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Description

Oh Eru. It's a crazy ass design but I really am starting to dig my Eru. What other insane person decides Eru shouldn't be depicted as some super pretty man-God but as some creepy bodiless entity that uses masks to show his emotion?? In other news I've decided, after much indecision, to just go ahead and actually try and write story snippets to go with whatever panels I come up with for DS, including writing ones for some of the beginning ones where I was not even sure what the hell I was doing. I hate to write since I don't think of myself as a decent enough at it or one with enough knowledge on Tolkien's works to do so but it's hard as hell to have illustrations without a story to go with it. One should expect only the most horrible writing/storyline imaginable that can only be compared to the drivel that they like to put on the 'Lifetime Movie Network', or as I like to call it the "All men are bad network". Watch their movies and you'll see what I mean people.

---

Long after Melkor’s looming shadow melded into the stifling darkness, Mairon lay curled on the ground where he had been left. He had neither the strength nor willpower to lift himself from the cold floor and even if he had he would not have dared follow after his master. Melkor had made it viciously obvious he desired to suffer in silent solitude. The frightful Vala had also made it terribly clear by way of harsh insults and hands that his once favorable views toward his Lieutenant were seemingly no more. The singular trust and darkly zealous love the man once offered, first through stolen moments outside of Aulë’s stern sights, had been revoked in most violent fashion to match the fiery intensity of their one time love.

Despite the agonizing pain Melkor inflicted on him it was this realization that hurt Mairon most of all. Any pain, be it physical or metaphysical, couldn't begin to compare to the emotional turmoil that was brought upon him by Melkor’s blame on him and their relationship for his defeat at the War of Wrath. The only thing that could begin to compare to his despair at that moment was when he’d been separated from his ring by Isildur’s hand. And yet even that too seemed to pale in comparison.

Everything he’d done in his bid to conquer Middle-earth after Melkor’s fall had been with the fallen Vala’s memory following him. He’d done it all for him. Mairon would have been a liar if he did not admit to fantasizing about his master returning from the Void to find the world offered up on a silver platter by his hand. He had visualized just how pleased his master would have been… but it seemed that was not to be his fate. His fate had been sealed by a measly band of troublesome men, dwarves, elves, and hobbits. And Melkor was well aware. Acutely so it seemed. Not only had Melkor beat him for his blame of him as the cause of his downfall but he had berated him severely between his lashings for his failure at overpowering the creatures of Middle-earth in his absence. Melkor’s hissed words of “Worthless. No servant of mine would ever fall to some pathetic hobbit, Mairon” were still echoing in Mairon’s mind that made his initial shame and humiliation of the fact worse 100 fold.

Mairon tired to ignore the burn of tears he had not let fall since the time he had held a battered and bloodied Melkor in the depths of Angband, begging and tugging uselessly on him to try and get his master on his feet. The room around seemed to darken into nothingness as he curled in on himself, assaulted by newfound feelings of worthlessness and loneliness at that moment. Once he’d been so proud and completely incapable of such feelings. He’d been one of the strongest of the Maiar and Aulë’s finest artificer. He’d been Melkor’s closest confidant and adored lover. He’d been a skilled warrior, able to twist the laws of magic to his will or expertly find the weakest link in any man’s armor to thrust a sword into. He’d twisted the minds of others with his clever schemes and brought the world to its knees as the dreaded “Sauron”.

But that was all in the past, was it not? Just an archaic memory of times bygone. Now he was simply a shadow of his former self. Powerless and utterly alone with no one he could turn to for any form of aid. Melkor, so far changed and hardened from his time in the Void, no longer wanted him – blamed him for the past even - and he was not foolish enough to even consider that the other Valar would ever accept him again. He would not doubt if Aulë would strike him down himself should he step foot in Valinor for surely his former master would harbor the most resentment over his original traitorous turn from him. For the first time Mairon had no idea on what he should do. Not even an inkling of one. So he simply did all he could at that moment. He embraced his tears, bringing his bruised arms close to his body and accepting the empty comfort of the chill air. With nothing other than his pain and confusion to dwell on came the ghostly remembered sobs of Nessa crying for her murdered husband, prickling his long ignored conscious with bitter feelings of remorse and shame for all that had happened. Even for all that he had done at Melkor’s side and beyond that.

Mairon was marginally aware of a shift in the air. It was minute. Barely noticeable. The cold air was replaced with an oddly familiar warmth he felt he should know but could not place. When he felt a comforting hand running through his hair he hoped to find Melkor. Through tear blurred vision he could see nothing however. There was no other being there other than himself. Before he could question his already shaky sanity a low hum filled his ears that began to blossom into an ethereal but wholly wonderful harmony.

There were many voices interwoven together that sung in a language that he could not discern and yet he knew that it was all one voice. He recognized the soothing voice but did not know why or perhaps it was a voice he had forced himself to forget long ago. Inexplicably the wordless music shifted and Mairon was able to understand what he now realized was not mere music but words.

“Be it intentional or not, he has always destroyed that which he touches…why stay when he will do the same to you? He corrupted your once bright spirit and led you astray. Is it not time for you to accept your judgment and return to the place from whence you came?”

Mairon eagerly allowed himself to accept some form of contentment from the unusually loving touch that soothed down his hair and along his shivering body as his weary mind thought over the mysterious entity’s question. His hand groped for the onyx stone ring that covered his left hand’s forefinger, rubbing a sluggish finger along the crudely made ring he’d kept as close to his person as he once did his ring of power. A trinket that was not a creation of his but that of his dark master, a thoughtful gift received in the height of Melkor’s rule ages before.

In spite of the turmoil Melkor’s return and apparent hate toward him had raised in him, the recent memory arose of that same man holding onto him in quiet desperation and singing his dark lullaby into his ear at times when the Vala had assumed him deafened by sleep. At length he finally answered, his raspy voice cracking on the simple reply that surmised his intention to not give up entirely on what he so desperately wanted back.

“…He still sings for me.”

The gentle hymn silenced immediately, the onetime soothing warmth giving way to the uncomfortable chill again. Mairon assumed the mysterious entity had fled at his vague response but he was proven wrong when he felt fingers running through the strands of his tussled hair once more. The voices picked up again, their song tinged with a tired sorrow.

“The decision is mine to make not yours and I have already decided what must be done. There will be judgment and I will come for you and your master.”

There was only a brief moment of fear and creeping realization of whom he had been speaking with before the singing died away again, the gentle hands leaving his hair but this time not to return. Mairon found himself alone again in the darkness as a numbing dread settled over him.

He now knew neither he nor Melkor would be facing Manwë’s judgment any longer but that of Eru Ilúvatar. And he could not begin to nor did he want to fathom what sort of punishment the Father of All had decided upon for them.

Eru still cares for even his most fucked up of children. True story.

---
Ultimately this is some sort of AU angbang art series called 'The Different Story' that follows a silly story idea I've had mulling around in my head for a while. Previous picture in the series here:


Mature Content

___

Tumblr: lae-rae-the-spoony-bard.tumblr…

Mairon and Eru(c) Tolkien
Design (c) me

Description

Oh Eru. It's a crazy ass design but I really am starting to dig my Eru. What other insane person decides Eru shouldn't be depicted as some super pretty man-God but as some creepy bodiless entity that uses masks to show his emotion?? In other news I've decided, after much indecision, to just go ahead and actually try and write story snippets to go with whatever panels I come up with for DS, including writing ones for some of the beginning ones where I was not even sure what the hell I was doing. I hate to write since I don't think of myself as a decent enough at it or one with enough knowledge on Tolkien's works to do so but it's hard as hell to have illustrations without a story to go with it. One should expect only the most horrible writing/storyline imaginable that can only be compared to the drivel that they like to put on the 'Lifetime Movie Network', or as I like to call it the "All men are bad network". Watch their movies and you'll see what I mean people.

---

Long after Melkor’s looming shadow melded into the stifling darkness, Mairon lay curled on the ground where he had been left. He had neither the strength nor willpower to lift himself from the cold floor and even if he had he would not have dared follow after his master. Melkor had made it viciously obvious he desired to suffer in silent solitude. The frightful Vala had also made it terribly clear by way of harsh insults and hands that his once favorable views toward his Lieutenant were seemingly no more. The singular trust and darkly zealous love the man once offered, first through stolen moments outside of Aulë’s stern sights, had been revoked in most violent fashion to match the fiery intensity of their one time love.

Despite the agonizing pain Melkor inflicted on him it was this realization that hurt Mairon most of all. Any pain, be it physical or metaphysical, couldn't begin to compare to the emotional turmoil that was brought upon him by Melkor’s blame on him and their relationship for his defeat at the War of Wrath. The only thing that could begin to compare to his despair at that moment was when he’d been separated from his ring by Isildur’s hand. And yet even that too seemed to pale in comparison.

Everything he’d done in his bid to conquer Middle-earth after Melkor’s fall had been with the fallen Vala’s memory following him. He’d done it all for him. Mairon would have been a liar if he did not admit to fantasizing about his master returning from the Void to find the world offered up on a silver platter by his hand. He had visualized just how pleased his master would have been… but it seemed that was not to be his fate. His fate had been sealed by a measly band of troublesome men, dwarves, elves, and hobbits. And Melkor was well aware. Acutely so it seemed. Not only had Melkor beat him for his blame of him as the cause of his downfall but he had berated him severely between his lashings for his failure at overpowering the creatures of Middle-earth in his absence. Melkor’s hissed words of “Worthless. No servant of mine would ever fall to some pathetic hobbit, Mairon” were still echoing in Mairon’s mind that made his initial shame and humiliation of the fact worse 100 fold.

Mairon tired to ignore the burn of tears he had not let fall since the time he had held a battered and bloodied Melkor in the depths of Angband, begging and tugging uselessly on him to try and get his master on his feet. The room around seemed to darken into nothingness as he curled in on himself, assaulted by newfound feelings of worthlessness and loneliness at that moment. Once he’d been so proud and completely incapable of such feelings. He’d been one of the strongest of the Maiar and Aulë’s finest artificer. He’d been Melkor’s closest confidant and adored lover. He’d been a skilled warrior, able to twist the laws of magic to his will or expertly find the weakest link in any man’s armor to thrust a sword into. He’d twisted the minds of others with his clever schemes and brought the world to its knees as the dreaded “Sauron”.

But that was all in the past, was it not? Just an archaic memory of times bygone. Now he was simply a shadow of his former self. Powerless and utterly alone with no one he could turn to for any form of aid. Melkor, so far changed and hardened from his time in the Void, no longer wanted him – blamed him for the past even - and he was not foolish enough to even consider that the other Valar would ever accept him again. He would not doubt if Aulë would strike him down himself should he step foot in Valinor for surely his former master would harbor the most resentment over his original traitorous turn from him. For the first time Mairon had no idea on what he should do. Not even an inkling of one. So he simply did all he could at that moment. He embraced his tears, bringing his bruised arms close to his body and accepting the empty comfort of the chill air. With nothing other than his pain and confusion to dwell on came the ghostly remembered sobs of Nessa crying for her murdered husband, prickling his long ignored conscious with bitter feelings of remorse and shame for all that had happened. Even for all that he had done at Melkor’s side and beyond that.

Mairon was marginally aware of a shift in the air. It was minute. Barely noticeable. The cold air was replaced with an oddly familiar warmth he felt he should know but could not place. When he felt a comforting hand running through his hair he hoped to find Melkor. Through tear blurred vision he could see nothing however. There was no other being there other than himself. Before he could question his already shaky sanity a low hum filled his ears that began to blossom into an ethereal but wholly wonderful harmony.

There were many voices interwoven together that sung in a language that he could not discern and yet he knew that it was all one voice. He recognized the soothing voice but did not know why or perhaps it was a voice he had forced himself to forget long ago. Inexplicably the wordless music shifted and Mairon was able to understand what he now realized was not mere music but words.

“Be it intentional or not, he has always destroyed that which he touches…why stay when he will do the same to you? He corrupted your once bright spirit and led you astray. Is it not time for you to accept your judgment and return to the place from whence you came?”

Mairon eagerly allowed himself to accept some form of contentment from the unusually loving touch that soothed down his hair and along his shivering body as his weary mind thought over the mysterious entity’s question. His hand groped for the onyx stone ring that covered his left hand’s forefinger, rubbing a sluggish finger along the crudely made ring he’d kept as close to his person as he once did his ring of power. A trinket that was not a creation of his but that of his dark master, a thoughtful gift received in the height of Melkor’s rule ages before.

In spite of the turmoil Melkor’s return and apparent hate toward him had raised in him, the recent memory arose of that same man holding onto him in quiet desperation and singing his dark lullaby into his ear at times when the Vala had assumed him deafened by sleep. At length he finally answered, his raspy voice cracking on the simple reply that surmised his intention to not give up entirely on what he so desperately wanted back.

“…He still sings for me.”

The gentle hymn silenced immediately, the onetime soothing warmth giving way to the uncomfortable chill again. Mairon assumed the mysterious entity had fled at his vague response but he was proven wrong when he felt fingers running through the strands of his tussled hair once more. The voices picked up again, their song tinged with a tired sorrow.

“The decision is mine to make not yours and I have already decided what must be done. There will be judgment and I will come for you and your master.”

There was only a brief moment of fear and creeping realization of whom he had been speaking with before the singing died away again, the gentle hands leaving his hair but this time not to return. Mairon found himself alone again in the darkness as a numbing dread settled over him.

He now knew neither he nor Melkor would be facing Manwë’s judgment any longer but that of Eru Ilúvatar. And he could not begin to nor did he want to fathom what sort of punishment the Father of All had decided upon for them.

Eru still cares for even his most fucked up of children. True story.

---
Ultimately this is some sort of AU angbang art series called 'The Different Story' that follows a silly story idea I've had mulling around in my head for a while. Previous picture in the series here:


Mature Content

___

Tumblr: lae-rae-the-spoony-bard.tumblr…

Mairon and Eru(c) Tolkien
Design (c) me