Varda. Varda Is One Of The Most Eldritch Looking Valar, Often Taking A Form That Is Barely Incarnate

Varda. Varda is one of the most eldritch looking valar, often taking a form that is barely incarnate

An Angbang headcanon

Mairon is, at every given moment, simultaneously mad as a hatter and the most organised person to ever exist. 

He is the type of person to cackle evilly both while torturing someone to the brink of insanity and while organising what deliveries the kitchen needs that month. Does he do it on purpose to unnerve his elf assistants? no-one knows. His paperwork is always filled out in triplicate, but it also always manages to get delivered at the exact moment someone is about to leave and smelling faintly of sulphur.

His study seems meticulously organised at first glance. Then someone actually needs a report and realises they’re organised by what he was eating when he read it the first time and not something...reasonable. It’s a system, it makes a certain type of sense, its just...not the most practical. He knows this. He also enjoys watching them try to figure it out and laughing at them because they can’t wrap their heads around it.

Melkor by contrast is utterly incapable of being even remotely orderly. It is fundamentally against his nature. His study looks like a tornado decided to stay for a weekend and even he doesn't know where anything is. He is the worst at giving protracted speeches- he always ends up on a rambling tangent that goes absolutely nowhere.

But he is very good at looking like he knows what he’s doing. Mairon always looks like he’s a second away from just eating anyone who talks to him, but Melkor has mastered ominous silences. This means people make the mistake of assuming Melkor is competent.

Because Mairon might have logic that is a bit all over the place, but there is a logic to everything he does. He does have a system, convoluted though it might be. And that’s why he works so well with Melkor. He can spin logic out of Melkor’s thought process and turn it into something truly brilliant.

Celegorm! He’s got his grandmother’s albinism and he cuts his hair with the elvish equivalent of plastic kid’s scissors.

He has his own secrets

He has his own secrets.

It’s not as if he enjoys it, like he relishes the idea of having to hide things from his brother, but Elrond has always felt just a bit too deeply and there’s no telling what he’d do if he knew.

(it wouldn’t even be on purpose, he knows, but Elrond would bottle it up and up until he burst, and he is far to close to the Lieutenant, either by way of Maglor or his job, and there is no way Elros could ever lie to either of them. They’ve done too much for him, he couldn’t stand it.)

There’s a small hollow just behind his room. The crack to reach it is only about a finger’s width wide, but he can sing himself into it easily enough. It’s maybe three steps wide and he has to hunch over because the ceiling is just too low, but it’s all his. All his and no-one else knows about it and no-one else can bother him in it. 

Because the Lieutenant may dote on him and his brother, and Maglor may cosset them far more than they really need, but sometimes he just can’t stand it. He knows Elrond enjoys it, his brother has always been horribly scared that he would be left behind alone and unloved, and he can’t begrudge his brother anything, so he smiles and puts up with it.

(He wants to blame their mother, their mother who was far too young, who still carried the horror of seeing her mother and father die, and could not help it if she called them the wrong names when she felt so alone, who thought the Feanorions mad enough to follow her and dash themselves on the cliffs below and spare her sons. He can’t bring himself too.)

In his room he hides things away. The rags of a co-worker who fell victim to necrosis, the lucky necklace of one of the men who helped till the fields until his body collapsed under him. An old blanket he thinks came from the havens. Nothing awful, nothing seditious, just... things he would rather remember. Because he loves Elrond, and Maglor, and Maedhros, and the Lieutenant, and His Highness, but he knows deep down he is not quite like them, that he may Sing as sweetly as his brother, but they are inherently not the same and there are some times he just wants to be alone and sink into his thoughts. And if all the things he’s collected help him, well, it’s not exactly like anyone was using them.

(And if sometimes he sits in his hollow and dreams of a future without the Lieutenant and His Highness, a future where he has grown old and grey and his twin looks over him still gleaming with youth and he smiles as tears steam down Elrond’s face as he takes one long laborious breath and bids him a a final farewell, well. That’s his private dream. If he wishes beyond anything to experience the vibrancy of life without becoming worn down and world weary as time becomes meaningless, he doesn’t have to tell anyone. It would only upset them anyway to know. They would be happier in ignorance.)

He has his own secrets.

Sing for me, my Elrond

Peredhels get...hungry in Angband.

Namo Mandos. I think he’d be able to take a decently convincing eldar form inside his own halls, but as soon as he leaves it becomes more and more horrifying so he tends to wear dark cloaks/hoods so he doesn't scare anyone.