Time did not pass in the Halls of Mandos, yet he had felt it nonetheless. Wrapped in his wrath, he had believed it would endure until the end of time itself — but it did not. It had slowly faded, so slowly, the more answers he found the less rage would storm in his spirit. Answers meant clarity, but not forgiveness.

     As the Halls grew empty, Fëanáro had walked through time, not only his family’s, but all the histories that the tapestries could possibly tell. Had he been alive, his hands would have been clasped behind his back, as he stared to the story of Ossë and Moringotho unfolding itself before his eyes.

    « You had enough hatred for him that you could have understood my own. »

The Halls were so conveniently located near the sea-cliffs that Ossë sometimes visited when he found himself needing safety and quiet. It was also an interesting experience to see Elves taking forms more akin to his brethren. In that place, the Ainu was a strange cacophony of contradictions — a glowing light that felt chill, a soothing white noise over a ceaseless ringing, a calm before a storm.

He usually tried to avoid the tapestries of himself, but when he sensed someone viewing them he couldn’t resist the vain curiosity that urged him to watch their reactions. Would people find him wondrous or woeful? Would they stare in awe or recoil in disgust?

It was quite unexpected to find that Fëanáro watched his story. He certainly didn’t owe the Noldo any explanation, but he felt compelled to reply in defense of his actions. I did understand, his voice thrummed into the vision. I understand the heady thrill of vengeance. I understand getting swept into that rage until it is the only thing that matters, and destroying everything in your path to victory.

servantofthesecretfire sent: "I will give you two pouches of the finest tea leaves to keep him." He grinned at Ossë, clearly teasing. "If only to see the fireworks that erupt when he is tired of being kept captive for auction."

    ”Rude!” he shrieked, lunging forward only to slam himself into the bars with an undignified squawk. Stupid nose, sticking out and hitting the rusted iron and hurting! Why did Father ever think these were a good idea?

    ”I will show you fireworks, brother! If you wanted a show, all you had to do was ask — I can give you a private showing!

Have a Fucking Rock


Caranthir stood beside the shores of the sea, staring out to the north. Somewhere under those waves lay the ruins of the great manor in which he’d once resided — the ruins of all his peoples’ homes, and of the fortress on Mount Rerir, and all that they’d built there.

Gone now. Drowned. Taken by Ossë, their stones dismantled and ruined.

He stooped and lifted a chip of stone from the beach. It was well-shaped, water-smoothed, the size of his palm and flat.

"Here, if you like rocks so much!" he shouted into the distance as he threw the stone overhand into the sea. "Here, Ossë, have a fucking rock!"

Over the millennia he had heard many things shouted after his name. Curses for family members lost, incomprehensible sounds of grief and rage, pleas for safe travels or great profit, prayers to familiar ears — but there was always a first time for everything.

Ossë’s attention was immediately grabbed at the sound of his name, and enchanted by the have a fucking rock that followed. He was not physically manifested at the shore, but he didn’t have to be for a spume of sea water to jet up and catch the rock just so to send it flying back to its source. 

Anonymous sent: little-deer-elf// i would present all the gold of my house if only to free you from such confines, proud lord

    ”All the gold of your house,” Ossë repeats slowly, tasting the words as he twirls some of his drying hair around a finger. “What an appropriately generous offer. It is good to see that some Children still understand how to show proper respect. I like you.”

Poppy is very hurt by this. :(

//Poppy you should know by now that osse bein’ a shit is his way to save face because he doesn’t know how to say “thank you for saving me from my own idiocy” so instead he insults you but then gives you a shell later. Silly hobbit!

poppybrownlock sent: {auction meme} Poppy would offer what meager amounts she would be able to scrape together, not entirely for Osse's sake, but rather for that of Rossiel, Ji-Indur, and Cirdan.

    ”A bid from the little lady who bakes excellent cakes?” Ossë leans his forehead against the bars, his attempt to loom over her diminished by his entrapment. “How very kind of you. Or, are you attempting to build a collection of Ainur for your sitting room?”

maire-annatari sent: I'd bid a thousand dragons for you. If you served Angband, my thalassophobia would finally be over!


    ”Hm. One thousand dragons?” As Ossë has little personal experience with the creatures, he cannot judge whether or not that is an extravagant bid. It seems like quite a large number, at the least, and some dragons grew quite large and fearsome. “What is to say that just because you trade some pets for me, I would suddenly serve anyone?”

Anonymous sent: [there is an anonymous bid of three muffins, because reasons.]

Ossë huffs and scowls, pacing in his little cage. “Really? Honestly? Three muffins? Not even a half dozen, no, all Terror gets as a bid are three little muffins.” Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

Your muse sees mine up for sale at an auction. How much would your muse pay to buy them and why?



(Source: thepharaohinleather)

It Started with a Touch…


"I have not gotten myself killed in all these many years and I do not plan to change that now," he reassured the sea-master. But he turned his face away in thought, recognizing more of Gandalf’s bluster and less of Olórin’s true fears in those words. He was so used to speaking reassurances – even when those reassurances were couched with warning and doubt, for sometimes the thinnest thread of hope could weave truth – that it was rare he had the chance to speak plainly of his worries to one who would fully understand their import.

"I will not lie to you. I have a dreadful foreboding that I will be tested greatly on this journey, perhaps to the point of breaking. I am commanded not to battle Sauron directly, and do not think I could win if I did. And there is Curumo’s betrayal to consider." He sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Ossë. What do you think will happen to one of us if we perish while trapped in one form? For it must happen, whether to myself or Curumo or Sauron. It cannot be ended any other way that I can see."

Ossë arched a brow and exhaled sharply through his nose at the haughty reassurance. It sounded like something that he would say, and that was both amusing and troubling. Sharp arrogance often was boisterous in order to hide the actual doubt beneath.

He slid his gaze away to look back towards the falls, his head turning so he could catch some of the cool, damp breeze on his face. It lacked the familiar bite of salt and bitter distance of the sea, but it was similar enough to be comforting. Only his silvery eyes moved to acknowledge the question, the fear, as his mouth contorted into a grimace. 

"I did not realize you were such a pessimist," he rumbled, the familiar depth of his voice out of place on a relatively small Elvish body. A sharp jerk of his chin tossed some silver hair from his face and left his chin raised in a familiar pose. "I admit the concept of death still mystifies me. I would assume, however, that our siblings would not condemn you to some mortal fate. Surely it is not so different than losing a fana?”