowd, illuminated in the silver light of the moon, you were the vision of a goddess. A soft halo shone upon your silver-gold hair, pinned in an updo with stray pieces that cascaded down your back. Flowers in purple, blue, and silver hues were placed upon your head like a crown, creating the silhouette of a queen. A silver mask encrusted with enough jewels that it glittered under the light concealed the top half of your face, two holes allowing your eyes to glow in the dark. A grin born of pure ecstasy was outlined by the lipstick on your lips. 

No one could recall who you were nor when you’d arrived at the celebration. It was as if you were always there, lying in wait and dancing with the ghosts of the open-roof ballroom. A laugh rivaling the minstrels' songs hung in the air where you stood and followed your every sweeping move. 

From the high table, with a glass of wine precariously hanging in his hand, Thranduil watched you. He couldn’t help it. It was as if you were weaving some sort of spell, casting it upon all who watched, paralyzed by your song and enraptured by your dance. You were beautiful, quick as a whip, and light as a feather. Each step seemed calculated and purposeful, yet so loose it could only be natural.

Thranduil couldn’t recall ever meeting you, so certain he’d know your laugh even if he couldn’t see your face. His advisors tried to make idle conversation as Legolas spent his time with the other members of the guard, drinking and laughing. Thranduil couldn’t be bothered to even pretend to listen, intently focused on the way your summer blue dress flowed like water around you. It nearly felt sacrilegious to directly look at something so beautiful, like staring at the face of Varda herself. 

“It is a beautiful--” his advisor beside him began to speak, talking so slowly it made Thranduil’s lips curl in slight irritation that was hidden by the goblet he held. He watched as you threw your head back in laughter, finding amusement in whatever the elf lord you were speaking with said. It took all his willpower not to roll his eyes as he drank more sweet wine. 

The elf lord offered you his hand, which you gracefully accepted. Instead of dancing through the crowds alone, you twirled in the arms of another man. It made Thranduil’s stomach turn in a way it hadn’t for centuries. 

You and the elf lord you danced with would flit in and out of his vision, yet the merriment never left your expression, and when the face of your dance partner would face Thranduil, he could see just how enchanted the man was by you. His grip on the goblet tightened, knuckles turning white. 

The song seemed endless, drawing out the end of it for as long as possible. Part of Thranduil was tempted to bark at the minstrels to begin a new one in hopes you would once again be left alone, but he didn’t. A king needed to maintain his composure, even if everything inside was screaming not to. It seemed silly to be so taken by a woman whose face he couldn’t even see. 

“Have you tried one of these cakes yet? They’re quite--” 

“Galion.” Thranduil interrupted the man previously speaking, gaining the attention of his butler. The advisor that had been interrupted scowled yet said nothing else as Galion stepped closer to Thranduil. 

“Yes, my king.”

Thranduil pointed at you, Galion’s eyes following his finger. “Who is that?”

His eyes narrowed as Galion leaned closer to try and get a better look at you. Yet not a glint of recognition twinkled in his eyes. Did anyone here know who you were?

“I’m afraid I am unfamiliar with who she is. Would you like me to fetch her, my king?” Galion asked, his attention returned to Thranduil, whose eyes furrowed in mild annoyance. 

“That will not be necessary, Galion.” He waved his hand, and Galion returned to his previous seat. It would be easy to bring you to him, he was the king, after all, but he didn’t want your meeting with him to seem forced upon you. He already had enough of a reputation as a cold, unfeeling man; it wouldn’t do any good to give you a reason to believe them. 

The song ended, and you stepped away from your partner, lowering into a curtsey that he returned with a bow. Thranduil stood, the legs of his chair scraping on the floor; he didn’t bother giving a weak excuse for his exit. If he doesn't act soon, you might slip from his fingers. Thranduil took long strides down the platform and disappeared into the sea of elves. 

He pushed his way through the crowd, most too lost in the magic of the music to pay their king any mind. He could see you, dancing alone with your eyes shut. The grin on your face was wide, never wavering in the slightest. The distance separating him from you was dwindling, the anticipation making his palm sweaty. The crowd parted, and he could’ve pulled you into his arms if he wanted to. 

But as he opened his mouth, you disappeared into the crowd, so preoccupied you never saw him coming. Thranduil’s eyes narrowed, his misty eyes searching the crowd for you, but you were nowhere to be seen. Had you merely been a figment of his imagination conjured by the trickster spirits rumored to hide in his forest? Perhaps you had been, but Thranduil was determined to comb through the crowd hoping to see you again.

Then, a flit of blue brightened the corner of his eye. He turned, seeing you dart from dance partner to dance partner, now on the other end of the room. A cat-like grin appeared on the edges of his mouth; he’d found you. Once more, he pushed through the crowd, not moving his eyes from you for one second, afraid you’d disappear without a trace if he did.

The crowd would pulse, and you would get closer to him before suddenly spreading out towards the treeline. Thranduil would get close enough to smell your floral perfume, but you'd dart in another direction before he could take your delicate hands in his. He wasn’t entirely sure if it was on purpose; you probably hadn’t even noticed him. Your eyes never locked with his that never strayed from you.

But the gods seemed to smile upon him that night, and as the crowd came closer, Thranduil snatched your hand. Your body twisted to face him, the grin on your face never faltering. The perfume you wore was distinctly jasmine, vanilla, and something sweeter, tantalizing enough to bring him closer to you. His hand was rough in comparison to yours, much larger too. 

“May I have this dance, my lady?” His voice was velvet smooth. Thranduil stood out like a sore thumb as the only one in the crowd without a mask. 

“You may, my king,” you curtsied before placing your other hand on his shoulder as his hand found its place on your waist. Wasting no time, the two of you twisted and spun through the crowd in an airy waltz. You had the grace of a swan, maintaining a poised elegance with a child-like grin. Thranduil felt himself falling deeper into whatever spell you had cast. 

A witch, that’s what you had to be. There was no other explanation for the hammering of his heart or the delight your touch elicited. 

One step back, one step forward, one to the side, and repeat. Another spin, extra flourish added for flavor, and the movements continued. Neither of you spoke, eye to eye, unable to look away from one another. Thranduil found himself counting the flecks in your eyes, convinced they held a thousand little stars in them. 

Perhaps you hadn’t been an illusion placed to taunt him but a gift from the Valar themselves. 

All too soon, the song ended, and the dance was finished. As he watched you do before, you stepped back from Thranduil and lowered into a sweeping curtsey. He wanted to ask you to stay with him, not only for the night but the rest of eternity, but he found himself tongue-tied.

“It was an honor to dance with you, my king.” Your voice was soft and warm, like the spiced tea he would drink before bed. He wanted your name, to lift the mask you wore and lay his eyes upon your face entirely. He needed to see the face of the woman that would surely haunt his every dream. 

Thranduil blinked, and in the brief time, his eyes weren’t on you, you’d disappeared. He half expected for there to be stardust left where your feet had been, but the only proof you’d existed was the imprint of your heels in the grass. His eyes scanned the crowd, twisting his body and craning his head, yet you were nowhere to be seen. But this time, instead of seeing flashes of your dress or silver hair, you were nowhere to be seen. You’d disappeared entirely.

Thranduil stood in the crowd a moment longer, hoping for a glimpse of you before deciding to return to his seat at the table. Perhaps from the high crowd, he could ascertain where you were. Thranduil returned to his seat, acting as if he hadn’t suddenly rushed from the table to dance with you, ignoring the questioning glances from his advisors. His goblet of wine in hand, eyes on the crowd, Thranduil sunk into the music and lost himself in thought. All of them were plagued by you. 

And there he stayed as the hours ticked by, seemingly in a trance. No one at the table bothered to strike up a conversation with Thranduil anymore; it was like trying to converse with a brick wall. So they settled in silence, occasionally remarking about the party with the other guests. 

“My king,” Galion returned to his side. “The lady you danced with has stepped away to the gardens.” Galion’s tone was even as if he were merely commenting on the weather. Thranduil side-eyed him, noticing the tinge of mirth on Galion’s smile. Thranduil tilted his head to the side, then slowly nodded. 

“Perhaps I should ensure our guest is enjoying the festivities.” 

Thranduil stepped away from the table and followed the path toward the garden’s you just slipped into. He took long strides to reunite with you sooner. This time he was determined to get your name and to peek beneath the mask you wore. 

When he finally stepped into the garden, he saw your back turned to him, fingers dipped in the fountain's water. Your posture was relaxed, hair loose and flowing, no longer pinned in the updo it once was. It flowed like liquid silver, furthering his conspiracy that you were a celestial being born of the gods. Precariously hanging in your hand was the mask you’d been wearing, thumbs rubbing against the ribbon that tied it in your hair. The minstrels were now a distant hum, the flowing water, and the chirp of crickets the only song in the gardens.

He stopped a few steps from you, trying to find the words to say. It’d been so long since he’d been made to feel like a shy elfling, nervous about approaching his first crush. A king should be dignified and confident, but he felt all of that crumble in your presence. 

Your ears twitched as Thranduil shifted in his spot, head raising at the sudden intrusion. Slowly, you turned, unsure who to expect would intrude upon your solitude. But of all the people you imagined stepping into the garden, you never anticipated it would be the king. He nearly seemed awkward and unsure in his place, fingers smoothing wrinkles on his robes that weren’t there. 

Immediately you lowered into a curtsey, but the king didn’t acknowledge the movement. His eyes were wide and mouth slightly agape as he stared at you. As he looked upon your face, this must’ve been how the first elf to gaze upon the stars felt. The curves and lines of your face were soft and delicate, the vision of beauty. Your eyes seemed even brighter in the dim lighting, an unsure, shy smile curling on your lips.

“My king.”

He remained silent, too wonderstruck to speak. 

“If you require to be alone, I can--” You began to walk towards the exit, but as you passed Thranduil, his hand reached out and caught your arm. You turned to face him, uncertain. Thranduil’s hand trailed down your arm and intertwined with yours, a soft smile on his lips.

“Of all the people who desire my presence, yours is the one I desire most.”

You swallowed thickly, your mouth suddenly dry. You’d been close to the king only hours ago, sharing a dance with him. Yet the privacy of the gardens and the sweetness of his words, it all felt much more intimate. 

“Then I shall stay.”

Thranduil’s grin widened as he guided you further into the gardens. The flowers were vibrant and lush, a true testament to the skills of the elves. A canopy of trees diffused the moon's light, reflecting off the fountain and casting a spotlight on you. 

“I have a confession.” Thranduil suddenly stopped, eyes intently watching your face, noticing how your lips slightly parted and your eyes glowed with curiosity. “I have found myself quite enchanted with you, my lady. It seems foolish, not knowing your face until this moment and not having your name.”

“It’s Y/N, my king.” You interrupted, a charming smile curling your lips. The hammer of your heart matched the tempo with Thranduil’s. 

“Y/N.” He muttered your name quietly, your name on his lips making your stomach curl. Of all the ways you anticipated this night's end, strolling the garden with the king was not what you could’ve predicted in your wildest dreams.

“Y/N. If I may be so bold, I would like for this to not be the last time we meet. I desire more of your company.” 

Thranduil stepped closer, the heat he radiated warming your chilled skin. Gossebumnps followed where his hands touched, a shiver rushing down your spine. Subtly you pinched the back of your leg, convinced this was nothing more than a dream. Yet you didn’t wake; this moment was real. 

“If I may speak freely, my king?”

Thranduil nodded his head. “Please, you may call me Thranduil. No need for such formalities.”

You tipped your head at him as the smile on your face brightened. 

“If I may speak freely, Thranduil.” You corrected, with an almost mischievous lilt to your voice. “I would much desire more of your company as well. I have heard many rumors of your cold and detached demeanor. I’ve heard of how harsh you can be, yet I have seen nothing of that.”

“I’m glad the whispers of the court haven’t scared you away, my lady.” 

The smile on your face curled into a teasing smirk, eyes illuminating. “You’ll find it’ll take more than malicious rumors to scare me away.”

Thranduil's finger twirled around a lock of hair that framed your face. He seemed relaxed and more at ease than you'd have imagined. 

"A strong will and a fair face, Varda herself must've crafted you."  

His words made your face flush red, so deep it was seen in the dim lighting of the garden. 

"Pretty words you speak, my king; I'm eager to learn if your words match your heart." 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Tags: @jmablurry | @lunatichaotiche | @aearonnin | @emiliessketches | @vibratingbones | @moony-artnstuff | @ranhanabi777 | @kenobiguacamole | @ceinelee | @thranduil | @samnblack | @abbiesthings | @Strangebananabatranch | @bitter--fruit | @keijibum | @lifestylesleep | @themerriweathermage | @im-a-muggleborn | @sweetheart-syndrome | @boyruins | @AwkwardBecomesYou | @delyeceamaitare

[nyarnamaitar]

Ulmo Comforts His King

(AKA a small Ulmo x Manwë drabble I wrote in 5 minutes and decided to throw into the Void)

— — — — — —

He is still not looking at you. He raised his eyes briefly, yes, to meet yours, but he quickly lowered them again. His face is very pale and he seems smaller somehow, curled into himself. He has always been quiet by nature, contemplative, the trappings of his position forcing him to speak more and louder than he would do if he were not crowned king. But this is no comfortable quiet of his; his features too neutral, the curve of his spine too tense.

“Highest?” you ask, trying to get his full attention, trying to connect as you have always done whenever you are together. “Manwë?” you add, pushing, when he remains silent. You are growing desperate, you realise. It has been a while since you have last had a real, private moment with your dearest friend. You miss him. At first, when Melkor — Morgoth, the Eldar call your foe now, deservedly— betrayed you and yours, destroyed the Trees, and fled to his stronghold in the North, Silmarils in hand, you came speeding to your king, and during and in-between the long hours of council, you fought the urge to pull him to the side and let the words I told you so, did I not? He was never worthy of your mercy, let alone your love roll from your lips, but you fear that he heard them anyway. Ever you have failed to keep your heart hidden from him.

And now it has come to this: the radiance of your lord dimmed, his heart and soul surrounded by tall walls, his eyes averted from yours.

And though his demeanor does not come as a surprise — your kinsmen warned you — it still pains you to the very core of your being. He barely speaks to me, Námo said, and when he does, he only ever asks for advice of a political nature. He stares at Vairë’s tapestries in silence. He no longer visits Irmo’s gardens.

We used to enjoy sitting together, Yavanna and Vána told you, enjoying the sight of flowers in bloom and the touch of the wind in the meadow. Now he rarely strays from his mountain home. Even the birds feel his absence; their songs are muted.

My love is grieving, Varda confided, he needs time — or so he told me. But I know his heart and I worry. Sea King — Ulmo — friend — will you not talk to him?

So now you are here, in front of him, yet no words are sufficient to encompass the enormity of what you feel, what you wish to tell him. I know you are ashamed; do not be. I know you believe I judge you; I do not — I never did — I only ever sought to protect you. I know you find yourself unworthy of your station; do not condemn yourself so. You are by far the worthiest among us. Please believe me. Please allow me to stand by you, as I have always done. Do not push me away, where I cannot find you.

His soft-spoken words, almost whispers, take you out of your reverie. “Sea King — Ulmo — what brings you here?” he asks, as if he cannot quite grasp why anyone would willingly seek out his company. It is this uncertainty, this self-hatred you hear in his voice that makes something balk within you, scream in outrage. You have to make this right. Now. You go to him, almost running, and before he can flee into hiding, you take his hands and kiss his wrists — his pulse is like the thunder that precedes a storm —, his open palms. You pull him closer to you and you look up. The walls are down, finally leveled, and you see tears clouding his blue eyes. He bows his head in sorrow. You embrace him, and he goes willingly, curls himself against your chest. Something slumbering within you unwinds and comes to life. From this day forth, you swear to yourself, you will not waver from his side.

[ivfrankenstein]

got power over me; 

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: Halbrand/Sauron x fem!reader 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘:

“It's not an enviable fate they've given you. There’s s no mercy in tying you to me.” “It was you, not them, who did the tying. Wasn't it you who named me that precious word — lover? Aren't we bound by the same ties?”

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: maia!reader, angst/fluff here, guess it’s star-crossed lovers trope 𝐚/𝐧: seren — star [in welsh]. gif: @ladyhawke​; eng not my 1st language, so be merciful for mistakes, my stars 🫶🏻

𝕹𝖔𝖓𝖊 𝖔𝖋 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝖁𝖆𝖑𝖆𝖗 understood the purposes of the One so clearly as Manwë. With Manwë dwelt Varda, Lady of the Stars, and the light of Iluvatar still lived in her face. Melkor feared her more than all others whom Eru made. Back in the days when Melkor's misdeeds began, an idea was sent to Varda to summon a spirit she had created earlier from the Light of the Stars, capable of bringing back those of the good powers who had been seduced by Melkor's darkness.

That light of the combined creation of Manwë and Varda was to reveal the true path to those of Morgoth's devotees who were still capable of seeing it and hesitating.

By the time Serena was descended upon Arda, the Great Enemy had fallen, but his strongest and most loyal servant was still wandering among the living, bringing himself into voluntary exile. Only one and only once did he fall into the despair that led to his repentance. He was called by many names by those who suffered at his hand, but Sauron was his last. 

In those relatively early years of Y/N's life, a name Serena bore in Middle–earth, she lived by instinct rather than orders from above, the way she was able to. Left alone to face all the new things, Y/N was just at the stage of exploring the world that was to become her home for centuries when, along with the rest, she faced Mairon. Which is why, when the two met, it was more of an accident than a successful hunt. But that’s a different story from this one.

That one was about how it's not hard to stop a dagger when it's already so close to someone else's chest, and also how it's not hard to be penetrated by another. This story, on the other hand, is about what you have to deal with when trust isn’t your strong suit after all. 

“Even if it was me who did the tying, I won't let it be used against me.” 

Many days in this wilderness and in this hut overgrown with moss on the outside. No longer than usual, in fact. But apparently too little space, and in its absence, too palpable is the addiction into which he has driven himself and not even noticed. 

“Used? W-what do you think it is? The nets I cast to catch you?” 

Y/N always deftly handled his temperament — not fervent, but at times so chilling that it scorches better than any fire. But this time Halbrand noticed how her lower lip trembled slightly. He didn't care if it was caused by the anger he'd driven her to, or by resentment. All he wanted was to push her to the level of vulnerability to which he himself had reached, so it would be fair.  

“It could become them,” dense shadows ran across his face, dispersed by the warm light of the candles, as he stepped back to curtain the small window. “Have you forgotten what you were created for in the first place?” he looked at Y/N half-turned, just enough to see her reaction, but not enough for her to see his.

Such a typical move of his. Which, in context, is a silent acknowledgement that Sauron is almost defeated, and it touches those deep strings of Y/N's heart that make her cheeks blush. It was obvious that she shared this defeat with him, though to his eyes it remained hidden. 

“You don't think they're proud of what you've accomplished in this, do you?” he taunted Y/N on purpose, outwardly mocking the way she had missed, failed, and fallen, keeping quiet that it was actually him who did all of this. With an impenetrable grin on his face, Halbrand feared that Y\N would seriously back down, obey his deceptive speeches or voice of reason, or anything else that would raise doubts in her faith in him. 

He was seeking devotion, and that devotion was a treasure she would not give him so easily.

“Take off your cynical mask when it's me you're talking to.” Y/N said sternly and rose from her seat, “You wanted me to call you Halbrand,” she took a step toward him, keeping his provocative gaze on her, “so deign not to treat me as if it were Melkor's right hand that appeared before me.” 

“But it is.” Halbrand was gloomy, like an enraged sky before the onset of a rainstorm, and it was almost like he physically exhaled the flames he was diligently extinguishing somewhere in the depths. 

Yet, Y/N kept walking forward, “No, not anymore,” her palm reached his chest and he shuddered, “You were created like Mairon, and there wasn't a single trace on you of what torments you now,” she could feel how his heart pounded out of his ribcage through the thin fabric of his tunic, “The traces will go away if you let them.” She stared at the throbbing vein on Halbrand's neck for a long moment, then looked up at him, “Is it possible for you to let them?” 

Her lips were in such a pleasant, pampering closeness and it made him so angry. It was a desire... something, in this mortal form, that Halbrand had to get used to for quite a while. He ran his hand across Y/N cheekbone the way it was the blade of a knife, not his finger. 

“If all this turns out to be the intention they put in you, my Serena, just to punish me..” he grabbed her neat face, “It'd better not be, because I'm going to be dead pissed.” 

Y\N only laughed at it, “You should know me better than that.” she found his hand, only briefly averting her gaze from his eyes fixed on her, and wove their fingers together, “But instead, you choose to be blind.” 

Whether it was the sweetness inherent in a woman's nature or the the prodding effect of Maiar, Halbrand, yet, wanted to believe that this was how love was functioning. He had only basic notions of this curse, but even that was enough for him to classify himself as one of these poor doomed men as well. This weakness, seeping into him like poison, urged him to give in, to give more than he had, to the one he had chosen (or not chosen), but wanted to keep near him either way. 

He was holding Y/N by the chin when, for the first time, the crystals of tears gathered at the border of her fluttering lashes became obvious to him. Her soul languished in oppressive anticipation for at least a word, his word, to be spoken. 

“I will spend entire years needing you if you ever abandon me.” he said in a low voice, “Will your love be enough not to condemn me to such a fate?” 

Y\N gently moved her palm to Halbrand's neck, and softly drew him to her until their foreheads touched. To her relief, he followed easily. “I don't know what our fate is, Hal,” his breath was warm on her, and it reminded her that this was reality, a peaceful one, not that which she was accustomed to in all her chilling visions, “Is yours enough to keep us both from getting there?”

[cliffdivingsblog]

Consume

A Varda/Melkor romance

Chapter 3 • 11k words • Rated E

Using the @thehaladrielfancollective Kinktober Bingo prompts:

Blood play, Edge play, cuckholding, impact play, primal, hints of quirofilia and masochism (if you count him getting off on her nearly offing him)

She is sobbing when her lips find his, sobbing into his mouth, the salt of her tears as bitter between them as all their regrets, her fingernails boring into his shoulders, as she presses herself against him, desperate for closeness despite it all.

“I hate you,” she presses out somewhere in between the madness.

I hate that I want you. I hate that I need you. I hate that… I love you.

“I know,” he answers, voice as rough as hers, taking everything she unleashes on him without complaint. “Maker, I know.”

Her hands tremble as she pulls the robe off his shoulders, kissing frantically down the pale line of his throat, then down his chest, finding only hard flesh beneath.

He is as efficient in undressing her, her cloak on the floor in moments, the glittering bodice joining it the moment he figured out how to open the clasp on her nape.

And then she is lifted up and gently deposited on the bed, her whole body shivering in such overwhelming need for him she feels as if she is going to die if she can’t have him right now.

“I want all of it tonight.” Melkor’s voice is soft as he crawls on top of her, the gentle rasp of a lover’s confession, intimate, needy, his eyes endless dark pools that suck her in. “All of you.”

A beat of silence, heavy with three endless ages filled with loneliness and longing. And then … “Please.”

Varda can sense how much that one word costs him, how he struggles with it, barely able to let it escape into the quiet between their minds where only she will ever hear it; she cannot remember him begging anyone else for anything ever before.

And she wants it, too. Wants it, needs it, craves it. So much that the persistent ache of that need eclipses everything else. Her doubts, her fears, her regrets.

She knows she shouldn’t. By the One she knows she shouldn’t.

But there is no hesitation in her as she reaches out to bridge the gap between them, her hand against his neck, catching the wild cadence of his pulse, of his life, not able to resist the urge to drown in it.

“Then take it all.”

[unendingwanderlust]

A cute, fluffy little something for OCKissWeek and Femslash February featuring two of my favorite old ladies (though in this story they're just babies). Enjoy!

TITLE: Sunrise RATING: G WARNINGS: None. RELATIONSHIPS: Eregil/Carlaerneth (OFC x OFC) WORD COUNT: 760 SERIES: A World Of Our Own

SUMMARY: Watching the sunrise in the woods outside of Menegroth should be pretty uneventful.

Unless one is in love with her childhood best friend, that is…

READ ON AO3 or below:

Although the two cousins snuck out of Menegroth together so as to watch the sunrise bathe the holly forest of Region gold, somewhere along the way Eregil lost Lúthien. If she had to guess, the princess was with Daeron in the woods, dancing to the melody of his flute.

Not that it mattered much, as Doriath was the safest realm on Middle Earth. No harm would come to either of them as long as they stayed within its borders, in the cozy protection of the queen’s girdle. Besides, Eregil had something else in mind; specifically, someone else.

Calaerneth waited at their usual rendezvous spot at the glade, brown hair braided with the wildflowers that blossomed in spring. A covered basket rested next to her, and the skirts of her light green dress pooled around her. “You made it.”

Eregil had worn navy blue so that no one would notice the grass stains and inquire. She joined Calaerneth on the ground. “Of course I would.”

Calaerneth raised the cloth that covered her basket. “I picked mushrooms. Perhaps I could make soup for you tonight, for dinner? I promise, these mushrooms will not give you strange visions. This time, I checked my book twice!”

Eregil chuckled. “Unfortunately, I cannot. Uncle Thingol finds it very important that the whole family dines together every night.”

Calaerneth tried to control her disappointment so that it would not show in her face- and failed.

“But he never said anything about lunch,” Eregil said. “Would that be acceptable instead?”

Calaerneth grinned and nodded. “Yes! That would be great!”

A deep blue overtook the sky just before the sun would appear. The forest around them was still and peaceful, its little critters slumbering inside tree trunks or among leaves.

Eregil yearned to hold Calaerneth’s hand, to lace their fingers together and never let go. They used to do that as elflings, but then adolescence had come, and it had added new meaning to each gesture that they dared not explore. How could they, when one was royalty and the other a lowborn? Even if Calaerneth’s status was ignored, the fact that their marriage would be a fruitless one would never be. It was Eregil’s duty to the Crown to continue the bloodline eventually.

The fierce glow of the sun rose between the trees as the clouds lazily rolled by in the spring breeze. The world transformed from cold and blue into golden and gentle.

Calaerneth fiddled with her dress, her hands, even the grass. She cleared her throat. “You know, according to the texts, the sun is a new invention. There was a time when there was no moon either. When Morgoth and Ungoliant destroyed the Two Trees, Telperion the Silver and Laurelin the Gold, Arda was plunged into complete darkness…”

The sunlight danced in Calaerneth’s eyes, one brown and one blue, and oh, Eregil was in so much trouble!

“…but through the combined power of Yavanna and Varda, Laurelin produced a single fiery fruit before it died, which the Great Smith Aulë-”

Eregil leaned forward and pressed their mouths together, silencing the rest of the speech-length sentence.

They had kissed before when they were elflings: innocent little pecks on the cheek, forehead, or mouth. It was a gesture of affection between two best friends who had grown up together and nothing more. However, something about their current kiss was far more serious, as if the brief contact of their lips had birthed a whole new universe within Eregil.

When Eregil pulled back, her heart pounded. “I am sorry, I interrup-”

A gentle hand grasped her jaw and then they were kissing again, slow and passionate in the golden sunlight.

They only paused for breath, but something caught Calaerneth’s attention. She was looking at a spot over Eregil’s shoulder, eyes wide as a doe’s.

“Let me guess,” Eregil sighed. “Lúthien is right behind me…”

“Yes.” Lúthien crossed her arms and tried to assume a stern look, but the mirth that danced in her eyes betrayed that she was seconds away from a giggling fit. “I apologize for ruining your attentive sunrise-watching, but we must head back before ada realizes that we are gone.”

With a grumble of words extremely unsuitable for royalty, Eregil rose to her feet. She helped Calaerneth up and tucked a stray strand of brown hair behind her pointed ear.

“I will see you at lunch?” Calaerneth asked.

“Of course.” Eregil pecked her lips, followed her cousin down the path that led to the city, and braced herself for the merciless teasing that would follow…

[and-the-stars-collided]

Feelings I associate with the Valar:  

Melkor  —  the pleasant sinking feeling deep in your chest as you look down at the ground from something tall

Manwë  — the "boom" in your heart when you hear a firework explode

Varda  —  the safeness you feel when you see the moon shining

Ulmo  —  the feeling when you finally adjust to the cold of the ocean

Aule  —  the pride of building furniture by yourself

Yavanna  —  the surge of need to protect a child you love

Orome  —  the horror-struck feeling when you are alone and everything is too quiet 

Nienna  — the absent feeling when you are doing something enjoyable and then suddenly feel like the world is falling down around you

Námo  —  the bolt of panic though your body when you hear a strange noise in the night

Irmo  —  the giggle in your chest when you were given a sip of wine as a child

Este  —  the calm of having someone brush your hair

Vaire  —  the buzz of your fingers opening a package you had been waiting for

Vana  —  the rush of euphoria when you open your window in the morning and everything smells green

Tulkas  —  the anticipation as you wait for someone to realise you pranked them

Nessa  —  the funny feeling in your stomach when you see the sun outside your window and realise you've stayed up all night

[cilil]

Manwë Week Day 5

"You were hurt many times in these past few ages... often by Melkor's hand, but also by the cruelty of the dark world outside our realm that he has created."

Day 5: Free of Evil | Opposition Relationship(s): Manwë x Varda Synopsis: [Based on an alternate version of the Chaining*] Manwë is plagued by guilt after Melkor has been imprisoned. Varda, however, comes to a different conclusion. Warnings: Getting into dark!Varda territory AO3

*In Morgoth's Ring, there's an alternate version of the Chaining of Melkor. Tldr: During their confrontation in Utumno, both Melkor and Manwë realize how much power he's lost and Melkor offers to come to Valinor willingly to serve the others and fix the damage he did (while secretly planning to infiltrate the realm, like Mairon on Númenor), which Manwë accepts. The Valar, however, later agree that Melkor can't be allowed to walk freely without thinking about his actions first, so he still ends up in Mandos and accuses Manwë of being faithless.

"You have done well today, even though it was a hard choice to make. I am proud of you."

Varda's warm hand squeezed his, but Manwë looked down at his lap instead of meeting her gaze. 

"I am not," he confessed. "I... I promised Melkor—" 

"You promised that he may repair the damage has done, never that he may walk among us freely without any consequences for his actions," Varda said firmly. 

"But now he thinks of me as faithless. He... he thinks that our bond as brothers is worthless and that I betrayed him." Manwë lowered his head and wrapped his wings around himself. 

"Which is yet another attempt of his to sway you by way of guilt. Don't listen to him; this time he will have to keep his word, just as you will keep yours in the end." 

"You don't understand." He regretted his words as soon as he had said them, fearing that he may have hurt Varda in his grief. Yet it was something that had been on his mind for many years, for as much as he loved and adored his wife, she had always hated his brother and had no siblings of her own, making him feel like she never quite understood the depths of his pain and loss; and neither did most of the other Valar, not even Ulmo, his closest friend. 

Varda contemplated his words for a moment. "Perhaps not quite," she admitted eventually, "but what I do understand is that you are hurt, and it pains me to see you so."

She gathered him in her arms and placed his head on her bosom. 

"You were hurt many times in these past few ages... often by Melkor's hand, but also by the cruelty of the dark world outside our realm that he has created."

"I... yes, he did." Manwë had never been a liar and wasn't even going to attempt it; not with his beloved wife, not when she had been there. She had come to his aid many times, she had witnessed him being wounded in battle, she had carried him home and shielded him from harm, she had watched over him when Estë and Irmo tended to him, she had held him when he wept — just as she did now. Tears were already flowing down his cheeks, and Varda gently wiped them away. 

"My poor little bird, always getting hurt..." Her voice was heavy with heartbreak, making Manwë wish he could be stronger for her, but he was too upset to even think about pretending that he was fine. 

And Varda would know the truth anyway. She always did. 

"Come now. You need to rest." 

Manwë didn't protest when he was carried to their chambers and soon found himself lying on their bed with his head in Varda's lap. 

"I... I am sorry," he sniffled, but she placed a finger on his lips.

"Melkor should be sorry," she said. "And I am too. I wish I could have protected you from all of this pain." 

"But you—" 

Varda bent down to silence him with a kiss. "Yes, me," she whispered, "because I found my purpose in being your queen, keeping you safe, loving you... and this burden, too, you shan't carry alone." 

Manwë's heart would've leapt with joy if he hadn't felt a sudden coldness in the air around his wife and perceived something within her that confused him, something sharp and deadly like the edge of a blade, a hidden determination he had never seen before. 

"Never again shall your evil brother lay his sullied hands on you. Never again shall you go to war or be forced to carry a weapon. Never again shall you leave the Blessed Land, at least not before the end of days — just as Father decreed." 

Varda kissed him again. 

"No, you will stay here where I can always protect you and take care of you. And in time these wounds too shall heal, and you will be happy again as you should be."

"But what if I am needed again? The Children—"

"The Children will grow and prosper and in the end inherit this world. You know this; Father has told you himself. And Námo and I remember the Music well."

Sensing that he was unhappy, Varda cradled her husband in her arms. 

"You are so precious to me, beloved. Perfect and pure in every way, not even Melkor could mar you. Yet I fear that in the end your spirit could break under the weight of your grief. Do you not see that, precisely because you are the Elder King and holiest among us all, you must be preserved?" 

Her words, as always, made perfect sense, and Manwë felt awful for even attempting to disagree with his wife. 

"So is that what it means to be king? That my own halls and my own kingdom shall be my cage?" he mumbled. 

"Never think of it as a cage," Varda scolded him gently. "Think of it as a warm and comfortable nest high up in the clouds, where you can perch and watch the world down below. With my power aiding you, nothing shall be hidden from your eyes, your servants shall bring news to you and your winds shall ever faithfully whisper in your ears."

It sounded good like this, and Manwë finally gave a hesitant nod of affirmation. Perhaps he was too upset to think rationally right now and would soon see the wisdom in Varda's words. Perhaps it was better this way after all the mistakes he had already made. 

He snuggled up to her. "I shall do as you say, my love. You won't have to worry about me." 

Varda laughed lightly. "Silly bird, I will always worry about you; but my heart will surely be at ease knowing that you now remain safe in our new home and that your brother is dealt with for a time." 

"I do wish to see him again," Manwë opined meekly. 

"You may once he is reformed, and no sooner than that. It is for your and his benefit."  

His queen was so gracious and wise, and he felt his smile returning to him, no longer afraid of what he had glimpsed within her heart — even as the shadow remained.

Thanks for reading! ♡

taglist: @asianbutnotjapanese @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @bluezenzennie @edensrose @eunoiaastralwings @i-did-not-mean-to @melkors-defense-attorney @singleteapot @stormchaser819 @wandererindreams @manweweek

[aureentuluva70]

Nothing to see here just Manwë and Varda being the glorious power couple they are

(From Morgoth's Ring, page 329)

[archiveofthelibrarian]

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Manwion had hair of silver, which at night, reflected the starry sky yet glistened gold when Laurelin waxed. His long silver waves was adored by all, Quendi and Ainur alike, rivaled only by the gold-silver hair of Artanis which was said to have captured the very essence of the Two Trees.

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Love and Glass

Prologue

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Inspired by my conversation with @animatorweirdo as anon here.

I have conflicted feelings about this. One one hand, I love the idea and can't get it out of my head. On the other, my execution of this is questionable. So I am throwing it into the void of internet.

I tried to mimick the style in which Tolkien wrote to convey this idea's whimsical and dreamy feel in my head. Alhtough I am not sure I have succeded. Again, this is not beta read, so feel free to point out any mistakes. I

Masterpost for the fic can be found here.

DISCLAİMER: I do not own anything you recognize. This is a fanwork for entertainment purposes and should be regarded as such.

Word count: 432

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Long ago, before the rising of the Sun and the Moon, all newborn elves would be brought before the Valar so that they may receive a blessing from those who crafted Arda.

With time, there grew a great love for elflings in the hearts of the Valar. And though they all loved the elves, there was no greater love than the one Manwë and Varda bore.

Their love was so great, that they wished to love a child of their own, and though they knew it was against the vision of Eru, they set out to work.

With the help of Aulë the smith, Manwë and Varda took their love, poured it into Aulë's work, and then shaped and molded it into their desire.

Finally, a child resembling an elfling came to be from the work of the Valar. Though he looked as any elfling would, he had no free will or fire of his own.

Eru, who saw the great love Manwë and Varda bore for this creation for their's, allowed him to live and have a fire of his own.

But this wayward behavior of Manwë and Varda could not go unpunished, so he allowed the child no name of his own, save for Manwion, meaning son of Manwë, so that he may know when he is called.

Blinded by their love for the little child they would call their own, Manwë and Varda paid no mind to it.

But everyone else did.

The rest of the Valar pitied him, the Maiar shed tears him and the Quendi looked at him oddly, for the Quendi valued their names above all their possessions.

But Manwion understood none of this, for he was a being of innocence and wonder. He could not understand any darkness or malice.

But that did not matter in a world pure and untainted.

What none of the dwellers of Aman, save for Fëanáro, understood was that nothing in this world could last forever.

Soon, Melkor was released from the Halls after his three ages long imprisonment and he started his plan for revenge.

No one noticed as he sowed lies and discord among the Noldor. No one until he stole the holy light and the precious prince.

Melkor, who was renamed into Morgoth, destroyed the Two Trees with the help of the spider Ungoliant and kidnapped Manwion.

As the Valar and the Vanyar wept for their loss, the Noldor took action. With their spirits ignited by Fëanáro's passionate speech, they started their journey to the eastern lands of Beleriand.

The dead bodies of the Trees stand in Ezellohar still but no one knows what happened to their joyful, pure prince Manwion.

Not even the Dark Lord himself.

[serregon]

thinking about how in middle earth the constellation Orion represents Túrin. I would love to see him with Orion symbolism on his armor

quote from HoME X: Morgoth’s Ring

Now Varda took the light that issued from Telperion and was stored in Valinor and she made stars newer and brighter. And many other of the ancient stars she gathered together and set as signs in the heavens of Arda. And many other of the ancient stars she gathered together and set as signs in the heavens of Arda. The greatest of these was Menelmakar, the Swordsman of the Sky. This, it is said, was a sign of Turin Turambar, who should come into the world, and a foreshowing of the Last Battle that shall be at the end of days.