#askaipi

[aipilosse]

hi! There's a wide range in how people interpret Maedhros' character. I'm curious to know what you think though. Do you think he's a tragic hero or a villain near the end of his life? I just cannot see him as a complete villain because of the remorse and regret he shows over his mistakes. But I know some peeps interpret his character to be darker after Nirnaeth Arnoediad. What do you think?

Ooh, thanks for the question! My first instinct was to say Maedhros is obviously a villain by the end of the Silmarillion, but then I thought it through a bit more and I really think he’s more of a classic tragic hero. 

He’s got many of the elements of a tragic hero with that tension between fate and freewill. It’s very reminiscent of the Greek tragic heros. On the fate side, we have this excellent quote that’s been going around: 

“the eldest, whose ardour yet more eager burnt

than his father’s flame, than Fëanor’s wrath;

him fate awaited with fell purpose.”

But he also has freewill. Maedhros chose to swear the Oath, he didn’t have to attack Doriath, he didn’t have to attack Sirion, and he didn’t have to slay the guards and steal the Silmaril; there’s blood on his hands and it’s his fault both on a personal level and as the leader for the Feanorians.

By the end of the Silmarillion, I personally would describe him as evil (and I think many characters whose loved ones were slain by him would agree with me!) — that’s why the Silmaril burns him: “the right to the work of their father, which the sons of Fëanor formerly possessed, had now perished, because of their many and merciless deeds, being blinded by their oath, and most of all because of their slaying of Dior and the assault upon the Havens.” The fact that he’s fallen so far though is incredibly tragic because we see his regret along the way and his attempts to reclaim the Silmarils by working with his allies. He also makes many good decisions, especially with how he makes peace with Fingolfin and spends his time gathering allies throughout much of the Silm. Adding to the tragedy is his terrible luck — everything that can go wrong does go wrong. It’s not his fault he was captured by Morgoth, It’s not his fault Celegorm and Curufin decide to alienate all of Nargothrond AND Doriath (Doriath already didn’t like them, but after the Luthien incident there was no way they were going to help), and it’s not his fault Ulfang betrays him at the Nirnaeth Arnoediad.

Maedhros is an excellent tragic hero because there are so many reasons to root for him, and yet he falls so far that by the end he has more blood on his hands than other characters that are set up narratively as villains.

That’s all textual analysis stuff — in terms of headcanons, I like to imagine a slightly crazed Maedhros post-Nirnaeth, and if I were to write him I would write him as frightening and despairing, but not cruel. I also enjoy the headcanon/fanon that Maedhros has an overdeveloped sense of responsibility (classic oldest child problem). I wrote above that I hold him responsible for his actions at Doriath, Sirion, etc with an extra dollop of responsibility considering his status as a leader, but I think that Maedhros also feels responsible for the things he couldn’t control, like his capture, his batshit brothers, and his betrayal. 

Thanks again for the question! It was enjoyable writing out all the Maedhros thoughts I’ve had brewing for a while, and it will be very helpful for future writing projects :)

#maedhros #silmarillion #headcanons #hopefully I'm not stirring up a hornets nest here #most people in the silm fandom are reasonable and and can take a nuanced view on a character #or agree to disagree #*most* #I feel like my analysis is very high school essay-ish #oh well #I do feel pretty strongly that he's a much more interesting character if you assign him responsibility for his actions #instead of all Compelled by Oath! #which he chose to swear in the first place #Anonymous #askaipi

[aipilosse]

I don't know if you're still doing the ask prompts, but I saw you'd already filled the one I'd put for Mae Squared before so I thought I'd pick a different one so you didn't have to do the same one twice. I was thinking maybe 15? But only if you're still doing them/want to! Thanks for all the lovley writing you give to the fandom!

Yes I am! My first attempt at Maedhros/Sauron AKA Mae Squared, and the prompt ‘Out of your element’ from this prompt list. Rated Teen or so for, ya know, Angband.

There were so many different layers of misery in Angband. 

There was the misery of torture of course, of having the flesh torn from his back with spiked whips until he passed out from blood loss, only to have the whips brought out again when he was half healed. There was the horrible pain of glowing metal set to his flesh until he thought his bones must be singed, all the while his tormenters asked for answers he did not know and had never known. There was the misery of constant humiliation, sometimes as a method of torment, but also the just the daily degradation as he was denied clothes and the filth on his body built up, until he felt lower than a worm. 

He also learned that misery could be delivered just as well through neglect. At first, he thought he could bear hunger, but as the years passed and he saw his body waste before his eyes, the gnawing pain in his gut became harder and harder to bear. The pain of thirst moved faster; he soon learned that even if he had been allowed a cup of bitter, oily water, in just a few hours Maitimo’s throat would be burning. He would wait for days with his awful thirst in whatever position he had been chained in, the ache in his joints and the cramps in his muscles growing into agony.

Misery sank into his bones, until it seemed to encompass his past, his present, and his future. When they came to unchain him from the horrible crouch he had been kept in for several days, Maitimo felt a brief moment of relief despite the more logical part of his mind that told him he was being released only for further pain. The four orcs sent to escort him had to drag him; his legs refused to move after being locked in place for so long.

When the walls changed from the rough texture of the caves he was usually moved between to smooth dark stone, Maitimo felt his dread grow. The only time he was taken this far above ground was when he was taken to Morgoth, and that was the worst misery by far in Angband. The Vala’s piercing eyes and terrible burning spirit seemed able to torment his mind as much as whips tormented his body.

He wasn’t brought to the throne room. Instead, they stopped in front of a pair of iron bound double doors.

“We have a guest for Lord Mairon,” one of the orcs said.

The guard at the door peered at him suspiciously. “My lord did not tell me he was expecting any visitors.”

“Order from the Mighty One,” the orc replied.

“He’s not going to like this,” the guard warned, but rapped on the door with his spear anyway.

“What?” The flat question came from inside the room.

“Lord Melkor has sent you a visitor.”

There was a sound that seemed penetrate Maitimo’s very being; whatever was on the other side of that door wasn’t pleased. “Make it quick.”

Maitimo didn’t know what he expected as he was dragged through the door, but whatever it was, it wasn’t this. The floor was carpeted, the plush surface unbelievably soft against feet that had only felt stone for years. The room was diffused with light, the soft glow of candles magnified by crystals and colored glass. The large room seemed to be divided into different purposes — Maitimo could have sworn he saw goldsmithing tools at a workbench and another corner with glass containers filled with multi-colored liquids — before he was thrown to the ground.

“Kneel,” snarled the orc, as if it was possible for Maitimo to do anything else. He bowed to Mairon. “The Mighty One says you must interrogate him.”

“Oh really? I must interrogate him? As if I have nothing better to do with my time than question a useless prisoner? I suppose requisitions, excavations, and the logistics of arming our entire host is not enough?” Mairon’s low musical voice was at odds with the sharp sarcasm of his tone. Maitimo watched his guards shuffle awkwardly from his spot on the ground.

“Get out. And if you breathe a word of what I said, I will slowly boil you from the inside out.” The orcs beat a hasty retreat, and then they were alone. Maitimo didn’t look up; whatever horrors were in store for him would happen whatever he did.

“Well, have a seat, I’ll get to you in a moment.” That at least grabbed Maitimo’s attention. He peered up from his spot on the floor. Mairon wasn’t looking at him at all; his entire focus was on whatever he was writing. Maitimo almost gasped out loud; Mairon was stunning. Red hair, a deeper shade than any he had seen tumbled around his shoulders. The golden flame of his eyes was mesmerizing. Maitimo swallowed; he already felt horribly out of place and filthy in the rich, pristine chambers. Now he felt like a twisted creature compared to the being before him. 

But he had been asked to take a seat. Earlier, he would have fought even the smallest order in Angband, but now he knew there was no point in resisting this reasonable request. Better to save his energy for the actual questioning. Maitimo crawled to the chair, and pulled himself onto it. He winced as he sat down. His back and buttocks were still only partially healed from the last time he had been whipped, but the flinch was more so at the thought of his filthy skin touching the elegant upholstery. 

Mairon didn’t look up through the whole laborious process. He appeared to be filling in some sort of grid, carefully writing figures and occasionally tallying up the columns. Finally he looked up.

“So you are the High King of the Noldor?” He sounded bored.

“I was. I am not king of much here.” Maitimo met Mairon’s eyes, trying not to be the cringing thing he could feel himself becoming. 

“Hm, so I am to interrogate you. Are they still asking you about silima?”

“Among other things,” Maitimo said cautiously.

“I already know the size of your army, how they are armed, what they have gained, what they still lack, where you are camped, the messages that have been exchanged with the local Sindar, and who now calls himself the High King. I’m sure I know more than you at this point about the Noldor on these shores.” Mairon sighed heavily. “But I shall question you nonetheless. How did Fëanáro create the Silmarils?”

“I don’t know,” Maitimo said, reflexive terror closing around his throat and making his voice shake.

“Why did Fëanáro burn the ships?”

“To prevent anyone from fleeing, and from his half-brother from joining us.” He had agonized over letting that information slip, but it had spilled out some time ago. In the end he wasn’t sure how much it mattered. Morgoth already knew of the strife between Fëanáro and Nolofinwë; he had helped sow it. At least Maitimo had not spoken of the kinslaying.

“Anything else you wish to share?” Mairon absently flicked a contraption on his desk, setting off a tinkling cascade of chimes.

“No.”

“Well, that was a very productive conversation, a good use of time for us both.”

Maitimo felt a huff of air leave him, something like a laugh. “This is the best use of my time since I arrived.”

A corner of Mairon’s mouth rose. “I suppose it is.” He drummed his fingers against the desk. “Nelyafinwë, do you like games?”

“Yes,” said Maitimo hesitantly. 

“The only thing that’s enjoyed by folk here is base gambling. A good wager can be entertaining, but only for a moment.” Mairon carefully set the ledger to the side. “The numbers are as good as they are going to get until Langon sends his update.” Mairon stood and returned with two goblets. He handed one to Maitimo. Maitimo sniffed it suspiciously. 

“It’s water.”

After a cautious sip, Maitimo began to drink greedily, the cool, clean water soothing his parched throat and tasting sweeter than any nectar.

“If you throw up, I am expelling you immediately.” 

Maitimo reluctantly lowered the goblet, and saw a board with many glittering pieces had appeared on the desk. 

“So, you are the silver pieces, I am the gold,” Mairon began. Maitimo tried to focus on the rules, his mind still reeling from the unexpected, if temporary, relief from torment and his surprisingly charming host.

#Maedhros/Sauron #Mai squared #this was fun #thanks for the prompt! #my writing #ibrithir-was-here #askaipi

[aipilosse]

Ooh! For the story prompts 29 for Silvergifting? (And maybe 39 for Mae Squared (maedhros x mairon), but only if you want too!)

Ooh, excellent prompt! from this prompt list I’m still doing. This is silvergifting - this is a good thing. I might do Mae squared tomorrow!

Celebrimbor walked out onto the porch, the air suddenly cool after the crowded, warm party inside the Guild Hall. He leaned against the wall next to Coroniel.

“I’d say this was another successful Founder’s Day celebration,” Celebrimbor said. Coroniel only hummed in response, her gaze faraway as she looked at the stars.

They remained in silence for a time, watching the twinkling lights of the city below and light of the stars above.

Coroniel broke the silence. “Being a star must be lonely.” 

Celebrimbor looked up to where Coroniel was looking at Eärendil. “It’s strange to think the child we cared for during all those long miles from Gondolin to Sirion is up there, sailing across the sky.” It was strange on a personal and a physical level, but he knew Coroniel wasn’t in the mood to listen to him ramble about the potential properties of light that would allow something as small as a Silmaril shine like Eärendil did.

“What kind of judgment is that? To doom someone to an eternity of the same journey over and over, for daring to be the messenger of a dying people.”

Celebrimbor looked over, surprised at Coroniel’s bitterness. They were at the end of a merry day, celebrating a prosperous year; he had thought all of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain were sharing in the joy. His own personal happiness might be coloring the world tonight though. He thought back to earlier that day and the unexpected kiss that had been spinning in his mind all day. 

Coroniel scrubbed her hands over her face. “I’m being foolish. There’s no reason to think back to old quarrels I have tonight, as if it even matters what one Elf thinks of the Valar’s judgments. Besides, it seems we are not completely forgotten again — Annatar has been a good addition to Ost-in-Edhil.”

Celebrimbor glanced over at her quickly, surprised to hear the name he’d been thinking about aloud and also remembering every creeping doubt he’d ever had about who exactly sent Annatar. 

He ran his fingers over the broach that had been a gift from Annatar, thinking about opaque, golden eyes, soft lips on his, and lightly calloused hands closing over his own.

“Yes,” he said softly. “This is a good thing.”

#silvergifting #Celebrimbor #Annatar #My OCs #sorry Coroniel sneaks into everything #Thanks for the prompts! #ibrithir-was-here #askaipi

[aipilosse]

For the prompts: 1, with Narvi?

For this prompt meme (join in the fun!)

1. Improvisational weapons

A soft clink came from the back of the workshop. Narvi sat up straight, all of his senses alert. He had come to Ost-in-Edhil as a gesture of friendship with their new trading partners, the Gwaith-i-Mírdain. Their forges were wondrous and their workshops had every tool and material one could wish for, but Narvi felt very exposed above ground. What was worse, Ost-in-Edhil kept its gates open at all times, and even if they were closed, Narvi didn’t think much of their sturdiness. 

He had tried to tactfully breach the subject of gates with Lord Celebrimbor, but he had been assured that the open gates and their delicate craftsmanship were quite intentional. 

“The time for hidden cities and shut gates is over. Ost-in-Edhil is open to all, be they travelers, craftsmen, or merchants.”

That was all well and good, but a policy of openness was one thing in the daylight, surrounded by other stout dwarves, and was quite another in the darkened workshop, alone with only the beads he’d been making. 

Clink. There it was again. Narvi cursed himself for deciding a good solution to insomnia was doing some easy work in the workshops. Better to stay in his rooms at night, where he could bar the door and see all four walls easily. Living above ground was not to his tastes. 

Narvi crept towards the sound, determined not to be taken unawares. There was a sound of fabric rasping together from behind some shelves. Narvi grabbed the first thing that came to hand and flung himself around the shelves.

“Show yourself!” he yelled, brandishing his weapons.

“Ah!” Lord Celebrimbor jumped back from him, hands raised. 

Narvi let out a breath, suddenly feeling very embarrassed. “Lord Celebrimbor. I heard a noise, and being unaccustomed to your city, I may have jumped to a foolish conclusion.”

“Is that a carrot?” Celebrimbor asked, looking at Narvi’s raised arm, where he was indeed brandishing a carrot. 

“So it is,” Narvi said, equally surprised.

Celebrimbor’s mouth twitched. “You’re in a workshop full of sharp and heavy implements, and you choose to attack with a carrot? The courage of dwarves is truly legendary.”

The adrenaline from first thinking he was in danger and then realizing he had threatened one of the lords of the city was fading. Celebrimbor looked a great deal less imposing without the circlet and jewels of office he had been wearing earlier that day. With pulled back hair and a leather apron, he looked downright familiar, the unearthly air that Narvi associated with the bright-eyed elves gone.

“I could ask you what a carrot is doing in your workshop,” Narvi said gruffly.

Celebrimbor shrugged. “Who knows? Inspiration for coloring? A chemical experiment? A weapon in case of invasion? A snack? This is a shared space — I assume someone had a good reason to put it here.” He touched a stone in the wall and it began softly glowing. “What are you working on at this late hour?”

“Some beads. Nothing special; I just came here because I couldn’t sleep.”

Celebrimbor nodded sympathetically. “I also could not sleep. It’s my own fault for waking so late this morning.” He looked speculatively at Narvi. “If what you’re working on is not so urgent, maybe you can help me with my project?”

“Perhaps,” Narvi said cautiously. Indeed, working with the Gwaith-i-Mírdain was part of why he had come to Ost-in-Edhil. He had thought that they would begin with a bit more formality though. Starting a project with another was a serious undertaking for a dwarf.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said about our gates. It’s been bothering me; you’re right you know — they are not very sturdy. I still believe in the principle of a mostly symbolic barrier, but there’s no need to sacrifice beauty for strength.”

Narvi perked up. This was good news indeed. “I think I can help you there.”

“Good.” Celebrimbor unrolled a piece of parchment and set down some paperweights to keep it open. “Here’s what we’re working with.”

#Celebrimbor #Narvi #Ost-in-Edhil #my writing #Thank you for the prompt! #Anonymous #askaipi

[aipilosse]

ooops, didn’t specify from which list 🤦🏼‍♀️ I meant “once bitten, twice shy” :)

(First part was Ost-in-Edhil, any characters :)))) From this list of prompts.

This turned into 1,000 words of silvergifting, focused on my favorite subject, Annatar lying to himself. Warning for elves and dwarves making drugs look cool.

Annatar woke up in Celebrimbor’s bed feeling worse than he could remember feeling in centuries. The fact that he was even waking up was a bad sign — he typically didn’t need sleep; his fëa was separated from his hröa in such a way that sleep wasn’t necessary for the storage and capture of memory.

He blearily felt across the bed. The other side was cold and the blankets were undisturbed. He couldn’t even claim that he ended up here as part of his plan to seduce Celebrimbor; a successful seduction typically required at least two people in bed at the end of it. 

He tried to remember what had happened last night. Tani was in town and she had brought an array of exotic goods as usual. The Khazad-dûm dwarves were good for more than mithril; they also provided access to a vast trading network east of the Misty Mountains. This time she hadn’t brought fine fabrics and beautiful glasswork; instead she had spread out an array of dried mushrooms, each a more alarming combination of colors than the last.

“We tried some of these when my kin brought them to Khazad-dûm,” Tani said. “A monochrome fabric will look like a rainbow, you’ll feel heat and cold like you’ve never felt before, and problems that have been locked deep in your mind will come springing out. But you have to be careful — if you consume them with darkness in your heart you might spend the whole night screaming.”

Annatar knew from the first sentence that passed Tani’s lips that the Gwaith-i-Mírdain who were gathered around the dwarf were going to try the mushrooms, even if the consequences she had described were twice as likely and twice as dangerous. He also knew that her description was accurate. He had encountered such plants in his journeys in the east and seen them used by sages and torturers alike. 

When they gathered in their corner of the common room that evening with a jar full of sweet fruit and nut paste that would be their vehicle for the mushrooms, Annatar had tried to demur.

“Eating a fungus is not going to grant me any insights I don’t already have. Besides, I don’t even metabolize the chemical components that create the psychedelic effect.”

“But couldn’t you change that?” Celebrimbor asked.

“Yes…” The next question was inevitable.

“Don’t you want to try it with us? You might not discover anything you didn’t already know, but you won’t know until you try.”

“It would be a waste,” Annatar tried as a last ditch attempt.

Celebrimbor squeezed his hand under the table. “There is plenty for us all to share.”

“Fine.” Some time later he needed to figure out why he always caved when Celebrimbor asked him to do something. It could potentially interfere with things. “If we really are set on ingesting strange mushrooms on the word of a dwarvish trader—” Tavi made a noise of protest. “We should try to only consume the mushrooms. Other mind-altering substances like alcohol should be avoided; they will only interfere.”

From his position curled up in Celebrimbor’s bed, Annatar eyed an empty wine bottle cast on the floor. He vaguely remembered making the smallest alternation to his liver so that he could feel the effects of the mushrooms. Was that the error? Or was it the alcohol he must have ingested? Or did he have more than one mushroom, or even worse, multiple kinds of mushrooms?

He remembered Celebrimbor pressing the drug against his lips and smiling widely as Annatar did the same. He remembered being convinced that he’d made the alteration to his liver too subtle as he laughed at his friends discovering their own fingers, the grain of the table, and the bubbles in a fermented drink. He remembered Celebrimbor pressing his face to Annatar’s neck, murmuring about colors so beautiful he couldn’t bear to see. And he had told him to look because even if he forgot in the morning it was worth the joy of seeing now. Annatar had not been looking at the candlelight, or the condensation on the glasses, or listening to the rippling ebb of voices; he had been staring at Celebrimbor’s face.

That was the last coherent memory. He dragged himself upright and dourly eyed the trail of clothes that led to the bed. He couldn’t imagine the state he had been in to throw his clothes on the ground with no thought to their upkeep or proper place.

Physical sensations are only temporary. Pain is meaningless, Annatar thought to himself as he slowly put on a linen shirt and carefully folded the rest of his garments and set them on a table. He picked up the empty wine bottle, grimacing the whole time, and finally exited the room.

“You’re up!” Celebrimbor greeted him from his desk with a devastating amount of energy. 

“Yes,” was all he could manage as he took in Celebrimbor, fully dressed and very awake. He took a second glance as he slumped on the couch across from him. His relatively composed state was not quite as impressive as it had been at first; he was wearing the same clothes as yesterday and his braids were definitely on their second day of wear. “Did you sleep at all?”

“No. After I helped you to bed, I stayed up all night writing on colorimetry.” He gestured at the stack of paper next to him. “No promises that it’s comprehensible though,” he said with a wry smile.

“Aren’t you tired?” Annatar found Celebrimbor’s complete disregard for what one might term healthy habits concerning at the best of times, but more and more he was wondering how he’d survived the First Age.

“Not at all! Look what else Tavi brought us.” Celebrimbor thrust a mug of pungent liquid towards him. Annatar recognized another familiar plant from the east: a bean that could be used in several different forms as a stimulant. He had used it in the past as a paste given to slaves to increase productivity. Celebrimbor was of course drinking it as if it were as harmless as water.

“Aren’t you tired of modifying your state of being with chemicals?” he asked.

Celebrimbor just laughed at him. “Actually tonight we were going to try the set of mushrooms we didn’t get to last night. Will you join us?”

“Absolutely not.” While Annatar was not perfect, no matter how he strove for it, he could at least resist making the same mistake two nights in a row. 

“Very well; I don’t think it will be quite as enjoyable without you.” The cool silver  eyes were so warm.

“Aren’t you going to sleep at all?” Annatar asked, trying to convey his disapproval. 

Celebrimbor began throwing some things in a bag. “Maybe this afternoon. Lofrik composed a ballad last night, he’s going to perform it soon. Would you like to join me?”

Annatar could think of few things he’d like less in his current state than listening to a dwarvish ballad composed under the influence of psychedelic mushrooms. “I would not.”

Celebrimbor poured him a glass of water and sat on the arm of the couch as Annatar drank it. “Want me to have anything sent here?”

“Just some bread.” He should probably object to being fussed over, but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything. 

Celebrimbor laughed. “I’ll have someone come by. I’ll be back later to try to convince you to join us again tonight.” 

As Celebrimbor left the room, Annatar shuddered at the thought of a repeat of last night. He had been right about one thing at least; the mushrooms had no insights to offer him whatsoever.

#silvergifting #Annatar #Celebrimbor #mushrooms #ost-in-edhil #I am predictable #my writing #thanks for the prompt - I hope I got the right combo #badbunfromhell #askaipi

[aipilosse]

If you’d like to, “Let’s not and say we did” for Celeborn?

Thanks for the prompt (from this prompt list)!

Celeborn glared down at the dwarf across from him, as he had been doing for the past five minutes. He didn’t want to be the first to break the silence. Even the dwarf’s breathing irritated him in the empty and echoing council chamber.

He was reasonably sure that he could keep up the silent glare for a while yet, fueling it with outrage over having been abandoned by his wife and the rest of the council to come to an agreement with Lord Thrombar over where the improvements would be made during the brief March thaw. The Gwiaith-i-Mírdain faction hadn’t actually exited with triumphant smirks and crowing, but it had certainly felt that way when Galadriel had linked arms with Celebrimbor, already talking about Spring Festival plans, the two of them for once leaving a council meeting not sniping at each other in Quenya over everyone else’s heads. 

Thrombar sighed heavily. “We are both of a particular temperament, and I have no doubt you have the patience to sit there staring daggers through me until some time next week, but let’s not do that and say we both glared at each other for some time until we both simultaneously broke down.”

“Are you asking me to lie, Dwarf?” Celeborn asked.

Thrombar sighed even more heavily. “So, I would like to use this brief thaw to repair the road to Khazad-dûm. Our carts are damaged almost every time they make the journey which wastes everyone’s time and costs us money. This seems like an obvious use of the crew’s time. Do you disagree?”

“The Sindar quarter has been dealing with standing water in the streets. I find it very telling that your first thought is money and not the comfort of the citizens of Ost-in-Edhil,” Celeborn snapped. 

Thrombar’s eyes flashed. “The Sindar use those roads and benefit from our trade with the Khazad-dûm dwarves the same as the rest of us.”

“Speaking of the Naugrim, I think it’s very telling that you want to spend our resources repairing a road that by rights the folk of Khazad-dûm should repair.”

Thrombar did not respond to the slur. “Only a small portion of the road is where they maintain it, the rest is ours as you very well know. It would be more work in the long run to not repair that portion, and they would see it as a gesture of friendship.”

“And should my people continue wading through freezing water every time they want to leave their houses?”

“See, I don’t think you need the whole crew to fix the issue in the Sindar quarter. If you would just ask Lady Coroniel—”

“I’m sure Coroniel would love to help us,” Celeborn replied, his voice laden with sarcasm.

Thrombar threw his hands up. “And now we are back where we started. I have tried logic and compromise, but if you will not engage, we can go back to glaring at each other.” He settled back in his chair and fixed Celeborn with an unwavering stare. 

Love, are you still arguing with Thrombar? Galadriel spoke into his thoughts, equal parts exasperated and loving.

We cannot keep bowing to the Gwaith-i-Mírdain. Their faction is gaining more power by the day. I know you don’t wish to think ill of your kinsman Celebrimbor—

I know your fears and do not think they are baseless. But surely you can admit that they are right in this. Get one of their own to repair the drains in the Sindar quarter and you will have won in the end anyway. Galadriel’s amusement reverberated in his mind when she saw that Thrombar had already offered the same.

Accept his offer. Lady Coroniel will wade into the freezing mud herself to solve the issue.

“Fine!” Celeborn shouted. “If Lady Coroniel will fix the drains, we can send the city builders to repair the road!”

Thrombar almost jumped out of his seat at Celeborn’s outburst. “Agreed! Let’s get this written down and leave this blasted room.”

Celeborn glared as the dwarf gathered parchment and ink. He could feel the city slipping out of his hands by the day.

#I'm so sorry AT #you probably didn't sign up for almost 700 words about drainage in Ost-in-Edhil #Thanks for the prompt :D #Celeborn #My OCs #my writing #amethysttribble #askaipi

[aipilosse]

Can I ask for silvergifting + 23?

Yes :) Silvergifting and  Unconventional “I love yous” from this prompt list.

When the last spell was cast and the metal had fully cooled, Annatar and Celebrimbor stared at the ring for a long while.

“Put it on.”

Celebrimbor searched Annatar’s face. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, you should try it first.”

Celebrimbor picked up the ring, weighing it in his hand for a time. The gold band had three clusters of blue stones and seemed heavier than it should be for its size. This ring was just a first test, but Celebrimbor had still wanted to make it a thing of beauty, even if it ended up just being a simple piece of jewelry.

He glanced up. Annatar met his gaze, staring so intently Celebrimbor thought he should feel self-conscious. He didn’t. He slipped the ring on his finger. 

The difference was slight, but there was no doubt that the ring worked as intended. He ran his fingers over a piece of paper on the table. It was more than paper: it was a tree, it was a plan, it was a collection of pieces not unlike himself, and it was Song. He had known all that before, but now he knew the pine tree it had been, the structure of its parts, and the notes of its Song. 

“It’s as you said.” Celebrimbor stared at the ring on his finger, using its own power to see the perfect structure of the materials it was made of, and the perfect structure of the spells they had woven amid its parts.

“It’s as you designed,” Annatar replied. 

Celebrimbor opened his mind so that Annatar could understand what he now understood. As his thoughts rushed towards what it all meant, Annatar laughed.

“A moment!” He grabbed a writing utensil and pulled the piece of paper towards him. Show me.

Celebrimbor began to unspool his thoughts, the subtle insights the ring gave him traveling through him, to Annatar, to spin into a plan for something even greater.

#silvergifting #I suppose exchanging rings isn't the most unconventional i love you #but these rings are #thanks for the prompt :) #my writing #lulukeskywalker #askaipi

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Hey! If you are still doing the prompts, could I please ask for 28 ( odd hobbies) for Gil-galad? ❤️

So this turned into Celebrimbor/Gil-galad porn, definitely in the same timeline as my other Brim/Gil PWPs. Why are they so Inspiring? Rated explicit - do not believe the innocent first paragraph; this is spicy.

Gil-galad twisted the strands in his hand mindlessly. Rope making was one of the many skills his foster father had taught him, and the one he enjoyed the most. If Círdan made noises about going fishing with Gil, or even worse, diving for pearls, he would always counter with an offer to spend a quiet afternoon twisting rope. 

Celebrimbor flicked his tongue over the head of his cock and Gil had to bite off the moan that rose unbidden. Brim’s pace stayed agonizingly slow though, and Gil wondered how long they had until Oropher showed up for his meeting. He grabbed another section of hair and started twisting. Gil could ask Brim to stop, or speed up, or he could just grab the back of his head and start fucking his throat, but that would rather prove his point that Gil was too impatient and bad at taking time to enjoy life’s simpler pleasures. 

Gil-galad was not impatient — would an impatient person enjoy rope making? He could be a patient person and still hold the opinion that thirty minutes was on the long end for a blow job. Well, hopefully it hadn’t been thirty minutes yet, or else Oropher would be at the door, about to walk in on Gil-galad in a very compromising position with the Sinda’s least favorite co-council member.

Finally, finally, Celebrimbor sped up slightly, the tight friction of his pursed lips making Gil’s heart speed and breath quicken. He clenched the section of hair he had been winding in his hand, resisting the urge to pull harder. That wasn’t what they were doing this afternoon. He tugged the hair lightly in warning. Brim looked up and squeezed his thigh in assent. Not that that was ever a question — he always swallowed. 

Gil-galad muffled a shout into forearm, the orgasm that had been building through Celebrimbor’s slow strokes and light suction finally cresting. 

Celebrimbor wiped off his mouth and laid his head on Gil-galad’s thigh and smiled sweetly up at him as Gil tried to get his breathing back under control.

“What the fuck were you doing to my hair?” he asked the moment Gil felt capable of speech.

“Um, twisting it?” Gil offered.

Celebrimbor felt his head, almost half his hair twisted into three-strand right laid sections. “Was I boring you? Was the blow job bad?” He looked genuinely offended. Celebrimbor always held himself to a high standard, whether it was in the forge, in the council chamber, or in the bedroom.

“No, no! I just wanted to keep my hands busy,” Gil said sheepishly. 

Celebrimbor raised his eyebrows. “I told you, you just can’t sit still.”

“That’s not what this was about!” Gil protested as he tucked himself back into his braies and smoothed his robes back down. Celebrimbor stood up, straightening his clothes. He glanced back at Gil, making sure he was presentable before opening the door.

“Thank you for your guidance, your Grace,” he said as he opened the door. He held it open for Oropher, who had been apparently waiting in the hall. Gil-galad was suddenly very glad he had thought to stifle any noises. Oropher looked at Celebrimbor’s haphazardly twisted hair in confusion. “Nice to see you, Lord Oropher,” Celebrimbor said with a smile. “Have a good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon, Lord Celebrimbor,” Oropher said stiffly. He wrinkled his nose as he walked into the room. Gil tried not to think about how much the room must smell like sex.

“Hello, Lord Oropher. How may I be of service?”

#thanks for the prompt! #I hope you enjoy this truly ridiculous smut #Celebrimbor/Gil galad #Gil galad #Celebrimbor #nsft #jamcake-muses #askaipi

[aipilosse]

41 with dark!Galadriel and Mairon? if you're still doing those lovely prompts 🥰

41 is “Home is where the heart is” from this prompt list. I made myself do a double-drabble (200 words) so that I wouldn’t get bogged down in how and just focus on V I B E S.

The bright forest stretches as far as the eye can see; gold and silver rays fall between branches. The light seems soft, but any soul ensnared here soon finds their head aching and eyes streaming with tears as if they looked at the sun. The sound of rustling leaves and running water fills the air. As he approaches where She dwells, the screaming singing of elves surrounds him, lyrical and unending. 

There is no guard at the great tree in the heart of the forest; the tree is sufficient. He freezes as his measure is taken, the ancient mind touching his, smooth limbs brushing his body. The branches reaching towards him recede, revealing a staircase. He climbs, half willing, half compelled.

“You have come to serve, Admirable One.” He falls to his knees. He wants to gaze upon beauty bright as the morning and dark as the night, to see Her in all her terror and worship her as she deserves, but his eyes stay lowered.

“Come, faithful servant.” He crawls to her, ease flowing through him that he has been absent for an age. His kind were made to serve — in Galadriel he has found a worthy mistress.

#Galadriel #Sauron #Galdriel/Sauron #How did they end up here? Excellent question #maybe in this verse there are Two Rings #not one #hmmmm #Thanks for the prompt! #my writing #actuallymiriel #askaipi

[aipilosse]

Galadriel (2nd Age variation), 14?

Oh man 14 is playing sports from this prompt list - you made me make up Sindarin words and look up sports. 

Galadriel stood on the field victorious, her enemies fallen around her. There was nothing in the world like the feeling of resoundly defeating an opponent. 

“Seventy-one to nine,” she called.

One of the fallen elves struggled to his feet. “My lady, we could call the match right now.”

“We have only started the second half!” Galadriel exclaimed. “Come on, line up.” She jogged to the center and held up her hands for the ball.

As she set the ball down at the exact midpoint of the field, she watched as her team lined up in the formation they had practiced. They wore their green tunics proudly, the more so for the stains of dirt and sweat. They all crouched, bare legs braced and fists planted on the torn up field, ready to run.

“Tyelperinquar, get your folk lined up!”

Celebrimbor glared at her balefully as he wiped the blood off his face. He wearily gestured to the other Gwaith-i-Mírdain that made up the Black team; they straggled into position. 

Galadriel glanced at the sidelines. The Founders’ Day games were quite popular with the citizens of Eregion, but the annual talcoron match was generally more an excuse to drink and wave things in the air than something that was watched with much interest, unlike some of the other competitions. Afterall, it had been hundreds of years since the outcome of the match had been anything other than a Green victory. 

“Honestly Tyelperinquar, you should practice more than once for the annual game. I think we’re boring the spectators.” Galadriel started practices with her team before the snow had fully melted. Celebrimbor bared his teeth at her. Good. With Celebrimbor focused on taking her down and the rest of his team without a clear strategy, the Greens were sure to score the next point. Celebrimbor at least was fiercely competitive, although he struggled to field a team who saw much point in training for a once a year game. He could be baited though; athletic competitions were just as much a mental game as a physical one, and Galadriel prided herself on excelling in both.

“Min….. Tâd….. Neledh!” Galadriel kicked the ball into the air. It went exactly where she aimed it.

#The Mírdain used to practice more #but they still lost #so now they have practices that are more about drinking beer and making up more complicated games #thanks for the prompt! #Galadriel #Celebrimbor #my writing #undercat-overdog #askaipi #I'm so sorry if I got the Sindarin wrong - I am not good at elvish

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For the story prompts, what about 28. 'Odd hobbies' for Celebrimbor and your OC Coroniel?

So I know I said I was trying to do Second Age stuff, but then this perfect Fourth Age idea appeared, and I had to write it! From this list of prompts:

“You’d like to try? Really?” Bilbo was thrilled. Tol Eressëa was a wonderful place. The weather was almost always lovely, there was excellent food and drink that never ran out, and best of all he could speak to many of the legends of the Elder Days himself. In fact, they frequently came to visit him and Frodo in the cottage they had on the outskirts of Avallónë. Just yesterday Finrod Felagund had visited, as wise and merry as Bilbo had always thought he’d be.

Today, he and Frodo had the honor of a visit from one of the greatest elven craftsmen who had ever lived, Celebrimbor of Hollin. Bilbo had briefly met him when they arrived at Tol Eressëa, but those first few weeks had been such a whirlwind of introductions and wonderment that Bilbo hadn’t really had a chance to talk to him until today.

When he’d heard that he wished to visit with his friend, Coroniel of Hollin, he’d been delighted and told him to come over at his earliest possible convenience. They’d had hours of good conversation in the garden over an endless array of snacks and tea. Celebrimbor and Coroniel had as many questions about hobbits as he had about Eregion, and the time had flown by. When he realized that they also could provide another perspective on Gondolin, Bilbo had almost been overwhelmed by the new round of questions he had for them.

“This calls for a pipe,” he announced. Celebrimbor and Coroniel had watched fascinated as he lit up his pipe and blew a few smoke rings. After further interrogation, and a regretful remark from Frodo that it was too bad Meriadoc Brandybuck wasn’t here to share his research into pipeweed, Celebrimbor asked if they could try smoking.

Frodo chuckled. “I’ve been told many times that elves don’t enjoy wreathing themselves in smoke.”

“I’ve spent much of my life surrounded by various fumes; I’m sure at the very least it won’t harm me,” Celebrimbor replied. 

“Well, then. I think we both have a spare pipe, don’t we Frodo my lad?” Bilbo said. “I’ll run into the house and grab them.”

He returned with matches, two more pipes, and more pipeweed. They had brought a whole cask of the stuff to the Blessed Lands, and they had already given some thought into how they could find the same plants in Valinor. The stories clearly said that every plant that existed in Middle-earth also existed in Valinor, but Bilbo was afraid the strains would be different enough that it wouldn’t be the same experience. At the very least, he was very sure they’d never find something as good as Old Toby. As far as he was concerned, that was even more of a reason to share their precious pipeweed with their curious guests — how often could one provide immortal beings with something they had never experienced before?

He helped them fill the bowls of the pipes and lit the leaf as Coroniel and Celebrimbor drew on the stems. Soon they were all puffing merrily away. To his surprise there was no coughing or waving the smoke away from the elves, although they did amuse themselves by blowing smoke in each other’s faces for a time. 

“How did you shape those rings?” Coroniel asked after a few puffs on the pipe.

“Ah, now that is a skill that takes some practice, although I’ve always found your folk to be quite quick on the uptake,” Bilbo said. “I’ll try to show you how. First, draw a full mouthful of smoke.” Two pairs of eyes, one silver and the other brown, watched avidly and drew in their own mouthfuls of smoke.

Bilbo realized at this point that verbalizing the technique would be a bit difficult. He tried anyway from the corner of his mouth.

“Pruss yur tun don,” Bilbo said. Both pairs of eyes widened slightly as they followed his instruction.

“Then shuck yur cheekf in end make an ‘o’ es ye bluh.” He blew a little ring out with the smoke that had managed to stay in his mouth. Celebrimbor and Coroniel just managed to blow out slightly more concentrated clouds of smoke. 

Eventually, with a bit more instruction not obstructed by smoke, the two elves were beginning to blow small rings.

“Well done!” Frodo said, after a mid-sized ring from Coroniel. “You’ll be matching Gandalf soon enough, although I think he cheats with magic.”

“Magic? How does one use magic for this practice?” Coroniel asked.

“I’m not sure, but Gandalf can make all manner of shapes, like ships and dragons and flowers, appear from his smoke.” 

“Oh! I suppose you could just shape the air currents as you blow out,” Celebrimbor said thoughtfully and then proceeded to blow a perfect spiral shape.

Coroniel rolled her eyes. “Don’t mind him. He’s just as much of an outrageous show off as the rest of his family.” She blew a second smoke ring, slightly larger than the last one she’d attempted, with a look of intense concentration on her face. “I will continue honing the practice in the authentic manner of your people.”

Bilbo laughed. “I’m sure you’ll be able to match me in smoke rings in no time. Now tell me about Gondolin. Was it really as beautiful as Tirion?”

#Celebrimbor #Coroniel #Bilbo #Frodo #My OCs #Fourth Age #Valinor #Bilbo teaching everyone that smoking is cool #can't believe how problematic he is #thanks for the prompt :) #elennalore #askaipi #my writing

[aipilosse]

What’s your favorite silvergifting fanfic?

OOOOH, thanks for the question anon!

I have to say my favorite is probably one you’re familiar with: These Gifts You Have Given Me by @thearrogantemu 

I think it’s one of those fics that’s part of the “So You’ve Decided to Read Silm Fic” bundle, but it still deserves to be mentioned of course! It’s just so good — the OCs are very memorable, the whole vibe of Ost-in-Edhil is so wonderful, and the Celebrimbor/Annatar relationship sneaks up and strangles you (in a good way) so that I at least was scrolling up, being like, oh wait, oh shit, I didn’t think this was an AU? (it is not an AU). Don’t be like me and start reading chapter 4 in the morning before work, because you may not be able to stop, and you will end up in your endless meetings trying not to cry on camera.

Two other more recent fics that are also faves are Put down the target of me; in turn I will surrender by @undercat-overdog and The Light Under the Mountain by @prackspoor

Put down the target is short, but it hits all the best silvergifting beats in its 6,500 words. Celebrimbor is starting to lose it, but that doesn’t stop him from giving Sauron a piece of his mind. Sauron is at his very best “I’m the reasonable one; if you would just stop being stubborn, I could stop torturing you.” Also, it’s very sexy. And sad. (as I said, the best silvergifting beats!)

If you’re looking for a long fic, The Light Under the Mountain has so much great world building and fantastic characters, with a wonderful Celebrimbor, Annatar, and dwarf OCs. It’s full of politics, excitement, and Celebrimbor & Annatar being extremely smart while also very oblivious. 

Thanks again for the ask! I love talking about my fave fics :D

#fic rec #silvergifting #Celebrimbor #Annatar #Sauron #Anonymous #askaipi

[aipilosse]

Our girl Coroniel, no. 55!

My OC Coroniel and a happy ending from this list of prompts. This was an excellent prompt as it forced me to figure out some geography — always a chore for me. It also is more of a happy beginning than an ending, but I think it might answer some questions about what happens next.

Second Age 745

Coroniel paused for a moment to catch her breath. It had been a long day. They had started east early that morning from the Sindarin village they had stayed in the night before, traveling along the dirt road that ran next to the Glanduin. When the sun was at its zenith, they had finally met up with the Khazad-dûm dwarves they had been exchanging letters with for years. It had been a merry meeting, and they had stopped for over an hour for each to praise the other party with many toasts. Her stomach full and head light with the potent spirits the dwarves had brought with them, Coroniel had thought it was an excellent time for a midday nap, but apparently for the dwarves, full stomachs and light heads were the perfect conditions for a long march. 

As they walked at a brisk pace, they had alternated between walking songs, light hearted jests, and the more serious business they had journeyed all the way from Mithlond to discuss. They had finally made camp as the shadows began to lengthen and the light took on a golden quality. 

Their discussions became more serious then, as they talked about the details of the formal mithril trade they wanted to start. 

“Trading you our excess mithril is all well and good,” said Lamlim, one of the senior dwarves in the party, and not one who Coroniel had met personally before. “But what you’re asking for would mean we’d have to smith less of it ourselves, and we are the greatest craftsmen in the world. What makes you think you are worthy of our greatest resource?” There had been some mutters of agreement from the other dwarves and outraged bristling from some of the Mithlond elves.

Bilran just winked at Celebrimbor. Clearly he had been anticipating this question and had no doubt been scheming with Celebrimbor for years via letters on how they would answer the challenge. 

“The craft of the Khazâd is excellent and I would not want to deprive the world of your fine work,” Celebrimbor answered. “But we also have some skill in metalworking, and see great potential to refine mithril even further, so that it becomes the most beautiful and coveted substance on Middle-earth.”

With that, he drew out a gorget he had crafted out of mithril. The dwarves fell completely silent as they passed the piece of armor from person to person, looking at the delicate traceries, feeling the strength of the metal, and marveling at the gleaming surfaces. Bilran was almost bursting with glee — clearly Celebrimbor had shown him the gorget before this moment. They were certainly going to get the trade agreement they had set out to make. 

After the first stunned silence, the floodgates had opened and the dwarves began bombarding Celebrimbor with questions about how he had elevated the already lovely mithril to even greater strength and beauty. 

Coroniel left the party then, content to let Celebrimbor and the other smiths answer their questions. She continued up the hill, finally reaching a flat outlook with a good view of the river below and the mountains ahead. 

She ran her hand over a nearby boulder. It was good limestone; they wouldn’t have to go far to quarry enough for their needs. She looked at the towering mountains that created a very familiar wall to the east. They were good; she liked mountains. The river though, that was what made this the perfect spot. The land was mostly open, but trees grew along the river, and she thought that there many types that could be planted in the stony soil in the future.

Coroniel turned her back to the river and let her gaze become unfocused. Multi-colored tiled roofs and soaring towers danced before her eyes. They could build high here, and create a city as tall as Gondolin had been, especially with their new found knowledge on how to create buildings that could withstand the earth’s tremors that they’d been forced to learn at the end of the First Age. 

She made her way back to camp as the last rays of the sun sank below the horizon. She found Celebrimbor sitting on a rock, still humming with the happiness of someone who had spent the past hour talking about his greatest passions. 

She sat down next to him and lightly kicked his leg. “This is the place.” Celebrimbor grinned at her and handed her a half empty bottle. They knocked their bottles together and drank to their future city.

#My OC #Coroniel #Celebrimbor #dwarves #Ost-in-Edhil #Second Age #Thank you for the prompt! #siadea #askaipi

[aipilosse]

If you are still doing the prompts, can I perhaps interest you in 19 with Sauron and Tar-Miriel?

hmmm, so this turned into a double drabble of Sauron/Tar-Míriel - I hope you still like it! From this list of prompts. Rated Teen for adult themes I suppose; nothing explicit though. 

When she tells Ar-Pharazon she is going to the temple to worship, he raises an eyebrow. Tar-Míriel ostensibly worshiped the Valar and had protested at first the dark temple the Zigûr raised. Her qualms had not been from piety; they were from disquiet as the Zigûr amassed power. No longer was he a prisoner.

But her worship is not what Pharazon thinks it is, and she does not always kneel. In the Zigûr she has found someone who understands that the crown is not always where power lies. In the dark of the temple, they play their games of control and lust, his radiant beauty against her dark loveliness. Míriel tells herself that she is different, she knows manipulation — she could stop this at any time. Besides, it will be worth it in the end. The Zigûr can grant immortality; the fool’s errand to Valinor is needless.

As she touches his silky hair and feels his lips slide across her skin, she shuts her eyes against the intoxicating feeling of having one so powerful bow to her.

“And thus it will always be between us,” the Zigûr whispers. “I will always have need of a strong and clever lieutenant.”

#this is definitely a tar-miriel is the witch queen story #Sauron/Tar-Miriel #thank you for the prompt! #my writing #fortuitousraven #askaipi

[aipilosse]

Not to be tedious, but Idril does indeed do some wreckage in HoME! "At length she had sped the most part of her guard down the tunnel with Earendel, constraining them to depart with imperious words, yet was her grief great at that sundering. She herself would bide, said she, nor seek to live after her lord; and then she fared about gathering womenfolk and wanderers and speeding them down the tunnel, and smiting marauders with her small band; nor might they dissuade her from bearing a sword."

My god, you’re right. In between the swooning and and the hair dragging she does some smiting! BRB - adding more dead bodies to Fair They Wrought Us.

The Fall of Gondolin in the Book of Lost Tales II careens between amazing details and stuff that you know Tolkien would’ve changed if he ever finished one of his later narratives. I’m not sure if Idril’s smiting would’ve stuck, but I wish we could have read a post LOTR Fall of Gondolin regardless. IMO Tolkien got better at writing women in between the late teens when he wrote TFOG and his later stuff from LOTR and later in the 50s. 

#ty for the correction #Tolkien fans are nothing if not tedious #not shocking that Tolkien improved as a writer from his mid twenties to his fifties! #that's the dream #Idril #Gondolin #siadea #askaipi

[aipilosse]

I really like your blog!-@outofangband

Thank you! I hope you’re doing well :) You’re such a positive force in this fandom — I hope you know how much people appreciate you!

#Anonymous #askaipi