Mairon.

ancientxdelirium:

Wolf. (by TioMax80)

(via fuckyeahwolves)

Hi guys, my 1.5-year-long holiday is finally ending in July, and I have a ton of things I need to do before then, so it’s been on my mind for a while to cut down on tumblr around now. Cuz if I don’t I’ll just be sitting here for the next two months not doing much RPing cuz I feel like I should be doing other things, but not doing other things because I haven’t cut myself away from tumblr. 

So Mairon is going to take a long nap in my head~ But I may still be using this blog to write headcanons about him, or post passages from canon or something. Send him asks now and then, if you would. Perhaps I’ll return to threading in time, but for now I’m going to leave off~ I’m also ask-beleg (though I neglect him terribly xD) so I might hop on over there once in a while.

markedasinfernal:

‘Then at last his gaze was held; wall upon wall, battlement upon battlement, black, immeasurably strong, mountain of iron, gate of steel, tower of adamant…Barad-dûr, Fortress of Sauron’ - The Fellowship of the Ring

Barad-Dur, by Feliche

ji-indur asked: (Tell me-Meme) We found the ring, master. And we killed the fellowship to the last man. Only the wizard is still alive and he is awaiting you in your dungeon.

Where is the Ring? *eyes glazed and feverish with excitement* Did you not bring it? Give it to me. Now.

namelessterror asked: 6, 11 and 22

6: Eating habits and sample daily menu

My headcanon is that he doesn’t require sustenance. He probably also views it as a waste of time, unless he already has nothing to do. In which case he might eat whatever is offered (by servants) if it seems palatable to him (probably not likely in Barad-dûr at least xD)~ He does on occasion drink wine, however, and sometimes indulges in Thur’s blood-wine concoction.

11: Intellectual pursuits?

In my headcanon, sorcery (as opposed to the ‘magic’ of the Elves and other unfallen high beings) is science at a very high level. (See Clarke’s three laws~) Mairon is a scientist at heart—curious, inventive, experimental, etc. In the beginning his focus was discovering and understanding; when he joined Melkor it became how he might make /use/ of these things by understanding them (it probably would have gone on to this regardless of Melkor, but tempered with more prudence). I’m going off topic so *veers back* xD So yes his intellectual pursuits are sorcery, technology in all forms, invention/innovation, and so on.

That was before, anyway; he’s quite a dry husk of what he used to be now, in the RP.

And 22 is done already ^^

ji-indur asked: 22

22: Given a blank piece of paper, a pencil, and nothing to do, what would happen?

He’d probably start sketching some design he’s had in mind but hasn’t put down on paper yet~ The kinds of designs would depend on what Age of Arda it is. Early on they’d be the usual things—jewelry, armour, swords; around the early Second Age there would be lots of prototypes for rings, Barad-dûr, moving on to new weaponry and military machinery and the like. Or perhaps some creature he wishes to breed. Or maybe he invented origami, who knows xD

(Source: icarus-licorice, via belenwen)

ask-dolwethil:

ask-sauron:

Unforeseen, but useful, he thought, draping his heavy outer robe neatly over a couch. Mortal ceremonies were as irrelevant to them as the mortals’ insistence on clothing. At least here in the East they were far less uptight than the Men of the West, poisoned as they were by the Eldar. Equally agreeable were the Eastern ceremonies, in which no trace of Eru could be found, but where their oblations and adoration were presented to him. It had been well that Pharazôn had not upheld the traditional ascent of Meneltarma even before he had given Mairon his ear; the presence of the mountain towering above all the land had already irked him—being forced to witness the ceremony would have been hateful. 

But the mortals’ love of ceremony made them all the more easy to sway. Mairon would let this play out naturally; perhaps it was better that the priest had surprised them with the announcement—otherwise Thuringwethil might have protested, knowing the implications for her. Or worse, attempted to impose more of her conditions onto the matter. He would not discuss it with her, and left her remark unanswered.

He wandered out to the balcony. A strong wind was blowing, buffeting his hair and billowing the silken drapes hanging from the ceiling. Though he had not given her his answer, she made a point to make herself comfortable and nonchalant around him. Sometimes he humoured her, when the mood struck him, and put aside the question hanging obtrusively between them. But the time was ripening to get rid of it altogether. Once this ceremony was over, he would give his assent at last. 

Her eyes followed him as he moved silently outside, but she did not follow him herself, knowing he would come back to her later, when the fancy struck him.  He was brooding, no doubt, or perhaps thinking of the additional advantages he would have over her.  Marriage, she thought sourly, essentially ensured that the husband could (technically) control the wife, and she had no doubt he would use such leverage over her, should she push him in a way he disliked.  At least he was susceptible to her in other ways, she mused, arranging herself on the bed for his eyes when he returned.  Perhaps that would be the only means of control she would have left, over him, other than Gothmog.  And that would be a very tenuous chain that would hold them then.  She suppressed a sigh.

However, if he went the other way and agreed to her conditions, recognizing her as more useful when uninhibited, she would keep most of her freedom, at least between the two of them.  He still would have the leverage of their wedded state to hold at her throat, but it would be lessened by his promises—his nearly entirely untrustworthy promises.  One could hope, she mused wryly, not seeing the best case as the most likely.  He was desperate to have everything under his own control, and she was a thorn in his side as long as she was not on a leash.  Even though she had proven her loyalty multiple times, though independently, of course.

A sudden resignation came over her, and she dropped her pose, sinking into the bed quietly, burying her face in the fluffy pillows.  It was a moment of weakness, she knew, this collapse, this breach, but it washed over her strongly, and she fought herself, shakily resuming her position.  By the time he would enter, she would have her fana under control as usual.  There was no room to give into such emotional urges—sorrow and resignation and hopelessness would not solve anything.  Seductive smiles and long lashes and much manipulation would.

The day dragged by. Ceremonies and festivals were in every way a waste of time in Mairon’s eyes, unless he were making a point by them. Not entirely, he amended, for they proved useful in capturing the mortals’ imaginations and inspiring that sense of awe and joy in their short-lived little hearts that made them so malleable. It seemed to make them think there was actually something more for them than the mundane material life they trudged through daily. That was the curious thing about mortals, the reminiscence they carried of times that had never been. Mairon had once been intrigued by it—now he hated it. If it were not so useful—and if he were more like his predecessor—he would seek to destroy it. Another thing to despise about ceremonies.

But it drew to a close at last. The palanquin halted at the foot of the stairs to the grand palace, and an escort of guards in ornate and shining armour, with plumes sprouting from their helms and scimitars gleaming in the light of many torches about brought them to the ceremonial chamber, set aside for occasions such as these. It was likely untouched for decades at a time, but it shone in pristine perfection; candles flickered in delicate gold holders on the wall, flanking—to his amusement—a small altar to his own image. The silks on the bed had been so finely pressed its surface looked like still water, and a canopy hung over the mattress, a moveless waterfall of jewels strung down around it.

He pulled off the headdress and placed it on the altar, running a hand through his locks to loosen them. Custom dictated they remain in the room till the morning. The escort of guards still stood watch outside the heavy doors. And there were no windows. Mairon would do as he pleased if it came down to it, however; but there was no need to cause needless chatter needlessly. He shed the heavily decorated robe as well, tossing it atop the headdress. There were no rings on his fingers, for he had refused them, but he tugged off the wristbands and armbands and various necklaces. 

wolveswolves:

Mexican gray wolf (Canis lupus baileyi)

(Source: anotherfuckingjulian)

ask-dolwethil:

ask-sauron:

Not much will change, then, he shot back, otherwise ignoring her. The main advantage this garnered him was it would further cement his status above her. She had put him—and Gothmog—on a tight leash, but she too was bound with them. And now he had a grip on her strings and could pull the noose ever tighter. He considered what effect this new development would have on her conditions. Not very much, he mused. It only gave him a little more edge over her, if things stayed as they were. 

They did not have to stay as they were. He could turn the public against her, if he wished. But he pushed aside those thoughts, knowing it would be a waste of time and energy to do so. It was only the dying protests of his pride that chased after exhausting fantasies. He would give in sooner or later, he thought, scowling internally at the thought. By Manwë’s bollocks, if only he could strangle her….

But the ceremonies were over, and the head guard came to the dais and bowed, an escort behind him waiting to bring them back to the grand palace, a short walk away. Mairon rose and went down the steps to them.

She rose with him, walking down the lofty dais to their guard, past the reaching hands of praying, screaming, cheering masses.  Their escort surrounded them, and muscled through the crowds and fairly soon, they reached the gates of the palace, where the guards held off the fervent mob to allow their rulers to enter safely inside.

The gates shut behind them, and they returned to their private apartments, and she shed some of the heavy outer layers of her garments, exchanging the formal attire for something more light and comfortable, wispy layers of silk.  ”Well that was most certainly unforeseen,” she remarked, striding into Mairon’s chambers and laying herself—sprawling, rather—across his bed.

It seemed, she mused, that the priest may have been planning this for a while.  He had sounded quite excited upon his announcement, but that just may have been his senility catching up to him.  But they could not get rid of him, not yet, and in any case, he was easy to control.  They just had to have a little chat about spontaneously announcing such things without prior notice.

Unforeseen, but useful, he thought, draping his heavy outer robe neatly over a couch. Mortal ceremonies were as irrelevant to them as the mortals’ insistence on clothing. At least here in the East they were far less uptight than the Men of the West, poisoned as they were by the Eldar. Equally agreeable were the Eastern ceremonies, in which no trace of Eru could be found, but where their oblations and adoration were presented to him. It had been well that Pharazôn had not upheld the traditional ascent of Meneltarma even before he had given Mairon his ear; the presence of the mountain towering above all the land had already irked him—being forced to witness the ceremony would have been hateful. 

But the mortals’ love of ceremony made them all the more easy to sway. Mairon would let this play out naturally; perhaps it was better that the priest had surprised them with the announcement—otherwise Thuringwethil might have protested, knowing the implications for her. Or worse, attempted to impose more of her conditions onto the matter. He would not discuss it with her, and left her remark unanswered.

He wandered out to the balcony. A strong wind was blowing, buffeting his hair and billowing the silken drapes hanging from the ceiling. Though he had not given her his answer, she made a point to make herself comfortable and nonchalant around him. Sometimes he humoured her, when the mood struck him, and put aside the question hanging obtrusively between them. But the time was ripening to get rid of it altogether. Once this ceremony was over, he would give his assent at last. 

ltcoloneldaddy:

(Source: mintynaiad, via ask-dolwethil)

Anonymous asked: So...what's your opinion on narwhals?

I have no opinion on narwhals *bemused gaze*.

wolveswolves:

By L. David Mech

Updated the headcanon page~ It now has a timeline of events from the Ainulindalë to the end of the Third Age, with a few general comments~