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Our Antlers Tangled
Chapter 14: Mastery of Prey
Melkor gets everything he wanted. And then he gets what he needed instead.
Up now on Ao3
Also please check out the additional chapter Temptation to Ruin that bridges the middle of the story now
Rating E
Melkor has everything he wanted.
He walks with through his halls with his Lieutenant by his side, his other subjects bowing as they pass. Plans to strike at Almaren are developing well. Utumno thrives.
Nothing is wrong exactly. Except that Mairon, sworn to him, is more unreachable than ever.
‘Expansion can recommence, most of the lower chambers have been drained of Uinen’s waters, but I thought we might leave the springs, unless you object.’ Mairon says.
‘Will they damage anything in the long term?’
‘I should not think so. Appropriate outlets have been carved. Those will need reinforced.’
‘Then I do not object.’
Mairon keeps easy pace with Melkor, nodding to those they pass, recalling them by name and exchanging a few quick words when he needs to. All like him, none seem to resent his sudden ascension, even Gothmog cedes to him on the every day organisation of the fortress.
There is nothing to fault. He is pretty and composed and untouchable.
Melkor loathes it.
He cannot find a single trace of the maia he first met in the forest. The cruel, wrathful, wild creature seems to have entirely vanished. Leaving a hollow simulacrum in his place.
One who halts as they reach the baths, forcing Melkor to await his report before entering.
‘Ten percent of the forces have been armed, Lungorthin is charged with training them. Forging is slow due to a lack of both talent and discipline amongst your… recruits.’ His eyes flick to Melkor, as if expecting to be rebuked for hesitation after a few scant months in Utumno. When none comes he continues, ‘I will resolve it.’
He is a dutiful lieutenant, a perfect servant, and completely empty of life.
Melkor reaches out and runs a finger along Mairon’s sharp cheekbone. The maia lets him, impassive. He might as well caress a wall.
The deference, the refusal to struggle, the use of a title and never his name. It all grates at him.
He fists his hand in Mairon’s hair, pulling too hard.
Mairon makes a small sound of pain but he tilts his head up and into it, eyes wide and pliant, his mouth falling open slightly.
There is something disgusting about his obeisance.
Rest on Ao3
#this is getting such a full look over and edit when its done lol#feast of horns#our antlers tangled#angbang#fanfic#silm fanfic#my writing
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when Melkor catches Mairon looking at him like that
Fucking love Mairon/ Sauron in a green outfit!! It is perfect!!
Also more mairon with bis hair up would look awesome.
hear me out
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Fucking love Mairon/ Sauron in a green outfit!! It is perfect!!
Also more mairon with bis hair up would look awesome.
hear me out
#cheers for the ask :)#husband hair braiding- another thing we can steal from the elves? woohoo!#my art#angbang#ask#silm fanart#mairon#melkor#sauron#angband#fanart#i really enjoy putting them in some colour tbh
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Our Antlers Tangled Interlude 6
Waters and Wanting for @feast-of-horns
Uinen comes to Utumno seeking Ossë's freedom
Follow the full fic on AO3
Rating E
No Chapt specific Warnings
It is said of those who venture beyond the Iron Mountains none are seen again. That any who seek out their lost kin in Utumno meet the same doom. Still Uinen comes to free Ossë.
‘My marriage claim exceeds whatever loyalty you have sworn of him.’ She cries.
The Dark Vala regards her from his iron throne. Above, gigantic glittering crystals hang like a threat.
‘I do not wish to thwart your bond.’ He smiles at her indulgently. His elegant visage is both terrible and magnetising, hewn in sharp angles, painted with delicate features. ‘You may join my service and remain with your husband.’
‘I will not do that.’ Uinen replies and flinches as a crystal strikes the stone behind her, flinging ruby shards in all directions.
Cackling strikes up around the hall, fallen spirits relishing in her distress. Great hosts of fire and grief, Ulmo and Yavanna, even of air, and of Manwë.
She cannot find Ossë’s face among the leering masses but she recognises too many of the former maiar.
‘You would not remain beside him, yet you claim to love him.’ The Dark Lord leans forwards, piercing her with his unsettling eyes.
‘I love him well enough to bring him forth from darkness without sacrificing myself to it.’
The assembled masses go wild at her response, shrieking filth and disdain for her
‘Let her try.’ A sweet, beautiful voice calls forth, cutting through the cacophony.
Light kindles behind the throne as a fire spirit steps up to it, bringing luminous warmth to the shadowed hall, setting the crystalline ceiling alight with reflections.
Like a sudden blow to the face, Uinen realises that she knows him.
Mairon, formerly of Aulë and deserter of Almaren. The one who delivered news of Ossë's betrayal. And then fell to the dark himself.
He barely resembles the watchful smith who spoke little but thought deeply; always capable of crafting what was needed not what was asked. Garbed now as he is in black, glittering all over with ornaments, he seems more of pretty trophy than a master of their creation.
‘We have not had something so fresh to play with for an age.’ He places a jewelled hand on the arm of the throne and looks up at his glowering master. ‘Give her to our judgement.’
The Dark Vala melts before his servant, warmth cracking the ice of his harsh mien. He lifts a hand indolently towards Mairon.
‘Do you ask this favour of me?’
‘I do, my Lord.’ Mairon takes the hand in his, kneeling devoutly before the throne, and presses the knuckles against his lips.
Ósanwë whispers between them, at the edge of Uinen’s hearing, though she would not dare reach out to listen even if they shouted.
‘Very well, their fate is yours.’ The Dark Lord dismisses Uinen without a glance, leaning back into the shadows of his throne to watch.
Mairon steps forward and looks down at her with cruel, blazing eyes. His beauty, once so comforting, is twisted and horrifying to look upon.
‘Run our Hunt, evading capture by all denizens of the fortress until you breach its walls, and Ossë will be freed from my Lord’s service.’
She swallows, scorched by his gaze.
‘And if I fail?’
‘If you fail, you will be ours to do with as we wish. Either way your husband is returned to your company.’ He shrugs as if this is mercy, eyes flickering over the assembled masses for their response.
They whoop and cheer his pronouncement. He is beloved by them, these pitiable creatures of Utumno, all crowding to burn themselves on his flames.
‘I accept.’
Uinen wades through the burning caverns of Utumno. A hand raised against the blazing fury of the light. Creatures of fire and shadow chase her, dogging her heels.
She gets the sense they are playing with her, not fully baring their claws. Of those that test her, many more linger at the corners of her eyes, not stepping forward to stake a claim.
Still, she must fight to the limits of her strength against the creatures that do face her.
Uinen stands resolute against their flames. She reaches within her own song and through it. Beyond fire and ashes there is deep water, plant life. Mosses and hardy weeds, algae and amphibians all come at her call. Rock breaks and springs of fresh water flood the fiery chambers, reclaiming them.
Find your way to the surface, seek the outer sea, free us both. She encourages it.
Water flows and she follows.
Finally, she comes upon an opening in the fortress walls, the grey light of distant Illuin and the Iron mountains shadowed against it. She did not think she could be so happy to see anything and cries at the sight.
Uinen moves towards it but is halted by Mairon stepping from the shadows, silent despite his many dangling adornments.
‘Ossë awaits you beyond.’ He gestures at the opening, suddenly distant, as he bars the way.
‘Will you deny me at the last?’ Uinen asks miserably.
‘No,’ Mairon scoffs as if she asks unreasonably. 'I seek to see my assistance returned.’
‘Assistance? I have battled my way here through your vicious forces, your fires, all to see my husband again!’
‘A chance you would not have been given without my persuasion.’ He bites, spirit flaring awful heat that makes her cringe away in pain. Mairon pauses, regains himself. ‘I have a request of Master Aulë, all you need do is relay it.’
Uinen is not one to turn down hope for another after she has struggled for her own. She agrees to take his message, a little price for the return of her other half, and Mairon moves aside to let her pass.
She hesitates, silver lamplight in her eyes, and turns away from it.
Uinen reaches back into the shadows.
Mairon lets her take his hand in hers.
‘You could come with us.’ She says.
He looks at their clasped hands sorrowfully, the gold of his eyes shifting white as they return to her. So beautiful and bright to be trapped in such awful darkness.
‘I cannot. But aid me in this and you may deliver us all from Utumno’s grip.’
#interlude#idk what i should call these lmao#foh#feast of horns#our antlers tangled#finishing this fic a whole week later than planned but oh well its better for it i think#my writing#uinen#uinen x osse#silm fanfic#mairon#angbang
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some misc OAT doodles. it is a such a super duper serious fanfic
#listen listen it helps me to visualise it#melkor is blonde for a scene and he... kinda rocks it ....#gotta draw the fursonas ofc#also i like doodling v much#angry goul mairon makes me happy too :D#doodles#sketches#silm sketch#our antlers tangled#character design#feast of horns#my art#mairon#melkor
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you should read our antlers tangled for the ... uh... plot
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Our Antlers Tangled
Chapter 11: Collision of Teeth
Melkor chases Mairon through Utumno.
Up now on Ao3
Rating E
Chapter Warnings: very violent, highly pornographic, major angst.
Mairon fastens the cloak over his tunic. It dampens the sense of his power even to himself. Were he able to become unseen in flesh too he could walk all the way back to Almaren without issue.
Freshly scoured and full in his power, wearing a clean black tunic, he feels like himself again. He has braided his hair up and around the new horns he shaped for himself, sturdy and bullish, far better for fighting with. He wears the loop of iron on his finger, impervious to its spell and unwilling to lose his greatest advantage over Melkor.
Able to use less caution, he chances to explore more of the possible paths he could take rather than pick one without thought.
The Void creatures seem especially blinded by Thuringwethil’s gift, using other senses more than the limits of sight. They pay him no mind, even when he nearly steps on chittering beetle-like ones, confusing them for the floor of a chamber.
With other beings it advantages him to run and hide out of their regular sight. He avoids many fights he would not have otherwise.
Mairon grows overconfident with it, not heeding his own senses.
A slash of darkness uncoils in the corner of his eye and Mairon drops to the ground as a gargantuan beast leaps over him.
He jumps up to face a black jaguar, rosettes along his flank shining golden and deep red. Melkor, in feline form, looming taller than Mairon’s standing height. His tail lashes back and forth restlessly as he fixes Mairon with his keen eyes.
‘There you are, precious.’
The resonance of his thought shakes through Mairon, low and menacing. He does not intend to be quick with the catch.
Mairon does not intend to be caught at all.
He steps back slowly as Melkor prowls forward. Muscles flex menacingly under the satiny ripple of his pelt.
Mairon sees him tense for a spring and runs before he can. The stone floor falls away, taking Mairon’s legs from under him. But he senses the spell and shifts form, leaping up into the air as a flame.
Melkor transforms into a vast cloud of flame-smothering darkness. Mairon drops back down to the floor in protective fána, dampening his fires to embers as he crawls under the cloud.
The moment he is clear of the dark, Mairon flares bright and runs, seeking a better place to hide. He sees a room of elaborately decorated pillars and dives in, tucking behind one.
His senses spin with the whiplash of quick fána and flame shifts. He clenches his jaw, trying to orient his spirit within in his body.
Something cold touches his foot. Water, pooling.
Frost surges over the dark floor, up the pillars, melting where it makes contact with his warmth.
He is too slow to realise it reveals his position.
Teeth bite deep into his ankle and he is dragged out from behind the pillar, his hands slipping off the icy stone. He tries to flare flame but his spirit staggers and fails.
‘Tiring already, little flame?’ Melkor purrs over his mind.
Mairon clutches at the connection, throwing himself in Melkor’s mental embrace. He braces himself as Melkor’s surprised pleasure laps around him. The trapper who finds the rabbit jumping into his arms to avoid a jaguar.
But Mairon is no simple prey.
Rest of Chapter on Ao3 HEED THE WARNINGS
#HEED THE WARNINGS PLEASE#oh they're gonna kill me for this one#feast of horns#foh#our antlers tangled#angbang#my writing#silm fic#silm fanfic#dark fic
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Our Antlers Tangled Interlude 5
Allies & Aid for @feast-of-horns
Thuringwethil approaches Mairon with an offer.
Follow the full fic on AO3
Rating E
No Chapt specific Warnings
Mairon strides through the fires of Utumno. Heat shimmers around him, flowing up from the depths below, magnified and increased by his natural affinity for it.
There are great, blazing hearths in this part of the fortress, burning the gases that force their way through the bedrock. Everything is cast in their flickering light.
Were he to stay in Utumno, Mairon thinks, he would never visit its icier regions again and remain only amid the comforting light of these chambers.
Glowing moss and small plants grow in crevices, fed by the warm trickle of water that slicks the walls. Their increased presence suggests Mairon is making his way upwards and out of the bowels of the fortress, where he is more likely to find a door to freedom.
Something stalks him, a thing of shadows and soft footsteps. It scurries quietly after him, almost hidden by the trickle of water and flicker of fire.
Mairon halts in a chamber resembling something of a forge, molten gold coiling in an expansive basin at its centre. He crosses his arms and waits for them to reveal themselves, secure in the utility of the metal should he need to defend himself.
A figure emerges from the dark corner, a maia draped in wings of shadow and sinew, glistening wetly in the orange light.
She does not appear armed, but halts a good distance from him, her palms open and empty. Her great, round eyes seek his.
‘I propose an alliance.’ She says without preamble. It is the maia that warned him of the approaching Void creatures, her voice high and sharp. He senses several other minds listen through her ears.
He steps to a better angle, but she turns to match him. They circle each other around the basin of gold.
‘To what end?’ He seeks more of her mind, feeling out the others in the space and for her name.
Thuringwethil, once of Yavanna. Those that listen are maiar, formally of many differing loyalties, now united in their fall. His own order, chaffing at yet another vala who would use them without thought for their own interest. Melkor must know of their dissatisfaction, yet he neglects them.
Curious that they would seek Mairon out to join their alliance so quickly after his arrival.
‘Ensuring a shared goal.’ Thuringwethil grins, revealing two large fangs that split her mouth. They are not horns by any means, but Mairon is still weary of a trap closing around him. She continues, ‘There are many here who would seek favour from our Lord. But only one capable of it.’
It confirms what Melkor has suggested is more than mere flattery and lies if his subjects are already seeking Mairon’s good opinion. But it also shows that they expect him to stay.
‘What do you offer me?’ He stops and lets her draw closer.
‘Loyalty.’
He sneers at that coming from maiar who betrayed their original purpose.
Her eyes narrow as she senses his disdain.
‘None of us will hunt you. We will aid you where we can, except in directly thwarting our Lord. In return, you will champion our wishes.’
‘Have no need of your aid.’ Mairon lies, to see her reaction.
Thuringwethil leans in suddenly close, a hairsbreadth from touching. Her nose flares, scenting him.
‘You have the taint of Almaren about you still.’ She offers up a clawed hand, ‘Spare me a taste of your sweet blood and I will cloak you from even our Lord’s senses.’
Mairon considers.
‘It is a plain trade, as is our offer,’ She holds up a thin cloak of translucent black, darker than any corner of Arda outside the fortress. It does not feel of power, but sucks it in to itself instead. Vairë’s own could not spin finer.
Mairon gives her his wrist.
Thuringwethil takes it reverently, sinking only the very points of her teeth through his flesh.
She sips and Mairon feels it drain something deeper than just the blood of his fána, as if she has in some way pierced his spirit too.
She draws back before he can protest and hands him the cloak.
He takes it, grateful. Somehow he had thought all of Melkor’s servants lived at each others throats, incapable of higher thought or ordering themselves. It is a shameful thing to realise he has been swayed by the prejudices of Almaren.
‘I will ally with you,’ Mairon says, ‘Should I choose to remain here.’
He expects her to laugh at his confidence but she only inclines her head in acknowledgement, respectful in a way he has not received from another maia before.
‘What is it that you seek?’ He asks, meaning to understand the scope of her larger goals.
‘A return to darkness.’ She replies, a sense of freedom underlying the idea.
Thuringwethil takes flight, springing up to the low ceiling and away through endless halls.
Through her fading connection, he remembers flying unhindered through the sweeping paths of Ilmen before lamps and light washed all colour from her world.
Her longing leaves an aftertaste in his mouth.
#gotta get the blorbo in#feast of horns#foh#our antlers tangled#thuringwethil#my writing#silm fanfic
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In today's episode of random Mairon feels: Thinking about how insanely admirable and charismatic and beautiful he is... but when jealousy, grief or hatred take over, something savage and ugly shines through
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Celebrimbor could fix them, he shouldn't have to, but he could
#my art#now in colour#silvergifting#angbang#silver#silvergifting x angbang#metal alloy#silm fanart#silm au#gwaith i mirdain#melkor x celebrimbor x mairon#annatar#mairon#melkor#sauron#tyelperinquar#celebrimbor
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Our Antlers Tangled
Chapter 9: Conviction of Harts
Mairon races to escape Utumno while all its denizens Hunt for him.
Up now on Ao3
Rating E for violence
‘Do not waste your heat.’ Melkor says as the furs around Mairon begin to singe, filling the chamber with the acrid, animal smell of it.
‘It would be no waste to set this prison aflame and burn all within it to ashes.’ Mairon spits. His venomous words are undercut by the violent shivering wracking his being.
Utumno is frigid. Even where no water flows or frost blooms it cuts at his fingers and cheeks, draining his power just to stay conscious. There is no wood, no life to feed his flames. Nothing growing but hatred.
‘It need not be a prison for you, Mairon.’ The vala sighs, leaning back against the far wall. He is a dark shape against the luminous white of the stark chamber.
Mairon snorts, an ugly sound for ugly feelings. Which are all the feelings he has for the one who abducted him.
The doors stand open but it is not their lock which prevents Mairon from leaving.
‘If you can run Utumno during this Hunt of ours, evading capture by any, you will be free to go. I swear it.’
‘I will not be a petty amusement for you.’ Mairon stands, fur-clad and sweeps over to him. ‘Why not seize my mind again and force me, if you wish to make me dance?’
Melkor looks down at him with a knowing expression. It is irritatingly fond, as if he may claim such intimacy with his captive.
‘Why not shed your life and appeal to Námo, if you wish to leave?’
Pride. The provocation of a challenge. His increasing frustration with the tedium of Almaren and all its citizens. The suspicion that he does not belong among them and perhaps, never has.
It is a truth he would rather not acknowledge that he might have come willingly if Melkor had invited it rather than seizing him.
‘Precious,’ Melkor reaches to cup his cheek.
Mairon catches his wrist. He will not abide pity.
Still, he will take what else he can. He digs his nails into Melkor’s skin, and tears at the limitless fire of the vala’s essence, bolstering his own flames.
Melkor allows him.
Mairon loathes being allowed anything. He casts Melkor’s arm away and turns from him, seething.
‘Fine. I accept your challenge.’
Read the rest on AO3
#no life only this fic#osse returns this chapt!!#and other fics#and whatever art i start doodling#foh#feast of horns#our antlers tangled#silm fanfic#angbang
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Our Antlers Tangled Interlude 4
Rules & Revelry for @feast-of-horns
The residents of Utumno want to host their own Feast of Horns ... the famine of ... hair?
Follow the full fic on AO3
Rating E
Chapt Warnings: spiders, kidnapping
Utumno echoes with unease. Melkor stands from his obsidian throne and reaches his senses beyond his hall, down into the vast and peerless tunnels. None labour at extending the ever growing maze of caverns. Neither do they slumber. The strangeness persists.
He moves through the empty chamber and into one of the passageways that lead deeper into the bowels of the fortress.
All is dim, brilliant with subtle colour, pleasant to his Void-touched eyes. It is as it should be. Still, his spirit prickles with foreboding.
A wraith of wolfish nature runs suddenly past his legs, fear palpable in the air around them.
Melkor is unused to fear that does not originate with him. He flings out a commanding thought to Gothmog, but his Lieutenant does not answer his summons. All his subjects are cloaked in darkness, their minds shuttered. The threat is not apparent.
Something has occurred without his notice. He has been distracted, withdrawn in his thoughts of late. He has allowed his domain to govern itself. It is not a fit state for a king to linger in. This melancholy must be cast off.
Melkor walks through a hall of shallow water, hardly noticing the chill of it as he seeks out any servant of his. Drops fall from the stalactites, sending a slow song ringing through the chamber. He can sense living creatures all around, but they have hidden the detail of their positions and their anxiety.
There is a faint shuffling in the depths of the cavern ceiling, animal in nature. He turns his penetrating gaze on it and makes out a familiar shape. At his call, she descends upon him.
Ungoliant lands lightly on his shoulder, crawling down his arm for a better vantage point.
‘What stirs Utumno?’ He asks her.
‘We are playing our own Feast of Horns.’ She croons, beady eyes reflecting his own face back at him.
It is not all the answer he expected. Melkor wonders how exactly that appeals to his subjects, since every day in Utumno is given to excess and base desires. Unlike Almaren’s productive drive.
Ungoliant chuckles at his raised brows.
‘It is similar to what I understand the Ainur devised.’ Ungoliant explains, though she is no umaia and has never run the Feast of Horns.
As she clarifies the game, Melkor sees the connection. Everyone has a collar and horn, no binary divide in Utumno, if they collar someone, that being must grant what they ask. Here the similarities end.
The horns of this game are not mere decoration but weapons of defence. If the target of a collar manages to wound the chaser they gain the ask instead. But a horn cannot be used to instigate a fight, the first approach has to be with a collar.
An additional condition is that there is only one collar and thrall to a creature until the boon is granted.
‘That rule was imposed after Thuringwethil made her thralls collar others for her and everyone simply ended up under her control.’ Ungoliant complains, sounding very fond of the vampire and not all that concerned by her minor dictatorship.
Melkor, notes his chief adversary.
He finds it ironic that his Feast of Horns seems to have more rules than the original. Manwë is so fond of rules and order. But here Melkor’s beasts of chaos have outdone him.
‘Whoever I catch, I eat.’ Ungoliant claims proudly.
A visceral shudder passes through the spirits around them.
Melkor thinks of how great her appetite is known to be. The imposition of rules begins to make more sense to him.
‘Well, my Lord, would you care to join our Hunt?’
Melkor considers. The thought of blood-letting does cheer him. It may be exactly what he needs to reinvigorate himself and find momentum. It would also be pleasant to Hunt without the threat of other valar to ruin the fun.
He senses his hidden creatures eyeing him from their sheltered havens. Water drips steadily, whispers just audible beneath it.
‘I wonder if any will attempt to challenge and trap their king.’ He speaks loudly, his voice echoing through the cavernous space.
Several voices jeer and taunt him. The mood leans more towards excitement. Shadows split apart chaotically and phantoms careen in and out of the chamber.
Ungoliant lets out a shrill peel of laughter and sends it echoing after them.
‘It seems there are more than enough fools among our number.’ She sprints down Melkor’s leg and hops up onto a large boulder. Shadows shift away from her many-eyed stare.
‘I have no patience for fools.’ Melkor replies. But there is one he knows will be able to match him and provide ample entertainment. ‘But I will join the Hunt, as shall our guest.’
‘Careful none seek to steal your pretty little prize from you.’ She chitters, gnashing her mandibles at him.
‘I should like to see them try.’ Melkor warns.
Ungoliant lets out a dark chuckle and scurries away after a fleeing wraith.
‘Do not devour my forces entirely, Ungoliant.’ He calls.
‘I make no promises, my Lord.’
He watches the shadows seethe to life in her wake, lesser creatures emerging. They eye him nervously, those with the form to do so bobbing quick bows and curtsies.
Melkor strides past them. He crosses the shallow water, wades through sludge and then snow as the temperature drops with his descent into Utumno. At last he walks over a river of ice towards two imposing doors of white stone.
Jubilant, Melkor throws them both open. His guest does not stir from the nest of heaped furs at the centre of the chamber.
‘Come, my precious,’ Melkor coaxes, ‘Let us play a game.’
At that, Mairon’s head snaps up, his entire body alight with rage.
#shhhhhh you don't see the persephone parallels so they can't hurt you shhhh#ugoliant#melkor#angbang#feast of horns#our antlers tangled#short#kinda#my writing#these interludes aren't really interludes anymore lol they're just plot now#silm fanfic
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I don't ever stop thinking about this scene of Our Antlers Tangled
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i do love Mairon in green - have some Our Antlers Tangled concepts
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Melkor, shows up to @feast-of-horns wearing the symbol of the hunted:
All the other Valar, suddenly interested in hunting:
and then Melkor ran away
basically how chapter 7 of Our Antlers Tangled went
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Our Antlers Tangled
Chapter 7: Taste of Forbidden Fruit
Melkor is driven to reveal himself to the other Ainur at the Feast (yes i finally actually described some of the feasting part)
Up now on Ao3
Rating: E
Melkor selects horns of oscillating colours, a metal mix of his own invention. He wears the great horns draped around his neck, their points curling down his chest to almost meet each other above his naval. It is a collar of a sort, if one that suggests mastery more so than ownership.
He is willing to play the prey if it helps him snare Mairon. It seems the more Melkor retreats the more eagerly the maia is drawn after him. The more he gentles himself, the greater Mairon’s responding wrath. It is a delicate balance but worth the effort to see that breathtaking brutality once more. Melkor bleeds and bends willingly for none but his little flame.
Melkor waits at the edge of the forest, senses trained on those who run the Hunt. Mairon does not come. Nor the next hunt, or the one after.
There are many things Melkor can be patient about, he has explored the Void, built Utumno in secret, walked under the gaze of his Father and been humble. He has patience for many things, the infuriating and intriguing maia is not one of them.
So Melkor abandons all stealth and walks into Oromë’s hall. Sandstone and cedar, pale and bright and simple. Oromë values function over appearance, the main hall stretches wide, open to the silver-golden skies, carpeted in living grass. The plain walls hang with decorations, trophies of hunts, horns of every variety. No doubt the Feast of Horns merits little change in its appearance.
Melkor deepens the hue of his raiment, red as a fresh kill, white as the bone, black to match the Void itself. This time he does not seek to hide, let him stand stark and declare himself amid the pallid gathering.
The crowd of revellers part before him, falling silent as they realise who has come among them.
Rest on Ao3
#GOD I HOPE THIS MAKES SENSE#characters just kept shoving themselves into it#this scene was originally chapter 3 so i had to adapt it#feast of horns#our antlers tangled#my writing#fanfic#silm fanfic#angbang
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Our Antlers Tangled Interlude 3
Treasures & Traps for @feast-of-horns
In which Aulë finds Mairon working on a new project and offers his advice
Follow the full fic on AO3
Rating E for violence
no warnings for this chapt though
The popularity of the Feast of Horns has kept Aulë’s smiths well occupied with the making of necklaces, collars, charms to decorate their horns with and keepsakes to remember particular festival events. There are especially many orders for a magnolia, in memory of the Feast where Yavanna brought the first fruitless flowers to bloom.
The forge is known to never fall quiet or dark, no matter the occasion, but Mairon is the only one still working during this Feast. He sits at a workbench smoothing forged metal with his own heated fingers.
Aulë spies him, backlit by the forge fire, through one of the great arches that make the building one more of open space than walls. It is vital to allow generous amounts of lamplight in and, more often than it should, smoke out.
‘Mairon, what keeps you so late in the forge, and on a day of festivities no less?’
He looks over his maia’s shoulder. Several loops of metal, the kind to link into a chain clutter the bench. That itself is not uncommon, but they are made of a black iron he has only seen one being favour.
Mairon is working thin lines of gold into each one.
‘Something for the Feast, a commission from a lucky runner? Or unlucky, I suppose, depending on their hunter.’ Aulë laughs, reaching out for closer examination.
Mairon halts his hand with his own, not looking up from the loop he holds.
‘It would be best not touched by one of your rank.’
Aulë regards him curiously. The brusque manner and failure to explain his work is not out of sorts for Mairon. But to claim some sense of danger to his work is alarming to his master.
‘I have yet to encounter anything of danger to a vala in all Aman. Save, another vala…’ Aulë probes, he pulls out another stool and settles in to it, making clear his intention to remain until he is given answers.
Mairon sighs and sets aside the loop of metal. He turns to his master, his eyes lowered.
‘It is the one you think of that inspired this work.’
‘Melkor has not pestered us with his mischief in several ages now.’ Aulë points out, kindly, for caution is still an admirable incentive.
‘I fear that is soon to change.’ The maia confesses, he rubs his fingers together restlessly. There is a dour air hanging about him, something recent has clearly motivated him to creation.
‘What is it Mairon? What troubles you so?’
‘Ossë has been swayed to the Dark Vala’s side.’ Mairon says emotionlessly.
It is such a great statement to make that Aulë thinks he has misheard at first.
‘Ossë? You are certain?’ He asks. Ulmo’s strongest maia seduced to the dark? It is alarming, not just that Melkor has reemerged on Arda but that he could convince such a prized Ainu to defect.
Mairon looks up at last, his countenance is as severe and serious as Aulë has ever seen it.
‘I am. He conspired with our Enemy to set a trap for me.’ Mairon raises his hand against questions. ‘I was vigilant and am unharmed. But Ossë is fallen, I am sure.’
‘Have you spoken with Uinen?’
Mairon shakes his head. He seems puzzled for a moment, as if he might ask why she should be consulted.
‘She is his spouse, Mairon. I shall speak with her. Ossë may not yet be entirely lost to us.’ Aulë explains.
The maia frowns. Many of their number do not see the utility of a marriage bond but Mairon seems especially obtuse on the subject. Secretly Aulë hopes it will remain that way, as Mairon’s dedication to his work does not bode well for any who might wish to share any measure of that passion.
‘But tell me, why did Melkor seek to trap you?’ Aulë asks, wondering if there is a plot afoot to steal their best and brightest.
Mairon does not hear it that way.
His pride is ruffled. Is he not worthy of such attention? Is it so implausible that their enemy might seek to acquire his skills?
He suppresses his wounded feelings and seeks an explanation that does not require admitting to the depth of his entanglement.
‘It would seem my staunch resistance to his ideals… amuses him. He has been annoyingly persistent in his advances.’ He says, his lip curling in distaste at the reminder. Melkor has not sought him since the incident during the last Hunt. But the silence is equally unnerving.
‘Has he, indeed?’ Aulë asks, a particular look coming into his face. The same one he has when examining a new amalgam of ore for potential. ‘And does Melkor speak anything of his plans?’
‘He loves to boast, if that is what you mean?’ Mairon replies, confused by the line of this enquiry and eager to assure his master his loyalty is not under threat. ‘I do not entertain his ravings.’
Aulë hums thoughtfully, running a hand through his beard.
‘Perhaps you might, and thereby warn us of his intentions.’ He says, slowly, finding each word at a time. Similar to his speech when he is designing a new device as he works on it.
‘Master Aulë, are you suggesting I lie?’ Mairon asks, appalled. To not only listen but to agree with anything Melkor says to him? The suggestion itself is heretical.
‘No, of course not. Merely, I believe if you were to encourage his attention he would confess much that he should not.’ Aulë turns his warm gaze back to Mairon; once more seeing another being instead of a device. ‘I would not ask you to anything uncomfortable, Mairon. We could arrange guards to dissuade him if you wish.’
Mairon bristles at the idea that he might require guards. Meddling maiar to irritate and hassle him at all times. He does not say as much.
‘I would not deny us any advantage.’ Mairon says cautiously, ‘If it would help, I will try to gain his trust.’
‘Very good.’ Aulë smiles, he pats Mairon’s knee fondly.
Mairon looks at his master solemnly. He does not see the danger he invokes within his own home.
#i have got to stop posting to the wrong blog lmao#foh#feast of horns#headcanons#Aule#mairon#our antlers tangled#my writing#silm fanfic#short#drabble
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