#✿ .AU; silmarillion | ‘ the light of stars was in her hair and in her raiment glimmering ' | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ruiniel · 2 years

Text

Whither you go

Fandom: The Silmarillion

Characters: Aegnor, Andreth

Relationship: Aegnor/Andreth

Rating: T

Count: 1.2k

Additional tags: Spirits, Halls of Mandos, Oneshot, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Implied Relationships, Drama, Past Relationship, Canonical Character Death, Cosmic horror elements if you squint, Ghost story of a kind, Personal interpretation of Mandos inspired by canon, There is no fluff here

Also on AO3

Summary:

'Whither you go may you find light. Await us there, my brother - and me.'

- from Athrabeth Finrod ah Andreth, J.R.R. Tolkien

Months and months ago, tried a short ghost story about souls meeting again in a time out of time. Featuring the saddest OTP. The AU is on me (apologies).

The nightwinds are kind. They lift her above foreign lands, over sleepy forests and serpentine rivers, above hopes and dreams and old woes. The stars gleam, too bright, ancient watchers dripping light in the maw of the world, and higher still, she rises; wandering gusts lap softly at her bareness. Frostbitten and faraway the kindled ones once seemed, now so close she brushes past them, past remnants of divine luster and the touch of hallowed fingers that sewed them to barren skies.

A part of her wonders if this is a dream, but no fancy of the mind ever brought such freedom, nor such peace; like a floundering bird on swift, restless wings, she crosses paths unknown with no end in sight. There is no weariness or hunger, only depths of loneliness as the past weakens its grasp, peeling away in chipped layers that fastly shrivel like paper to flame. She could clutch at them, tuck them close and so she tries, only to find all desires void of meaning, all wishes laid to rest.

Should I be afraid?

Like a falling star, the thought dies, for the very concept of fear is unraveling and falling from her like leaves with the seasons.

Other memories emerge, flowering, wilting in rapid succession: some cherished, some best forgotten. A pull stronger than her will leads her forward, and unhoused she drifts as drowning in the thrashing waves of a cosmic river. Her frail, wayward light is cupped by great, gentle hands, like a grain of sand carried across the outer oceans.

Alone.

She stands beneath the looming arches of vast, endless chambers.

Heavy, leaden silence presses its solemn fists into stark grandeur. Fine silver dust shimmers on smooth black floors, disturbed by her wavering steps. The tall columns of jet soar into hidden heights, draped with grey vapors that float like gossamer, fluttering with no wind to stir them. Andreth sees etchings that sway and curl across their limpid surface, ever moving, ever changing. She looks closer, but for all her past knowledge, cannot place meaning to the script.

What is this place?

Stillness; no answer but the faint echo of her own voice, roiling like flickering motes inside her head. She walks on, stalked by a sudden, pressing weight of bereavement, and despair is on her heels.

Who... am I?

She knew this; she knew. She has to remember, can never forget, fighting the torpor that pools around her like a dark rippling lake, urging rest and forgetfulness.

I was a child of the earth.

I lived, I learned.

I loved.

She looks at her hands; grey and translucent. She ought to feel awe or terror, but now there is nothing.

I lost.

“Where am I?” her words arrow blindly, swallowed by quietude, trapped in the strangest of dreams. “Someone…?” Andreth sinks to her knees, curling like a shell, her forehead pressed to icy floors. “Anyone... please…”

“Saelind?”

It comes as a faraway keening, but she hears it. The word sears, stoking the flame of remembrance. Slowly she rises and stares at the figure a distance away, tall and golden amid shadows.

Saelind.

Aye, I was known by that name once. She must remember.

Andreth gains her feet and draws near, eyes widening as his features become clearer, sharper, familiar.

“You…”

The dead of winter. Snow is in her hair, melting on her burning cheek, her lashes. A firm grip rights her balance; an apology served with smiles like curved blades.

Bleeding sunsets fringe the memory detailing a cold evening, a freezing night. Her blood is hot and the stars are cold, and her face sways in the mirrorblack. Her veins sing beneath her youthful skin, craving coarse, sword-wielding fingers.

“Aegnor!” she cries, unable to believe it. She dares not speak, fearing he will disappear, that he will leave again, but he merely stands before her like a stab of regret. “How… but you left!” Andreth stumbles in her flight to reach him. “North away, long ago, to the swords, and the siege…”

He gives no answer; lowers his head.

His deep voice she remembers, soothing and warm like the hearth she curled up to on bitter nights, dwelling on what might have been. Andreth would throw her arms around him, weep and weep until the mountains crumbled, until the seas dried and the world was turned. She takes another step and another. She cares not how or why, but he is here now, with her.

Her hand reaches for his face, finding empty air. Frowning, she tries again and his eyes, once as kind as they were eager, are dark with grief, his lips a seal of misery as he says, “We cannot mingle here.”

“What is your meaning?” Andreth asks, frantic, yet trying to reach for him in vain, her hands delving through him. “Where is here?”

The Elf raises an arm, gesturing to a long corridor leading to a chilling, unworldly light. It dazes her, thrumming around them like a heartbeat, beckoning, calling. She knows.

“The Halls of Awaiting,” Andreth murmurs. “But that means I am…” she looks to her hands again, struck by the diaphanous glow of her bodiless form. “You are…” Gone. Ousted from the physical realm, come to the final circle.

She does not want to leave; does not want this gift.

Aegnor glances at a tapestry streaked with crimson, depicting lands drowning in dragon fire. “The war has ended for me.”

“You fell...” she sighs, looking up at him. Once, she would rest her forehead on the cold plate armor of his chest; his hands would twine in her hair. “So… so soon...” the truth bites with savage teeth. For all the time allotted to him on Arda, he’d gone before her. “Are you… are you alone here?”

The wraith shakes his head. “There are others.”

She does not see them. There is no one else but they, and now, at last, she is afraid. Andreth stares at his form, swaying like the lorn branches of trees caught in the storm. He is made of crumbling visions, golden and distorted, and fading. “But...” she tries, “...how?”

The spirit watches her, features breaking in dismay, and meanings flit across his face. Pain, longing, regret; acceptance. “I was allowed to see you, before...” his brows furrow, and he looks away, as though gathering courage long overdue; too late.

Andreth shivers. She remembers. Now, in this plane of thought where they are no more than whispers and sighs and broken light, she finally understands his choice without bitterness.

“Saelind, please, listen. I will—”

He struggles to speak, his hollow eyes plead meaning, but fragments of thought flutter between them like grey moths and she no longer understands him. The fleeting words rush through her like fireflies, and he flickers like a spent candle. The halls are deathly cold, but terrible and bright, blinding her vision of him. Desperate, Andreth shuns the rising command from beyond, tucking away every trait, every detail, all the memories. She faces the imperious light, “Let me linger a moment longer, no more!”

The Elf is mere gleaming outlines, his features bled away like inked parchment in the rain. Hardly Andreth fights the finger-like threads coiling as burning whips around her, and she herself is dwindling, fracturing to splintered colors. Her hands reach for him, craving his words, needing to know. Luminous waves spin like a maelstrom as the call swells unbearably loud, and her cries are lost.

Silence falls, heavy-handed. The halls are dimmed. The lone fëa lingers amid the tapestries of fate, wordless and formless, fading to a dull, mournful grey as the soft dust of Mandos falls upon him.

#silmarillion fanfiction #andreth #angst #halls of awaiting #Mandos #tolkien #aegnor #ruiniel:fanfiction

31 notes · View notes

thelonelybrilliance · 4 months

Text

2023 Fanfic: TolkienGirl

Delighted to say that I wrote a mix of old and new this year! May 2024 bring the end of The Figurehead, some exciting new Silmarillion Gold Rush AU installments, and the reveal of a delightful project @mapleymood and I have been crafting!

You can find all relevant updates to the Silmarillion Gold Rush AU, "All That Glitters," here. Is it a wildly niche special interest? Yes. Is it wholly addictive for both readers and authors? Sure is! Go forth and prosper, 'tis your Manifest Destiny.

Otherwise...

Friday Night Lights:

Nostos - [Tyra, S5] In the grey, quiet hours spent packing up her things, Tyra can admit that there’s something bittersweet about the ease and uncertainty that go hand-in-hand in her new life. Turns out you can mix with other people pretty easily in the day-to-day, but the friendships don’t stick at the end of a semester; the end of a year.

doubt truth to be a liar - [Tyra, Pilot] It’s a quiet exodus, for ten thousand people. Sure, there’s the thunder of footsteps—the growl of city-like traffic, a town come alive for one night only—but that’s all. There’s no victory. The loss covers everything, heavy and silent as nightfall.

elemental - [Lyla v. Tyra, S2] Summer hits hot and heavy, no chance of rain. Thunderstorms crackle along the edges of the sky sometimes, but mostly, the sun just holds the whole world in its white-hot sway.

all the worst things in life come free to us - [Tyra, S1] Tyra isn’t easy, exactly—it’s just that life is hard.

holding the matches - [Lyla, S1] There were lines between all the lives you used to live, before Jason fell—classroom life, cheer life, school life, home life. Now there’s a secret life you can never bring into the light. Now, you have to consider the difference between little white lies and the kinds of sins that damn you.

the thief of joy - [Lyla, outsider POV, S1] The thing about Lyla Garrity...

a dim light far in the distance - [Matt, Pre-Series] Matt doesn’t know if he’s more than halfway decent at anything.

nothing that still bewildered - [Tyra & the Taylors, S1] Life’s been turned on its head, and now Tyra is corrupting wide-eyed Julie Taylor and feeling weirdly protective while she does it.

Red Rising:

either way, I forgot his name by heart - [Cassius & Julian, Pre-Series] Cassius is half a whole.

something warm roars at tonight's torn edge - [Darrow/Mustang, Red Rising] Here is how the balance between them settles: he catches her gaze, when she is hiding, and he lets her go. She finds him wounded, cut down by the one who seemed to love him like a brother, and she makes a home with him.

in the interest of truth - [Mustang & Victra, Iron Gold] Virginia will never let herself be too soft for any world. It is Mustang who has become weak—the girl who survived too stubbornly to ever truly learn wisdom.

deep worlds you lived before, deep worlds hereafter - [Roque & Mustang, post-Red Rising] “The question, I suppose, is whether one can love a man one does not understand.”

Teatime - [The Jackal, Morning Star] Your whispers, your offers, must seem gift-like. Before long, the rust-stained bastard will be wholly yours, body and mind. You don’t believe in souls.

born to raise the sons of earth - [Mustang & House Telemanus, Pre-Series -> Morning Star] She’s proven Eo right. And it wasn’t because of me. It wasn’t because of love. It was because it was the right thing to do, and because mighty Kavax was more a father to her than her own ever was.

The Summer I Turned Pretty:

even a river will die of thirst - [Jeremiah, S2] “You have so much love to give,” your mom says to you—at five, at seven, at sixteen. Maybe she’ll be saying it when you’re forty. You try to imagine your mom old, with white hair and wrinkles, carrying the years like wisdom. You can never quite picture it.

till forever falls apart - [Jeremiah, post-S1] They’re going to bury your light with her.

a reminder that all mistakes are not reversible - [Jeremiah, S1] Being a Fisher is a closed-door affair.

we possess nothing certainly (except the past) - [Jeremiah, Pre-Series] Conrad comes home early on a Tuesday, and just like, the world turns upside down again.

my name a past tense (where I left my hands for good) - [Jeremiah, S2] You’ve gotten everything off your chest, which leaves your heart exposed. It sucks, coming in second place all your life.

Stranger Things:

The Figurehead - [Stancy, speculative S5] When the first flakes of living ash begin to fall, Steve isn’t ready. He’s never ready. That’s not what counts.

to the young who want to die - [Steve, S4] You don’t get used to the end of the world; you get used to the time it takes the apocalypse to actually get on with it.

Lockwood & Co.:

Convalescence - [End of S1] Lockwood assures them that the pain is nothing, and more importantly, “They’re letting me keep the bullet.”

more heaven than a heart could hold (an exquisite extreme, I know) - Lucy considers all the contradictions that make up A. Lockwood.

Captain America: The Winter Soldier:

among the vanishing - [Steve & Bucky] How can you give what was never yours?

Middlemarch:

much ambition and an irrepressible hopefulness - [Mary Garth/Fred Vincy] Mary could not refuse a proposal he had not made, and she could not urge one that she did not believe herself able to accept.

And a fun little update to @mapleymood and my other project, Still Life!

3 notes · View notes

theboatbuilderswife · 4 years

Text

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ @edhelaran asked the herbalist: “ what happened here? ”

𝚂𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙳𝚂 𝙾𝙵 𝙱𝚁𝙾𝙺𝙴𝙽 𝙿𝙾𝚃𝚃𝙴𝚁𝚈 𝙻𝙰𝙸𝙳 𝚂𝙿𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙳 𝙰𝙲𝚁𝙾𝚂𝚂 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙵𝙻𝙾𝙾𝚁 -feet having come to a halt. Caught, she knew & embarrassment was quick to spread. It was not honourable to run away from something as trivial as this something she would surely be scolded for by her father, perhaps even mother. The jars contents had not been of utmost importance- not to most, at least. Still, she had attempted to steal something that had not belonged to her. In her defence, she had wanted to return it. She would have made no-one would notice a sample had been taken for her to analyse.

Helga wanted to learn, even though not all would let her.

❝ Aranya- ❞ Shame crept all the way to the back of her eyes, gaze averted to the floors below, however. She had been a fool, in haste tripping over the smallest root protruding from the floors in an attempt not to get caught. ❝ I I- ❞ Words momentarily lost to her, fingers disappearing in the fabrics of her skirt. ❝ I tripped & fell. They slipped from my hands. I was not fast enough to catch them- ❞

#edhelaran #✿ .AU; silmarillion | ‘ the light of stars was in her hair and in her raiment glimmering '

6 notes · View notes

superaus10 · 6 years

Text

24 months: December

First of all, thanks to @bills-pokedex, @shadowshrike, @melohax and @littletoughpuff for making this AU possible. Enjoy! ---

En la puerta del Sol, como el año que fue

Seriously, Xander didn’t knew what was wrong with him. It was the second time they celebrated New Year’s Eve in that hotel and he was being late again. He just hoped it wouldn’t become a tradition, as surely Odin, no, Owain, would say. And everything because he couldn’t find his watch. The one he got at Christmas from Ángel, he still needed to improve his pronunciation, and Celine decided that it was shiny enough to take it as a treasure. And then it was getting Celine in the transport. How much he wished for get Celine there like Angel’s Midori in her pokeball. But of course, he always had to dance with the ugliest.

Finally, he reached the Tide Song Hotel and Celine wasn’t so bothered. But of course everyone were there already, including his little sister, Elise. When Laslow, Íñigo, tried to explain him how parallel realms worked and how many different versions of one self could exist, he just got a big headache and decided that it didn’t matter in the end, his family was his family even from other realms.

-There you are big brother! The others are in the dinner hall by now! -exclaimed Elise from the reception, ready to throw herself into his arms. He grab her and give her a spin in his arms. By the Dusk Dragon, how much he missed those moments two years ago. When everything ended, when everything started.

otra vez el champagne y las uvas y el alquitrán, de alfombra están. Los petardos que borran sonidos de ayer y acaloran el ánimo para aceptar que ya, pasó uno más.

After leaving Celine and the birthday present, trying to get Elise not to squeal and disturb it. They went to the dining hall.

-By the way Xander… There is someone in the table that I haven’t met before

-Really? Who is it? -he asked, not expecting anyone except some friends and the Reyes family.

-I don’t know, but he is very cute with his black eyes and green hair and…

-Uncle Xander!

-Huh? -he turned his head to the voice’s direction. He felt tears on his eyes -Jordan! Wha-What are you doing here?

The teenager run towards him and they hugged each other. Xander could hear the kid trying no to cry. He wasn’t in a different situation.

-I missed you a lot Xander

-Me too, little sprout. But tell me, what are doing here?

-Oh! Don’t worry about it! Ms. Schiller allowed me to come and I’ve been in the hotel since noon with Mr. Reyes

-You should have told me, Jordan -he scolded, patting his shoulder.

-But then it wouldn’t be a surprise! Ángel and I were preparing these since November

Xander eyed the table, looking for the accomplice, but his frown couldn’t last too long after seeing them.

He was beautiful tonight, wearing an elegant beige robe, with long sleeves and embroidered with chrysanthemums, roses, peonies and other flowers Xander couldn’t recognize with different colours and shapes. He also had an decorated obi, which rested at his chest, with a decorative, bow at the end. The light brown bangs were styled a bit at his side, with a big peony working as a hair clip, the usual pixie cut was neatly styled too, in contrast of its usual way. He wore a bit of makeup too, so his eye bags weren’t noticeable, and a sharp brown eyeliner. Most of their friends complained that Ángel was wasting his talent to make a winged eyeliner with such simple forms, but he couldn’t care less. He was beautiful with or without makeup.

-Hey! What’s up Xander? Did you went to the moon or what? -said the other holding a laugh. Xander couldn’t help but sigh at the light tease, but decided to play a bit more.

-I’m sorry, but I was admired at how much do you look like my boyfriend, though he usually has eyebags for working at night.

The other couldn’t help but laugh. -Oh really? Well maybe can you tell me why is Nohr’s sky cloudy tonight? I can’t see the stars -that was really smooth even coming from him, and Xander hoped the concealer hid his blush as it hid his freckles when he kissed the other. He wouldn’t stand another compliment like dad or he would melt. The other guests rolled their eyes at the scene.

-But seriously Ángel, you look wonderful tonight

-It’s all Gabriel’s fault. He was so heartbroken I had to work on Christmas so I couldn’t go to Mexico that he got a Johtonian Kimono as a present. An actual Johtonian Kimono! Do you know how expensive is this? I’m going to get married with this for The Guardians’ sake

At the mention of marriage, Xander suppressed a shiver.

Y en el reloj de antaño como de año en año cinco minutos más para la cuenta atrás. hacemos el balance de lo bueno y malo cinco minutos antes de la cuenta atrás.

After greeting everyone, he sat in front of Ángel, because both Elise and Jordan wanted to be with him. Jordan told him everything he did in Japan after they arrested the former director of his orphanage, and how he passed last year’s subjects with a notable. It wasn’t like Xander didn’t knew already, he was always in touch with the teenager since he found him by himself, but he was so proud of that green haired teen. Xander told them different tales of his work at Aether Foundation, winning the table’s laughs and Ángel’s ever loving look. It was so hard for him to not just lose himself in those sharp, violet eyes and loving smile.

Marineros, soldados, solteros, casados, amantes, andantes y alguno que otro cura despistao. entre gritos y pitos los españolitos enormes, bajitos hacemos por una vez, algo a la vez.

And there they were, eating together and remembering this past year’s events, hearing Owain’s jokes, Íñigo’s travels stories, Lucio and Angel’s experiences at the hospital, Elise’s Island Challenge, she nearly defeated Alolan Champion! And so on. It was so nice to see everyone enjoying an evening together. It was surprising how many different people could be there, in peace. So different from anything he was used to live.

Y en el reloj de antaño como de año en año cinco minutos más para la cuenta atrás. hacemos el balance de lo bueno y malo cinco minutos antes de la cuenta atrás.

They finished the delicious menu the hotel served them, and they left to the room, better said hall, they rented for the night, where Ángel’s birthday presents waited for him. It wasn’t his real birthday, he didn’t remember it, but it was the day when Gabriel found him, and he decided to adopt that date as his birthday, or as Jordan proposed to called it, rebirthday. That kid was a ball of sunshine, and he and Elise rapidly became friends. Even Elise’s Eevee, Michaela, liked him.

They entered the hall, beautifully decorated for a Christmas party. There was a counter where they could get drinks, a sound mixer, he could see Lucio’s eyes lighting up, some sofas and coffee tables for those who wouldn’t want to dance, and a big Christmas tree where the presents were placed underneath.

-Oh my-! There are so much presents! What were you thinking when you bought me these!-he breathed, putting his hands on his face in embarrassment.

-You deserve every single one of them, little angel -his tutor interrupted. -So please, don’t be ashamed and open them before this year ends

All laughed, including the birthday boy. Lucio got the idea to sit Ángel, even though he was already sat on his wheelchair, in the center on the room and each one giving him their present, as it wasn’t enough embarrassment for the poor man. Xander wanted to be the last, and so everybody gave their gifts: a shiny bracelet Íñigo bought in Kalos, a grooming set from Severa, one of the limited editions of “The Silmarillion” Owain knew he would love, a new set of wheelchair modifications from Lucio, they were deep purple and green, and a silver pendant from Gabriel, Ángel said that the kimono and the pendant was too much but Gabriel dissed him saying he bought it for Christmas, before de kimono. When it was Xander’s turn, he box began to move, surprising everyone but Elise and Gabriel.

-Well, you know. I know you and the girls -Xander began signaling Midori, Ángel’s phantump, and Sweetie, Gabriel’s Mimikyu. They were properly dressed for the occasion. -were heartbroken after you couldn’t keep the sneasel you found. And you have recently made a friend in Aether Foundation. And since that little rascal wouldn’t want to go back in the wild…

-Xander, what did you? -Ángel asked, seeing three holes at the box said, opening it. Inside, an Alolan vulpix looked at Kaze with its wide eyes partially hidden by a hood. When the tiny pokemon recognized him, it jumped at him, howling in excitement. Ángel petted the little creature’s soft hair, in awe.

-Xander, why? It’s so small, I don’t know I can take care of it properly

-I know you can, Ángel. And it likes you more than any other trainer. And I’m the one watching over it every day at the Foundation! So please, let it be with you

Ángel watched Xander, then Sweetie, Midori and finally the vulpix. All of them wore that abandoned puppy look. He then looked at Gabriel, who instead had a knowing smile. Ángel was sure his tutor had something to do with all of this.

-You are a troublemaker Xander -he sighed, but with a smile underneath- don’t worry little thing, you’re coming with me tonight! -he laughed, lifting her. The room broke in applauses and hails while the tiny vulpix curled itself in Ángel’s lap. He would have to clean the kimono after, but he didn’t care.

Y aunque para las uvas hay algunos nuevos a los que ya no están le echaremos de menos y a ver si espabilamos los que estamos vivos y en el año que viene nos reímos. 1, 2, 3 y 4 y empieza otra vez que la quinta es la una y la sexta es la dos y así el siete es tres. Y decimos adiós y pedimos a dios que en el año que viene, a ver si en vez de un millón pueden ser dos.

After all the presents were given, the moved to the balcony. Severa and Owain prepared the champagne and non alcoholic drinks for the kids and Íñigo brought some party poppers and blowers. Lucio took photos of all of them. And in the balcony they were waiting and counting for the new year.

10!

All the pokemon stopped playing and came to the balcony.

Neither Jordan nor Elise could hide their excitement, and began to bounce.

The atmosphere was tense with the anticipation.

Xander looked at Ángel, which smiled at him.

Even at that moment, he couldn’t get past of how beautiful the other’s eyes were.

So full of determination and strength. So familiar…

Just like his.

It didn’t mattered how much time it passed, he seemed always stuck in the past.

But he was living a new life now. And how much grateful he was

Happy New Year everyone!

The fireworks began, and both Íñigo and Owain used the party poppers, filling the air with confetti. Xander bend down and kissed Ángel.

He couldn’t believe how much his life changed in the short span of two years. He still remembered how it began, very far away from there, when he actually had the duties of a Crown Prince on his shoulders.

En la puerta del sol como el año que fue otra vez el champagne y las uvas y el alquitrán, de alfombra están.

#xander #elise #odin #laslow #severa #kaze #gabriel reyes #lucio correia dos santos #midorikawa ryuuji #phantump #mimikkyu #alolan vulpix #eevee #fire emblem fates #overwatch #inazuma eleven #pokemon

2 notes · View notes

shewhodoesnotexist · 7 years

Text

Innumerable Stars 2017 letter

Hello, dear Innumerable Stars Author!

I am kim_onka at AO3 (I don’t keep very consistent with usernames, but don’t let it confuse you), and I’m already looking forward to what you up for me! I’m sure I’ll enjoy it, and in the meantime, here is a letter to help you. (For fandom-specific: I don’t have prompts for everything, but even if don’t mention it here, it doesn’t mean I don’t want it!)

What I like in general:

Exploration of a character’s situation, motivations, relationships with other characters

Internal conflicts, conflicted loyalties, regrets directed towards another person

The power of love and friendship, but also how sometimes it’s not enough

Family drama, complicated relationships within family

But also how even so, it’s important and leaves a lasting mark

Formality/courtesy/fealty/power plays in personal relations, especially contrasted with strong feelings

Canon filler, elaboration of minor incidents

Beautiful romance

AUs are fine, especially if it’s canon divergence/what-if scenario; for full AUs, avoid High School AUs and most types of modern AUs unless you have a truly great idea

Kidfics are appreciated

Eucatastrophe

The general “high note” of the Tolkien works

Hope in an apparently hopeless situation

Really good, witty comedy (think “A Practical Guide for the Courtship of Elves, by Beren son of Barahir” by Nerdy Nell or “Siege Mentality” by Insomniac Luddite; in any case, you should enjoy them); I hold this type of writing to be among the most impressive and the most difficult, so this is only if you feel up to it

Art-specific: details! Elaborate hair and clothes, jewellery, symbolism, flowers, emotions, weaponry… pointed elf ears ;) I admit I don’t have much of a visual imagination, so I’m not fully sure what I want from art, but for similar reasons I tend to be amazed at art, so I’m sure I’ll like it.

What I dislike:

Sexual violence

Slash

Overly sexualised content in general

Character bashing/demonisation

Sacrilegious/blasphemous content

Overly politicised content

The Silmarillion

Celebrimbor: all of his conflicting loyalties, his relationships with his grandfather (how much does he remember? To what extent is he shaped by Fëanor’s legacy?), his grandmother, his parents, his uncles – do they keep in touch, what do they think of his actions regarding Curufin? Also, in my headcanon he was friends with Finduilas

Maglor&Elrond&Elros(&Maedhros): how much did it cost them to learn to love each other? How did it happen? How much conflict did it create in each of them? How did it affect the boys’ later years? Truly, anything about that

The wives of the Fëanorians: who were they? How did they meet? How did they feel about marrying into the House of Fëanor? What made them decide to stay/leave?

Annael&Tuor: there’s so little about them! What was their life together like?

The Gondolin royal family: Turgon – what kind of father was he, what kind of grandfather? His relationship with Idril after Elenwë’s death, him being a loving grandpa to little Eärendil, all against the overall dilemmas facing Gondolin

Eärendil’s relationship with his parents, especially as he grew up and they sailed away, the way he searches for them, at the expense of his own family

Maeglin/Idril: either canonically one-sided or reciprocated (for reciprocated: preferably Idril is at once drawn to Maeglin and repulsed by him, and conflicted because of that)

Fëanturi&Nienna: Irmo’s powers related to dreams, all of theirs powers related to the soul

The Sea: who/what lives there? Let your imagination go wild!

The elusive nature of Elven magic

Elven marriage: the practical consequences of a marriage bond, how does it feel, do you feel your spouse die, etc., one thing: please refrain from portraying the LACE in a decisively negative light, or negating it

Elf ghosts: why do they stay? The ones that try to take over the bodies of the living, the ones that turn to evil despite their intentions… you can make a canon character remain as a ghost or make up stories to exemplify how it happens, as you like

The Lord of the Rings

Imrazôr/Mithrellas & their kids: how did they get together and why did she leave? I am fascinated by this story and would love to see your take

Elrond/Celebrían & their kids: the story of their courtship, their parting and reunion, daily life at Imladris, relationships between them

Rohan: Éomer and Éowyn growing up; as kids with their parents, with Théodred; how it all develops during the war and afterwards; how does Éowyn like Lothiriel?

(Here I need to note one thing: I love Éowyn’s story, and to me the main and most beautiful part of it is her learning to appreciate life again after having sought death. I’ve seen people treat this character development as negative or sexist; please avoid this interpretation.)

Gondor: the relationship between Denethor and Finduilas, their kids growing up

Faramir/Éowyn: how do they help each other?

Smith of Wootton Major

It’s such a beautiful story

I would love to see an elaboration on the Land of Faery and its connection to our world, the attitudes of the Queen and the King

Farmer Giles of Ham

Preferably something funny, as the story itself – but really, anything (that doesn’t violate my DNWs, of course)

Roverandom

Here I’m mostly interesting in worldbuilding – the Moon, the dreams, the spiders, the Sea realm

But I’d also love to read about Artaxerxes and his wife

The Hobbit

The Fairy Wife of the Took ancestor, there may be an interesting story there

Elves, as they’re shown in The Hobbit, and how it connects with the image of Elves in other books

Elrond and his view of the quest, his attitude to other characters, especially Bilbo

#innumerable stars 2017 letter

0 notes

ruiniel · 1 year

Text

No Might nor Mercy

Fandom: The Silmarillion

Characters: Sauron, Amarië

Relationship: Amarië/Sauron (past)

Rating: M / 18+

Count: 3.5k

Summary: This is an older piece I rewrote and resurrected. Starring Amarië of the Vanyar and Sauron being an utter creep. Very AU. Very headcanon. Please heed the tags.

After his storming of Tol Sirion, Sauron watches the prisoners being dragged into Angband.

Additional tags: Angst, Psychological Torture, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Non-Con, Threats of Violence, Depictions of Violence, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cruelty, Crack Relationship, What Ruiniel writes when they're off her pills, Past Relationship, Horror, Choking, Alternate Universe - Dark, Angband, Torture, POV Alternating which I'm too m e h to fix up, Older fic, Darkfic, Finrod's usually got beef with Sauron why not her, My only excuse is I labeled/tagged this as well as I could don't @ m e , Actually no excuse you should know this by now, My Sauron differs from fic to fic, But he'll always be cruel :/, Imprisonment

Also on AO3

He watched the incoming tide of prisoners, heaps of sinew and bone, fodder swallowed by the Great Gate. He watched, an unmovable monolith looming over the world from atop the tallest mountains of waste. His sight discerned all from his place upon the highest of the three peaks amid the crimson fumes rising in angry gusts, threading viciously through his unbound hair.

He smiled. For the recent victory upon their foe which he'd so triumphantly directed. For the hopelessness lining the faces of those fallen to his rule. Those who had opposed his will, his allegiance, the spawns and willing servants of the scourges stumbling from the cowardly West. Where once they laid honors at his feet and sought his counsel, now their hallowed lips would curl in disgust, their serene faces strained in revulsion at the mere mention of his name.

Good. All fools to never know the taste of true, endless freedom, and that they should witness the might of it here, as they drew their last breath, seemed only fitting. And he would enjoy it. Clawed fist clenching, he delightedly recalled the uplifting melody of their wails, the odes of their shrieks. He would watch, feed on the breaking of their spirits into crumbling stardust until naught but the husk remained - for that was of most use to him here.

All these roiling thoughts were chief in his mind as smoldering eyes followed the prisoners being marched through the gates, forced up the pyramid of stairs leading to their fates. Some would be put to work in the smithies, others would be fodder for beasts. Most would undergo the process of being turned, efficiently devised by his Master, and perfected by him.

Putrid winds retched their dissonant tunes, sending russet strands astray. Black robes coiling around his tense frame like snakes, he watched until the last of the prisoners trudged inside before making his descent, intent on being there to savor the fresh scent of agony and disbelief.

Agony that was once his own, caused by an endless yearning for more. One They had opposed and banned for its discordance, as they did his Master. One that clove his spirit when the Maia was still a young and hopeful servant. And how he secretly wallowed in the depths of his own nameless desire, hidden from all so They would not see. So They would not sense the seed of it growing and taking hold, shearing and dividing him. And so Melkor found him, fed him power and determination.

The abyss of his mind dreaded to remember those days, when the light of the Trees bared the innermost recesses of spirits for all to witness. It had been the hardest toil to hide his goals, but now he was free of it, free of the vicious delving once bleeding him dry of all he came to deem true and worthy.

Brow knit, he reached the lower levels and paced through the great tunnel. His eyes flashed at the fresh murmurs of misery, so known to him by now. The air burned, unbearably hot for anyone not of this place. It flared from the blast furnaces and smithies to the sharp spires of the smoke-choked towers. His measured stride took him to the slave quarters, where gaolers were whipping their quarry into an array of coarse holes barred in iron.

Melkor was keeping to his own devices, pursuing the Secondborn awakened by the will of the One. His lip twitched in disgust. More fodder. But for now, Angband was left for his lieutenant to mind, which in truth, bore little difference to the usual way of things.

Reaching the bottom of the stone stairs he stood at ease, observing the beings he had grown to abhor. Lithe and weakened by the harsh march, they were being crushed into the recesses of long lines of caves hewn into the wide underground space. Pleasure rushed through him as he watched them being beaten, whipped, branded. The orc, once their brethren, could see no further than the nether of their corroded spirits; ones he and his master had so irreparably twisted into oblivion that nothing but pain and chaos could appease the hungry fire driving them.

The pale one waited, reveling in the anguish suffusing the air. His desire flared with the lengthening intensity of it all, music higher and of more transcending power to his senses than even the first Music he witnessed in times immemorial; forgotten but for sparse, stubborn fragments lingering against his better efforts like deeply embedded shards.

It had been too easy. His tactical prowess proved itself yet again through the swift, brutal storming of Tol Sirion. He bore down upon them with his werewolves, dispersing all wills and throwing their meager display of courage to the wind. Now it was subdued to his will, and the western pass of the river Sirion belonged to his master; as the world itself would, ere the end, but more fool the victor lazing on the trimmings of success. There was yet more work to be done, much more to be woven and with much care.

His vision narrowed upon the wearied prisoners. Most of the creatures were imprisoned now, drawing into one another in their ragged states. All-seeing eyes straying over anguished, stricken faces, he was about to turn away.

But found he could not.

What he saw, swallowed his initial intent. Brow furrowing further and on strange impulse, his thunderous steps drew closer to the pens.

Two orc were blocking most of his view, seemingly intent on laying thorny whips upon the object of his interest. Surroundings dimmed around him as the lieutenant came to stand behind his minions.

"Out of my way," he ordered lowly in Black Speech, glaring down at them with his hands clasped behind his back. He did not raise his voice, he did not need to.

The soldiers grunted, startled by the sudden presence of their master and swiftly stood aside.

What was revealed to him caused an odd spike of awareness, a stir within concealed recesses. What he saw, made his insides boil as his mind strayed to a buried, long abandoned existence.

She knelt, weeping with her head bowed, arms wrapped around herself. Her long, golden hair billowed down her shoulders to her ankles, its shine marred by blood and dirt. Her garment was tattered, and bruises bloomed on her arms and legs, feet bare and covered in sweltering wounds. The cloth upon her had been torn just as his servants were preparing to whip her into subservience.

A deep, sordid ire filled with the knowledge of memory burst through his mind, and threatened to suffocate. Unwilling, yet he could not look away. In remembrance his face turned terrible, memories past flickering behind his eyes.

Sensing the momentary lapse in abuse from the orc, with her last remaining strength the Elf woman raised her gaze to look upon his face, and he was left staring into deep blue depths.

"...Mairon?" she whispered disbelievingly, both sorrowful and lost, and at the fear in her eyes his fury flared higher than the flames of the Valaraukar.

She ought to be afraid. His lips quivered at the name he'd not heard for what seemed like an eternity. He uttered the following word infused with resentment, giving voice to a language he had not used, had refused to use ever since his plunge into the depths of knowledge and exile. He did not wish to say it, to burn his lips on the loathsome sounds. And yet, he did. His voice came as a whispered threat, a chill of ages past.

"Amarië."

The Elf gaped at him towering over her, observing her with that heinous, flaming gaze. Eyes once reflecting goodness and mirth, now sunken and shadowed with malice, void of life as all knew it.

Once, she had watched him. The mightiest among the Maiar of the One he had been, so imbued with His greatness that all revered him and sought him wherever he went. Nothing less than perfection ever came of his hands, and all he touched turned to gold to the fascination of all. She had always admired his love of order in all things, and how he permitted no wastefulness in his endeavors. Ever-bright, searing light shone through his eyes and there was none more cherished in the house of Aulë.

And he had watched her. In the forgotten realm, there were none more majestic than the Valar. But when Amarië saw him, reveling in his stunning russet glory, the movements of Eä seemed to cease, the circles of the world slowed and nothing kept her adrift but his eyes.

They would often meet at the base of the Trees and she would listen to his plans and tales of what had been, and what was to come. And he would linger on her features when she spoke, and his fair face would be ever smiling when they were together.

But then, as with all things that ever were and ever will be, change was wont to happen. As all beings, even those of divine nature are capable of many degrees of error and failing. Gradually, he ceased searching for her. It was the first time she had known pain then, when the Elf looked upon his face and saw a sliver of shadow, foreign and deep, slithering beneath his once peaceful features. With great sorrow she learned his heart was turned and fear had gripped her, and she fled.

She fled, and he did not follow. Amarië said nothing of it to the others, and later she blamed herself for her cowardice. Perhaps it could all have been different. But what use was there for regret? The brilliant Maia had gone to follow another master, one opposed to the very life which thrummed in Eä, waging war upon Creation. Why he did so, she could not fathom, but he had done deeds that haunted her ever after upon hearing them, and her grief increased tenfold when thoughts strayed to how gentle and kind his former self had once been. How the Elf had felt him so near, so powerful and animated in all that he achieved.

Now a warped memory stood before her, clad in his fair form, his burnished hair a flowing river of fire, taller than Amarië ever remembered him. Eyes of golden red mercilessly bored into hers. His fair form still, yet a fathomless shadow enveloped him, and he reveled in its potency. His light had long been extinguished. His ominous presence engulfed her, striking daggers of fear by the cruelty of his mien.

An eternity passed with the silence as she cowered on her bruised knees, tortured by fatigue, gaze locked with his. Amarië lowered her eyes, unable to look upon what he'd become.

She flinched when sooted, clawed fingers tilted her chin upward, forcing her to meet his stare. His touch was withering, cold. A deathly cold seeping through her, wringing a gasp at the painful tear it wreaked within.

He kept her locked in the depths of his flaring gaze, but the Elf could not guess as to what lay beyond it. Then, eyes never leaving hers, the lieutenant of Angband spoke two words to his servants in Black Speech.

"Bring her."

He sharply turned away and the Elf was forced to her feet, dragged through the pyramid of roughly hewn stairs within the rotting bowels of Angband. Her body trembled at the slimy touch of the orc, at the sights within this place. The cries and blood-curdling moans, the all-consuming heat, the sickening, biting fumes. Her kin, torn and ragged and hurting.

Meanwhile, as he strode towards their destination, the Maia pondered. Hated recollections kindled, he bitterly recalled her face, once upon a time. Eagerly absorbing him and his words, always reluctant to leave his side. Something terrible irked him, thrashed through his normally well adjusted and calculating mind.

What had possessed her to leave Valinor for the darkness and tumult of Beleriand? Last he knew of her, she had taken to that righteous Noldo fool, who followed his kin in exile.

Ah.

He grinned. What to do with her now? Why had he not left her there, and told the wretches to burn the sign of Angband into her back?

Curiosity. That was why. It was peculiar indeed. And there was her fëa, pure and luscious prey to his thirst, a delight as he breathed her fear. He would enjoy breaking her, throwing her to the winds of Thangorodrim. She once ran, disgusted by what he had discovered of his truth. Well, she could not run now. Now, she was his; in a manner of speaking.

They reached his abode, a place hewn into the terrace of the middle peak of debris crowning the fortress. It was dark but for the dread twilight reaching through the windowless open space to one side, where Dorthonion and Anfauglith loomed in the distance. He paced towards a roughly carved seat of sorts while they threw the Elf inside, and the heavy metal doors rang shut behind them. Now they were alone; she was alone.

A brief, sudden movement flashed before her eyes, and Amarië unwittingly took a step back.

The apparition wove itself around his throne, its naked form splayed above her master. It had the body of a youthful woman, but its skin was of a bruised, greenish shade, its hair of midnight. Great webbed wings spread like hunger as it eyed the newcomer with a keen, snakelike glare.

"What have you brought us?" it hissed, baring long, needle-point fangs.

"Thuringwethil, away," he snarled with a sharp tilt of his head.

The creature started, frowned and threw the frightened Elf a baleful look, but bowed and receded into the shadows from whence it came.

Vaguely Amarië wondered whether there was any sort of mercy left in him to grant her a quick death, but when the Elf saw his face any hope of the sort withered like the ashes of a spent pyre.

"Step forward," he bade, his gaze elsewhere. It was not a request.

The Elf shifted closer on her wounded feet, heart crushing her ribs in bloodied stutters. As Amarië came to stand before him she prayed to the One, to any who would hear.

"You came for him, here?" His long fingers drummed a sickening echo against the stone armrest, his smile an awful, despicable thing. He spoke her language to perfection as he always had, and it killed her inside.

"Y-yes," the Elf choked. "In Tol Sirion."

"Quaint," the Maia offered. "And utterly foolish." Fingers tapped, tapped, tapped their maddening rhythm. "How."

"I was allowed… special dispensation, and," she shivered and coughed as fumes grew thick in the air between them, "p-provided passage, a vessel…with others..."

A line twitched in his jaw, and vileness coated his voice. "And he was not there," he concluded. The Maia looked down at his lap, appearing thoughtful.

Amarië shook her head, hoping for this to pass soon, over and done with, for peace to rain upon her once this trial was complete. But his following words left her breathless, and her hope crumbled into dust.

"Undress."

She looked to him pleadingly, arms wrapped around herself. Amarië knew not what she had anticipated of him, but it was not this. Her voice came faint and shaking with despair. "P-please."

His gaze snapped upward. He leaned forward in his seat with narrowed eyes, and the stone edges cracked beneath his grip on either side. "Do it," he hissed in Vanyarin, though it seared his tongue to speak it. "Or I will have her do it for you," he jerked his chin towards the glow of eyes gleaming like blades in the nethers.

The vampire emerged anew, robed in shadows, nearing the willowy prisoner. It grasped her and brought its face into hers even as the Elf drew away with a broken whimper. Its nostrils flared, and its lips curled as it breathed the foreign scent. "Fearful blood," the vampire crooned in Black Speech. The Elf gasped when it trapped her shoulders, roughly yanking her hair back to expose the thrumming lifebeat at her neck.

"Enough!" he growled, fist striking into stone. "You," his eyes bore onto the vampire, "Begone."

A shadow shifted as swift as a gust of wind and Amarië found herself alone once more. With him.

The lord of wolves observed her blankly for yet some time before rising from his seat, slowly making his way to her with a languorous, predatory gait. Amarië faced him, steadfast and unwavering, though fatigue had weakened her past a point of endurance.

"I am waiting," he muttered once more in her tongue, black boots sleeking over adamant floors as he circled her. "And as all know, it is most unwise to keep me waiting," the dread captain of Morgoth added in silk dripping poison, his bloodlust rising steadily at the sight of her. They were all such weaklings, the Children.

Grimacing in distress and with trembling fingers, Amarië might have done as he asked, if not for the sliver of dignity left to her, the same that kept her alive through that hellish, grueling march.

The Maia watched her shaking hands freeze in the motion of unlacing her filthy, torn robes, but not before exposing small, tense shoulders.

"No." Faint, barely croaked, but steady.

He raised an eyebrow, stopping before her with a metallic hiss of his boots. "...No?" His voice dripped perilous kindness again. Perfect, bloodless lips revealed straight, pearly teeth.

The Elf blinked at him through reddened eyes swollen with fatigue. She merely shook her head. "Mairon, I beg you... once, we have been so… so close..."

"Dare not use that name again!" the pale one rebutted, the smile falling, eyes hard on her, and the flames in them seemed to burn away at his face.

For one heartstopping breath, the Elf thought she saw a skinless horror. The shadows roiling about him weakened her resolve. She gasped as unseen claws clutched at her throat, crumpled on herself at the sting in her protesting, burning lungs; through her swimming vision she barely saw him, and her chest heaved for air.

Blankly he watched as she choked on his power. "I know what your kind call me now," the Maia spat, the flames receding, and a rictus cut his face as he fed on the crest of that delectable anguish. "A long forgotten word and ashes for memories will not be your talisman. There is no escape, Amarië." And there would not be.

She hunched her shoulders forward, knees weakening, gasping for pitiful little breaths even as the deathgrip on her windpipe suddenly eased and her body slumped forward; the Elf sank to her knees, thin hands clasped together in supplication. "Please, please send me… send me to Mandos. Please. A last...a last kindness. Once. It is all I ask."

The words had been feeble, but he heard them well enough. "Send you to…" the rictus drowned in fellfire. Kindness?

Kindness?

How dare she ask such a thing of him? How dare she presume to merit such grace, or that he'd be willing to grant it? Freedom for them was an unknown concept here, and the Maia was determined to keep it that way.

Wrath changed his face, and leaden fright tumbled down her innards, clogging her veins, trapping her limbs. He looked a true creature of the void, hideous and bound in hate, no matter the translucent fairness of his features and the sheen of his liquid copper hair, now snapping around his neck and face with the harsh winds roaring from the wastes without. The ground was hard and unforgiving on her knees, and the Elf shivered despite the heat rising from the lower levels of the fortress.

"Unfortunately for you," Sauron spoke, a veneer of calm shrouding his countenance as he gazed to the ravaged lands beyond, "the rights to your own person have been forfeit, until such time as I deem suitable," he drawled in a mockery of regret.

His words were hollow to her ears, his face bored, and with wretched clarity Amarië then recalled how his voice had sounded once - nothing like this. And no sooner did his utterance gain meaning than she lifted her weary head, only to see him retake his seat, lounging as if deep in thought. The Elf flinched when sharply he struck the armrest twice.

The doors burst open, revealing a burly orc standing to attention.

"Wait!" Amarië tried, her eyes beseeching, desperation hurling words in a fast stream past her dry lips. "What will you do? Where will you take me?" She failed to struggle against the heavy talons, and so slumped in the orc's grip as one depleted.

He watched her strife with cool indifference, then averted his gaze to the ashen plains. At one curt motion of his hand Amarië was roughly dragged away, and the great doors groaned shut. Gone was the sight of her, the whimpering and the scent of her fear. Relieved, the Maia watched the arid barrenness yawning before him for a long while.

"Oh, Amarië," Sauron spoke, his blazing eyes dimmed to embers, lingering on the vast emptiness that stretched ahead. "There is so much for you to see here."

#sauron x amarie #sort of #sauron #amarie #silmarillion fanfiction #ruiniel:fanfiction

5 notes · View notes