Anonymous – MisbehavingMaiar: Tumblr Archive

💭 Sauron, how do you feel about forgiveness?

That is entirely relative. Who is being forgiven, and by whom?

When forgiveness is offered by one I love, I treasure the opportunity to earn it.

When it is offered conditionally in exchange for my eternal humility and repentance for deeds I do not regret in the slightest, I consider it a farce.

Forgiveness can only be offered from a position of power, otherwise what meaning does it have? Those who have power over one who has wronged them are seen as benevolent and wise when they give pardon rather than punishment. It indicates the security of a ruler to be able to forgive.

To forgive, therefore, is my pleasure. When I can afford it.

💭 fractals, for sauron

I’ve heard that amongst humans there is a superstition that if you spill rice or lentils or such like before a devil, he will be irresistibly compelled to count them all, unable to stop until he’s finished.

I wonder if I had something to do with that…

Try: Ungoliant or Orome

Oromë is another one I’m having to write for a project, so I’ll hit up that UUUUUNNNNNGLLLLEEEEESSSSSSS *bew bew bewwwww*

I fucking love Ungles and I’m happy to report that I have some Bonafide Eldritch Headcanons™ about her.

Canon wants us to believe that she’s a corrupted spirit from Ëa who joined Melkor but then fucked off because that’s how spiders do. I AM NOT CONVINCED. You can’t have your “Melkor is the mightiest of the Valar and Valar are exponentially greater in power than Maiar” cake and …. have….a spider eat that cake.

So, in so much as Ainur are beings derived from Eru’s thought, Ungoliant is not a Maia. She’s not a Vala. She’s not one of the Ainur at all. Ungoliant is something Melkor ran into when he was searching the outer darkness for the Secret Fire, which only Illuvatar has. The Void is at least as old as Eru, being timeless. It is vaster than He (if one can even use size as a metric for measuring infinite cosmic entities), though empty. It is the birthplace of all potential, the void that must be in order for things other than it to exist. It is ready to quicken around any particle of matter and form pearls of chaos that expand infinitely and succumb to entropy just as quickly as they form. It is a writhing, frothing, sightless, soundless, Nothing that devours itself in perpetuity.

Melkor was not made of matter when he ventured into the depths of the Void in the beginning, and did not stir the ancient darkness when he passed through it. But he did speak to it– told it about the world that was to be made, of his part in the making of it. And the Void listened in its own fashion, forming around the Idea that had been planted into it and growing. All the Nothing in the universe can fit into the back pocket of a quark, so the resulting consciousness was both very small and very big; just a grain of sand that could expand as much as anything that was put into it. And that Thing waited around in the deeps of the void until Melkor came into the outer darkness a second time–this time pissed off, and nursing a sore cheek from where Tulkas punched him, and he said “hey, want to come fuck things up?” And it said “ssssssss” and crawled up his sleeve.

Now, it may seem irresponsible to bring the sentient equivalent of a black hole into the realm of matter and just let it go hog wild, but Ungles is only as powerful as what you put in her. She devours light and matter and energy and creates darkness and sticky void-webs that eventually sort of clog up her ability to intake more of those things; this is why her dens are isolated wastelands of Scary Shit and darkness, because once she’s devoured everything in the area, nothing else can easily get in, and going OUT takes too much energy for her when she’s starving. So she’s not too much to handle if you’re the mightiest of the Valar, or even a sufficiently powerful Maia or Eruhini.

However, when you let her drink two full trees’ worth of Vala Juice, you’re in for a bad time.

–Just for kicks, here’s a crusty old unfinished story-board experiment of the Tree Incident–

In terms of personality, she’s pretty straightforward; she knows what she wants, she can never have ENOUGH of what she wants, and she doesn’t trust Melkor any more than Melkor trusts her. She’s not especially malicious (except when someone Wrongs Her and then gives her a chance to get even)– just predatory by nature and aware of her own otherness. She’s very intelligent; I imagine she picks things up from whatever she eats, and she’s been around a very long time and eaten a LOT of things. She can feel amusement, anger, anticipation, greed, hunger, interest, wariness, hatred, fear, and possibly even a distant affection for any of her daughters that are strong and clever enough to avoid being eaten by her long enough to grow up and spread to Middle Earth. She’d still eat them if given the chance, and they’d probably eat her if they could figure out how– but that’s just how the spider do.

She also diminishes with time; the more she eats, the more personality and self-awareness she has, and the longer she starves the more she reverts to being a mindless consuming force. She acknowledges a certain affiliation with Melkor– he was the one that facilitated her coming to earth where she could Eat Things in the first place, giving her awareness of the world. But spiders are fairly self sufficient from the get go; she doesn’t need anyone to nurture her or teach her anything, and she doesn’t feel obliged to show continued loyalty to someone just because they seeded her into the universe. Especially not Melkor, who would be the first to say they didn’t owe each other shit for just existing.

She views Melkor as the hand that feeds, and also the hand that forgets to feed her, and sometimes denies food to her even though it promised to feed her, and also the hand that would probably taste ssSSsssooo good if it ever got accidentally stuck in a web.

Try: Finrod or Ecthelion.

Since I’m still figuring out Finrod in a fic, I’ll go with Ecthelion. 🙂

Ecthelion I imagine is a fairly serious and campaign-hardened soldier with a very dedicated battalion serving under him. He is well-liked because he is straightforward, practical, and conscientious of the needs of both his people and their objectives. He has a reputation for bringing back everyone alive, and not elevating himself above the means of his soldiers even though he is a lord.

As warden of the gate he is in a unique position to deal with matters outside and inside of Gondolin, a position demanding discretion as well as unwavering loyalty to the laws of the city; his scouts report all who come near the gate whether they seem innocent or no. He has seen his fair share of spies with friendly faces, and he does not budge for whim or sympathy. He has earned the utmost confidence of king Turgon, and can be trusted with the well-being of Gondolin and its continued secrecy.

He has a somewhat stoic demeanor but he is not without good humor or levity; the reason his folk march to the music of flutes and pipes is because Ecthelion took up the instrument as a hobby (professing himself to be of modest talent even for a beginner) and when his friends and subordinates found this out, they decided to join him with woodwinds of their own as a show of support. Soon they had the equivalent of a marching band that met and practiced in their free time, becoming a beloved mascot for the House of the Fountain.

He is fond of indulging Eärendil, who likes his glittering armor and tasseled cape, but does not let him play with the sword even though Baby Ear promises to keep it in the sheath. He likewise has a warm disposition towards Tuor, who he remembers always as the earnest-faced youth with the touch of Ulmo upon him, standing proudly before him at the gate despite his shackles and road-worn cloak.

He takes a cold but professional stance with Maeglin, who he frequently encounters on the outskirts of the city and the exploring the mountains. The young elf’s propensity for straying dangerously into unprotected territory is a constant source of tension between them– the perimeter is under Ecthelion’s sole authority, but he cannot forbid another Lord to do anything without the approval of the king, and the king is often more lenient with his nephew than perhaps he deserves. He is sympathetic to Maeglin’s troubled circumstances, but is always swift to remind him of the law.

He has a gruff, soldierly friendship with Rog, who he feels a certain solidarity with as another “working” lord. They’ve both seen and experienced the worst of the enemy, and their politics are similar because of it.

And since guarding the retreat of Turgon from the Nirnaeth Arnoediad together, he has had a ~*close*~ friendship with Glorfindel– a captain with perhaps more academic knowledge and less field experience than he at the time of the battle, but no less valor. Glorfindel demonstrated impeccable form, steely discipline, and unexpected hardiness despite his youth that impressed and earned Ecthelion’s loyalty (they are both of balrog-slaying mettle, after all).

An elf looked out over a balcony, deep in thought and his mind drifted beyond the confines of what he could see. He was old in the count of the years of even his own kin and wanted nothing more than to leave. However, he could not and now he was being dragged, yet again, into a fight with one that had been the cause of the suffering of his people and all free beings on Arda, for long ages of the world. He cursed bitterly. “Know this. Whilst there is still breath in my body. You shall not win.”

The vast majority of people who talk to themselves on balconies do not receive a reply. However on this night, perhaps because there was a warm easterly wind blowing, or perhaps again because there was a red star rising in the south, peering over the mountains like a furtive spy, there came a sort of answer in the form of fluttering wings and a clever little hooded face alighting on a branch adjacent the occupied balcony. Just a magpie, nothing more sinister; late though it was for a magpie to be out.

The bird flicked its long tail, beetle-black eyes fixed on the elf with more comprehension than was comforting, and let out a shrill avian laugh– each long cry lilting upward like a taunting question.

@erdariel Hi! some-dude-with-a-cat here. I’m off Tumblr for the semester, hence I’ve made this poor blog my messenger for my Tolkienian shenanigans. Basically I translated most lines as literally as possible with some minor tweaks for scansion. The most liberally translated bit was the firs verse after the intro: “Mama, [I] have now slain a man,/turned an arrow towards his head,/loosed my bowstring, now he’s dead.”

@erdariel – and anyone else with questions for the Great Bard I have become the oracle of XD

Nice blog ya got there! Do you envision Barad-dûr as vaguely ziggurat-like?

Why thank you kindly! ~~THERE IS STILL TIME TO CHANGE YOUR MIND~~

I actually don’t think of Barad-dûr so much as the various Temples of Freedom for ziggurat architecture?

Barad-dûr in its first incarnation I want to be an imposing, well-defended palace (later reconstructions becoming more and more fortress-like) where the god-king/Zîgur of the greater kingdom of Mordor and its satrapies might admit supplicants and hold court.

The Temples of Freedom would have the stair structures leading up to an altar room containing a gold idol of Melkor and a brazier for making burnt and blood offerings. There, a high-priestess would officiate and communicate whatever message was supposedly sent to her from the Giver of Freedom (who dwells in the Void but could be persuaded to inhabit his statues), predicting good or ill fortunes depending on whether the sacrifice was well received.

–In actuality, High-Priestesses in each major temple share a direct connection with the Zîgur (much like the ringwraiths), and report to him what sorts of offerings are made, what confessions are given, what prayers are made and what miracles people are in the market for; that sort of thing. In return they can tailor their “prophecies” and gifts of insight from “Melkor” to suit the daily political needs of the empire.

The lower floors would house other sects of priestesses, whose duties include both Cult of Melkor activities and the inherited functions absorbed from the resident religions of Harad, Khan, and Nurn; these might include planning the calendar year, astronomy, astrology, harvest and weather prediction, population management, marriages, funerals, birth ceremonies, communing with the dead, ghost and demon management, moderate-to-severe exorcisms, as well as organizing religious festivals and public sacrifices. Priestesses are powerful and respected officials who work in close accord with the Zîgur and are effectively a branch of government.

Typically in the regions of Mordor and Harad, the “blood sacrifice” is little more than a ritual prick of the finger for most things, or a slaughtered animal, or sometimes dedicating the execution of a criminal to the Temple if you’re REALLY trying to make a good impression– However, after Sauron’s removal to Numenor, the Temples of Freedom in Numenorian-held cities began to adopt the huge, excessive sanguinary displays of the capital (Sauron aggressively upped the blood-orgy game in Numenor with the intent to destabilize and terrify the populace in a way that he would never do on his home turf). This led to a schism between Numenorian Melkor-worship and Haradrim Melkor-worship, where Numenorian temples changed to accommodate mass public worship and ceremonies led by a high-priest rather than a priestess, who addressed a large congregation and led them in unified prayer and increasing numbers of ritual executions throughout the year. Numenorian style Temples of Freedom therefore abandoned the ziggurat format and adopted buildings closer in style to cathedrals or theaters, while traditional Haradrim Temples retained the step-structure and monastic orders of priestesses, even in the absence of the Zîgur in Mordor.

Thank you for coming to my presentation; if you have any que–OOH OOH WAIT I GOT ONE:

Okay so, a Numenorian supplicant walks into Mordor and he asks a priestess “Where’s the ziggurat?” and she says: “I dunno, I haven’t seen him since Year of the Sun 3261 S.A.!”

—-!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

AS A BALKAN BASTARD you will pry balkan mordor from my cold dead hands, you dont even KNOW how much of a disaster this place is and i will fight anyone with all my 5ft3 of balkan rage (mesopotamian mordor is absolutely incredible but also -yells in balkan-) (as a compromise theres sarmatian-built trenches near the city i study in so there may be some crossover in Ye Anciente Times that no one knows shit about)

Friend your Balkan rage is so #Valid and I just want you to know I love and support all Mordors, let there be peace and many crossovers between our short, angry nations.

*whispers* please share your griffins they’re my favorite griffins i will trade you… *looks in pockets* six eagle-headed dudes and a lamassu

Melkot? More like MelkHOT ayyyyyyyyyy–

EEEEEEEEEYYYYYYYY

Try: Namo because I like your eldrich hcs.

Namo, like the other Fëanturi in my headcanons, has a less organic-looking shape than the Arratar. He and his siblings have very whimsical, almost allegorical forms. His face is mask-like, and he doesn’t have a body so much as robes that fall in the shape of a body. His expression can change but he doesn’t move his mouth when he speaks, and his voice has an echo as though he takes the acoustics of his halls with him wherever he goes.

There’s a common misconception that “Mandos” is both his name and the name of his hall– this is only half true. His name is Námo, and he IS is hall, which is called Mandos. He contains, and exists in, the realm he governs.

He’s really quite pleasant to talk to, if you don’t mind venturing deep into the uncanny valley. He has a strong and uncompromising sense of justice, has pity for those who have suffered but is unwilling to compromise on the laws of his land, unless a greater thread of fate intervenes. He likes formality and logic, and is fond of puzzles and long games of strategy.

His vision of the Theme gave him greater insight into the future of Arda than any of his brethren; but this is of limited use to those in the present. Like the Norse gods knowing the sequence of events of Ragnarök but being unable to avoid it by nature of being gods, the Valar know what will become of themselves and the world during the Dagor-Dagorath. Námo proclaims those Dooms that are necessary to be spoken according to his knowledge of what Must Be, what he saw occurring in the First Music. As with his realm, he exists simultaneously within, and as the embodiment, of Fate; both a participant and its mouthpiece. Yes, he knows it’s confusing. He’s sorry. Would you like a cup of tea? Vaire made it fresh.

Try Saruman the White

OH WE’RE GOING TO HAVE SO MUCH FUN TOGETHER CURUMO, YOU SCAMP.

I love Saruman dearly, because he is a Miscreant™.

My headcanons are as follows:

Curumo starts life as one of Aulë’s six highsmiths, who work in the Great Forge under Admirable-One, the forgemaster (aka Mairon). He’s never been totally comfortable with being Daddy’s Second-or-Third-or-Maybe-Fourth Favorite Maia, and when tension starts to break out between Mairon and Aulë, he sees this as an Opportunity to start sucking up to authority by being…. just…. SO obedient and dutiful; not like that bad, naughty, rebellious Mairon with his IDEAS and BAD COMPANY. By the time Mairon does finally leave Aulë, Curumo has positioned himself to take over his duties as Forgemaster. Except, the work on Arda is basically finished by then, and he doesn’t have any especially epic duties to perform, and it’s obvious to everyone that he’s just not the same caliber of Maia, or smith, that Mairon was.

He hates this. so. much. But it’s desperately important to him to seem completely at peace with being left in charge of more menial duties and unglamorous tasks while everyone waits for the Children to appear.

When the Valar move to Aman, they have to build a new Great Forge, and Curumo is ecstatic because finally now maybe he’ll get to oversee something Important. The new Great Forge is mostly an institute of teaching and creating things to aid the elves, so Curumo becomes a mentor of elven smiths rather than a foreman to his fellow Maiar. –This OF COURSE doesn’t annoy him EVEN A LITTLE BIT, that he’s been demoted to teaching Noldor carpenters how to make hinges that don’t squeak. Because he’s SO HAPPY TO HELP and OBEY and SERVE with NO THOUGHT to his own esteem or reputation as an Aulendur. …Also, is it just him, or are some of these Noldor smiths really, really good? like, better than him, maybe. Even though, how could they be HAHA! They’re just. Making new unthought of totally impossible things that even the Valar want. Huh.

But I’m being a little harsh. He does fine! Great, actually! He knows a lot about stuff, maybe not as MUCH as Mairon knew about smithing, but he’s a pretty good teacher! Maybe a little condescending, maybe a little impatient at times, but the elves do learn a lot from him!

It’s a shame that nothing he does really seems to be important or interesting enough for Aulë or the other Valar to notice. Which is weird, because as we’ve noted, he has been THE MOST OBEDIENT, LOYAL, DUTIFUL, HELPFUL, USEFUL, KNOWLEDGABLE MAIA EVER. And he’s VERY well dressed. And SO tidy. And he has THE MOST tools, in mint condition! And he absolutely hasn’t been hoarding everything of Mairon’s that he can get his hands on, or eavesdropping on anyone who mentions him, or constantly comparing himself to him.

After the Silmarils are stolen and the thing with Fëanor blows over, Curumo has whole AGES to be the best and most influential smith in Aman! Almost! Definitely in the top ten! Well, he’s definitely the most important smith, because he’s in charge of so many things. He runs a VERY prestigious Academy of Learned Maiar and elves, where they discuss Theory and Praxis and Engineering. Many of the devices they dream up stay on the drawing board because in Aman there’s not a great deal of need for technological advancement. It’s almost a shame there’s not more use for heavy construction equipment in paradise….

Eventually the Third Age rolls around and with it, the initiative to go into Middle Earth to deal with the problem of Sauron, and oh. my. god. Finally. Finally, they realize– it’s him. It’s always been him. Curumo– the Wise, the White, the Cunning, the MAGNIFICENT; obviously the most suited and well equipped for Leadership! Now he can turn his unparalleled knowledge of other people’s work into social currency!

Finally, it’s his opportunity to show everyone how much better he is than Mairon– who hasn’t been here for more than ten thousand years, but Aulë still sighs and cries about; who gave into Base Temptations and Moral Weakness and left his appointed duties before they’d even begun– Duties SOMEONE had to take over, Duties that SHOULD have brought fame and recognition to those who selflessly championed them, if only everyone wasn’t infatuated with the mere MEMORY of his potential… I’ll show you. I’ll show everyone how much more clever and learned and Admirable I am than you ever were. Then you’ll be so jealous. THEN you’ll have to notice me and tell me how important and smart I am. I’ll learn everything you ever knew and MORE and then you’ll be USELESS and outdated and everyone will thank me for defeating you and bringing about a new golden age of knowledge and industry. Yes… YES!

It’s the recognition he knows he’s always deserved, and he’s just so happy to help.

Try Manwë

This is terrifying because I do actually have to try and write/draw Manwë convincingly for my comic and he’s very intimidating to approach. >m> I’ve been lucky enough to be spoiled by a very good Manwë roleplayer whose interpretations will probably always color my own, so there’s a lot to live up to.

…BECAUSE I LOVE YOU, I will leak this super-secret found-footage blurry-cryptid photo of my Manwë design.

Now, is this just Tilda Swinton in a Bigbird costume? Who’s to say.

____

The thing about Manwë is, he’s doing his best. I really feel for the guy! He’s never been in charge of sentient life before! No one has! It’s hard and he does his best and when his best isn’t enough, things go terribly, terribly wrong and it’s his responsibility to sort it out. And he just wants everyone to be happy. He tries so hard. And people look to him for answers because he is the only one who still sometimes hears the voice of Eru, who is otherwise quiet– but they don’t understand the answers he brings back. “What do you mean, you asked God, and the answer is ‘it’s complicated’??” Yes, sorry. That’s just how it is.

But the other thing about Manwë is that it’s not difficult for him to understand the ineffable. He already grasps the simultaneity of free will and predestination, he has unshakable faith in the Theme because he saw it so much more clearly than anyone else, he trusts in the grace of the One, he loves the individual and the whole, and has no difficulty being in the world but not of it. What he has trouble with is explaining to others what is instinctual for him. If a child asks him “why is there sadness?” and he responds “because of a greater harmony that you will never witness”, it sounds patronizing, cold. But for Manwë it is a self evident truth, and knowing it does not make him less sympathetic to the plight of the living, but what else is there to say? He cannot lie. He doesn’t know how.

Manwë is not easy to relate to. He keeps himself above the world and does not partake of many earthly pleasures except the appreciation of music and natural beauty and the joy of flying. To observe the world is a great pleasure in itself; he watches and listens and loves and understands from this great distance, and he is not lonely, for Varda is as contemplative and far-seeing as he is, and they understand each other perfectly, rejoicing in each other and what they see; but he is often troubled. Manwë has faith in the design of the One, but perhaps less faith in his own completion of that design. So much goes wrong, so many suffer, as a direct result of him trying to do good. He knows he cannot see everything, that he is fallible. Every decision he makes has the potential to harm, including inaction– What can he do but try his best? and act according to what he understands of the Theme, the source of all order and life and love.

He loves his brother very much. They were born in the same thought, but they run parallel and opposite to one another; they will never meet again in understanding until one bends towards the other. Neither can bring themselves to compromise. They reach a stalemate every time they try. They come to define themselves by their opposition to the other’s temperament– but you can still see what makes them twins in the mind of Eru, if you know what to look for. They live in each other’s anger, their love, the scope of their comprehension, their deep contemplation.

Sometimes, if he does not catch himself, Manwë does question his maker, does doubt his understanding of the Theme. And sometimes, in a moment of quiet, Melkor forgets to argue with universe and finds peace in the design of things. The moments do not last, because doubt brings Manwë closer to Melkor and his rebellion, and Melkor cannot trust or forgive, because it would mean admitting to one of Manwë’s truths. They are each the missing piece to the other’s puzzle, and the picture on the box is the full scope of Eru’s design. If they could put it together, everything would make sense. But they can’t– and in a weird, ineffable way, that’s part of an even bigger puzzle that only makes sense in four dimensions.

who is the twink-est tolkien character?

God… probably Maeglin, which is only tolerable because he’s goth. Young Fingon is also a strong contender but he hunks up later so that’s fine. ….Legolas? It might be Legolas.

Dear Lord Melkor, who does your hair? And uh, for that matter how does it work? Have you ever tied it back? Do you like when people brush it or fluff their hands through it or is that the sort of thing that would get them lit on fire? Here is a jar of honey for your time please do not murder me on the way out.

Fewer questions, more petting.

…but since you asked nicely with sweets: I enjoy the brushing VERY much, and, I do it myself. Though “do” is probably too strong a verb. My hair is… therefore I am?

A bit more on the top if you would. Mind the crown.

Are elves and men of same species in your verse?

Not physically, no. I would argue that since they share the same divine primogenitor they’re distantly related in spirit, but I think it’s neat that they have a different purpose on Arda than humans do. The fact that humans and elves have completely different motivations and fears on both a physical and spiritual level, yet still manage to find common ground and mutual interest in each other is fascinating!

Though to be sure, I’ve also seen the opposite view (that humans and elves are the same/similar species) represented in fanworks and it can be equally compelling.

…I just like to think of it as Eru throwing a lot of spaghetti at the wall to see what would stick in terms of viable formats for sentient species.