𝖒𝖎𝖉𝖉𝖑𝖊 𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖙𝖍

ㅤㅤㅤ𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐀 𝐆𝐈𝐅𝐓 𝐈𝐓 𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐄𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐃, 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐈𝐅 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐆. She is but a Maia and he, the strongest of the Valar, yet it is her power, her light that draws him as a moth to candlelight. He himself would be the first to admit he is covetous beyond all sense and reason, unafraid to burn for the kiss of her flames. Arien will never follow his command; Melkor is more than aware enough to know that, but none of her defiance is enough to deter him. But then again, she would be wasted as a servant. No, that's not what he wants. Submission comes in many forms, and it is not her reverence he seeks. It's almost become a game to him, to see how close she will allow him, how much she will permit in this unending chase of theirs. Sooner or later, he will learn what it is that she truly wants most in this world, be it power or status or something else entirely. And when he is the one to present it to her, surely then she will no longer be able to refuse his call.

ㅤㅤㅤ❝ What is wrong with a little selfishness? Must you be content to spend your life letting my kindred leash you to their wills? They will never see you as I do. ❞ For all the deceptions that brew within his heart towards others, in this, he does not lie. He does not need to; it is evident enough in his jealous eyes. But jealousy is not the only thing that lies within. There is true affection, albeit twisted. The darkest desires that should never inhabit his kind, yet he thrives upon that feeling, that deep want beyond what he has ever been given. ❝ You serve Vána only because her favorite pet left her. And if not for her, you would me made to serve another. How am I the selfish one when I bid you to take your place at my side by your own choice, but the Valar have never given you a choice at all? ❞

ㅤㅤㅤHow he relishes the moment when she steps closer, his only response to the burning pain in his hand a quiet exhale that breathes through his teeth much like a growl. Melkor releases the strand of hair he had held, paying no mind to the seared flesh. He does not bid it to reform itself, no, he lets her mark remain, if only to savor the moment. ❝ Yes, Arien. You deserve nothing less. ❞ He dares claim another step closer, fingertips lifting to press beneath her chin as he whispers lowly, willing to be burned again for that smallest contact of her skin. ❝ Don't tell me that you do not wonder what it would be like. You do feel it, don't you? All of the things we were told that our kind should never feel. What our creator has deemed to be flawed in us. But what is wrong with wanting better for yourself? What is wrong with daring to say that you want anything at all? ❞

#dcviline #｟ interactions ｠ ⸻ ▻ dcviline .#｟ interactions ｠ ⸻ ▻ arien the maia.

"It is how I was made." A simple fact that perhaps speaks of comfortability. Mairon had spoken to her of how tired he had been, of the shackles of how they were made, of wanting to know more and be more. By then, she hears of whispers of how Morgoth had corrupted him, Sauron they called him now, while others say he is a savior, one who wants to shape and rebuild middle earth. "If I were not to serve them, what then. . .should I serve you instead?" Because that is what the Maia do.

They serve a higher power. Morgoth is a higher power, perhaps. . the highest of them all and he stands before him, begging him to join her. The temptation is bright as her own flames. He promises her things that should not be allowed for a woman, no, a creature like herself. "You speak sweet things like a wordsmith. That might be the worst of your attributes." Flaming like hair looks back to Melkor and side eye him in turn. He does not seem to shy away from her flame and a part of her wonders if he enjoys it in a sense.

But that would borderline pain and pleasure, concepts that are strange to her. And when he dares to step closer and break distance, the Maia cannot help but to force herself to remain that way. Not moving apart. "And who would loose their position for me to be rose to the one you say I will be?"

pertadhel

alright folks. so this goes for all my tolki.en muses but. . .i'm not sure if i will come back here. interactions had been so scarse, i been blocked left and right by people i don't know because they simply believe someone over my own writing or voice and i'm just. . .tired. i been loving the world of tolkien and specially rings of power but i been feeling as if i should he ashamed for enjoying the fanfic of it all and even entertaining au's and theories. so. . .yeah. you win folks. i'm not deleting but i am not coming back until i feel safe.

#｟ out of character ｠ ⸻ ▻ out of shire.#if anything i might roleplay on discord but. . .yeah

marichive

MULTIMUSE MEME: Send a " ⭐ " and I will list muses I would be interested in throwing at yours, or potential muse combinations if you are also a multi. If you like any of the suggested combinations, you are welcome to come plot or start interactions with them.

If you can't see / use the symbol for any reason, send " star! " instead. If you are a multi and you want to see which muses I would be interested in throwing against a specific muse of yours, send ⭐+ that muses name.

#memes.

ㅤㅤㅤ𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐀𝐓 𝐀 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄, 𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐓𝐇. Those burning eyes stir his soul as they always have, drawn to the light that radiates from her being. He has no answer as to why, but it has always been this way for him. From the moment he first saw her, he has desired her. Coveted her, just as he covets the light of the two trees. She is but a maia, and he, the mightiest of the ainur. She should be beneath him. A servant. But with every resistance, it feels the other way around, as if she is a goddess of this world and he is but a fool left at her feet. He could give her that power, if she wanted. He could exalt her as she deserves.

ㅤㅤㅤArien's smile is a burning thing, as faint as it is, made to sear him. Yet he dares draw nearer. ❝ You misunderstand me, Arien. As you always have. ❞ But Melkor cannot blame her. Of course, her perception has been crafted by the others who have turned against him. He must simply show her the truth that they hide from her. How they keep her from her true greatness. ❝ How does one measure darkness if there is no light? Why does darkness exist at all, if not to make the light appear brighter? ❞ As he steps into her presence, he feels the cloak of shadows that had surrounded him forced away, fleeing at her radiance. Any weaker being would falter, but Melkor basks in it instead, his approach unhalted.

ㅤㅤㅤ❝ For all of the sins made during creation, the worst of all is that you were made to serve, ❞ he says, colorless eyes enraptured as they gaze upon her. ❝ I would have you free, sweet Arien. I would have you exalted above them all, were it left to my will. What have I ever done besides question why our creator treats us as slaves? Why a beauty such as yours is not worshipped as you deserve, but instead made to be but a handmaid to the jealous vala, who are but faint candles when compared to your radiance? ❞ A hand dares to reach towards her, caution abandoned to capture a single lock of hair between his fingers, brushing through the strand of fire-red with an odd tenderness uncommon to his being. ❝ And if I told you that I long merely to stand in your light, would you still deny me? That I can be content with your scorn as long as you let me remain near to you nonetheless? ❞

#dcviline #｟ interactions ｠ ⸻ ▻ dcviline .#｟ interactions ｠ ⸻ ▻ arien the maia.#simpin' dark lord be gone

Arien stood tall, her radiance unwavering despite the shadow that sought to envelop her. The golden light of her form flared subtly, a warning, as Melkor's words—honeyed yet laden with poison—washed over her. She was no stranger to his voice, its deceptive cadence, nor to the web he sought to spin around her. It was marvelously webbed, she does give it to him. He spoke with a certainty not many do, and his daring approach of her was endearing, if only for the dare of stepping close to her light.

Her gaze rested on him without yielding. In her silence, there was no invitation, only the steady resolve of one who understood her purpose beyond the limits of his desires. “You speak of freedom,” she said at last, her voice a melody of flame and strength, neither sharp nor soft, but balanced as the light she bore. “Yet your every word binds itself in chains of selfishness. You would exalt me, you say, but only to keep me bound to you, a trophy to your own rebellion.” A short pause is given in ehr defiance to sweet words that promise her a title and position above many others. She is a Maia, she is not made to rule and yet, he entices that part of her that might be flawed. "You want to make me a Queen but that would make you, what? My King?"

She stepped forward, and the strand of hair he held flared in his grasp, but it is not enough to push him away still. The air between them sizzled, and her presence towered over him, though she did not raise a hand or voice.

iriysse

Aredhel laughed, like rain upon a meadow, unrestrained enthusiasm embodied in the sound. Her eyes sparkled, and she hooked her arm through the crook of his elbow as she descended back to earth with a sigh. Glorfindel was her favorite of her brother's Lords ( not that she would ever admit that aloud. It would be asking for trouble from the others. ) his manner, she was certain, could brighten even the darkest of nights.

" 'well blessed'! Be careful with your words, meldonya, lest I be tempted to draw you into my mischief!" Air hissed through her teeth in a mock grimace, which quickly was cut short with a snort of amusement. "Turgon would not approve. I already am a bad influence."

Yet, she went on, finger in the air as she tutted at him. "And as for your warnings, Lord of Flowers, you should know by now I am nowhere near faint of heart. Dauntless would I go with you, a bow in my hand to defend your blide side. For Ilúvatar has blessed you in many ways, we all know, but you lack eyes at the back of your head." She squeezed his arm, and her tone softened with serious consideration. "Easy roads have never been my way, and there is no one else I'd rather ( either ) be by their side, or have them by mine than your delightful self." A fond smile was given, and with another sigh she rested her head upon his shoulder.

#iriysse #｟ interactions ｠ ⸻ ▻ iriysse .#｟ interactions ｠ ⸻ ▻ glorfindel.

Glorfindel tilted his golden head toward Aredhel, her words brushing against him—warm and teasing, yet with a depth that lingered. His lips curved into a smile, soft at the edges, though his keen eyes sparkled with a trace of mischief to match hers. "You would tempt me so, Ar-Feiniel?" he murmured, his voice carrying the lilt of a melody unspoken. "To be drawn into your mischief is a fate neither light nor unwelcome, yet I fear the wrath of Turgon should he find us embroiled in such schemes. It is one thing to brighten the halls of Gondolin; it is quite another to dim his temper."

Her head rested upon his shoulder, and he felt the weight of her presence—not burdensome but grounding, like the surety of a friend at one’s side in a storm. He turned his gaze from the white stones of the city to the horizon beyond, as though seeing not the walls but the world she so longed to touch. "I know well your dauntlessness," he said, his tone gentling. "And I would be remiss if I did not cherish it. Few there are in Gondolin or beyond who could match the courage you carry so lightly, like a feather in your hair. Yet, my dear, I would not see that bold heart put to peril for my sake."

He paused, the words tempered by sincerity. "Still, if you would have it so—if you would carry bow and blade to guard my blind side—then I must vow the same for you." He leaned his head briefly against hers, the gold of his hair mingling with the raven-black of hers, a contrast as striking as the two souls entwined in quiet understanding.

"Easy roads, you say, have never been your way? Then let it be the hard paths we tread together, for I can think of no better companion than you, Ar-Feiniel." His free hand rose, brushing lightly against hers where it rested on his arm, a gesture both steadying and sincere. "And, perhaps, a measure of mischief to keep the road interesting. I should expect nothing less from my most favored companion."

hewwooooo

will be here tomorrow fam!

you can bother me on discord: caliofhousestark

#｟ interactions ｠ ⸻ ▻ dcviline .#dcviline #｟ interactions ｠ ⸻ ▻ arien the maia.#he is outside her window with a boombox

@dcviline asked: ❝ There is none as beautiful as you in all this world, nor is there any light that shines brighter. ❞ (melkor & arien)

Arien stood still, her radiance undimmed even in the presence of the Dark Lord. The fiery essence of her being shimmered, casting golden light across the shadowed expanse where he stood. His words were a thread of silk. The Maia remains unwavered but eyes look like flames as they direct gaze toward the Lord.

Her lips, curved like the edge of a crescent sun, formed a faint, almost imperceptible smile. Yet her voice, when it came, was steady as the eternal fire she bore. ❝Beautiful, you say? Brighter than all?❞ she repeated, her tone tinged with a warmth that could not be mistaken for kindness. ❝Strange, that one who cloaks himself in darkness would speak of such things. What need have you for light, unless it is to devour it?❞

Surely, he intends to ravish her until none of her light remains to be seen for the world. He is drawn to the light as much as he would like to choke her for it. Most do. Her gaze was unyielding, her golden eyes ablaze. She stepped closer, her radiance forcing the encroaching shadows to recoil.

❝You may flatter me, but my light is not yours to claim. It shines for the world, not for the likes of you.❞

morgoth obsessed with arien. get the hint, my man.

ㅤㅤㅤ𝐈𝐓 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐎 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐃 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐒𝐀𝐔𝐑𝐎𝐍, 𝐀𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐀𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐕𝐄. The attack of the orcs seemed to come with perfect timing, and if merely serendipitous, it was still in the deceiver's favor. Not that it matters. Purposeful or coincidental, Eregion has fallen, and the orcs played their part. As did she. Uneasy under his gaze, Mirdania's arms cross protectively over her body; or, at least, they attempt to, the pain in her right arm causing her to merely cradle it with the other instead. Adar eyes burrow too deeply into her own, and she wonders, what is the purpose of this? To watch her despair for a fleeting moment before he puts an end to her? To keep her alive for his own amusement? But rather than flinch away again, she instead dares to look deeper; to face the dread before her, unknowing if he would be her slayer or her savior. And in his eyes, she finds an understanding she did not expect.

ㅤㅤㅤHer brows knit themselves together, confused, wary, afraid of any further deceptions. She was deceived so easily before. She cannot allow herself to fall for such falsities again. But Adar, despite his fearsome presence and the danger of his unknown intentions, seems genuine in his tale of betrayal. His malice for Sauron is clear enough. But what does that say for the rest of his intentions? He still razed Eregion. She watched his orcs slaughter her kin and thought they would do the same to her. ❝ If you wish for sanctuary, then why attack Eregion? Why lead your kin into battle to slay mine, if peace is truly what you wish for? You sound like ─ ❞ Like him. Like Annatar, when she had been distracted by the grand beauty of his claims. Mirdania musters what is left of her resolve, answering the challenge in his eyes. ❝ What good does it do to try and fix this injustice you see in the world if you must break it to make it so? You will become exactly what you claim to despise. ❞

ㅤㅤㅤYet part of her believes him, that his intentions are as he claims. More like she wants to believe him. That he could be genuine. The enmity between elves and orcs is nothing new, and her kind have surely slain a thousand orcs for every fallen elf. Despite it all, he claims there is strength in her survival. She does not feel so strong. Her survival feels as if it was only a matter of chance. But there is something enticing about the idea of sanctuary. What is she now, if not another broken thing left in Sauron's wake? In that way, they are indeed alike. Still, her resolve falters, the sting of fresh betrayal rising once more, mingling with her distrust of Adar's intentions. ❝ Do not toy with me. Do not tell me words you do not mean. ❞ Her voice shakes, a tremble in her hands as she holds herself together, though a tear at last breaches and rolls down a bruised cheek. ❝ You do not . . . you cannot mean what you say. At least give me the dignity of an honest hatred, for I cannot bear anymore false kindness. Please. ❞

#dcviline #｟ interactions ｠ ⸻ ▻ dcviline .#｟ interactions ｠ ⸻ ▻ adar.

Adar regarded Mirdania with intensity as if his stare could swift the air between them, as if it might shatter under the weight of unspoken truths. Her trembling voice, the tear tracing the line of her bruised cheek, and the rawness in her words were not unfamiliar to him. How many others had stood before him in such despair? How many had begged for an honesty he could not give?

His expression, stoic yet burdened, did not waver. He stepped closer, slow enough that the fragile moment between them did not collapse into chaos. When he spoke, his voice carried the deep, steady cadence of a man shaped by loss and a purpose that left no room for regret. ❝You mistake me for one who toys with truths,❞ he began, his tone neither defensive nor conciliatory, but something sharper—resolute. ❝I do not offer kindness, false or otherwise. What I offer is clarity. The world is broken. Your kind broke it first. My kind broke it further. And the one you call Sauron—he would see it shattered into dust.❞

He let the silence stretch, his eyes never leaving hers, as if daring her to challenge him. ❝You ask why Eregion fell, why I led my kin to war. But tell me—when did the elves offer sanctuary to those like me? To those you deemed twisted and beyond redemption?❞ His gaze darkened, though the fire in it was not anger but something more profound—grief, perhaps, or a wearied understanding. ❝You speak of injustice as if you are its arbiter, but your kind did not weep for the first orc to die beneath an elven blade. You built your sanctuary atop the bones of those you would not call kin.❞

Adar took another step forward, close enough now that the jagged edge of his scarred features was stark in the dim light. He looked down at her, not with menace, but with a weighty sadness that seemed carved into his very being. "Eregion was lost the moment Sauron set his eye upon it. It's future cemented the moment Celebrimbor let him into his mind and work." he said, softer now, though the weight in his words remained. ❝I do not seek your belief. But know this—I have no desire to become him. I act not out of love for destruction but out of necessity. A new world cannot rise without breaking the chains of the old. You see ruin; I see the seed of something different. Better.❞

❝You do not trust me, nor should you. But neither should you mistake me for what I am not. I do not offer you salvation, Mirdania. I offer you survival. Whether you find strength in that or not is your choice.❞ His eyes lingered on her a moment longer, searching for something—perhaps a flicker of understanding, or perhaps merely the measure of her resolve. Then, almost imperceptibly, he stepped back.

ㅤㅤㅤ❝ 𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊? ❞ It feels wrong to have her look upon him in such a way, for her eyes to be absent of the light he had grown so familiar with. He misses that look in her eyes the way one would miss an old friend, something once so comforting, even when it was wrong. This is his fault that she is so wounded. Not the wounds of the Witch-King's dying curse, but the wounds of a heart treated carelessly. And yet she has the grace to smile. The smallest thing, yet it cuts right through his armor, through his stoicism. Aragorn lifts his gaze, a shake of his head given. ❝ It was never your strength I doubted. My doubt was only ever in myself. ❞

ㅤㅤㅤHis hands rise, cautious, yet certain of their necessity, gentle as they come to lay against the tops of her arms, holding her as if to stop a retreat. But whose retreat does he fear most? Hers, or his own? He'd fled from her before, thinking he was sparing her from a worse heartbreak, yet he'd only wounded her in the process. She could have died not knowing. She could have died believing his sudden departure to be her own fault. How can he forgive himself for that? ❝ No, I have never seen you as a fragile thing, Eowyn. You are as brave as the heroes of old, a strong a warrior as any, and you have done what no man could. That honor is yours, and none shall ever take it from you. ❞ His fingers squeeze lightly against her arms, softly, as if to root her in the gravity of all the unspoken things that linger upon his tongue. ❝ I know you would have given your life for Rohan. But . . . I'm afraid I'm selfish in that regard. You are too precious to lose. ❞

ㅤㅤㅤWhat a frightful sight it was to see her fallen upon the battlefield, cradled in her brother's arms, and the time spent waiting just to see if she would ever wake again were the most brutal hours of his life. One hand follows the path of her limb, carefully holding her injured arm through the loose fabric of her sleeve. An injury he had tended to himself. He wonders if she had known he was there, how he had stayed at her side through it all, but he will never be able to express the true terror he felt knowing at any moment she could have slipped away into death. ❝ I feigned ignorance. I denied you because I thought it would save you grief. I was a fool, and I lied when I told you that you loved only a shadow. I was afraid that you would see something true if you looked further. ❞

ㅤㅤㅤThe muscles through his neck and jaw tense, and even now he wars within himself if this is the right thing to do. She deserves the truth, even if it has come too late. Aragorn has never been good with matters of the heart, and saying aloud what lies within is, at times, an impossible task for him. He bids himself to say it, plainly and truly, but his words fail him, halted by a shaky breath. Yet his eyes hold the unspoken truth, full of warmth and an unmistakable longing. He steps closer, bringing a hand to brush fingertips tenderly against her cheek, whispering the same words she had spoken to him on that fateful night they parted. ❝ Do you not know? ❞

#dcviline #｟ interactions ｠ ⸻ ▻ dcviline .#oop #｟ interactions ｠ ⸻ ▻ eowyn.

Eowyn's breath caught as Aragorn’s words washed over her, each one a tide pulling her further from the stoic defenses she had built around her wounded heart. His hands on her arms were steady and warm, a silent plea for her to stay rooted before him. She wanted to retreat, to preserve what little dignity she had left, but the gravity of his voice—his confession—held her fast.

Her lips parted, but no words came. Instead, her gaze locked onto his, searching for a lie and finding none. His eyes, dark as the stormy skies over the Riddermark, brimmed with a truth that he had kept buried far too long. It was there, plain for her to see, and it shattered something inside her that she had clung to for so long: the belief that she had never truly mattered to him.

She swallowed hard, her voice soft yet unyielding. “You think to mend this now, after all that has passed? After you left me with naught but broken dreams and a shadow of your memory?” The ache in her voice betrayed her, but she did not care. Let him see it, let him know. “I wanted to fight beside you, to die beside you if need be. And you would not have it.”

Aragorn’s hand rose, brushing against her cheek, a touch so tender it made her throat tighten. His whispered words were a balm and a torment, echoing her own plea from what felt like another lifetime. The world seemed to still. Eowyn’s heart thundered, her thoughts a whirlwind of anger, longing, and something she dared not name. He had no right to say these things, not now, not when she had fought so hard to let him go. And yet, the look in his eyes—the raw vulnerability, the unspoken yearning—was more than she could bear.

Her hand moved before she realized what she was doing, fingers curling over his where they rested on her face. Her breath trembled, and the barriers she had erected crumbled like so much sand beneath the tide. And then she closed the space between them, rising onto her toes as her lips claimed his in a kiss that was fierce, desperate, and unrelenting. It was not gentle, nor was it perfect, way to fast ending once reason came back to her mind. He belonged to another, did he not? Her free hand gripped his tunic as if to tether him to her, to keep him from fleeing again.

For a moment, the world was just them—no war, no sorrow, no shadows. Just the taste of hope and the weight of a love that had always been there, waiting. She parts from his lips as eyes open, half ashamed, half curious. "Are you giving false hope once again? I would not be capable of enduring such a thing, Aragorn."

added muses:

ARIEN THE MAIA: A Maia of fire and light, Arien guided the Sun through the skies, a role granted by the Valar. Her courage outshone her peers, standing against Melkor's darkness. Once a spirit of the Sun's flame, Arien's radiance embodies warmth and purity. Fearless and devoted, she remains steadfast and luminous.

TAURIEL: A skilled Silvan Elf and captain of Thranduil’s guard, Tauriel is a master archer and swordswoman. Her compassionate heart and rebellious nature set her apart, forming bonds beyond Elvenkind. Brave and resourceful, she challenges traditions for love and justice, embodying strength and grace in the face of rigid authority.

#out.#come love my new girlies

ㅤㅤㅤ𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐍 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐀𝐏 𝐎𝐅 𝐀 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐈𝐌𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐘. For all of his strength, Aragorn cannot help but fall weak in his stern convictions the moment he meets her eyes again. He cannot help but look upon her softly, perhaps far beyond what he should allow. And Eowyn, when she finally answers, is more gracious than he ever deserved of her. Aragorn struggles to return his own reply, every attempt to measure his thoughts a failure, trying to find a way to say enough without saying too much. What she needs, what she deserves, is the truth and nothing less. But the truth is a damning thing. Something that may only tear the wounds wider.

ㅤㅤㅤYet all the same, he finds himself helpless. She invokes a gentleness in him that he has not felt since Arwen departed on her journey west. It is not a feeling that comes without guilt, as much as he has played ignorant to it. No, he knew all along, no matter how he denied it. His destiny lies before him now, that as a king rather than a misplaced heir of a cursed line. And a king should be a man of honor. A man of honesty. He knew, when he left to confront the ghosts in the Paths of the Dead, that he had hurt her with his words, despite the intent otherwise. It would have been better to spare her a lifetime of pain when he was all but certain to die before the war's end. But he was wrong to think a lie would save her. Or that a lie could kill a flame that had been lit.

ㅤㅤㅤ❝ You were no fool, Eowyn, ❞ Aragorn finally finds his next words. ❝ And I was not innocent in this. ❞ If he was wiser, he would have discouraged her from the beginning. But he didn't. That's the most damning truth of all. That her feelings were not misplaced, and she was not wrong to believe that he might have returned them. ❝ I thought it would have been best for both of us to leave things be. Destiny is a ruinous thing, and I could not have you follow me into doom. But when I heard that you had joined the battle anyway, that you had been harmed slaying the Witch-King ─ ❞ He steps closer, a sudden silence befalling him, all his worries evident in his eyes. Rarely does he ever reveal so much, but his stoicism is cast aside in earnest. Aragorn's eyes fall away, a heavy breath taken, as if the weight of his own words falls like lead upon his tongue.

ㅤㅤㅤ❝ I had to see you. And I ask of you, do not try to join us when we ride for Mordor. Stay and heal and let my mind be eased knowing you are safe. ❞ She stands before him as a proud woman of Rohan, a warrior worthy of her glory, yet it is the tender remnant in her voice that causes his own head to bow, as if he is unworthy of such lingering softness from her. He could die tomorrow, but he dares not leave her as he had the first time he rode away to his destiny. This time she deserves the truth, as hard as it may be for him to speak it aloud. His head still bowed, Aragorn whispers, as if repenting from a great sin. And confessing another at the same time. ❝ I lied to you, Eowyn. That is why I ask for forgiveness. ❞

#dcviline #｟ interactions ｠ ⸻ ▻ dcviline .#screaming

Éowyn stood before him, white dress catching the golden light of the setting sun, though she looked more a shieldmaiden than a lady of court, the dirt of battle stick to her skin despite a thorough bath. Her hands, which had once wielded a sword against the Witch-King of Angmar, were steady at her sides, though Aragorn's words shook her more deeply than any battlefield ever had.

For a moment, Éowyn said nothing. The silence stretched, her gaze unwavering. There was no anger in her eyes, though, nor the unyielding fire that had once defined her every look toward him. What she felt now was quieter, deeper—an ache borne of both clarity and resignation.

“I am no child to be spared harsh truths, Aragorn. I never was. I was never wounded by those actions but doubt. You doubted my strength.” Most men had done that to her. Her chin lifted, and for the first time, a faint smile touched her lips, bittersweet but unbroken. “But I am still here. I stood before the Black Breath and the Witch-King himself, and I prevailed. Do you not see? I need no forgiveness, no lies meant to spare me. What I need is for you to know that I am not the fragile thing you feared I might be.”

Her voice softened then, though her resolve did not waver. “You ask me to stay, to heal, to let you ride into the fire without me. I will do as you ask as my strength lies in standing true to myself, in fighting the battles that are mine to fight.” He is a man of so little words at times and yet, he seems to know what to say. "How have you lied to me, Aragorn?" A short pause as the dread of the upcoming hours fall upon them and Eowyn holds her breath for far longer than one should. "A battle is upon us. Do not let the possibility of death leave doubt. Tell me."

my brain has been planning things for arien the maia so hard that i might make her a solo blog. or a sideblog.

#out.#my inability to keep multis as multis

ㅤㅤㅤ𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋. How long has it been since she fell? An hour? A day? A week? Consciousness has drifted in and out of blurry reality and the darkness that lies between the boundaries of life and death. Every breath has been fought for desperately against the crushed pain inside of her ribcage. Her right shoulder feels wrong; very, very wrong. And her face . . . she is afraid to look, even to catch a glimpse of herself in a puddle's reflection. She can feel the caked blood on the right side, the burning sting of injured flesh. It would have been kinder to kill her outright. What hatred could she possibly have fostered to deserve such a fate? To be cast down to the orcs and left to die?

ㅤㅤㅤ❝ No, my life is not so precious. That much has been made abundantly clear to me. ❞ Eyes once so bright and hopeful fall empty, too drained to even muster a tear. Everything feels broken, not only pieces of her body. With every slow blink she prays she will wake from this awful dream, that it will have only been a nightmare, but instead she is left only with the terrible reality before her. His movements catch her attention, flinching as he comes closer, eyes drawing up to find his face. But when his voice softens, when he speaks of Annatar , no, Sauron, her empty eyes fill with a torrent of emotions, shock and sadness and fear.

ㅤㅤㅤ❝ We were familiar, yes. Or so I thought. I didn't know he was ─ ❞ Mirdania blinks again, brows furrowing as her jaw trembles. ❝ He deceived us all. ❞ And the thought fills her with anger, and grief, and lungs full of regret. She turned on her master for him. What part had she played in the downfall of the great Celebrimbor? He did no wrong, yet she rallied the others against him, convinced of his decline by a fair face. Now her mentor is dead, and it is her fault. Her city has been destroyed, and it is her fault. ❝ I didn't realize it until I hit the ground, what he had truly done. I had thought he was our savior sent from the Valar themselves. I thought I was helping. ❞ Mirdania's anger twists bitterly, accusative as she looks upon the orc-father, despite the fear that grips her. What more does she have to fear? The worst has already been done. ❝ And what are you? His ally? Come to give the finishing blow to Eregion while he destroyed us from within? ❞

#dcviline #｟ interactions ｠ ⸻ ▻ dcviline .

Adar stood in the dim light, his figure shadowed but unyielding. His face, lined with the weight of ages, betrayed neither anger nor pity, but something deeper—something unreadable, a blend of contemplation and restrained sorrow. He regarded Mirdania as one might regard a cracked mirror: fragmented, each shard reflecting truths twisted by pain. It was the nature of all elves in the end. He himself was but a shattered reflection of who he was. His name hidden even to himself.

“You misunderstand me,” Adar said, his voice low and deliberate, dramatically pausing as he considers his own words before speaking. “I am no ally of this Annatar or Sauron, nor do I bear the banner of his lies. He is a deceiver, a corrupter, and his betrayal reaches deeper than even you know.” His own betrayal too run deep and he recognizes that Sauron could twist anyone. Even his own children.

He stepped closer, his movements deliberate yet soft, like a predator approaching its wounded prey—not to kill, but to inspect the damage. Adar paused, his dark eyes locking with hers. The torrent of emotion in her gaze did not stir disdain in him, nor triumph, but a flicker of understanding. “You think your pain is unique,” he continued, his tone neither accusatory nor gentle. “That the fall you endured is greater than any other. But I was cast down long before you, betrayed by the same fair-faced liar you now curse. Sauron betrayed my kind—twisted us, broke us—and yet still, we endure.”

Sauron The Deceiver. Mairon the Admirable, how those two things were two sides of the same coin. Treason had never looked so beautiful in his eyes. He had willingly taken the pain Sauron offered to stop that of Morgoth. And yet, the cycle remained. “I do not come to finish what he started,” Adar said, his voice softening like the edge of a blade dulled by use. “I seek to create something new. A sanctuary for those who have been discarded and broken by the world of men, elves, and gods. You were thrown to the orcs to die, yes—but here you are. Alive.”

He tilted his head slightly, his gaze piercing yet oddly inviting, as though daring her to challenge him. “Do you see the irony, Mirdania? You fell believing you had no worth, yet you have survived. There is strength in that, whether you choose to see it or not.”

so. . .arien the maia yes?