Be yourself. Everyone else is already taken.

close call snuggles

For one point calling Mairon solely "Mairon" feels like disrespecting or rather neglecting Tolkien's concept of this character. He himself called him "Sauron" in many of his letters and his main works. This implied that as the author he actively chose the name "Sauron" over "Mairon" not only to create contrast but to highlight who this "great enemy" really was: A terrifying, cruel, vicious and malicious being feared so widely and thouroughly most people (including Gandalf) hesitate to even mention his name. Thus "Sauron" is not a mere name to the author (who was not only very fond of names but also put tremendous and great thought and skill in creating them) but rather a concept of pure, relentless and inexorable evil. Mairon was Sauron and he may have well enjoyed that name as well. We simply don't know. Furthermore, Tolkien had a very keen sense for the sound of language and it seems fitting he preferred the harsher tones of "Sauron" to the more melodious, smoother and softer tones of "Mairon" for this character. Much of this can be said in favor of "Morgoth" as well.

Thus, restricting myself to call them merely Mairon and Melkor feels just like that: restrictive and reducing these huge characters to a "mereley". They are both tremendous characters, both in their concepts and roles as opponnents of the good and mighty AND of the good and simple. I might be doing a bad job of explaining here but calling Sauron solely "Mairon" feels like deliberately cutting out the worst parts and sides of him - because he is not only admirable but ALSO despicable and vile and rotten and wicked and all the rest. Again, much in that same line can be said for Morgoth.

I can only explain my own reasening, thoughts and feelings of course.

Don't get me wrong. Of course Mairon will always see himself as The Admirable and his master as The Mighty One. And I adore these names <3

However, restricting their characters only to their original names while disregarding the names (and titles) given to them later ... well, it just feels like exactly that: restricting my favorite characters to something that sounds and means "nice".

Mind you, this is NOT a plea for calling them Sauron or Morgoth. Please, call these characters whatever and however you prefer 🖤 isn't diversity a wonderful thing in fandom? <3

But I also want to clarify that my original post was NOT at all meant to imply that using Melkor and Mairon is in some way more correct than Morgoth and Melkor or anything in that direction!! ;-;

It was meant as a more personal view and why I prefer using these names in a more silly way. And yes I'm probably mischaracterizing these two with every breath I'm taking... My blog is anything but serious! I'm attempting to be mildly funny here, and probably seriously failing at it lol...

Again, all you Silmarillion fans are such wonderful creatures! Ly all! 🙂❤️

(Typing this to put my mind at ease or else I cannot sleep tonight, omg I hate the thought of being perceived as slightly mean or judgemental ;-;)

(Yes I'm an insecure hoe)

There's absolutely no need to apologize 🫂 I've had this discussion a few times (with less open-minded and less sweet people than you) and I guess your post just sparked the sleeping wish in me to write more on the subject again 🤗 I'm sorry for making you feel insecure or like the "villain" here (though Mighty One and The Admirable would be VERY proud of you!)

No offence taken and none wished!

I enjoyed this "discussion" a lot 😏🤭 you seem really cool and funny 🖤 also YAY another Mairon/Melkor enthusiast!!!

Garrett Hawke x Fenris, for @dadrunkwriting

The first thing Garrett is aware of as he blearily opens his eyes and rouses is that he is not alone. After the battle with the Arishok, much of Kirkwall in flames or scrambling to recover, their unlikely little band of misfits had come back to the mansion rather than test their luck with whether or not the Hanged Man would still be standing, much less open for business. The wine cellar in the Hawke household was always stocked for such occasions they all gathered together, regardless of how frequent or rarely such things might occur. Fleetingly, he thinks of Bethany, of Carver, and misses them, though the latter would likely have said the wine was too weak and just given him the stink-eye all evening for once again stealing what might somehow have been his glory. Some things it seems, never change. Mother wouldn’t have wanted to intrude, but he hopes, she’s with father at the Maker’s side and that they might be proud of him.

The celebration, he recalls, did go on for some hours, and though perhaps not as rowdy as their evenings of Wicked Grace, the relief had been palpable in all of them. Some more than others, it seems, Garrett thinks sitting up a little to curiously study the tattooed elf who lies, still sleeping, sprawled across the covers beside him, one arm outstretched across his stomach, though whether to anchor him there or to reassure himself of the other’s continued presence, Garrett cannot be sure.

He stirs, despite Hawke’s best attempts to stay still, to let him rest a little longer. Immediately Fenris’ hand flexes tightening his grip on the mage as he sits up.

“Garrett,” the white-haired head burrowed into the bed grumbles.

He doesn’t use his first name much. He’s never particularly cared for it, and Hawke suits him just fine. But he finds he doesn’t mind so much when Fenris sometimes uses it. Rather, he finds a slight pleasure in the idea this is something shared between them. Besides the elf, only his m- his sisters use his first name with any regularity, and Carver generally preferring to avoid addressing his elder brother at all, a task made easier now he’s joined the Wardens.

Fenris’ voice is a little rougher than usual with sleep and disuse, and the mage thinks he sounds a bit… annoyed, perhaps because he woke him? But it’s good to hear, nevertheless. And waking up beside him? Well, he’s dreamt of such a thing plenty of times, but never truly expected it after what had transpired between them.

Their first and only night together had been… he struggles to come up with a suitable description that doesn’t sound like something out of one of those terrible romance serials his mother and sisters filled a shelf of the library with. Perhaps it’s foolish and he’s been waiting for nothing, but he can’t seem to help it, can’t bring himself to want or even think about anyone else. What began as his usual and casual flirting, his admiration of the other man’s skill has clearly long since become something else, something considerably more significant. He wants to wake up next to Fenris every day for the rest of the time the two of them have left.

But that can’t possibly be a welcome sentiment. Can it, the mage wonders, watching as Fenris stretches, back popping a little with the effort, and snuggles closer into his companion’s larger body even as he slowly begins to rouse and become more aware of his surroundings. Large green eyes blink back sleep and slowly come into focus on him, he doesn’t leap backwards, makes no efforts to pull away from him, but there is something uncharacteristically uncertain, vulnerable in his gaze that makes Garrett want nothing more than to gather him up in his arms and hold him as tight as is possible without the gesture becoming uncomfortable.

“I- I should go,” Fenris offers softly, ducking his head to avoid the mage’s scrutiny.

“You don’t have to,” Garrett replies cautiously, even as every bone in his body seems to scream for him to employ a more forceful and convincing argument. Something, anything to stop him all but fleeing his bed again.

“The others-” the elf begins.

“Will be fine,” Garrett interrupts confidently, trusting Sonja and Varric to see to them all either returning home or entertaining them in his absence. “I was injured yesterday-”

“You very nearly died yesterday,” Fenris growls, correcting him with a scowl.

“Exactly,” he nods, looking far too pleased about this than he has any right to be. “You’re helping to look after me,” Garrett continues, doing his best to adopt his usual lighthearted tone and smile about the whole thing. Don’t come on too strong, or too desperate, he scolds himself internally. He’s still here. Don’t give him a reason not to be. A reason to run. Don’t fuck this up. It seems to work, or if Fenris has noticed he isn’t in fact as calm or amused as he pretends, the elf doesn’t bother to call him on it, offering up a small chuckle of his own.

“You- You would like me to stay,” Fenris checks, cautiously after a moment.

Maker, yes. “Yes,” Garrett confirms before he can stop himself or think better of it. “Please,” he adds a bit softer.

Like yk power of love, magical healing. That stuff

How obvious it seems that Melkor has only ever thought of himself.

His obsession with his own greatness is beyond dispute. Everyone around him is either an enemy or a tool. Failed servants are destroyed; those still useful are punished mercilessly.

When Mairon loses Tol Sirion, Melkor does not think about strategic losses. He does not think about the punishment he will rain down upon his errant servant.

There is this constricting, agonizing thing that drags his mind into dark forests, compels him to waste his power searching for his disgraced lieutenant, in order to... To do what?

“Where are you?” Melkor calls into the darkness.

He commands Mairon to appear before his throne. He remembers how readily Mairon once answered the summons of ósanwë — bright, quick, crackling with energy. Remembers that sharp, attentive gaze; the willingness both to obey and to argue — to serve in either case.

Now Mairon does not answer, and so Melkor grows angry, knowing that anger has always come most easily whenever terror nested in his soul.

Yet it is not for himself that the Lord of Arda is afraid — for Mairon never seeks to avoid chastisement, never hides. With the same dignity, he accepts his master’s wrath and favour.

So the Lord of the Night pours his darkness into the endless forests, cradles Mairon within it, until the Maia takes form once more and appears before the throne.

Black blood runs across black iron. The flame of hair has dimmed into dark rust. The mightiest of Melkor’s servants, the proudest of them all — the one who had never bowed his head more deeply than protocol required — falls to his knees before the throne. And says nothing.

Then the Dark Vala gathers him into iron-clad arms, seeking to strangle that strange feeling of helplessness. The cruel armour presses into Mairon’s wounds, scrapes against his torn throat. Hurts the one who forged it.

Indifferent, vacant eyes drift to the two Silmarils, to a fresh cut on Melkor’s cheek — and kindle. With astonishing audacity, Mairon cups the Vala's face.

Melkor thinks that this scoundrel has no right even to look him in the eye after what has happened, much less to touch him. Melkor thinks that Mairon deserves every wound he bears. Melkor thinks that his hands have never worked healing spells.

Then he lays Mairon upon the obsidian floor and takes off his metal gauntlet.

When talking of canon, I think it's totally valid to discuss Melkor and Sauron as master/servant. This is a power-dyanmic that existed between them explicitly and is quite fascinating, especially in terms of Sauron's characterization.

But what I'll never accept as an honest interpretation of the text is the idea that Sauron's free will is in question or that he is a slave/thrall. I like to think that Tolkien is good at choosing his words and it's telling that, throughout ALL of his available texts and different drafts as they've been made available, Sauron is NEVER called Melkor's slave or thrall, even though Melkor DOES have slaves and thralls aplenty.

Sauron is described as Melkor's chief captain, the greatest and most trusted of Melkor's servants, as Morgoth's chief lieutenant, as the chief of Melkor's friends and spies among the Maiar etc. etc.

There is a class/power-imbalance. But Sauron freely chose to follow this one person. He chose to attach himself to Melkor just like Olorin chose to attach himself to Manwe (which is a parallel Tolkien himself establishes in his letters) .

Because of the connotations the word "servant" carries in our modern cultures, readers tend to forget that the word does not carry the same negativity in Tolkien's writings. Tolkien is the one who, in Morgoth's Ring, presented Sauron's service of Melkor as the one thing that made Sauron a better person than Melkor. Tolkien is the one who wrote one of the most important emotional bonds in The Lord Of The Rings as a master/servant dynamic.

For one point calling Mairon solely "Mairon" feels like disrespecting or rather neglecting Tolkien's concept of this character. He himself called him "Sauron" in many of his letters and his main works. This implied that as the author he actively chose the name "Sauron" over "Mairon" not only to create contrast but to highlight who this "great enemy" really was: A terrifying, cruel, vicious and malicious being feared so widely and thouroughly most people (including Gandalf) hesitate to even mention his name. Thus "Sauron" is not a mere name to the author (who was not only very fond of names but also put tremendous and great thought and skill in creating them) but rather a concept of pure, relentless and inexorable evil. Mairon was Sauron and he may have well enjoyed that name as well. We simply don't know. Furthermore, Tolkien had a very keen sense for the sound of language and it seems fitting he preferred the harsher tones of "Sauron" to the more melodious, smoother and softer tones of "Mairon" for this character. Much of this can be said in favor of "Morgoth" as well.

Thus, restricting myself to call them merely Mairon and Melkor feels just like that: restrictive and reducing these huge characters to a "mereley". They are both tremendous characters, both in their concepts and roles as opponnents of the good and mighty AND of the good and simple. I might be doing a bad job of explaining here but calling Sauron solely "Mairon" feels like deliberately cutting out the worst parts and sides of him - because he is not only admirable but ALSO despicable and vile and rotten and wicked and all the rest. Again, much in that same line can be said for Morgoth.

I can only explain my own reasening, thoughts and feelings of course.

Don't get me wrong. Of course Mairon will always see himself as The Admirable and his master as The Mighty One. And I adore these names <3

However, restricting their characters only to their original names while disregarding the names (and titles) given to them later ... well, it just feels like exactly that: restricting my favorite characters to something that sounds and means "nice".

Mind you, this is NOT a plea for calling them Sauron or Morgoth. Please, call these characters whatever and however you prefer 🖤 isn't diversity a wonderful thing in fandom? <3