#angainor

[mdb-art89]

The Binding of Melkor. Melkor flees the destruction of his fortress Utomno, down into the deepest shaft, but Tulkas chases him down, wrestles him to the ground and binds him with Angainor, the chains built by Aulë.

#drawing #illustration #art #procreate #digital art #silmarillion #inspiration #melkor #tulkas #lotr fanart #fanart #fantasy art #fight

[furious-haste-of-malice]

❝ "Does my brother – your husband – know that you still desire me?" 

"Unlike you, he is pure and good and so very agreeable. Unlike you, he knows when to obey." ❞

⊱ Prompt: BDSM, painal ⊱ Pairing: Varda x Melkor ⊱ Synopsis: After Melkor has been captured, Varda decides to try her hand at making him submit to his rightful queen - and doing it her own way. ⊱ Featuring: Eldritch Ainur, tentacles made of holy light, sadistic domme Varda, double/triple penetration (spicy bingo) ⊱ Warnings: Non-con, non-consensual BDSM, infidelity*, Varda's holy light hurts Melkor, the painal prompt in itself *I personally hc that Ainur couples tend to be quite liberal with physical love (as their bodies are just raiment to them), however Varda is doing this behind Manwë's back and he might not be ok with his wife assaulting his brother, so... make of it what you will, warning just to be safe.

𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆: Another one for @tolkienpinupcalendar's Dead Dove December that I'm still writing in February because yes. Enjoy~

It had pleased her to see him in chains. 

And it pleased her even more to have him kneel in front of her. 

Varda had ordered Melkor to be brought to her observatory within the highest tower of Ilmarin. Whether it was to settle an ancient dispute or it was merely pleasure she sought she herself couldn't tell, but what she knew for certain was that she finally had the arrogant Vala all to herself, away from the gaze of her sweet, all too kind husband. 

Though, of course, said Vala wouldn't make it easy to teach him a lesson in humility. 

Melkor looked up at her, a dark, triumphant grin twisting his fair features, and Varda swore to herself that she would wipe it off his face.

"So you wanted me all along, hm?" 

"The only thing I could ever want of you is your complete and utter surrender and submission to my rule," she said coldly and gripped his jaw. 

The searing heat of her hallowed hand elicited a sharp hiss of pain from the Dark Vala, and it was Varda's turn to smile. 

Even so, Melkor remained defiant. "Does my brother – your husband – know that you still desire me?" 

"Unlike you, he is pure and good and so very agreeable. Unlike you, he knows when to obey." 

"True." His attempt at regaining his haughty smile was more akin to a beast baring its teeth, but Varda was undaunted; rather, she felt a surge of excitement. 

One brother, already tame within her capable hands, and the other to be tamed by her, so that he might never challenge her or her subjects again. 

Melkor took advantage of her pensive silence. "But you are wrong if you believe I will be your little pet like he is – as amusing as it would be to see you admitting how much you have wanted me this whole time. Really, Varda, the true Elder King and Eru's impostor? How greedy of you." 

Without warning, Varda slapped him. 

"You shall not insult me or my husband in my presence. And whether you will learn to submit or not, we shall see." 

She could sense that it was slowly dawning on him how serious she was, and she wondered how Melkor would look if he was terrified, how he would sound if his mighty voice was reduced to a pleading whimper – something she quite enjoyed doing to Manwë. 

Fascinated, Varda looked at the handprint she had left on the Dark Vala's cheek, then her own hand, still faintly glowing with furious starlight, and finally at his bound form. He was trapped in his flesh in more ways than one thanks to Angainor, and the sensation of pain seemed more acute and intimate than what she had observed with other Ainur. 

Light, too, had served Melkor once, yet now its holy purity hurt him – retribution for his crimes – and it obeyed her command rather than his; and it was then that she knew exactly how she would teach him a lesson. 

With an elegant flick of her wrist, Varda sent forth a wave of starfire that incinerated the tattered remains of his clothes, leaving him bare under her merciless gaze. 

Fallen or not, he was still a sight to behold. Where Manwë's form spoke of lithe grace, Melkor's contained raw strength; where Manwë's hands were made for shaping clouds, holding quills to write his poetry and gentle touch, Melkor's carved valleys, broke mountains and accomplished many other evil deeds and feats of destruction. 

Varda allowed herself to behold his naked fána a while longer, until she found her eyes once again lingering on the mark she had left, marring skin that was cool, smooth and pale like snow. 

The temptation to touch him was great, but he was unworthy of such pleasure. 

Instead she gripped the collar Tulkas had so kindly put around his neck and forced him down on all fours with his head bowed in supplication. Melkor attempted to fight back, but Angainor sapped his strength and her light threatened to blind and burn him once more, so he acquiesced, though most unwillingly; his pride, as always, remained strong. 

Not for long, Varda promised herself, then asked aloud, "Will you be good for me?" 

"You should know better than to ask," Melkor snapped. 

"Very well." As far as she was concerned, his fate was sealed. 

Light erupted from her chest, back and shoulders, swiftly coalescing into long, tendril-like limbs – reminiscent of Yavanna's vines or even the tentacles of Ulmo's sea creatures, Varda thought with idle amusement. One wrapped around Melkor's neck, others pressed down on the back of his head and his shoulder blades to keep him down, more reached for his legs, while she calmly walked out of his sight and stood behind him, eager to witness the punishment she would bestow on him for his wicked ways. 

"You wouldn't," was all Melkor managed to say, though his voice shook just enough for Varda to know he was uncertain. 

"It doesn't have to happen," she said. "Renounce your false claim to kingship, call me your queen and abjure your evil deeds. Otherwise... yes, I would, and I will."

"Never!" 

Knowing that he couldn't see the delighted smile on her face, Varda allowed herself to indulge in her darkest impulses. 

"I knew you would say that." 

Hidden within the folds of her luxurious dress was, as always, a phial with water from her beloved wells that she now gleefully poured over his exposed backside, revelling in his vulnerability. The hallowed liquid was enough to make Melkor shiver in discomfort, and Varda knew full well it wouldn't provide sufficient lubrication either, but such was also not her intention. 

She wanted to purify and cause pain. 

And when she felt hot, tight flesh desperately clenching around one of her additional appendages and heard Melkor's scream within his ëala even before the sound tore through the air, she knew she had succeeded. Varda took her time pushing deeper and deeper, both curious to find the limits of his fána and aroused by the sight and sensation of penetrating the rebellious Vala that had caused her endless frustration. There was a certain pleasure to be found in breaking resistance, she noted, one that she couldn't derive from her sweet and docile husband. 

To her own surprise, Varda felt laughter bubbling up inside her chest. 

"You have your uses after all. Perhaps I was wrong to dismiss you as a lover," she taunted. "Though..." 

Willing a smaller tendril to wrap around the base of Melkor's cock, she drank in the panicked cry that followed with haughty indifference. 

"... make no mistake, this is not for pleasure." 

Yet Varda was lying to him, and she knew it as soon as she said those words. While she wouldn't allow Melkor to enjoy any of this, she would very much take pleasure in it herself. His screams and sobs whenever her light came in contact with his unholy flesh and moved inside him were bliss to her ears, even with the discord tainting his once-beautiful voice, and the desire to touch herself became unbearable when a second appendage joined the first, painfully penetrating her now-subdued nemesis. 

Varda slipped one hand under her dress to take care of herself – even serving her pleasure would be too high of an honour for Melkor – and waited. If necessary she would burn every inch of his skin and tear his hole open with more and more limbs of all shapes and sizes, but in the end she would have him begging for mercy.

No sooner than that would she grant it. 

She commanded a third appendage to enter her helpless prisoner, stretching the delicate ring of muscle to its limit, and soon felt something wet staining her luminous limbs, droplets of black blood. The sharp scent of iron assaulted her senses, and Varda knew not whether to be disgusted or excited. 

And for all his strength, Melkor was both captive and slave to his own flesh, and his will was swiftly eroded by blinding hot pain, causing him to break. 

"Stop it, please – please! I..." 

"Yes?" Varda stilled inside him, yet her fána was shuddering with pleasure. Her hand moved faster now, almost erratically. 

She was close and so was he in a way, though they arrived at wholly different limits. 

"Please... my queen..." 

Melkor was in a pitiful state, Varda noticed even as lust clouded her mind. Crying, sobbing, nearly collapsing on the floor from the pain he was in; a prideful being reduced to beautiful submission. It was this thought, this raw feeling of triumph and dominance that pushed her over the edge, and she took her time basking in the warm glow of her orgasm before pulling out and letting go of his neck. 

Black marks remained where her tendrils of light had restrained Melkor's fána and his hole was loose and raw as if he had been taken by the entire Valarin council. The mental image elicited a small chuckle from Varda; if he misbehaved again, she might consider doing exactly that and sharing him with the others. 

Nienna, of course, would tell her to pity him and Manwë would ask for mercy on behalf of his brother, but she found that she quite enjoyed the view and felt no regret. 

"You wanted me once and now you are whimpering and crying at my feet. Isn't this what you wanted? Does the light no longer please you, dear?”

Thanks for reading! ♡

#⊰✦⊱ non-con #melkor #morgoth #varda #varda elentari #elbereth #valar #ainur #silm smut #minors dni #silm fanfic #silmarillion fanfiction #silmarillion #cílil writes #my writing #tw noncon #cw noncon #dead dove do not eat #TPCdeaddovedecember

[niennawept]

Could you share a quote and/or tell us about pax valarum 👀?

Oh, I'd be happy to; thank you for asking!

pax valarum is a fic set during the Chaining of Melkor and told from his perspective. I'll be writing a series of 100 short chapters (preferably drabbles) to explore his psyche and his relationships with the Valar that do interact with him during this time (mainly Námo, but to a lesser extent Nienna and Manwë). I think it's going to end up being a meditation on what makes the Valar think it's alright to let him out and the extent to which what he showed them was true or false.

This is the first drabble:

The chains bound him, but did not bite. Aulë’s work wouldn’t. Not as Mairon’s did. No, the great Angainor locked his power down deep, where he could scarce even feel it. When Tulkas kicked him, he fell to kneeling; his knees flared with vulgar, common pain. Weak as an elf. “Melkor.” Manwë’s voice rolled down from the throne like thunder over the mountains. “You have been—industrious.” It took all of his strength to muster a carefree smile. “Thank you for noticing, little brother.” But Manwë’s gaze lay behind him; a slim hand landed on his shoulder. “Well met, Námo.”

#niennaanswers #polutrope #wip ask game #pax valarum #Thank you so much!

[outofangband]

Since you mentioned it, I’ve noticed that The Children of Húrin has a LOT of foreshadowing for its later twists and developments.

All of Tolkien’s works have foreshadowing of these things of course.

But I’ve noticed a LOT more of it in The Children of Húrin.

Yes there is lots of foreshadowing!

Some of my favorite examples are:

-Morwen’s dark feelings at the mention of Brethil which will of course be the place where she and her children die and where Húrin is again imprisoned. Especially pertinent because Morwen really isn’t the sort to bring up this kind of feeling especially when it’s so vague. I often wonder if there’s pre shadowing as well? Especially because Morwen was in Brethil as a young child after escaping the invasion in Ladros.

-Húrin telling Morgoth “nothing you are but an escaped thrall of the Valar and their chain still awaits you” obviously, this doesn’t come to pass in this book but it will at the end and I so dearly like to think that when Morgoth is chained once more by Angainor, he remembers those words

Perhaps the image of Tulkas flickers and for just a moment he sees in his place another golden haired warrior who dared to laugh at him (there are actually so many fascinating connections between Tulkas and Húrin from the fact that both of their names mean steadfast to the fact that both of them have loved ones who have a connection to deer)

In addition to foreshadowing, there’s also repeating motifs that I really enjoy; sight and blindness and obscuring, hunters and hunted, fire and waters, names (from the names of the flowers Nellas teaches Túrin to the names of Niënor Nínel and more), violation and control, etc

And of course there is so much foreshadowing you can do in writing fanfiction for this book. Currently, I am working on one that has so much foreshadowing about Aerin burning the house down and I feel so gleeful at all the little hints seemingly innocuous out of context knowing where it will all end 

Somewhat related, I also LOVE foreshadowing later stuff with Melkor interacting with Maedhros, Finwë or Fëanor in Valinor. There’s so much to work with there. So much suspense and dread and innocuous statements that the reader knows are not at all innocent

#the silmarillion #the children of húrin #morwen #Húrin #Aerin #Túrin #musing and meta #Maedhros #morgoth #melkor

[brynnmclean]

part one (I GUESS) is here. Here’s some more of this fic I am Definitely Not Writing (shout out to @rain-sleet-snow and @dwarveslikeshinythings for spitballing ideas with me until, well, HERE I AM NOW)

-

Mairon likes sharp things.  Of Aulë’s aides there are none better than he at the crafting of blades.  He is proud of his work, from every kitchen knife to every warrior’s sword.

He does not like wielding weapons himself.  Oh, he can-- he learned so that he could make the best version, the lightest, the swiftest, the most durable.  But the real battle tests are for other Ainur.

During the work on the chain Angainor, a Maia of Oromë asks why he will not join the hunt for Melkor.  Mairon curbs the sharpness of his tongue and gestures toward the fires, the forges, his fellow crafters.

“I belong here,” he says.  “All things are in order.  I want no part in war.”

The truth is that the whispers of Melkor never left Mairon.  The sweet pull of the power Melkor had once promised is always there like a shard of broken steel trapped beneath a scar.  He doesn’t trust himself.  So when the Valar lay siege to Utumno, he remains behind.

He makes a glaive for Ossë to take to the front lines, hoping that his friend will have the strength Mairon fears he lacks.  Drive it into his black heart, he doesn’t say, but Ossë grins with shark-teeth as if in answer.

When he isn’t keeping the forge-fires warm and hammering steel into shape, Mairon goes to the Trees.  There is peace beneath their boughs as well as Light.  The mingling of silver and gold captivates him.

When the Valar return, dragging the Enemy back in chains, Mairon is holding a dagger he crafted in the likeness of the Trees.  It is a hope, a prayer, a ward against Shadow.  

He goes to the trial and when Námo pronounces the sentence--three Ages in the Halls of Mandos--the woven branches on the knife’s hilt leave imprints on his palm long after he has released his white-knuckled grip.

The Ages of Melkor’s imprisonment bring a peace to his mind that he has never experienced.  A young Arafinwëan elf visits the forge once and picks the dagger up admiringly.  Mairon thinks nothing of letting the boy keep it.

#rough drafts #an uncorrupted mairon au #mairon #osse #silmarillion #my fic #to write list #RELUCTANTLY to write list #rings of power #for the dagger! #don't mind me i just thought it would be fun if mairon made the dagger #mairon also ends up falling in love with artanis who is also VERY sharp

[demos-oneiroi]

Melkifer

#Melkor #morgoth #silmarillion #silmaril #tolkien #jrr tolkien #chained #angainor #void #dark lord #silmarillion art #silmarillion fan art #onirismi #demos-oneiroi #demos oneiroi #lucifer #evil

[ainurmoodboards]

Tulkas, Valarin Tulukhastaz

The Strong, The Valiant, Champion of the Valar

Astaldo, Poldórëa, Ender

Tulkas was the last Ainu to descend into Arda, having heard of the other Valar's struggles against Melkor from far off in the heavens. Melkor might have defeated the other Valar if Tulkas hadn't arrived, and his laughter and wrath intimidated Melkor enough that he fled, which started the Spring of Arda. He was known for his strength and agility, and had no need for weapons, armor, or a steed. Tulkas has a complex personality; he laughed constantly, even during battle, and was considered to be a good friend who rarely got angry. But he was also impatient and didn't learn from his mistakes, and rarely forgave offenses. It may be for these reasons that Tulkas, despite his great physical strength and key role in the Valar's struggle against Melkor, was not counted among the eight most powerful Valar known as the Aratar.

After the Valar raised the Two Lamps Tulkas married Nessa on the island of Almaren, the first dwelling of the Valar. While some of the Valar were already married, Tulkas and Nessa's wedding was the first marriage to take place within Arda itself. After the wedding feast Tulkas, being wearing from his role in shaping Arda, rested, and Melkor used that time to strike. The Spring of Arda was ruined, the Two Lamps and Almaren were destroyed, and the Valar retreated to Aman, where they made their new dwelling. Later, Tulkas was delighted when the Valar decided to wage war against Melkor again to regain control of Arda and protect the newly awakened elves. Following a long siege of Melkor's stronghold Utumno, Tulkas wrestled Melkor and bound him with the enchanted chain Angainor, and he was brought back to Aman. For a long time afterwards, the world was temporarily free from Melkor's corruption. Tulkas was disappointed when Manwë granted Melkor freedom after he had served his "term" and refused to trust Melkor, but he did not challenge Manwë's decision.

Tulkas' wife is Nessa, who is the best dancer and who, like Tulkas, is known for her speed. Together they are associated with celebrations, and early works by Tolkien describe the House of Tulkas as being filled with feasting and warriors engaging in atheltic games while Nessa bring goblets of wine, making it strongly reminiscent of Norse Valhalla. Nessa's brother Oromë was a hunter and was arguably the second most warlike of the Valar after Tulkas, and together they tried to hunt down Melkor after the theft of the Silmarils. In early stages Tulkas and Nessa had a son named Telimektar, a strong warrior who was placed in the sky (the constellation Orion) to watch against Melkor. Tulkas and Nessa are also notable in that neither has any specifically named Maiar associated with them; there are just vague references to champions practicing in Tulkas' house and Nessa dancing with her maidens.

While they are both known for their speed and festive personalities, Tulkas and Nessa also have a sort of yin-yang relationship. Tulkas is a warrior who loves battle and physical activities and always eagerly supported proposals of the Valar going to war, thus playing an important role in the ongoing struggle against Melkor-Morgoth. Meanwhile Nessa, who was given elven names that mean "The Bride" and "The Lovely" or "The Beloved", was a supporter of peace, most notably seen when she supported the Hiding of Valinor from the elves following the Flight of the Noldor. Their marriage is similar to relationships between a war god and a love goddess in the mythologies of multiple cultures.

Tulkas is one of the Valar who don't have any siblings, along with Ulmo, Vairë, and Estë.

Tolkien's later writings state that Tulkas will again wrestle Melkor at the end of days and will play a major role in his defeat, although who wins isn't specified. It is said that Manwë and Melkor will also battle each other during this time, but that neither will slay each other. In Tolkien's early works, Eonwë will slay Melkor due to his love for Arien, who Melkor attempted to claim as a wife. In later writings it is said that Turin delivers the final blow that kills Melkor.

#Tulkas #Tulukhastaz #Tulkas Moodboard #Tulkas Aesthetic #Ainur #Valar #Astaldo #Poldórëa #Valar Moodboard #Valar Aesthetic #Tolkien #Tolkien Moodboard #Tolkien Aesthetic #Silmarillion #Angainor

[beastlyart]

i would bet your rats and your snake love you just as much as you love them, and i'd also bet they're really happy you're home to see them!

I don’t want to anthropomorphize too too much. A snake is a snake is a snake, and he’s happy as long as he’s healthy and getting water and food. That said, I don’t remember Domino (one of the younger rats) being so hand-tolerant, but he’s been quite sweet the past few days so either he missed me or my roommate did a great job with their daily maintenance and interaction or both. Elliott, as ever, is a dream. I want him to live for a thousand years and when I turn into a lich I will put my phylactery into his heart. 

#angainor

[deathchill]

call out post for @angainor because they’re always sweet when im trying to be angsty and it tarnishes my hardass exterior bc then i get all happy & sappy

#angainor #i found good love but the price was my Natural Angst

[wolvesdevour]

Chained Within

They released me from my binding, the dread chains that none could break. Yet I did not speak. They led me away from my prison hold, and I did not release my voice. I kneeled before my brother, and accepted my station within the city. I would not be bound again as long as I kept to peace. I did not look into their eyes. I was left alone to my own devices. I was given a hall. It was quiet, as I preferred. The silence was my choice. The furnishings remained barren and simple. I asked for no embellishments. What did I have need of them? I was the first and I had been bound. I had been judged and sentenced. I was chained. As the day ended, as the Sun rode to its end to the Door of Night, they came together in revelry. I waited among the shadows. They sang with care and jubilance. I gave no note. The night was quiet. The stars kept watch. The shadows were my solace. I spoke nothing. These were my chains. The cold form they had bound me in, that foul creation of the Smith, had no relevance to me. It was cruel and demeaning, but the truest form of the chains was not something so easily removed. The most restrictive of chains were not made of iron or rock nor any physical substance. They were made of shame, of anger, and of despair. I had been the one to lead the Song of Creation. I had been forced into subserviency. I had been humiliated; my pride and efforts dashed. I had been forced from my kind. They had no desire to invite me to their affairs. They held no trust in me. They had no belief in my goodness. I was a destructive creature. They had learned this. They have helped this. They will not forgive me. They will not love me. They will not respect me. I am chained, and the judge saw this. They believe I will reform. I will be aligned to their efforts and all will be in peace, but Námo understood. He, that fine and accurate doomsman, had seen the chains about my being. He ordered my sentence, but knew it to be nothing more than solace to the others. I will become as the others see me. Weak, destructive, aggressive, and vicious. I will not stop until I am cast beyond. Desire will eat away at me, deep within my soul. I do not belong within this city, within these halls. My time upon the land is limited. Anger briefly seethed within, and I accepted this hungrily, yet it soon abated with cool despair. With vast sadness, I wondered why they could not forgive me, but understood it was for naught. They cannot, but neither could I. If they did not cast the chains on me, I would, for as much as they hated me, I held even more for myself.

#nwn writes #tolkien #melkor #morgoth #mandos #angainor

[tanoraqui]

"Melkor has retreated to the depths of his fortress," said Eonwë. "We must force him out."

"I will lead the attack," said Finarfin. "Give me an hour to gather my forces."

For a moment, he thought he'd miscalculated his tone - the confidence of a king and war leader, the deference due to Manwë's own Herald and the commander of all the Valarin host. He'd gotten so good at it in the last six hundred years since leaving most of his family behind on the edge of the ice, since returning to the Land of Bliss where there were Valar to plead forgiveness of and Teleri to appease with even less hope of success, Vanyar to politely treat with and a shaken, regret-laced, still fire-fueled people to lead with a third of their number gone and Doomed... Eonwë looked at him a moment too long with a gaze like the highest heights of the sky and Finarfin thought he'd finally slipped up.

Then Eonwë nodded and said, "I will bear the Chain. We will meet at the inner gate in one hour."

The Chain. Angainor of old, with which Morgoth had once been chained, then freed from, and now would be chained again. To be fair, Finarfin didn't know if a Valar could be killed. He wasn't sure any of the Valar knew either.

Finarfin nodded his agreement and strode from the command tent, out to the field that had once been a vast desolate plain surrounding Morgoth's fortress, before Yavanna, Ulmo, and Manwë themselves laid siege to it.

Galadriel was already at his side, as she had been for every council of command since she rode out of the eastern mountains with an unlooked for company of Avari and Dwarves and a welcoming war cry on her lips. Her Sindar fiancé, Celeborn, fell in beside her the moment they left the tent.

(Galadriel, Angrod and Aegnor and Finrod Felagund, Faithful Friend of Men, his children were now all called - in song of memory more than in speech. His brothers and nephews and nieces likewise. So Arafinwë he might be again when all this was over, but Finarfin he would be now.)

"I'm coming with you," Galadriel said, as though Finarfin had ever had a hope of keeping his only daughter from a fight. As though he would try, for this one.

"I as well," said Celeborn, who had been doing an admirable job proving his potential-son-in-law bona fides by watching Galadriel's back through every battle thus far.

"Of course," said Finarfin, leading the way back to the Noldor portion of the camp. "But for the moment, we part - Galadriel, find Erestor and have him help you gather as many warriors of Nargothrond as you can - we want as much experience fighting underground as we can get. Celeborn, likewise for your people from Menegroth. Go now - we meet Eonwë at the inner gate in one hour."

They went. Other lieutenants appeared and he sent them off with other tasks - rouse every able-bodied and able-minded Noldo, and I mean able; we can not afford to falter now. Gather all the brightest gem-lamps (Fëanor's invention) - we don't know what patches of Ungolion darkness may be lurking down there. Ask the Vanyar for those of their forces who used to guard the Trees: we will need those who will not be distracted by the light of his crown.

For the first fifty years or so after turning back, Finarfin had been only too happy to kneel before the Valar and plead for himself and his people. To bow publicly to his father-in-law and beg for the chance to help rebuild Alqualondë. To curse his brothers' blind impulsivity and even blinder stubbornness, to accept his mother's people's sympathy, to fiercely fill Tirion with as much light and splendor as before...

(Once, early on, he'd woken with a shudder to a darkness that suddenly seemed even darker, like some far-off third should-be-eternal blaze had been devoured - )

But no word had come. (Had he thought Fingolfin - Nolofinwë - too would turn back, eventually? Maybe.) And no word had continued to come. The city simply could not be lit as before, even once the Sun and Moon rose, not with so many of its people missing. He didn't mind making every apology to Olwë and Alqualondë, but the condescending edge to Ingwë's sympathy started to wear thin. And when he finally begged Ulmo for word, the Lord of the Sea said that they had arrived and he would have to ask Mandos for more word, and Mandos said only, "Some already have come to my halls, and many more will in time. And there they shall stay, as Doom foretold."

Finarfin did not regret turning back, nor taking as many people as he could with them. Someone had to be sensible. Someone had to acknowledge powers greater than themselves. Someone had to make actual plans.

And no word had come, and no word had come, except the echo of more deaths that Nienna, at least, could be pleaded into confirming, though not explaining. Yea, not even the echo of their lamentations shall pass over the mountains... Until Earendil came like lamentations made manifest, with a Silmaril in hand and all his forefathers and children and people dead or burning behind him. And so Finarfin had gotten his first word of how many plans they had tried, his stupid-blind brothers and all their sons and daughters, all come to naught...

Finarfin did not send for the Sons of Fëanor. They simply appeared before him as he took a free moment to sit on a rock and clean his blade. There was black blood on their armor and bright, deadly intention in their eyes.

"We're coming with you," Maedhros said, with all the intensity of Fëanor's first son. But where Fëanor had blazed, centuries of constant warfare and atrocity after atrocity, many at his own hands, had stripped Maedhros to a single bare flame - flickering at the edges, far too hot to touch. His hair was still bright red; his left hand rested naturally on the hilt of his sword.

"You'll need us," said Maglor, gaunt shadow ever at his side. The smile he essayed was apologetic. "No offense, uncle, but we're the best warriors here and you know it."

If Maedhros rarely took his hand from his sword, Maglor's bardic voice was never without a hint of power, especially when he was trying to be charming as had once been natural. It was as though all the vivacity sapped from his face had been poured into this, his last and greatest weapon. Finarfin wondered if either was even aware of it anymore, or if presenting a threat to draw arms was just natural.

Finarfin was Finwë's son and had been King of the Noldor in Aman for nearly 600 years now. He stood, leaving his sword on the rock and crossing his arms, and met the fierce Treelight lingering in their eyes with his own.

"How can I trust you not to go after the Silmarils first and foremost?" he said bluntly.

"We're not so out of our minds that we don't understand strategy," Maedhros snapped. "Morgoth has to die first."

"Our main goal is to flush him out toward Eonwë," Finarfin informed them. "He will be waiting with Angainor. We don't even know if a Valar can be killed."

Maglor rolled his eyes, but his voice was polite. "As you say."

"We'll likely have to split our forces to corner him," Finarfin says, arms still crossed. "You'll stay with me, so I can keep an eye on you."

"You'll want us for more than that." Left hand on his sword, Maedhros said flatly, "I know the layout of those deep dungeons."

That did make Finarfin's focus slip. But he was smart enough not to ask his nephew, pained, After all this time?

"What if they've changed?" he asked instead, strategist and commander.

Maedhros smiled like a knife slashed across his face and said a few words in a tongue that made the air crackle and the shadows lengthen, and several people nearby draw weapons in alarm. Maedhros ignored the swords suddenly leveled at him, just flicked black blood from his armor and translated, "They haven't. I've been speaking with the most recently freed thralls."

#I DUNNO MAN I GUESS I WRITE SILMARILLION FIC NOW #I GUESS THAT'S WHAT I DO #this is part 1 of 2 probably #the silmarillion #finarfin #eldar #fanfiction #my fic #I JUST THINK MAYBE THE HOUSE OF FINWE DESERVES TO FUCKING /WRECK MORGOTH'S SHIT/ TOGETHER #if you notice me mixing up tenses in this shhhh i really did not mean to stay up this late tonight

[luna-writes-stuff]

April Tolkien Challenge; Day 2

Ancalagon the Black

tap picture for better quality

——

The Dark Powers Of Tolkien, David Day; "In Tolkien's version of Ragnarök, Morgoth releases one last great horror. This is Ancalagon the Black, the first and greatest of a vast legion of Winged Fire-Drakes. Ancalagon is the greatest dragon to ever enter the world. 'Rushing Jaws' is the meaning of his name, and in his ravening majesty he looses terrible withering fire down from the heavens."

The battle concluding the First Age of Middle-Earth was called the War Of Wrath, or the Great Battle, which was influenced by Tolkien's love for Norse mythology, in particular the Ragnarök; the end of the world as we know it. Ancalagon the Black was created by Morgoth to help him regain the upper hand in his battle against the men of Beleriand. The dragon drove fear into the hearts of men upon the sight; "So terrible was their onslaught that the armies of the Valar themselves were driven back from the gates of Angband, and their coming was said to have been accompanied by great thunder, lightning, and a tempest of fire."

From the floor off the dragon could not be defeated, nor could any others. And so, the half-elf Eärendil aired an aerial attack to slay the large dragon. He stood at the help of his great flying ship, hallowed by the Valar and lifted into the heavens. The ship appeared as a bright light in the dark sky, forcing a way through the shadows. In the end, he killed Ancalagon, and so the host of the Valar found themselves victorious.

Morgoth retreated to the depths of Angband, but was found nonetheless, in a weak and battered state. Instead of fighting his way out, he fell to his knees and begged for forgiveness, but he would receive none. His feet were hewn from beneath him and he was bound by the chain Angainor. His iron crown was beaten into a collar and the dark lord was cast into the Timeless void. The two silmarils left with him were retrieved, but shortly after vanished again.

——

Sources: -The Dark Powers of Tolkien, David Day -The Battles of Tolkien, David Day -One Wiki to Rule Them All; Ancalagon -One Wiki to Rule Them All: Melkor

#tolkien #lotr #lord of the rings #the hobbit #the silmarillion #history of middle earth #unfinished tales #jrr Tolkien #Ancalagon the black #Ancalagon

[furious-haste-of-malice]

❝ "I could earn it, my lady," Tulkas said eagerly, trying his best to win her favour. "Whatever you want, I will do it for you. Your wish is my command." ❞

⊱ Prompt: Degradation, boot humping ⊱ Pairing: Nessa x Tulkas ⊱ Synopsis: In which Nessa ties up her husband and uses him as a dance floor and Tulkas is very excited about it. ⊱ Featuring: Tulkas has a thing for feet, femdom, misuse of Angainor, orgasm delay/denial ⊱ Warnings: Some humiliation/degradation (but consensual)

𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆: Another one for @tolkienpinupcalendar's Dead Dove December; we're making progress. Tbh this one is just kink and not really dead dove, but since the rest of the series is here too, I'll keep it in one place. Hope you enjoy!

Tulkas could watch his wife dance for ages. 

Nessa was the epitome of graceful elegance and blinding speed alike, twisting, turning and twirling to her heart's content, faster than even his eyes could follow. Her feet, usually naked, were dainty like a fawn's limbs and artfully arched, a miracle on their own, and yet so deceptively durable and strong, carrying her through the fields of Valinor and enduring even the most strenuous and ferocious dances. 

This hidden strength and lethal accuracy Tulkas had experienced himself many times – whenever Nessa challenged him to catch her, outran and evaded him with ease, laughed at his misfortune every time she let him come close only to slip away at the last second or asked him to dance, making him follow her lead until even the mighty Champion of the Valar collapsed in exhaustion. 

And still, he didn't mind. Tulkas was endlessly fascinated by the wild and wily creature he had been granted the honour of taking as his wife and had soon learned that he would even endure ridicule and humiliation to be in her presence – and gladly so. Perhaps, he sometimes had to admit to himself, there was a part of him that quite liked it and was more than happy to serve as her plaything and playground alike. 

The position he currently found himself in was degrading to say the least, lying flat on his back with his muscular limbs stretched out, restrained by the chain Angainor that Nessa had elegantly convinced him to give to her instead – for a more pleasurable use, as she had whispered in his ear. And pleasure Tulkas felt indeed as he could do nothing but watch her, even though his ëala and fána alike ached for her, wanted nothing more than to break free and chase her like he knew she loved and maybe, maybe be rewarded in the end if he did well. 

Nessa had long since taken to stepping on him as part of her performance. Her feet, soft and so very dainty, looked tiny compared to his large, bulky frame, dancing on him like birds would hop and patter on a sleeping moose. Neither her weight nor her movements bothered Tulkas, his fána too sturdy to be hurt or damaged easily; it was more akin to a massage, rough and at times uncomfortable, but ultimately pleasant and stimulating. 

"Do you like this?" Nessa asked, tiptoeing on his chest before raising one leg up and overhead alongside both arms, her entire form curving like a beautiful bow. 

Tulkas' mouth suddenly felt dry, and he stared up at her with unconcealed hunger. His wife, so lovely and alluring, so close, yet as always just barely out of reach. If he was a man of a weaker heart he would weep, but to push him this far she would have to be even more cruel. 

The thought was frightening and exciting at the same time. 

"Aye," was all Tulkas managed to say, swallowing hard. "I... you are..." 

"Hm?" Nessa performed a cheeky little pirouette, then hopped from one foot to the other to switch up her pose. "Yes, husband? What do you have to say? I am all ears." 

"I want you."

Tulkas had never been a particularly eloquent Ainu, nor did he know how to weave charming tales of flattery. His heart was on his sleeve and his desire written plainly across his face, flushed from excitement. 

"Of course you do." 

The arrogant certainty and mocking tone with which Nessa spoke to him would have prompted him to challenge any other in her place to a duel, but her saying it sent a heady rush of arousal directly to his groin. 

Not knowing what else to say, Tulkas added in a small, breathless voice, "Please."

Nessa took a moment to assess the state he was in, and her eyes quickly settled on the growing bulge between his legs. Her lips curled into a mischievous smile, and she returned to a normal stance before stretching out one of her sinewy, wonderfully shaped legs to place one foot directly on his crotch, letting his erection nestle into its arch. 

"Indeed you do enjoy this," Nessa mused, "but I don't think I am in the mood to just give myself to you." 

"I could earn it, my lady," Tulkas said eagerly, trying his best to win her favour. "Whatever you want, I will do it for you. Your wish is my command." 

Nessa laughed. "My wish is for you to stay as you are, for I find this sight quite entertaining."

Her words cut deep, and Tulkas gave her a wounded look. She was right of course, he was enjoying this greatly, but the thought of lying beneath her while his yearning grew and grew, only for his desire to remain unfulfilled in the end, threatened to break his heart into pieces. 

It seemed as though Nessa sensed his neediness and distress and took pity on him then, pushing down with her foot so he could feel it firmly resting against his clothed cock. Tulkas groaned, and she smiled impishly. 

"But it's rather endearing as well," she lilted. "So I feel like I should grant you a little reward. How does that sound?" 

"W-wonderful. Please, my lady..." 

"Go on. Work for it." 

Tulkas didn't need to be told twice. As soon as he had permission to do so, he began rutting against her in a maddened frenzy, as much as the chains holding him in place would allow. Oh, how he wished there was no barrier of clothing between his cock and the sole of her foot so he could feel just how warm and soft her skin was and how firm her muscles; how he wished he could run his hands up and down her legs and kiss her in reverence – but such honour would not be granted today, and he had learned to accept whatever his lady wife saw fit to give. 

The speed and vigour with which Tulkas chased his peak would have daunted many others, but not fierce and proud Nessa who kept her foot pressing down, even stepping on his most vulnerable parts with queenly grace; yet whatever pain he felt only heightened his pleasure. He would have spent just as fast as he moved, had she not decided to prolong the pleasurable torment by occasionally lifting her foot, stretching it languidly as she watched him silently plead to continue. 

The relief Tulkas felt when he was finally allowed to climax shattered his mind, and he was left babbling and muttering fragments of praise and gratitude. His garments were now thoroughly stained, a testament to his desperate depravity and terrific triumph alike – Nessa had accepted his devotion and admiration and seen it fit to reward him accordingly, and he couldn't be happier.

She continued her performance then, using his heaving, exhausted fána as her personal stage once more, and despite the humiliating state and position he was forced to remain in, Tulkas smiled and felt no shame.

Thanks for reading! ♡

#tulkas #nessa #tulkas x nessa #valar #ainur #silm smut #minors dni #silm fanfic #silmarillion fanfiction #silmarillion #cílil writes #my writing #TPCdeaddovedecember

[shyseekeroflight]

Magical Compendium: Melkor

Below are my notes that I developed for working with Melkor as a pop culture pagan/chaos magician/I don’t like labels. My primary focus here is on details that can be most directly utilized in spiritual practice/magical workings (e.g. correspondences), but more general information is supplied as well in order to give greater context and develop themes.

I take a generally sympathetic and positive slant, so if that’s not in alignment with your tastes, you probably won’t get much out of this post. Furthermore, I admit that my knowledge of this subject is fragmentary at best and make no claims to expertise. I am simply someone with great interest in this figure/character.

Names:

True (Valarin) Name: unknown

Quenya Name: Melkor, “He Who Arises in Might”; older form Melkórë

Sindarin Names: (after stealing the Silmarils) Morgoth, “Black Foe”/“Dark Tyrant”; Bauglir, “the Constrainer”

Names given by Mairon in Númenórean cult worship: Lord of All, Giver of Freedom, Lord of the Darkness

Names given by himself: King of the World, Master of the Fates of Arda

“It is he whose name is not now spoken; for the Valar have deceived you concerning him, putting forward the name of Eru, a phantom devised in the folly of their hearts, seeking to enchain Men in servitude to themselves. For they are the oracle of this Eru, which speaks only what they will. But he that is their master shall yet prevail, and he will deliver you from this phantom; and his name is Melkor, Lord of All, Giver of Freedom, and he shall make you stronger than they” (Silmarillion, Akallabêth, p. 271).

Title/Occupation: First Dark Lord

Race: Ainur/Valar/Aratar

Texts: The Silmarillion (Ainulindalë, Valaquenta, Quenta Silmarillion, Akallabêth), Morgoth’s Ring, Ósanwe-kenta

Domains: All*

“To Melkor among the Ainur had been given the greatest gifts of power and knowledge, and he had a share in all the gifts of his brethren” (Silmarillion, Ainulindalë, p.16).

Patron of: children; anyone who creates—artists, musicians, artisans, craftspeople, inventors, engineers; anyone who works with words—linguists, writers, poets; outcasts, criminals, prisoners

“From the first he was greatly interested in “language”, that talent that the Eruhíni would have by nature; but we did not at once perceive the malice in this interest, for many of us shared it, and Aulë above all. But in time we discovered that he made a language for those who served him; and he has learned our tongue with ease. He has great skill in this matter. Beyond doubt he will master all tongues, even the fair speech of the Eldar" (Manwë about Melkor to the Elves, Ósanwe-kenta).

Themes: existence (universe/cosmos/creation/Eä)/nonexistence (Void), parent/child, power/powerlessness, creation/destruction, order/chaos, purity/corruption, divinity/humanity, life/death

Colors: galaxy, black, rainbow, light

Elements/Energies: music, fire, ice, smoke, storm, lightning, darkness/shadow, void

“And he descended upon Arda in power and majesty greater than any other of the Valar, as a mountain that wades in the sea and has its head above the clouds and is clad in ice and crowned with smoke and fire; and the light of the eyes of Melkor was like a flame that withers with heat and pierces with a deadly cold” (Silmarillion, Ainulindalë, p. 22).

Magical Disciplines:

Creation magic/art or music magic/chaos magic/tulpamancy

Corruption magic

Magical languages, runes, and incantations

Dark magical races/creatures: orcs, dragons (draconic magic), werewolves, vampires, evil fay/spirits

Sex magic

Crystals

Blood magic

Necromancy

Spirit work

Ceremonial and sacrificial magic, deity work/worship, constructed places of worship (i.e. temples)

Symbols: hammer, crown, gemstones, chains (Angainor)

Weapon: Grond (Hammer of the Underworld)

Sabbats: Samhain

Animals: cats, bats, wolves, dragons

Plants/Herbs:

Amaranth - immortality

Aloe - immortality

Strelitizia - freedom, immortality

Heather - independence, confidence

Tassel flower - creativity, originality

Muscari - power, confidence, mystery, creativity

Stinging nettle - a stinging plant with a variety of uses, including food, textiles, and folk magic

Crown flower - a plant with flowers resembling crowns that is dangerous if touched or ingested

Cannabis - a plant popularly used as a recreational drug and sometimes associated with artists and creativity, the Devil and immorality, and counterculture

Elgaran flower - a fictional flower appearing in the video game Middle-earth: Shadow of Mordor that grows on the graves of Men

Materials: metal, especially iron

Tarot Cards: the Tower, Five of Wands, Eight of Swords

Related Entities: Mairon (Sauron)

*Some alternative suggestions for what his domain may be include chaos, destruction, corruption, change/transformation, evil, and darkness/shadow.

Edit 10/26/2021: Added more interesting herblore options.

Edit 10/30/2021: Added link to detailed tarot descriptions.

#pop culture paganism #pop culture magick #chaos magic #magical correspondences #Tolkien #Silmarillion #Ainur #Valar #Aratar #Melkor

[outofangband]

Do you know if the curse on Hurin and his family only affected them when alive? Or did it influence their spirit/fea afterwards?

Well that’s a huge crux of The Words of Húrin and Morgoth, anon!

“This last then I will say to you, thrall Morgoth,” said Húrin, “And it comes not from the lore of the Eldar but is put into my heart in this hour. You are not the Lord of men and shall not be though all Arda and Menel fall in your dominion. Beyond the Circles of the World you shall not pursue those who refuse you.”

“Beyond the Circles of the World I will not pursue them,” said Morgoth, “For beyond the Circles of the World there is Nothing. But within them they should escape me until they enter into Nothing.”

“You lie,” said Húrin

“You shall see and you shall confess that I do not lie,” said Morgoth

( OK that part is kind of funny to me because isn’t Morgoth’s whole point that if he’s telling the truth how is Húrin going to confess?? he’ll be nothing and in nothing but that’s beside the point)

I’ve noted in the past that we can detect at least one confirmed lie regarding the nature of the curse on this page; Morgoth tells Húrin that nothing will be hidden from him however in the Wanderings it specifically states that many things were hidden from him, not just distorted but entirely obscured. Specifically the triumphs of his son and most notably the killing of Glaurung (though Húrin discovers this anyways later, much to Morgoth’s displeasure). This doesn’t specifically relate to the question of death in the afterlife but I did just want to note that anyways

Anyways, the fate of humans after death is a rather enduring mystery in Tolkien’s work. We don’t only that they go elsewhere, beyond the knowledge of elves and apparently beyond the knowledge of Morgoth. There is more I can say about this generally in the Atrabeth but unfortunately I do not have my copy of Morgoth’s Ring with me at the moment! (I’m at work and I always keep my copy of the Narn with me in my backpack but I don’t have most of the histories there). But I can return to that later if anyone wants

But there is a lot I can say about this. For one the sentiment of this being put into his heart in this hour is reminiscent of his brothers dying words to Turgon, if not in the words themselves but in the sense of premonition. It’s not as directly satisfying a premonition as “their chain still awaits you” which I truly believe Morgoth remembers when he’s once more bound by Angainor (and given the similarities between Húrin and Tulkas it’s fun to imagine that just for a moment, the visage of the Champion of the Valar flickers before his eyes and becomes another golden haired warrior who laughed at him. Anyways) but it’s definitely a powerful line and though again, Húrin will never see it, it does come to pass.

Húrin is among a few humans to speak of the Valar directly, mainly in The Wanderings when he speaks of Námo, Manwë and Oromë and in his conversation with Melkor. And in the BoLT version, he successfully prays to Manwë when he sees Túrin’s capture by orcs.

Also in the book of lost tales version, Morwen (Maevwin) and Húrin (Úrin) do not pass on but rather remain in the woods beyond Doriath, “bemoaning their children”. This is never implied to be a result of the curse however and obviously this version is not canonical anyways

But I do not think that the curse extends beyond death. Morgoth says the victims will die miserably and “curse both life and death” but even he seems to think that death is an escape for them albeit not any happy or peaceful one as he believes it is simply Nothing. (Just like with Húrin and Manthor’s talk of Shadows in The Wanderings, I think the capitalization of Nothing is very interesting)

Finally I would note that the words “she was not conquered” seem to imply that Húrin believes that the curse ends in death but that’s only my interpretation (I don’t think that’s primarily what the quote is about but I do think that’s a possible inference to it)

I hope this answers your question, anon! Please feel free to ask more!

#the silmarillion #the children of húrin #Húrin #morgoth #melkor #Morwen #musing and meta #in the Iron hell #the wanderings of húrin

[yeah-another-aesthetic-blog]

Tolkien’s Valar as Kpop idols

🔨 Baekho as Aulë 🔨

Aulë (Quenya; "Invention") was an Ainu, one of the Aratar and a Vala, who was responsible for fashioning and crafting the substances of which Arda, the world, was composed. He was also called Mahal (Khuzdul; "Maker"), Oli (Sindarin; "Dream") or Návatar and delighted in the nature of substances and in works of skill, but was not concerned with possession or mastery. Besides the shaping of Arda, Aulë's greatest works were the Two Lamps of the Valar, the vessels of the Sun and Moon, and the Dwarves. He also created Angainor (the chain of Melkor).

As Aulë was a smith, he was the Vala most similar in thought and powers to Melkor, as both gloried in fashioning artistic and original things, and came to create beings of their own. But Aulë strove to be true to the original intent of the Music of the Ainur, and submitted all that he did to the will of Ilúvatar, while Melkor wished to control and subvert all things, and would try to twist or destroy others’ creations because of his jealousy. There was long strife between Aulë and Melkor both before and after the creation of Arda, though Aulë traditionally opposed attempts to fight Melkor, for fear of the damage that would be wrought to Arda.

When the Elves came to Valinor, the Ñoldor became the students of Aulë. Fëanor was his greatest pupil, and from him learned to make gems through craftsmanship that was later forgotten. This would eventually lead to the Silmarils, the greatest creation of handiwork within Arda. On the Flight of the Noldor, the Ñoldor who returned to Valinor under Finarfin named themselves the Aulendur, Followers of Aulë. Despite his lordly skill, Aulë was humble and compassionate, and indeed the Dwarves survived only because Aulë submitted them to the will of Ilúvatar. His spouse was Yavanna, with whom he dwelt in central Valinor.

#Baekho #Nu'est #Aulë #Valar #Tolkien #Aesthetic #Moodboard