#eonweweek

[quinthejester]

Eönwë Week - War

I couldn't help myself, I had to draw a showdown between Eönwë and Sauron during the War of Wrath. I think Sauron gets decimated lmao

@eonweweek

[cilil]

Eönwë Week - Day 1: Genesis

𓅛 Characters: Eönwë, Manwë & Eru 𓅛 Synopsis: The first of the Maiar awakens. 𓅛 Warnings: / 𓅛 Triple drabble

He comes into existence with one timid note of song, akin to a gasp of breath, and the first thing he senses is that he's held by a mighty presence and watched by others, like him but bigger. 

The young spirit curls in on himself, frightened.

"Behold the first of the Maiar." 

The others draw closer now, reaching out to make themselves known. He avoids them at first, until suddenly he senses one who feels familiar. 

They are... alike, this older spirit and he. 

"Father," a voice exclaims then, "Father, I sense that he shares my element. Will he be like me?"

"In a way, yes," the presence — Father — says. "The Maiar shall be the younger of the Ainur, smaller in stature and sharing the elements and domains of you, the Valar. Your task will be to teach and guide them, and their task will be to learn and serve."

Father brings him closer to the older spirit, and he finally uncurls just enough to see. Yes, that one is less frightening; his spirit feels warm, kind and gentle like a summer breeze, though the newborn Maia doesn't know yet what it means. 

He reaches out, just one tiny, trembling tendril of spirit, and is pulled closer. It's comfortable around this Vala, he thinks happily; in the future he will remember this moment being akin to a baby bird hiding in its parent's plumage. 

"What is his name, Father?" 

"He will be swift and he will be steadfast, strong like the mightiest of your creatures, yet gentle at heart, like you. He will dutifully carry your messages and fiercely defend those he holds dear." 

Father pauses. Then — 

"His name shall be Eönwë."

"Hello, little Eönwë," the Vala coos, delighted. "I am called Manwë."

And Eönwë has loved him ever since. 

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@stormchaser819 @urwendii @wandererindreams @eonweweek

[eonweweek]

Hello everyone! In a little more than a month Eönwë Week will run and we are very excited to see what you will come up with.

Here are the prompts for the event:

🦅 August 12th: -> Genesis | Air | Almaren

🦅 August 13th: -> Friendships | Herald | Valinor

🦅 August 14th: -> War | Celeg Aithorn | Beleriand

🦅 August 15th: -> Romance | Mercy | Taniquetil

🦅 August 16th: -> Lost Tales | He Of The Sun | Son of Manwë

🦅 August 17th: -> Eagles | Duty | Noldor

🦅 August 18th: -> Freeform

See you soon !

[elennalore]

A drabble (100 words), Mairon/Eönwë. Rated: T. Written for @eonweweek Day 4. Prompt: romance.

Mairon had not stopped loving Eönwë. He loved his lithe, muscular body and his bright blue eyes, he loved Eönwë’s arms wrapped around him. Eönwë’s kisses were passionate, his touches tender and Mairon submitted to him willingly. How focused Eönwë always was, how joyful when he opened his winds and glided in the air. His element was air, and Mairon’s was fire, and for a long time Mairon thought that there would not be one without another.

Mairon had not stopped loving Eönwë, but the desire to leap into the unknown became overwhelming. He let go of him and leaped.

[ms-trash-panda]

Day 2 for @eonweweek

"Lessons in war"

Prompt: Friendships      

Pairing: Eönwë & Ingwion

Themes: Soft

Warnings: None

Word count: 1K words

Summary: As preparation for the War of Wrath, Eönwë trains his friend, Prince Ingwion, on the art of swordplay.

A/n: for this story, I wrote Telimektar as being a Maia who serves Tulkas.

“You did well for your first lesson,” Eönwë said, “but there is more to be done, my prince.”

Ingwion sighed. He had been thrown to the dirt with ease, and he prayed none of the others bore witness to his defeat. Presently he said, “What must I do, my lord?”

“You must watch the placement of your feet,” Eönwë said, extending his hand, “the swing of your body, and the flow of your arms. If you do not, they will betray your every move to the enemy, just like they betrayed your every move to me mere moments ago. Come. Let us try again.” 

Prince Ingwion grasped the hand that was offered and was pulled back to his feet. “I fear my hands were crafted for the wielding of quills,” he said, his chest heaving from exertion. “And my feet and body were made for the elegance of dance, never the elegance of swordplay. But I will try again, my lord. I swore an oath when I answered the call to arms, and I mean to honor it.”   

“Good.” Eönwë returned the prince’s sword, and he went back to his own position. All around them the sounds of swords clashing, and flails and maces smashing against heavy armor and shields, filled the air. A great war loomed before them, and the warriors who answered the call to arms tested one another to their limits in Valimar’s great sparring yard. They could not afford to fail; to do so meant that Melkor would gain complete mastery of Endorë and possibly beyond. “Now take your place,” the Maia commanded, “and let us begin.”

Ingwion took a moment to compose himself. Then he charged at his opponent with a cry and swung his sword. Eönwë answered with greater skill and swiftness. The sheer force of his blade striking true made the prince grit his teeth in pain. Nevertheless, Ingwion preserved, and he pressed forward a second time. Eönwë did not falter. He countered without a moment’s hesitation, his sword slicing through the air in a glittering silvery arc. It rang with a great clangor as steel cut into steel. Ingwion, shocked, drew back and glanced at his sword; it bore a deep notch.

“Again,” Eönwë said. “Attack me again.” 

The elf circled him, alert and silent. He could never best Eönwë; no elf could ever best a Maia who was at their most powerful. Still, he had to try. He was the crown prince, after all, and it was he who had to lead the Vanyar in the war that was to come. He could not call an end to the fighting so quickly.

The others finished their training. They gathered around the prince and the herald in a circle to watch. Some even held wagers. Ingwion paid little attention to them. He set his thoughts on the one before him instead and tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword, determined to do better. Eönwë smiled, and he waited. 

Ingwion pressed the attack for the third time. Eönwë countered him with a masterful swing of the sword, and he forced him back. The prince narrowed his eyes. Then he lunged with all his might. Eönwë was prepared for this. In one swift move, he slid to the side, his blade glinting as it caught the golden light of the sun. It fell before anyone could even perceive it, knocking the sword clean out of Ingwion’s hand. The prince stopped, gasping for breath. He turned to face his friend and mentor, ashamed he had failed so easily. 

“Do not give your heart over to shame and disappointment,” Eönwë counseled. He picked up the fallen sword and returned it to the prince. “Failure must be expected, especially now that you have only just begun your training. And you have much time still, to master the sword.” 

“You are not angry?”

“I am not, my friend. Besides, I am Ainu. You are elf-kind. I can never expect you to unarm me.” 

The others left, talking quietly among themselves. Ingwion, on the other hand, followed Eönwë to the little hall, where warriors would gather to eat and drink. Here, beneath the light of gilded lamps affixed to hooks in the ceiling, they kept to themselves and dined on a simple meal of bread and stew and wild berries in honey. An attendant pressed a cup of golden Miruvórë into the prince’s hand. He took a sip and sighed in contentment. The beverage was warm and fragrant, and it revived him, filled him with renewed vigor, and drove away the aches he felt in his limbs. 

“You did well, truly,” Eönwë said. He savored a spoonful of stew, and a small bite of bread. “And you must not be disheartened by your loss. War is wholly new to the Vanyar, and the use of weapons besides. I will teach you all that I know. And I will guide you when we are in Endorë. You will not have to shoulder your burdens alone.”

“Tis strange,” Ingwion said. Another attendant set down a platter of tiny fish roasted to crackling on their table. The prince helped himself to a few, closing his eyes in delight when they crunched between his teeth. “Before the Mariner arrived, you and I whiled away our hours indulging in poetry and delicious food and song. Now, we must spend our time learning the many intricacies of war. I must confess, I never thought such a thing possible.”

“Aye,” Eönwë agreed. “War was not thought of by many, until elf rose against elf in Alqualondë.”

“There you are!” Telimektar cried. The Maia of Tulkas stood by the lip of the doorway, his harp in hand. He was not alone. Ilmarë stood a pace behind him, her silver-pink hair woven into thick braids. “Dining by yourselves and speaking quietly. This will not do. This will not do at all.”

“What do you propose, my lord?” Ingwion said, beaming. No chamber remained quiet for long after Telimektar arrived. 

“A song,” Telimektar told him. He crossed over to the table where the prince and the herald sat, and he found a seat for himself by Ingwion’s left. Ilmarë found herself a seat by Eönwë’s right. “What say you, my lords? My lady? Would any of you care for a melody or two?” 

“A song would do just nicely,” Eönwë said. He grinned when he caught the twinkle in Telimaktar’s eyes. The Maia would sing a bawdy air, no doubt, and make them all flush from cheek to chest. “Begin, my friend! Grace our ears with something delightful.”

tags: @cilil @asianbutnotjapanese

[quinthejester]

Eönwë Week - Freeform

my magnificent bird boi

@eonweweek

[quinthejester]

Eönwë Week - Son of Manwë

Wanted to draw out a design for Eönwë so here it is! I will probably colour soon.

@eonweweek

[cilil]

Eönwë Week - Day 4: Romance

AN: Inspired by this artwork by @cyraes, but creative liberties taken - mine is set in canonverse and the sword is a different one (you can find the Celeg Aithorn meta here).

𓅛 Characters: Eönwë x Arien 𓅛 Synopsis: Arien has become guardian and priestess of the sun. Eönwë receives her blessing. 𓅛 Warnings: Just Eönwë being weird about things 𓅛 Double drabble

Arien was utterly glorious, garbed in the regalia of a sun priestess. 

Eönwë would have fallen to his knees even if he hadn't been expected to kneel, ready to receive her blessing. He didn't dare to look up when she approached, his eyes only spying her flowing red gown. 

"Your sword." Arien's voice was bright and clear, and Eönwë obeyed without hesitation. 

Blade resting on his palms, head still bowed, he held it up for her to take. 

"You bring me none other than Celeg Aithorn, the Elder King's sword?" 

"It is his wish that I shall wield it in his stead," Eönwë explained. 

"Very well then." 

Gracefully, Arien accepted the sword, held it out in front of herself, let it hover above his dutifully bowing form. 

She could strike him down if she wanted to, Eönwë thought. Strangely enough, this didn't bother him; he didn't mind submitting himself to her every whim and pleasure. 

Perhaps she should strike him down for having such thoughts in the first place. 

Yet Arien merely spoke a prayer in their ancient tongue, causing the blade to be bathed in a golden, fiery light. 

"...and shall protect you, always." 

Filled with gratitude, Eönwë smiled. 

taglist: @asianbutnotjapanese @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @blauerregen @bluezenzennie @edensrose

@elanna-elrondiel @eunoiaastralwings @i-did-not-mean-to @just-little-human @singleteapot

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