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cilil · 4 months

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𝓐𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓵𝓪𝓼 - 𝟐𝟎 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞

⊱ Memories

Characters: Melkor/Mairon Synopsis: Mairon works on a statue of his beloved. Warnings: Loss of spouse, grief

Only perfection would be good enough for his beloved. Every angle, every plane, every little quirk and detail that was burned into his memory, he would shape it all with utmost love and reverence; and he wouldn't rest until everything was as it should be.

Mairon put down his hammer and chisel and lovingly caressed the statue's cheek. The smooth, cool texture of the stone reminded him of the Vala's skin, and for a few precious seconds he closed his eyes and allowed himself to indulge in the fantasy, to pretend that Melkor was here with him.

Yet the moment was fleeting, just another dream of a lonely, widowed Maia, vanishing as quickly as it had come over him. Mairon opened his eyes and met the statue's empty gaze, once again hit with the painful realisation that he was alone and that his husband wasn't coming back, no matter how hard he tried to cling to everything that reminded him of him.

Memories were all he had left, and in the quiet solitude of his forge, he rested his head on lifeless stone and wept.

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edensrose · 1 year

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─────── .°୭̥ ✿ˎˊ˗ day six : doom

( ❀ ) ˙ ˖ námo⠀〳 reader⠀ ❜࿔

· ⊰ synopsis. death is his domain, and yet námo finds himself slipping when he sees a vision of your demise ( angst ៸៸ death ៸៸ war themes )

· ⊰ notes. I am. . . not okay and now neither will any of y'all be <3

He has seen death ample times in his millennia’s worth of existence.

He has witnessed the grief and wallowing of thousands of souls that enter his halls.

He has even found beauty in it. Death, that is. The release of responsibilities. The fierce, icy grip that would soon lead to peace.

He admired it, he envied it.

And yet. . . The day that Námo perceived your final moments, he found himself unable to function. Unable to speak, eat, sleep.

Countless times has he seen death, and yet nothing shook him more to his core than the sight of you laying there on the battlefield. Your body painted with crimson and your eyes shut. That beautiful face of yours so serene despite the wounds that littered your fána. For a moment, he may have considered the possibility of you simply lost in slumber, if it were not for the scene of chaos that carried on around you.

That is what his world had become, chaos. The realisation that he could not protect you broke him in several ways. He knew that this was unstoppable. He knew that this was fate. But what the Vala also knew is that this was cruelty in its finest. For The One to have shown him such horrible imageries — of the person he holds dear no less. . .

Námo was in a state. To know that your end would not be a peaceful send off. You would pass away in the heat of battle, the day of Dagor Dagorath. He will witness your death and yet, despite all his power and might he will not be able to reach you.

For the first time in his entire existence, he wished to listen to the whispers. To defy the very law by which Eru governs. To escape the loop. To break the will. The sight of you laying there on the ground was simply too much to bear.

It keeps him awake for weeks.

Months.

And worst of all? He finds himself drawing away from you. For whenever he sees your face, images of that fateful day to come plague his very eyes. He cannot move, cannot speak. He is ill with anxiety. Choking on the bitter reality.

He shuts you out.

He shuts you out, and there is nothing you can do about it.

Even when his mind screams at him. Reminds him that this is the route that his Creator has set out for him, he still continues. He isolates himself from you. Like a puppet on the strings he obeys and is pulled in the direction of this unwarranted fate.

It matters not how much he tries to fight it. Nor how much he wishes to scream until his lungs pour with crimson as he curses the name he has only ever known as holy.

And it is not until you are lying there on that battlefield. Peaceful amongst the chaos. Unaware of his wailing agony and his desperation to get to you. To scoop you up in his arms and savour your warmth. To whisper into your hair and kiss your lips one final time

It is only then that he truly realises the meaning of the word doom.

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#— ꒰🌺꒱ 𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐛𝐮𝐝𝐬 ៸៸ tolkien ❜‧₊#námo #námo mandos #namo mandos #námo x reader #namo x reader #námo / reader #the silmarilion #silm #tolkien #tw death #athelasdrabblechallenge #athelas drabble challenge #drabbles #writing

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a-world-of-whimsy-5 · 10 months

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Athelas Drabble Challenge: Submission

Pairing: Melkor x Mairon

Themes: Very mild smut

Warnings: Very mild smut | NSFW | Bondage - Hand ties

Wordcount: 300 words

Summary: Melkor submits for the first time.

Rating: 🔥 | Minors DNI | 18+

Rules and tag form here.

"Submit." It was what Mairon wanted—something other than lord and master. "Out there, I bow to you," he insisted, "but in here, you belong to me."

Melkor had scoffed. He was the true elder king, the greatest among them all. He would never submit to another.

And yet, it was what Mairon desired. Submission. Melkor finally yielded. And he found it to be different. Submitting to Mairon was different. It felt right, like that was how they were supposed to be.

And now Mairon's lips were a hair's breadth over his own, the flat of his palm cupping his cheek. That touch blazed like a furnace, but Melkor felt no pain. All he felt was pleasure shooting through him like bolts of white-hot lighting.

"Does it hurt?" he whispered, his voice already thick with need.

His name. Just his.

"It does not, precious." Melkor moaned when lips that tasted of cloves and honey opened over his, and warmth flooded his entire being. Mairon pressed into him, their fanas cleaving to each other while he moved. His eyes closed and his mouth opened in a silent cry as each thrust brought him closer and closer to the edge of the cliff. Melkor only encouraged him; his words and pleas and cries inflamed him.

It felt so strange to be the instrument of another's pleasure. To have to lay there, hands bound to the bedpost, unable to touch or possess, to be at the mercy of another, was indeed strange. And overwhelming. And exhilarating. Melkor yielded to hungry kisses, to caresses that went from gentle to frantic in the blink of an eye, to the nails that left a mark of their own all over his fana. He drowned in Mairon's desperate moans, his name spilling off Mairon's lips.

It was glorious.

tags: @cilil @edensrose @fictionfordays @asianbutnotjapanese

#trabble #athelasdrabblechallenge #angbang #melkor #morgoth #mairon #sauron #melkor x mairon #morgoth x sauron #the silm #The silm imagine #the silmarillion #the ainur #the valar #the maiar #fanfiction #writeblr #💫whimsy's shenanigans #💫a world of whimsy writes

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cilil · 5 months

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𝓐𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓵𝓪𝓼 - 𝟐𝟎 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞

⊱ Gardens

Characters: Irmo/Estë Synopsis: After the destruction of Almaren, Irmo and Estë rebuild their home. Warnings: /

AN: I decided to post the rest of this challenge at last because of my November goals (wrapping up old projects) as well as cleaning out my WIPs and drafts before all the December projects start. Hope you enjoy!

"How is the little one doing?"

Estë looks over her husband's shoulder while Irmo tends to the tiny sapling they planted recently.

"It appears to be healthy and ready to grow. Though I may ask Yavanna for assistance just to be sure."

He turns his head to kiss Estë's cheek, causing a soft, relieved smile to appear on her lips.

They had a garden on Almaren, one they spent much time cultivating and caring for, and it broke her heart when it was destroyed. Yet somehow Irmo managed to save this one sapling on that fateful day, the last thing that now remains of their old home; he did it for her, knowing how much it means to her.

Estë wraps her arms around him and places her head on his shoulder. How blessed she is to call this wonderful Vala her husband.

"I suppose that would be for the best," she says.

"Either way, worry not, my love." Irmo rests his cheek against hers, and she can hear the smile in his voice. "One day we will sleep together underneath this tree."

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cilil · 5 months

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𝓐𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓵𝓪𝓼 - 𝟐𝟎 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞

⊱ Poem

Characters: Ulmo/Manwë Synopsis: Ulmo attempts to express his feelings to his beloved king and friend. Warnings: /

His king loves poetry, Ulmo knows.

Yet while music comes to him as easily and naturally as his own element, poetry loves him not.

The piece of paper in front of him is blank save for a few drops of water and ink and it's not the first of its kind. Even though Ulmo remembers ages of thoughts and feelings he could describe, nothing feels like it would be good enough to present to Manwë.

In the end, he gives up and returns to the ocean. And while words have eluded him for hours now, his heart still aches, wishing to be heard, so Ulmo sings to his element. Perhaps his beloved will hear him, he thinks, if the echo of his song reaches the clouds around Taniquetil and fresh rain fills the pools of Ilmarin. Either way this is the best he can offer, and he hopes Manwë still finds joy in the union of their elements like he did in the past.

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cilil · 5 months

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𝓐𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓵𝓪𝓼 - 𝟐𝟎 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞

⊱ Tears

Characters: Eönwë/Olórin Synopsis: After centuries of carrying his burdens alone, Eönwë finally finds comfort in Olórin's arms. Warnings: Angst, Eönwë needs therapy

Eönwë tried his best to be strong for his brothers and sisters in arms. Never falter, never flee, never fail. And in the end he succeeded, defeating the Dark One on his own to finally end the war.

But at what cost?

Beleriand is no more, and now, centuries later, neither is Númenor–because of his mistakes. Because he couldn't save the Children or the land, because he let Mairon escape, because he didn't manage to provide enough guidance and wisdom.

When Olórin finally finds him and opens his arms, wordlessly offering comfort, Eönwë embraces him and leans against the smaller Maia, desperate for support and reassurance. Warm hands caress his hair and rub soothing circles between his wings, providing him with the touch and closeness he craves.

"I am sorry I failed them. And I failed you too," he says through ósanwë.

"You did not." Olórin replies. "We are all proud of you; but never forget that, regardless of your deeds and your service, you are loved."

It is only then, after ages of trying to be strong, that Eönwë finally closes his eyes and allows himself to weep.

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cilil · 4 months

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𝓐𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓵𝓪𝓼 - 𝟐𝟎 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞

⊱ Blade

Characters: Valyaren/Amaurë Synopsis: Valyaren attempts to take the prince under his wing. Warnings: / Author's Note: Somewhat connected to Shame and Royalty, but can be read as a standalone. Feel free to check those out if you'd like to know about what's secretly been going on between prince and herald ;)

"Your blade work is extraordinary, my prince," Valyaren compliments with a placid smile, lowering his sword as their training session concludes.

Amaurë lights up in response to the older Vala's praise and smiles back. His magenta eyes are wide and soft – so trusting, so innocent.

Beautiful, Valyaren thinks to himself. And so unlike what one would expect from the offspring of two spirits of chaos.

"It was an honour to train with you, Lord Valyaren," Amaurë says with a respectful nod. "I feel like I learned a lot from you today and will do my best to apply these lessons in the future."

"You are more than welcome to visit me for regular training sessions," Valyaren offers. "I hear your Lord Father has asked a Maia to teach you, but that will hardly amount to sufficient training for a Vala, wouldn't you agree?"

His tone is silky, concealing the edge in his voice. Of course he knows all about Eönwë both guarding and training Amaurë, and while he acknowledges his strength, he wishes Manwë would've given the prince to him instead.

As if a mere herald could give him the discipline he needs...

"Eönwë's abilities are beyond question and he treats me kindly. I am very happy with him," Amaurë says, his gaze lowered politely.

A wave of displeasure washes over Valyaren. He isn't used to others disagreeing with his benevolent suggestions, especially not the sweet young prince, but he manages to keep his expression serene.

"I see," he replies and forces another smile. "Yet the offer still stands. There is no harm in seeking out the wisdom of more than one master, after all."

Amaurë, seemingly oblivious to the older Vala's irritation, nods and sheaths his sword. "Of course. I will keep it in mind."

Valyaren doesn't like letting him go, but for now, he has no other choice. All he can do is wait for the prince to return, so he may continue to guide him and one day, if he succeeds in gaining his trust, taking beautiful Amaurë under his wing and having him all to himself.

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edensrose · 1 year

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─────── .°୭̥ ✿ˎˊ˗ day seven : dance

( ❀ ) ˙ ˖ manwë ⠀〳 reader⠀ ❜࿔

· ⊰ synopsis. the elder king finds himself enthralled by the sight of you during a banquet

· ⊰ notes. this man makes me so soft

He inhales, yet feels nothing. No ease, no soothe to his burning lungs, no remedy to his shallow intakes, but he still inhales. He, the Breath of Arda, Lord of the Winds — now left breathless.

Amber accented with deep purple eyes, that mimic the afternoon sky above, train on the figure ahead. Through the sea of robes until they land on the silken twirls, the graceful steps, gentle smiles.

And he feels his chest tighten. None of it, however, is out of ill-will. Rather, the Elder King finds himself entranced by the Ainu ahead with such a stunning countenance and an even more gorgeous gleam.

"My Lord," a voice draws him out of his little fantasy as Manwë side-glances at his herald with a sheepish smile creeping upon his lips. "Yes, Eönwë?" "Why do you stare?" He almost feels embarrassment threatening to swallow him whole, but the older clears his throat and turns his attention back onto you.

"Is she not beautiful, Eönwë?"

Taken aback by the sudden forwardness, Eönwë can only give a soft, "mn."

Manwë almost frowns at the response but supposes that his herald simply wishes to not overstep. "Surely you can at least admire her looks, correct?" "I trust My Lord's judgement." Eönwë's firm nod leaves his brother grinning and it doesn't take long for his gaze to fall back on you.

He could ask you to dance — he should. Yet here he stands like a deer in headlights, nervous, questioning. He feels the stare of his Maia and knows exactly what his look means. Ask her, my lord, ask her to dance.

A part of him was about to deny, he parts his lips to explain to Eönwë why he cannot do any of the sorts — yet stiffens when he loses sight of you. Or rather, when he finally notices that you are making your way towards him.

"Your Majesty," you bow, smile fainter as you smooth out your robes. "My apologies for approaching you so suddenly. However I —" You halt, sudden nervousness swelling within your stomach. How does one go up to the Elder King and tell him you took notice of his staring? Had you no shame? You take a glance back at the one who beckoned you forward, almost glaring at the grin Irmo presents you and the little hand motion straight after.

"I just — I. . ."

He's confused for a moment, but a darling smile soon tugs upon his lips as both realisation settles in and he catches sight of Irmo in the background. With a clear of his throat, he extends his hand, fair, lean and gentle as his face bears a soft countenance.

"I believe it is I who should ask forgiveness for my stares, my lady," he spares Eönwë a short glance who all but nods in motivation and steps away. "Might I ask for a dance? You were simply breathtaking."

You feel your cheeks burn and when you finally find the strength to glance up, you see pink spilling onto his fair face as well. With a giggle, you slowly slip your hand into his, a little more confident now that you have witnessed his own bashfulness.

"It would be my honour."

With that, you pull him to the dancefloor, and albeit surprised, he soon lets out the softest of laughs and tugs you closer. A smile on his lips, a twinkle in his eye. He can only thank the stars for this blessing — to enjoy a dance with you.

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#— ꒰🌺꒱ 𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐛𝐮𝐝𝐬 ៸៸ tolkien ❜‧₊#tolkien #the silmarillion #manwë #manwë súlimo #manwë x reader #manwë / reader #manwe x reader #ainur #valar #athelas drabble challenge #athelasdrabblechallenge #drabbles #writing

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cilil · 1 year

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𝓐𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓵𝓪𝓼 - 𝟐𝟎 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞

⊱ Rage

Characters: Dark!Eönwë/reader Synopsis: When you see him again, he is no longer the Maia you once knew and loved. [Dark!Eönwë AU in which he joins Melkor] Warnings: Mentions of battle, blood, angst, doomed love

You knew Eönwë as a kind, gentle Maia. One who held your hand and kissed it to show his affection, wrapped his wings around you, comforted you when you were sad, promised to always protect you–

Until the Dark Lord's whispers took hold of his mind, until that fateful day he asked you to leave with him and you refused, telling him you couldn't follow where he was going.

When you see Eönwë again, it's on the battlefield. The beautiful sky-blue of his eyes has changed to a cruel orange and yellow, reminiscent of a bird of prey, and there's blood all over the white feathers of his wings and dripping from his sword. He cuts down your brothers and sisters in arms without mercy until only you remain, shivering under his gaze.

Will you kill me as well? you want to ask, but no words come out even as you part your lips. Seeing your beloved like this, so familiar, yet so different at the same time, makes your heart ache.

Eönwë remains silent as well as he raises his sword, and for the first time in your life, you are truly afraid of him.

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edensrose · 1 year

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─────── .°୭̥ ✿ˎˊ˗ day three : shame ( eönwë )

( ❀ ) ˙ ˖ eönwë ⠀〳 ⠀ ❜࿔

· ⊰ synopsis. the war of wrath will forever plague his mind, even after simple training sessions with his fellow maiar ( war themes ៸៸ blood ៸៸ killing insinuation )

· ⊰ notes. back at it again with bullying eönwë <3

Ilmarin’s pools were the perfect place to retreat to after a long day of training. Sweat, crimson and dirt wash off into the crystal-like waters, leaving his folded wings as pristine as always. His hands, calloused with aeons of swordsmanship, cup the clear liquid and pour it down his face.

Yet the warm waters do nothing to quell the storm overtaking Eönwë’s heart as he continues to bathe. If anything, they remind him of the heat of battle. Of the rush that sent his mind into a high. Of the fresh blood that stained his armour, his skin, his wings, and especially —

His sword.

Cerulean hues cast a glance at his blade that lays elegantly in its sheath beside his clothes that he abandoned before venturing into the waters. There is a ringing in his ears and a whisper in the air. As though his very sword — a symbol of his title, authority and righteousness — mocks him. Taunts him. Reminds him of those fateful nights in which the ground flowed with res and screams poured through the air.

The faint glimmer of that same colour that Eönwë had grown to despise catches his vision within the pools. Slipping from his skin and drifting off into nothingness.

It was just training, he tells himself.

Training cannot be compared to the war.

. . . Then why are these images plaguing him so?

Eönwë makes the mistake of focusing on the swirls of red within the crystal waters and in doing so comes face to face with a monster. A being of true malice. Of dishonour. A soldier. A murderer.

The General of Valinor’s Host Himself.

A shudder courses through his body and he can hardly recognise the image that he stares into. The sight of his hair mangled and clotted with red. His eyes bloodshot. His face stained with dirt and smeared with the same shade of crimson that coats him entirely. This image certainly is not a reflection of his current self, who stands in the pools clean and flawless.

Was he truly clean?

As if to answer his question, spots of that same damn shade take his vision and he quickly turns to his arms. One, two, three — multiple. His hands and arms begin to surface with a deep red and his eyes shoot open wide in surprise.

His hands are quick to splash water onto himself. He rubs his arms vigorously. He scrapes at the vision of blood and yet it refuses to dissipate. No matter how much he soaked himself in water or lathered on soap. No matter how much he frantically rubbed and scrubbed and begged it to go away.

The lump in his throat barely allows a noise of distress to leave him as his hands practically claw at the deep colour. His eyes are agape and desperate as he argues for his mind to spare him these agonising games.

“Stop,’’

“Stop —”

“S-Stop.’’

He inhales sharply, eyes brimming with tears. It mattered not how much he washed or how much he pleaded. Never would he be able to remove the stain from his hands. The crimson that now defined his very being.

Even as he wept to the heavens and beseeches The One himself.

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#— ꒰🌺꒱ 𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐛𝐮𝐝𝐬 ៸៸ tolkien ❜‧₊#tolkien #the silmarillion #eönwë #eonwe #silm #maia #ainur #athelas drabble challenge #athelasdrabblechallenge #drabbles #writing

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cilil · 5 months

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𝓐𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓵𝓪𝓼 - 𝟐𝟎 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞

⊱ Storm

Characters: Airilin/Ossë Synopsis: Two Maiar of the sea, caught up in the fires of unbridled passion. Warnings: Nsft (nothing too explicit but still)

To say it was love that brought them together wouldn't be quite true.

It was more akin to a storm of raw desire and passion, like waves crashing on rock. Fangs bared, kissing and biting each other, scales shimmering in the light of the Lamps, tails intertwining and wrapping around one another.

In the end, Ossë was always stronger, though Airilin was equally as vicious as he, so every victory was hard fought for. The sea sang alongside his ëala in delight whenever he finally claimed his prize, enjoying the feeling of such a beautiful Maia writhing underneath him.

"Sing for me," Ossë growled, teeth and claws alike digging into soft skin.

Airilin was not only swift and elusive, but also proud and moody. Other suitors he would often reject, and even when he entertained their courtship, he would refuse to submit to them. Yet to Ossë, and Ossë alone, he would give himself, and so the two would fight time and time again, hungry for the rush of excitement it would bring.

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a-world-of-whimsy-5 · 11 months

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Athelas Drabble Challenge- Flight

Pairing: Melkor x Ancalagon

Themes: Soft

Warnings: None

Wordcount: 300 words

Summary: Melkor watches while Ancalagon makes his first flight.

Rules and tag form here.

Ancalagon was small, no bigger than a half-starved cat. He curled his slender tail around Melkor's arm, sniffing at the air while he was carried to the world outside. Steam poured out of his nostrils every time he breathed.

Such a tiny thing. Melkor ran a finger down Ancalogon's spine, his lips tugging at the corners when the dragon hatchling purred and unfolded beautiful crimson and black wings more than twice his length. But strong.

But how strong was strong? Ancalagon was the first of his kind—a winged behemoth that would cast shadows over the earth when he flew overhead and reduce everything beneath him to ash in a single breath. Melkor felt a creeping sense of trepidation. Such deeds were years into the future, and the success of it all hinged on the now.

By the time they reached the courtyard, the sky was already black from the thick smog of smoke from Angband's many furnaces. Melkor was pleased. Today was a good day.

Perhaps it will be a good day for him as well. Melkor lifted his arm and whispered, "Fly."

Ancalagon screamed and flapped his wings. First, he rose only a hair's breadth over Melkor's palm. Then, a few inches. Then, on the third attempt, success.

Melkor watched with bated breath while Ancalagon shrieked and flew. His wings struggled with the current; he dipped and nearly fell more than once, but the little dragon refused to yield.

Determined little thing, Melkor thought with pride. That pride grew when Ancalagon circled stone columns, his desperate flaps slowly morphing into an easy glide that made him soar higher and higher.

Melkor's trepidation turned to triumph. Ancalagon's first flight went better than he could have dreamed. He stretched out his arm and waited, smiling when the dragon returned to him.

tags: @cilil @edensrose @asianbutnotjapanese @fictionfordays

#trabble #athelasdrabblechallenge #melkor #morgoth #ancalagon #melkor x ancalagon #morgoth x ancalagon #the silm #The silm imagine #the silmarillion #the valar #the ainur #fanfiction #writeblr #💫whimsy's shenanigans #💫a world of whimsy writes

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cilil · 4 months

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𝓐𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓵𝓪𝓼 - 𝟐𝟎 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞

⊱ Flight

Characters: Dark!Manwë/Erulissë Synopsis: Erulissë attempts to escape the Elder King's clutches. Warnings: Dark!Manwë, birds of prey, hunting, blood

The soft patter of her bare feet echoes between the Pelóri mountains, a small noise like a pebble skipping on water, but amplified by the silence around her. The snow makes her shiver from the cold and sharp rocks dig into soft skin, yet she keeps running as fast as she can, the skirt of her rose-coloured dress fluttering in the wind.

Erulissë hears no sound of beating wings, only feels the wind picking up and sees the shadow of a great eagle. Her hunter pursues her with calm precision while she panics and attempts to flee, though deep down she knows she will never outrun him.

It's over before she knows it. One second the shadow vanishes from her sight, the next she's pushed to the ground by the large bird's weight and cries out in pain when deadly talons slice through the fabric of her dress and the skin underneath with ease. Blood drips onto the snow below her, like a bed of red flowers beginning to bloom around her form – small, helpless and at his mercy.

"Found you," Manwë chuckles lightly as if it was merely a fun little game for him to chase her, and his weight on top of her shifts as he assumes his accustomed form.

"Let me go!" Erulissë demands; despite her current predicament she cannot bring herself to beg or refer to him as her lord and king.

Manwë leans down to nuzzle her hair and neck with surprising gentleness, his larger form completely covering hers. Erulissë would never admit it, but her shivering fána welcomes his body heat.

"What a silly idea, to run from your path of redemption that Father so graciously offers you," he scolds.

"I don't want it!"

"Hush, my little rose. You will appreciate it in time."

Manwë pulls her into his embrace and stands back up, wings wrapping around her to keep her securely surrounded by his stronger form. Even though his feathers are warm and soft, Erulissë feels like she has been put in chains.

"You will return to his light under my guidance and then you will thank me for taking care of you."

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cilil · 1 year

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𝓐𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓵𝓪𝓼 - 𝟐𝟎 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞

⊱ Crown

Characters: Melkor Synopsis: The weight of the iron crown and the Silmarils within it is great, even for the mightiest of the Valar. Warnings: /

Written in collaboration with @edensrose who wrote a lovely drabble featuring Manwë with the crown prompt. Read it here~❀

The iron crown rests heavily upon his brow.

Melkor sits on his throne in the Nethermost Hall, head bowed and eyes closed. For all his power, in moments like these he feels simply exhausted.

He always wanted to be king, yet now his crown feels too heavy for his shoulders, as if it contained the weight of Arda itself.

He always loved and craved light, yet now it burns his skin and hurts his eyes. Melkor sighs and leans back, attempting to find some rest. Sometimes he wishes he could set aside his crown for a while and just sleep.

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cilil · 1 year

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𝓐𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓵𝓪𝓼 - 𝟐𝟎 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞

⊱ Doom

Characters: Námo/Manwë Synopsis: Námo wishes he could be more than just another servant to his king. Warnings: Angst Follow-up to ⊱ Fate

So it is doomed.

Every time Námo is ordered by his king to pronounce his judgement, every time he utters these words, it feels like he himself is damned, alongside those unfortunate souls who have chosen an ill-fated path; yet unlike the Children of Ilúvatar, he was never really given a choice to be someone different than he is.

He stands in the Ring of Doom, tall, proud and elegant, his fána concealed by long robes and veils, his hands folded neatly underneath wide sleeves, his expression betraying no emotion. Manwë gazes upon him from his throne, contemplates his words and finally accepts with a gracious nod.

"So be it."

And in an instant, Námo is deprived of the warmth of blue fire within his eyes again, a silent dismissal. He bows his head and sits down, feeling oddly small. Of course the Elder King's gaze wouldn't linger on him; he is but a servant of His Majesty, and his appearance certainly doesn't draw attention due to his modest attire. He must always maintain the dignity and appearance befitting of the tasks he was made for, and Eru does not permit him to stray from his path.

Námo knows he will have to admire his beloved king from a distance and show his adoration and devotion through his service; for that is all that will ever be, so is his doom.

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a-world-of-whimsy-5 · 11 months

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Athelas Drabble Challenge - Ósanwë

Pairing: Manwë x Eönwë | Lords of Ilmarin

Themes: Very mild smut

Warnings: Very mild smut | NSFW

Wordcount: 300 words

Summary: Manwë and Eönwë share an intimate moment through Ósanwë

Rating: 🔥 | Minors DNI | 18+

Rules and tag form here.

Eönwë was abed when he heard him.

Close your eyes, my love. Honeyed words came to him, each as clear as a spring morning. I will see to the rest.

A simple request. The Lord Commander closed his eyes. And gasped when his naked fana trembled beneath another's touch.

My king... He let out an otherworldly growl when raw and insatiable lust coursed through him. How is this possible?

Manwë laughed sweetly. Osanwë. You know that. Now, do you wish for me to go on or no?

The next touch undid him. Eönwë moaned, the sound low in his throat. Far be it from me to deny my king. Please. Go on.

The Elder King chuckled. It felt like he was there in the featherbed with him. The air smelled of him, of the sweet, cooling winds that would sweep across Taniquetil. Eönwë sighed in ecstasy. Manwë's gentle touch wove a spell he had no intention of breaking. His fana shook while an unseen hand glided over him, setting fire to every inch of his being. He willingly surrendered, his breath growing ragged and hoarse when that unseen hand brushed over wisps of his hair and over his lips.

Manwë felt so much, even with vast halls and corridors separating them. He could feel Eönwë quivering beneath his palm. His moans were like a heady wine that intoxicated the king to his very core. It was not enough. Manwë went further and further, growing drunk on his herald's whimpers. And he was ceaseless, his ministrations going from tender to rough and hungry.

Hurry! Eönwë pleaded. Hurry!

Manwë took his herald over the cliff, not stopping until his name was heard in a whisper and Eönwë's orgasm ripped through him.

Stay there, Manwë groaned with need. I will come to you.

Tags: @cilil @asianbutnotjapanese @fictionfordays

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