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foiazoli · 11 months

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First Silmarillion Readthrough: Valaquenta

And we’re back with my series of sort of live-blogging my thoughts on the Silmarillion as I read it for the first time! For an intro to this thing, see here, or check out the tag “baby’s first silm read” where all of my previous posts are archived.

We’re into the Valaquenta today, and we finally get into some descriptions of the Valar individually! Jumping right on in;

Manwe: Bird and Wind boy, understands Eru the best, and so gets to be king. Fairly good reason to be made king tbh, I had previously thought he was king because he was strongest (excluding Melkor, who is evil) which imo is not a particularly good way to go about choosing kings.

Varda: Star Queen, she’s got light in her face? Given she’s the star lady I’m not sure if that’s a metaphor or not tbh. Melkor has beef with her cause she told him to fuck off, good for her. The elves love her best and named her Elbereth which the text treats like a great honor but the appendix tells me translates to “star-queen” which. Is a literal description so idk how that's supposed to show supreme veneration or whatever but sure.

Ulmo: Ocean man. First description: “He is alone.” Ominous start, he used to be besties with Manwe but prefers hanging out in the ocean to going to council meetings, big mood. When he’s incarnate, he inspires dread. These descriptions really capture the feeling of the raw power of the ocean and its confusing otherness, I dig it.

Oh the sea-longing! Ulmo directly inspires it in people via going up rivers and playing his shell-horns? Interesting LoTR tidbit tie-in. He gets more info than Manwe via the streams etc. somehow. Considering Manwe is the lord of air and all of these places have air in them I’m not sure how that works, but maybe he’s just not listening as directly? It does also say that Ulmo never abandoned elves and men, and considering this section is after Manwe’s, you can read that as an implication that Manwe did abandon them.

Aule: we get told of his strength (slightly less than Ulmo) before his domain here, “all the substances of which Arda is made,” the phrasing of which suggests a broader scope than I had previously thought. Earth, stone, metal, gems, jewels, etc. are all classic Aule, but “all substances” would include water and air, no? We’ve already got Ulmo and Manwe, so the answer is almost definitely no, but why then say all substances when you mean a much more limited subset of things? And then his domain specifically includes “the basins of the sea”???? That can refer to the rock/earth that the water is resting on, but would be very odd phrasing.

Yavanna: First thing we learn about her: Aule’s wife. Jirt please. Second thing we learn about her: Giver of Fruits, “lover of all things that grow in the Earth,” from trees to moss and “secret things in the mould.”

Struggling with how to interpret the bit about “mould” here, are we talking about fungus, or mould as in a form used to create things? My first instinct was fungus since we’re talking about plants, but the preceding words about secrets makes me wonder if we’re actually talking about Yavanna making slight deviations in her various creations that nobody but her ever really notices and enjoying the craftsmanship involved. Now you may be wondering, “Zoli, why the fuck would this ever matter?” because my friends, mold is typically something people don’t like, want to get rid of, see as ruining their food/bathroom/kitchen cabinets etc. If Yavanna made and likes mold, then we have evidence of decomposers being intentional, thought being given to things not lasting forever, of a circle of life, decay existing outside of the marring of arda. This doesn’t really line up with how the Valar have been acting, getting mad at Melkor for ruining their things, the vibes are that they intend for their creations to be eternal and last forever, so Yavanna making mold would be extremely notable. The second interpretation loses this circle of life being an intentional thing, and brings us back to the valar intending for things to be unchanging. Lots to think about, all from a single homonym!

Anyway, sometimes she takes an incarnate form as a tree instead of a person, neat.

Namo: controls the dead, and “knows all things that shall be, save only those that lie still in the freedom of Illuvatar.” So this is why fic writers tend to make him omnipotent. Still, things that happen because of people’s free will are outside of his foresight…. Which makes me wonder what is included? I would say natural disasters, but the Valar can control those so that feels like it should fall in the category of things dictated by free will that he can’t see. Do we have a larger philosophical discussion here about how maybe certain actions and events are written into the music of arda, and men/elves/ainu can only make decisions around that? How do we figure what makes a point written into the song vs. a decision of free will? I’m struggling otherwise to see how Namo has foresight at all, if he can’t see that which is made by free will, but “knows all things that shall be” has a gravity to it that implies that there’s a lot there. Idk, foresight in Tolkein confuses me, maybe it's one of those things that he just hadn’t completely ironed out before he died. And he only pronounces dooms at Manwe’s bidding, that’s interesting. Maybe with his all-seeing-ness he struggles to tell what’s important? Maybe he doesn’t care? Lots to dig into here.

Vaire: gets a singular fucking sentence at the end of Namo’s paragraph, Jirt your sexism is so blatant here. “[W]eaves all things…into her storied webs…” describing her works as webs is very interesting. Literally every fan-interpretation I’ve ever seen has her works in Mandos being tapestries, so I suspect that’s mentioned elsewhere, but web implies something more organic to me. I’m picturing Vaire as a spider now, which isn’t particularly relevant(until we get to Ungoliant), but interesting. A web also implies a little bit of messiness that other products of fabric arts don’t typically have. I tend to think of the Valar’s works as complete, perfect, exactly as intended, etc. but a web… a spider made that to serve a purpose, and it can still serve that purpose even with mistakes in it. But what exactly is the purpose of Vaire’s works? To provide the dead in mandos with information about events? To simply record the history of Ea? For whom? To what end? Her works reside in mandos, but Namo is said to have perfect memory, what need does he have for recordings of events? So much to dig into here, partly because Jirt gave us so little to work with.

Irmo: “master of visions and dreams.” He’s got gardens, and then his two sentences are up and it’s on to his wife lmao. It seems like the more abstract the domain of the Vala, the less we get about them. Irmo and Namo are both Feanturi, and they both deal with foresight, and that’s all the information we get about the matter! Why! Tell me how it works dammit! Visions and dreams being linked both makes sense on the surface, and also implies some odd things when you think about it. Dreams are created by your subconscious (we think, dream science is not great atm and was undoubtedly worse in Tolkein’s time), so does Irmo being the patron of both mean that visions have the same source? Visions about things unrelated to you that are also true seem like they would have to have an exterior source right? Is Irmo the source? Is he a conduit for visions and passing them to people from Eru? Again, so many questions, so few answers.

Este: a healer, “and rest is her gift”. An interesting view of healing, although it tracks with what I would expect of Tolkein’s views at the time of writing. When I think healing, I think doctors, surgeries, physical therapy, therapists, essentially people actively doing things, rather than like, sending someone to the seaside for their health (that’s a bit of an older time period than Tolkein, true, but the point stands) which seems to be the direction Este goes in. We also learn in her paragraph that the other Valar come to Lorien to “find repose and easing of the burden of Arda” so we know that the Valar can feel tired, which I find interesting to note.

Nienna: “...her song turned to lamentation long before its [the music of Arda] end, and the sounds of mourning was woven into the themes of the World before it began.” Okay so Nienna is metal as fuck actually? Good to know. And she spends her time not among happy people in Valimar, but in Mandos consoling the dead and “turns sorrow to wisdom”. I’ve got a new favorite Vala everyone, she’s cool as hell.

Tulkas: full name Tulkas Astaldo, that doesn’t flow as nicely as the other Valar with surnames tbh. In meaning it’s perfectly fitting, ‘the valiant’ is here to kick ass, wrestle, not go to council meetings, and be friendly. yeah sure that tracks.

Nessa: First characteristic: wife of Tulkas. Second characteristic: sister of Orome (who hasn’t even gotten an intro yet?? Every other time someone is introduced as a spouse or sibling the other person has already been introduced, but nooooooo Nessa is more importantly defined as the sister of someone we don’t even know than as her own actual person. Fuck you Jirt.) As far as her actual personality, she’s fast, likes deer, and likes dancing. So what is she the Vala of then? Coordinated feet? What does she do? Come on Jirt.

Orome: In love with middle-earth, pissed as hell at Melkor for ruining it. Loves trees as well as hounds and horses, and the Sindar call him Tauron!?!?! Hello Tolkein linguists, politely banging down your doors to get the etymology for Tauron and Sauron??? The index/appendix thingy says Sauron means “the abhorred” Whereas Tauron is “forester” or “lord of the forests”. Pardon, what? We got a single letter difference here. Wtf. Anyway, his horse and horn are important enough to be named and given a full sentence or three of description for some reason.

Vana: “the ever-young,” flowers sprout for her and birds sing for her. Married to Orome, younger sister of Yavanna, and that’s all the characterisation she gets!! Another female Vala so un-fleshed out I’m not even clear what her domain is, flowers are Yavanna’s territory and birds are Manwe’s, so… youth? Whatever in the hell that means. How does one govern youth? And not in a “how do you get the kids to do what you want" way but in the way that the Valar are the Powers of the World and have Government in their DomainsTM way.

And then we get the excuse that this is what the Eldar know about the Valar, and there’s untold other things to know about them etc etc. So we could conclude that Vana and Nessa and recluses who the Eldar never see and therefore know nothing about, EXCEPT, Nienna is explicitly said to not spend time with living Eldar and we know a good bit about her, so find another excuse for your sexism and not fleshing out your female characters Jirt.

8/14 are considered Aratar, the “high ones” and are more powerful than the other 6. Interesting that Tulkas is not included in this but Orome is when in Orome’s overview it specifically said Orome was “less strong than Tulkas”. I guess the elves think Tulkas is stronger, and they’re wrong? I wonder if that perception came due to Tulkas’s actions in fighting Melkor or something else.

The first paragraph on maiar is chock-full of interesting tidbits

The elves don’t know how many there are

Most don’t have names in “the tongues of the children of Illuvatar”

Maiar are in middle earth, but choose to not make themselves visible to elves and men

We get introduced to some familiar names; Ilmare, Eonwe, Osse, Uinen. Uinen was apparently as important to the Numenoreans as the Valar, that’s cool. Osse and Uinen contributed to Melkor’s hate of the sea, as Melkor tried and temporarily succeeded getting Osse on his side to deal with the ocean for him, but Uinen dragged him back into serving Ulmo. Little bits about Melian and Olorin here too.

The section on Melkor starts intelligibly enough, but this line on his motives is confusing to me: “He began with the desire of Light, but when he could not possess it for himself alone, he descended through fire and wrath into a great burning, down into Darkness.” I’m following up through the part about burning, but how do you get from burning to darkness? The light/dark stuff is largely metaphorical, but the only way I can parse this is to make it about Melkor burning out his (insert whatever here) and being left in the dark, but I’m a little lost on what he’s supposed to be burning here. His remaining goodness and virtue maybe? We’ve already covered that he was evil because he wanted dominion over arda and was wreaking the other Valar’s shit to do it. What more do you need to justify calling him evil?

Then we go on to talk about how he always had maiar servants, and also accumulated more in various times. Some of these maiar servants were balrogs, Sauron was there and particularly strong/evil, and then the Valaquenta just ends!

I have so many questions!! I want to know so much more about how the Valar function, not just what their domains are (and in some cases, clarification on what their domains actually are as well). If any of you are really into any specific Valar and have any info to share, please do! Nienna is gonna start off my favorite character list for the Silmarillion, she just seems super cool.

#baby's first silm read #silmarillion #valar #Valaquenta #Manwe #Varda #Ulmo #Aule #Yavanna #Namo #Vaire #Irmo #Este #Nienna #Tulkas #Nessa #Orome #Vana #silm

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weepylucifer · 4 years

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Mairon is working on a circlet when the Dark Vala first makes his offer.

“What is it you’re crafting?” he asks, hovering over Mairon’s shoulder, casting a jealous, covetous gaze at his work. “Who is it for?”

“It is a gift intended for Lord Aule,” Mairon replies, abandoning all pretense of activity, tilting his body backwards from the fire of the forge, disgruntled as the Dark One grabs his project and lifts it, white-hot and just beginning to cool, to inspect it up close. The heated metal does not singe him. It seems that the most unforgiving of elements cannot harm the Dark Vala, the biting ice does not sting him, the unremitting flame does not burn him. His large, dark hands darken further upon contact with the heat, the veins beneath the skin pulsing and lighting as though filled with molten lava. Mairon admonishes himself not to stare.

(Oh, they will find out what it takes to harm Melkor’s hands. They will find out in time.)

“It is a nice trinket,” the Dark One says, his dismissive tone setting Mairon’s teeth on edge. “I have never seen Aule wear jewelry,” he adds.

“That as may be,” Mairon says, keeping his voice blandly emotionless. It is true. All precious gems and metals are at Lord Aule’s purview, and yet, when clothed in physical form, he goes in his simple, robust leather apron, adorned with a few occasional beads in his hair and beard and no jewelry besides. Aule is constantly at work, and cannot afford forging accidents caused by finery getting caught or snagging somewhere.

“It does not suit you toiling away at producing trinkets nobody will have use for,” the Dark One states.

Mairon shrugs. “My Lord will appreciate a token of his Maia’s devotion, whether he wears it or not.”

“How many Maiar does Aule have? How many tokens of devotion?” The Dark One looks at Mairon down his nose. “There are grander things to be crafted,” he adds without waiting for Mairon’s answer.

“In time,” Mairon says.

“Now,” the Dark One corrects. “If you were to come to my kingdom, you and I could begin the shaping of the world in earnest.”

“Lord Aule would hardly permit such a thing,” Mairon says dryly.

“Forget Lord Aule,” says the Dark One. “Come with me, learn from me, aid me and see your craft soaring to heights you can now scarcely even imagine.”

He goes on a rather lengthy, rambling tangent on all the things he means to build, extolling the excitements of his machinations, the pleasure of freedom to work as one wills without direction from anybody, the satisfaction of the Dark One upon getting what he perceives to be his due. To Mairon, his words sing of love of himself, and little besides. To his mind, the Dark Vala needs a speechwriter rather more urgently than a smith, but he holds his tongue and does not say so.

“I must decline,” he says.

The Dark Vala’s eyes go wide and round. He had not expected being denied.

“I am no lost and stumbling spirit you may entice to your side,” Mairon continues. “I am in good standing here. I serve my Vala well, and see no need to forsake him and the life I know for another.”

The Dark Vala looms suddenly much closer, one hand setting the circlet down, the other reaching, touching, winding a lock of Mairon’s hair around his index finger. Mairon holds himself still. Maiar do not usually disallow touches from any Vala, for who would decline the loving caress of their gods? But surely the Dark One is an exception, surely here it may be permitted to resist.

“But I have observed you,” the Dark One says. “I have seen your potential, and you are easy on the eyes as well... do you not yearn, as I do, for something more than this predetermined path, laid out for us by small minds of limited imagination?”

His voice is a dark, deep murmur in Mairon’s ear, husky and rich. Mairon remembers when he heard it first, reverberating with the Discord. He rears away before he can fluster, yanking his hair out of the Vala’s grip. “I yearn for nothing of yours,” he snaps.

---

“You are still observing me,” Mairon says, his mouth drawn into a tight frown. The Dark Vala is at his forge again, leaning faux-casually against the anvil, and Mairon has not bowed upon entering and seeing him there, has not tacked any honorific onto his statement. The Dark Vala doesn’t request it.

“’Tis so,” Melkor admits unabashedly, in a tone of voice as if he’s talking about the weather. “What am I to say? You fascinate me. Aule has many Maiar, but you... I see a fire within you that’s unique to yourself.”

Mairon crosses his arms. “I am not different from anybody else,” he says, his voice as frigid as the gales Melkor will conjure on occasion.

“Ah, but isn’t that the problem?” the Dark Vala asks.

Not wishing to look at him, Mairon busies himself donning his protective gear for the work ahead. “I do not see any problem apart from you pestering me.”

It should have earned him rage and rebuke, this open disrespect towards a Vala. What he gets is a huff of laughter.

“But you are not happy here,” Melkor then says, sobering.

“What would you know about my happiness?” Mairon asks, perhaps more sharply than he had intended.

“I watch. I listen. You keep apart from the others, you stay in the forge all day and late into the night. And you have a look about you of one driven.”

Driven, is he? Well, perhaps. “I wish to excel at my work. This is not abnormal nor unusual.”

“You strive for greatness, and they have you tinkering with jewelry. Shiny little baubles, made to be pretty and useless.”

“I like my craft,” Mairon almost snarls. Why does he feel like he’s being put on the defensive? What must he justify to the Dark One? He turns his back on Melkor and pretends to be immersed in selecting tools from his kit.

“Oh, aye,” Melkor says dismissively. “But don’t tell me you have never wished to expand your repertoire? To shape the very bones of Arda to your liking? To be instrumental to that grand undertaking? Do you not wish to be unfettered?”

Safely with his back to the Dark Vala, Mairon rolls his eyes. Is this the kind of talk that has led other Maiar to abandon Aman to stand by Melkor’s side? “’Tis no use wishing for what cannot be.”

“But it can,” Melkor husks, so clearly in love with the sound of his own voice. “If you come to my realm with me, you will taste of freedom - ah, bah, taste? You will drink deeply of it, yet never slake your thirst. It’s impossible to get one’s fill of true independence, once enjoyed, but oh, how heady...”

Mairon’s hands are gripping the edge of his workbench, fingers clenching tightly. Why is this empty prattle getting to him? “You have no idea of what you speak,” he grits out.

He turns around to see Melkor raise an eyebrow. “Oh, indeed?”

“How can you possibly? You’re a Vala.”

Melkor straightens from his affected nonchalant slouch. “That... was quite a lot of venom.”

Mairon sighs. “You cannot know what it is like. You were put upon Arda to rule it. You cannot know what it is to be created from nothing and immediately be told to serve. To get assigned a master, and a duty, and what you will learn, and what you are to devote your existence to, for eternity and beyond. They say it is a blessing, a privilege, that the Valar in their grace and Eru in his wisdom have put all Maiar in their places, adorned us with these powers... it doesn’t occur to the others to yearn for anything beyond what they were given... but all I see are shackles. Shackles the likes of which you and your ilk have never worn.”

“If you--” Melkor begins.

“You ask me to forsake Lord Aule and join your court? Why? To exchange one slavedriver for another? Here at least I get to subsist and carry out my servitude in comfort, and Lord Aule is nice to me when he remembers I exist. You wish me to forsake my standing here and join you in the wild? What can you offer me but the life of an outcast, despised by all? And what would you use me for, if you had me? Wanton destruction, or so I hear? Oh, that would certainly render me more useful than my current work. Nay,” Mairon cried, “there is nothing you may tempt me with. I will abide here, and hopefully get a chance to contribute to the shaping of Arda in some small, insignificant manner, if nothing else. So do not speak to me of freedom, when all you offer is more servitude.”

Melkor has grown quite still. He blinks. “I... had never considered this.”

“Of course not.” Mairon feels quite out of breath. A distant part of him is panicking, he realizes, his head abuzz, his chest tight, as if an iron vice is clamping down on it. He has never told anyone these deepest, most heretical thoughts of his. Why then, with the Dark One, did it seem so easy?

“Remove thyself from my workplace,” he grits out through clenched teeth. “Do not approach me with thine offer again.”

Melkor steps back from the anvil, inclines his head in acknowledgement, and sweeps out of the room. Mairon sags against his workbench, his knees as rubber.

---

“Mairon.”

Mairon wonders where the Dark Vala goes, when he’s not here in the forge harangueing him. Does he have a place to stay? He hinted at some realm of his own existing on Arda. Mairon is not privy to the knowledge of its whereabouts.

He doesn’t ask. He crosses his arms, the solid and comforting weight of the anvil at his back. “I thought I made my reception of your offer quite clear. I will alert the guards if you persist.” He resorts back to a more formal mode of address. He is determined not to slip up and proclaim overfamiliarity with the Dark Vala again.

“I understood you well,” says Melkor. “You wish to remain here. Yet, my fortress will still need a smith.”

“Lord Aule has many Maiar,” Mairon reminds them once more.

“Ah, but I want the best,” Melkor replies. “I want excellence. I want that flame in you, undimmed by whatever chains you here.”

“You are going to take me by force?” Mairon asks.

Melkor snorts, as if Mairon had made a joke in poor taste. “Certainly not, no. But if you are not to be mine, at least your artifice must be. Oh, simmer down, little flame, I will not repeat my offer. I only ask to let me linger, for a short while, and observe your work. To learn from you, so as to pass the ways of your craft on to other, more willing souls.”

Mairon must admit, he had not expected this. He is taken aback. “Teach a Vala? That is... unheard of.”

Melkor shrugs. “Why does that matter?”

Now Mairon rolls his eyes openly. He is beginning to take the measure of Melkor, and suspects that he will not be punished for such impudence. “You wish your presence in my space to build familiarity. You are counting on me growing attached to you and more receptive to your offer, provided you stay around long enough. This will not succeed.”

Melkor is not deterred in the slightest. One corner of his mouth quirks upwards in a crooked grin. “Perhaps it will, perhaps it won’t. Either way,” he repeats, “my fortress will attain a smith.”

So Melkor hovers as Mairon finishes the circlet, asking questions about the process, about how Mairon would go about making other things. It takes several days, in which they meet. Melkor learns the name of every tool in Mairon’s toolbox, their feel in his hands and their multiple uses. He attempts to resist it at first, but Mairon feels himself growing bolder in Melkor’s presence, and soon entrusts the Dark Vala with little tasks: stoking the fire, compressing the bellows, fetching red-hot iron from the forge with his bare hands. Melkor should by rights complain about the menial work that is so beneath him; he never does. He watches, grows absentminded, fiddles with his fingers or the hem of his robe, hums snatches of songs, and apologizes - a Vala, apologizing to a Maia! - for his flighty attention.

The circlet is soon finished, and Mairon contemplates giving it to Aule, this work that has become of his and Melkor’s hands, and it feels wrong. For a moment, he considers giving it to Melkor, and banishes that thought.

---

Once the circlet is finished, Melkor stays away.

Days turn to weeks and Mairon wonders if it is true, if the Dark Vala has given up and rescinded his offer, if he has taken Mairon at his word and will not appear again. He feels content in that thought. He feels relieved. He feels, perhaps, lonesome. He feels as though an opportunity has passed him by. Opportunity for nothing much, he tells himself sternly, and crushes those foolish thoughts.

One night, Mairon is the last one in the forge and considering turning in for a few hours, Melkor reappears. He is carrying an object wrapped in cloth, and looks preoccupied.

“I have given thought to what you have told me,” he says, no greeting, no preamble.

“It is nice to see you too,” Mairon replies.

It actually gives the Dark Vala pause. “Is it? Nice to see me?” he asks, genuinely baffled. “Well, now. Ahem. Indeed. I was about to impart to you the thoughts I had.”

“I’m sure they will be riveting.” And not at all go on at length, Mairon adds mentally.

“I should hope so,” Melkor says. “You should sit.”

For lack of a chair, Mairon sits on the anvil. Melkor, meanwhile, takes up pacing.

“You were right,” says he. “I was wholly unprepared to see things in the way you see them. Yes, my siblings and I were instilled upon Arda with the knowledge that it is ours to rule by right. An existence for the purpose of servitude to another is different from anything I know.”

He releases a deep breath. “I can see why you chafe at it. Merely contemplating such an existence for a few brief moments rendered me disgusted.”

Oh, splendid, Mairon remarks to himself. He thinks I’m disgusting.

“Mairon, if you came with me, you would not have to live thus.”

What?

“I would see you instated in Utumno to rule by my side. Free to work and think and speak as you see fit, in servitude to no one.”

“Except for you.”

“No!” Melkor shakes his head. “I have servants enough, and I will have more. You, however, are different. For you I would have a different purpose. You see, I can sing a fortress out of the ground but I haven’t the mind to maintain it. I can persuade people to my cause, but can I see them situated, organize the many needs of a court, build and craft and make law? My kingdom needs more than a smith, it needs someone to maintain order, and I feel it might be you. Take your place by my side and rule with me whatever realms we shall have, and be elevated above all Maiar who would cower in subservience to my brethren. Be my Prince Regent, my Lieutenant, and we shall be in eternal covenant, and make our every choice together.”

Mairon had never thought to find... this anywhere, least of all with the Dark One. It is too good to be true.

He shakes his head. “Y-you lie.”

Of course. The Dark Vala has found what makes him tick, and is now looking to exploit it. He will lure Mairon to his keep with honeyed false promises, and then Mairon will be trapped. He should not have bared himself emotionally as he has. He should have been more cautious.

Melkor ceases his pacing. “Look into my mind and see that I speak true.”

Mairon rears upright to abruptly he almost topples off the anvil. “You mean... initiate osanwe? A Maia to approach a Vala? That... is against the natural order.”

Melkor shrugs. “What of the natural order? It needs reworking anyway. Look around you and tell me Eru didn’t do a rather shoddy job of it.”

A blasphemy. The arrogance of it. Mairon finds he isn’t too bothered.

He has never opened his mind to anyone, preferring to keep his own heretical thoughts closely guarded. He opens it now.

The mind of a Vala feels... different, and yet the same. There is more power there than Mairon could dream to possess, but at the same time... in some ways, it is not much vaster than his. In power, they may be unequal. In thought, in wisdom, in foresight or sagacity, they are not. Their basic make is similar, Ainur both of them. Something in Mairon settles.

There can be, for them, a meeting point. They can grow to understand one another. Know one another fully.

Yes, there is arrogance, plain in Melkor’s mind, a potent strain of self-worship, a kind of jilted entitlement towards his siblings and the realm of Arda, an inclination towards petty malice. There is chaos there aplenty, swirling maelstrom depths of thought and intuition and emotion that Melkor himself probably cannot hope to gauge, much less master.

But, in his offer to Mairon, there is no deceit.

I believe you, Mairon thinks, beyond astonished at finding this.

Melkor’s mind reacts with a sudden blinding flare of reliefhopeglee. In this mental space, he seems less guarded, because he blurts, This fills me with joy.

Mairon laughs and withdraws.

“I believe you,” he says again out loud.

Melkor nods, appearing to try not to smile. Finally, he unwraps whatever he has been carrying wrapped in his dark cloak. It is a chest sung from dark wood. He flicks the clasps open, removes the lid and lowers himself to one knee.

He kneels, and Mairon is bewildered all over again.

From the chest, Melkor takes a circlet not unlike the one they have been making together, made from dark metal, inlaid with obsidian. Clearly it is the work of a beginner, one who has not yet had time to hone his smithing, but it is charming in its crudeness. It is obvious that some thought went into it, if not (yet) the height of artifice.

This Melkor sets on Mairon’s brow.

“My Prince Regent, steward of all my realms, ought to have a crown of his own,” Melkor says. “It does not come close to what you could create, but it is a start.”

The weight of it feels unusual, but not unpleasant.

Then Melkor removes from the chest a second object, wrought from the same material. It is a hammer fit for a master smith, simplistic but elegant designs adorning the hilt. It is not gem-encrusted and ostentatious, but something he could actually work with. This he proffers to Mairon also, who hefts it in his hands. The grip is decent, the weight and balance of the head about right. This then is why Melkor was so interested in examining Mairon’s tools.

“I knew you would want something of practical use,” Melkor says. “I hope that if you come with me, I will get to see wonders wrought with it. Not in my service, but to our mutual benefit and that of those that may follow us.”

Something practical.

Mairon is not inclined to romanticism. He prefers life neat and ordered, he prefers facts, figures and useful deeds to great, gushing avalances of emotion. He prefers to take life on and mold it - smelt it down and beat it, if necessary - into a favorable shape. Melkor must have seen this, and decided to gift him a tool to do the shaping with.

That and a crown, to win his freedom.

This is what Melkor has been doing while he was away: crafting a gift in a way Mairon would, to meet Mairon on his level.

And Mairon starts to believe, Maybe I’ll be alright with him.

#angbang #mairon #sauron #melkor #morgoth #seduction of mairon #let me know if this is Too Much TM #posts by me #will also be posted to ao3 #how weird is it to be a maia before the coming of the children. they're basically a servant race

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cattle-and-chaos · 3 years

Text

The Day the Wind Screamed

Based off of this prompt. I originally intended for this to be just a one-part thing, but nope. It's multi-part now. Enjoy :D

MASTERLIST

Character Relationship(s): Thorin x dwarrowdame!OC (Estel) Kili x dwarrowdame!OC (Lorelei)

Word Count: 1,877

Warning(s): Graphic depictions of injuries, BOTFA-nonsense.

Síndar Translation(s): Athelas, tavnen a Yavanna’s cam, cranthacîn thel: Healing plant/herb, made by Yavanna's hand, complete your purpose.

Le hannon, mellon: Thank you, friend

Anor valthen, togo laugas lín nestad enin gûr hen: Golden sun, may your warmth bring healing to this heart.

~~~~

I have to warn them.

The thought reverberated through my brain as I scrambled desperately up the icy slopes of Ravenhill.

They have no idea.

As damaged as Thorin and I’s relationship was, I still couldn’t stand by as the man I loved walked to certain death. While he may have broken my heart, he still held the shards in his hands.

Voices sounded above me as I slogged up a path, and I quickly pressed myself up against a rock, listening intently. It was orcs, I knew that for sure, based on the evil laughter.

Looking out across the wide expanse of ice, I could make out Thorin, Bilbo and Dwalin staring up at the tower that loomed above me. I searched for Fili and Kili, but saw no sign of them. Dread began to pool in the bottom of my stomach.

Where were they?

“This one dies first. Then the brother. Then you, Oakenshield. You will die last.” Azog’s voice traveled easily, and I let out a gasp, craning my neck to see which of my nephews Azog had captured.

“May the Grace of Gilthoniel spare them, please.” I begged in a whisper, “Eru, don’t end their lives so soon.”

Tears stung my eyes as I heard an all too familiar voice. “Go. Run!”

Fili.

A scream welled in my throat and I clamped a hand over my mouth, the world shattering around me as the tears flowed down my cheeks. My heart plummeted in my chest.

“Here ends your filthy bloodline!” Azog growled, and I flinched, closing my eyes as I heard the thud of a body hit the ground.

“Kili!” I heard Thorin bellow faintly, but I couldn’t pull myself away from my grief just yet. All I could see was the golden-haired dwarrow smiling, hands tucked into his belt as he listened to his dark-haired brother talk about something. Blue eyes that were so like Thorin’s, but brighter, less shadowed with the weight of sorrow.

It wasn’t right that his life should be claimed so soon.

Gritting my teeth, I walked slowly up the path, dreaded the scene I would come upon. Of how disfigured I might find my nephew.

Turning the corner, I paused for a heartbeat as I saw the spread-eagle form. Then I rushed over, wiping at the tears that had started to fall again. His chest still heaved, but for how long I did not know.

“Fili,” I breathed, falling to my knees beside him.

“Auntie?” His voice was breathless, quiet. “What are you doing here?” His words were stilted as he gasped for breath.

“Save your breath,” I cautioned, pulling apart his maille to reveal a bleeding gash on his breast. I bit my lip as I took in the sight, wishing I had herbs on me. This was too serious to just bandage and leave. From the looks of the wound, the blade or whatever had stabbed him could have clipped an artery, which would meant that Fili had only minutes before he bled out.

My mind switched over from my anguished state into the mindset of a calm healer, and I took a deep breath. Grabbing my dagger, I cut off a strip of cloth from my tunic and pressed it against Fili’s chest. He let out a groan as I put pressure on the tender area.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered as I watched him grit his teeth; eyes tightly closed. Turning my gaze back to the cloth that was turning scarlet. I pressed harder, trying to stem the bleeding. Fili moaned, sucking in quick, shallow breaths through his clenched teeth.

Then to my horror he relaxed, and I hurried to grab his wrist to feel his pulse. It was rapid, but there. His breath still came in shallow gasps, but he was alive. I relaxed slightly as I realized he’d only lapsed into merciful unconsciousness. Now was not the time to worry about the head trauma he would have had to received from the fall he had taken. Anything that removed him from the agonizing pain he was in was a blessing.

Then I noticed the crimson stain spreading across the snow beneath him. “Merciful Manwë,” I breathed. He hadn’t just been stabbed, he’d been run completely through. “Damn it,” I swore, tearing another piece of cloth off my tunic and stuffing it under his back.

“I know I heard a voice. I am not a Dwarf, Eledhwen.” Elvish floated up to my ears and I looked around wildly for the source.

“Over here!” I called, and instantly I could hear footsteps crunching in the snow. In seconds, two blonde elleths appeared, and upon seeing me crouched over a body, picked up their pace.

“Do you have athelas? Or yarrow?” I asked as they crouched beside me. “He’s been run through, and I can’t get the bleeding to stop through putting pressure on it.”

“We don’t have athelas, but Idrial has yarrow, don’t you?” One of them—Eledhwen, I supposed—said, looking over at her comrade.

“Yes,” Idrial responded, digging in a pouch on her waist. “One moment…”

As we waited for Idrial to find the yarrow, Eledhwen reached out a gentle hand to smooth back Fili’s hair, her hand paused on his forehead for a moment. “He has no fever, so the blade was not morgul,” she murmured.

“Here!” Idrial exclaimed, pulling out a small leather sachet. She moved closer and I moved back to allow her space to work.

Removing the bloody rag from Fili’s chest, Idrial sprinkled the contents of the sachet onto his chest and packed it into the wound. “Athelas, tavnen a Yavanna’s cam, cranthacîn thel.” She intoned as she did so.

“This is one of Durin’s Line, is it not?” Eledhwen asked quietly, her brown eyes piercing as she looked over at me.

“Yes.” I replied softly, and she nodded.

“We can care for him. Something tells me that you will be needed elsewhere.” She murmured with a smile.

I gaped at her for a moment before rising to me feet. “Le hannon, mellon.” I whispered, smiling slightly at the look of shock that flickered across her face at my perfect Síndar.

Then I was off, climbing up the hill in search of Kili and Thorin, praying fervently that I wasn’t too late. But I couldn’t have just left Fili to die; the snow around him painted red with his blood as the world faded away into darkness and he drew a last trembling breath.

“NO!” A female wail shattered the air, and I jumped in surprise, hurrying in the direction of the scream. Perhaps I could be of help…

The thought vanished; run through with a frigid bolt of fear as I rounded a corner to see Kili on the ground, and a familiar elleth driving a large orc away.

My heart, only just back in my chest, plummeted again.

He was so still.

��Kili?” I called tremulously as I knelt beside him. “Kili?”

His eyes remained closed, and as I studied his face, my heart broke. I could see the wetness on his lashes, and a single tear on his pale cheek. The idea of Kili crying seemed so foreign, so wrong. It went against his cheeky nature.

With shaking hands, I searched for a pulse. But none pulsed readily beneath my fingers. Desperately, I continued to search.

“You can’t be gone, Kili. You’ve got that lass of yours waiting for you, remember?” I choked out, letting his arm drop to the rocky ground. Pulling apart his tunic, I laid a hand on his chest, avoiding the bleeding gash in chest that eerily mirrored Fili’s.

Faintly, I could feel his heart beating weakly. Letting out my breath in a rush, I cut off another strip of cloth from my tunic to press to his chest. This time, I knew that he hadn’t just been stabbed.

But I feared that time was running out. Kili was so pale, and his pulse so weak, I half expected his shallows breaths to cease altogether. It would take more than yarrow and counter-pressure to bring him back from the edge of death.

“Anor valthen, togo laugas lín nestad enin gûr hen.” I murmured, exerting pressure on Kili’s chest. “May the grace of the Valar spare him. Please.” My voice broke.

“Kili.” A heartbroken, trembling voice whispered behind me, and I looked over my shoulder to see Tauriel limping over. “Is he..?” Her voice trailed off.

“No, he’s still alive, but I don’t know for how long.” I replied, and she let out a long sigh. “I don’t have the skills of an Elf, but you do. At this point, I’m powerless.”

Tauriel looked at me apprehensively. “I don’t have any herbs with me, what can I do?”

“Help him hold on a little longer until someone who does comes along.”

I pushed myself to my feet, wincing at the ache in my bones from staying in the same position. “I need to go find Thorin before he gets himself killed.”

Tauriel nodded silently, her hands pressing firmly on Kili’s chest.

Taking one last glance, I ran up Ravenhill, dodging dead orcs that littered the trail. I found it comforting that I didn’t see any scarlet spatters, only black from the orcs.

Reaching a wide expanse of ice, I stopped, looking around for Thorin. My eyes fell on the carcass of the pale orc, a sword still skewering his chest.

But no Thorin.

Cautiously, I stepped out on the ice, sliding across it as my gaze searched the rest of the ice.

Shadows fell across the ice, and I looked up to see the Eagles swooping in on the orc army far below. I smiled, watching as they decimated the ranks with ease.

But then my gaze fell onto the huddled figure on the ice.

“No! Thorin! Thorin, don’t you dare…”

It was Bilbo, and he was cradling Thorin’s head as he lay on the ground in a pool of scarlet.

My heart dropped into the swirling abyss that had opened up in the pit of my stomach, vanishing from existence as I began to scream.

“Thorin!” I wailed, running towards him with tears streaming down my face. “Thorin!”

~~~~

The darkness was comforting, calling for him. It promised an ease from the excruciating pain that burned his side.

He had no regrets. He’d made his peace with the hobbit and redeemed his people from both the dragon and the pale orc. That was much more than he'd set out to accomplish, but he had done it.

Except…

Estel. His last words with her were harsh; his last memory of her one of bitter regret as he watched her eyes fill with tears as she turned away from him.

The darkness nudged at him again, and he relented to its irresistible tug. The hobbit was saying something about eagles, but that didn’t matter anymore. Thorin was going to rest.

Blinking blearily, he saw a figure coming towards him, obscured with bright white light. An angel of sorts, he presumed. Strange how it looked just like Estel.

The wind screamed his name as he closed his eyes, a broken, desperate cry that faded away with everything else.

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@kumqu4t @pixierox101 @elvish-sky @ladylouoflothlorien @vicmackeybullshxt @lothloriien @shadowhuntyi @hellonogblogstuff @justfollowtheroad @fizzyxcustard @thewhiteladyofrohan @xxbyimm @legolasbadass @elles-writing @lathalea @saltstatic @i-did-not-mean-to @middleearthpixie

#the hobbit #thorin x oc #thorin x estel #thorin #fili #kili #tauriel #botfa #everyone lives au #i think?#well #at least I hope so #healing #herbal knowledge #elves

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