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eglerieth · 6 months

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Some of y’all are not appreciating Bilbo Baggins enough. I am here to remedy that. This guy has:

• somehow managed to establish himself as a respectable, staid hobbit by the time he was fifty, despite being both a grandson of Bullroarer Took and the Shire champion of pretty much every aiming-game known to hobbitkind

• had an in-depth debate on pleasantries with a random guy passing by in the street, who turned out to be GANDALF

• collapsed in front of his own fire shaking and muttering “struck by lightning” over and over again in response to hearing about dragons and danger

• mind you, this was after he screamed loud enough to startle a roomful of Dwarves

• signed up for a dangerous quest completely outside of his league out of spite

• when told to scout out a mysterious light, saw some trolls, and instead of reporting back with the information, decided to PICK THE TROLLS POCKET

• arrived in Rivendell for the first time and said it “smelled like elves”

• upon meeting a strange creature that visibly wanted to eat him, he decided to play a riddle game with him- and guessed pretty much every one, and made up his own riddles, afraid and alone, that not only were good and full of linguistic puns, but actually stumped the other guy- AND THEN CHEATED AND WON WITH A QUESTION

• showed mercy to said strange creature who wanted to kill him, and was now standing between him and freedom

• eavesdropped on the dwarves arguing over whether to try to save him, then popped up casually smack in the middle of them just as they were debating

• somehow managed to sleep like a log at the really really high eyrie full of wild predators

• found himself in a bad situation, said eff it, and turned around and antagonized and fought off an insane amount of man eating spiders, like enough of them that fifty was a small portion, by singing at them with incredibly complex and punny insulting songs composed on the spot, while simultaneously slaying them in multitudes despite having zero combat training. Seriously, we don’t discuss enough how epic the spider scene is.

• broke a company of dwarves out of the very secure prison of the Elvenking by inventing white water rafting with barrels

• charmed his way out of being eaten by a dragon

• stole the frickin Arkenstone from the guys who employed him, one of whom was a king

• took part in an epic battle, only to be knocked out in the first ten minutes and miss the entire thing

• was named elf-friend by the guy who’s prisoners he sprung

• wrote his own autobiography, complete with all the narrative recognition of his own heroics

• spent 60 years writing said autobiography

• taught his lower class neighbor’s kid how to read

• taught his nephew Elvish- not only Sindarin, but Quenya too

• spent decades telling his cousins his own story as fairy tales, complete with character impressions accurate enough that one of them was able to fool a servant of the Enemy with a second hand impression

• used the One Ring of Power to hide from his neighbors

• planned an elaborate feast with multiple social faux pas to mess with his neighbors, complete with a purposefully bewildering speech and culminating in him vanishing into thin air in front of everyone

• left his cousins and neighbors very unsubtle passive aggressive gifts in his will

• settled into Rivendell, randomly befriended the heir to the throne of like half of Middle Earth, and apparently spent his time writing very personal poems about his hosts and reciting them to crowds of elves

• after being invited to a Council of basically every major kingdom in the continent, spent a quarter of the time reciting vague poems about his friends, a quarter of the time telling anyone who would listen about his heroic past, and half the time interrupting to ask when lunch would be

• volunteered to bring the ring to Mordor

• became one of only four or five mortals in history to live in Valinor

Seriously, Bilbo Baggins may well be the most chaotic, insane person in the entire legendarium, and that includes the likes of people like Finrod “bit a werewolf to death to save the life of guy who he just met and gave up his kingdom for” Felagund.

#eglerieth #tolkien #lotr #silmarillion #lord of the rings #hobbits #the hobbit #bilbo baggins #bilbo

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cobalt-owl · 1 year

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So let's say I theoretically accidentally got my friend into the Middle-Earth table top game, do I choose Mordor or Isengard?

Like I want trolls but apparently you can't run them with the Uruk-hai but the Uruk-hai look SOOOO much cooler

#lotr #lord of the rings #middleearth #middle earth #mordor #isengard #orcs #trolls #wizards

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panelperday · 7 months

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There are Orcs, very many of them, ' he said. 'And some are large and evil: Black Uruks of Mordor... but there is something else... A great cave-troll, I think, or more than one. There is no hope for escape.' ... Through the braced and splintered door, a huge arm and shoulder with green scales was thrust. Boromir leaped forward and hewed with all his might, but his sword rang and glanced aside, and fell from his shaken hand

#illustration #fantasy #lord of the rings #tolkien #orc #goblin #cave troll

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sgiandubh · 3 months

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The Ascent of Lying

Why, Mordor people? Why do you lie?

Is it stupidity? Hunger Greed for clicks? That #silly, #silly itch to be FIRST? And RIGHT?

The Ascent of Lying started in this fandom with *urv. Her Google sources, her undying obsession for S (and the mandatory hypocrisy that comes along with it), her paltry stories fit for people who never took a flight overseas in their entire life (not something bad at all, but in this context, this makes you incredibly fragile), her remake of the Twilight fandom hullaballoo and her chutzpah.

It continued with Jess, on this side of the fandom: her OTT girlish enthusiasm, her elusiveness IRL and finally, her capitulation and resurrection, under the same name, but with a totally opposed POV. For perhaps you don't know it, but Jess 2.0 has been back since quite a while ago, now making amends about her former strong beliefs. Even taking full responsibility for some 'receipts' (remember the S lemon pin/wedding ring one? she confirmed it was her and it probably was a #silly, horrible lie). How convenient and how depressing, isn't it? Reading her new, sparse blog brought along two firm thoughts: why this need to robotically inform us about her happiness and her change of heart? Also, how many Anons did Jess 2.0 send, since her comeback, to this side of the fandom?

Let this disappointment be my sin, then and let the link to her new hole in the wall remain undisclosed by this page. I have no wish to either start a flaming war, nor give this woman more space than she deserves:

You'll have to deal with the very childish LMAO and this completely irresponsible explanation: 'it was fun to fantasize at the time'. No, lady: you LIED. You lied through your teeth and because you had the privilege of having a thirsty audience, you thoroughly enjoyed this strange avatar of fame, as you say it publicly yourself, now. You even were, most probably, heavily used by ***'s PR and even S (that is a very firm belief), just like another very fragile individual, who switched sides in a far more vocal and pathetic way. That makes for a mixed bag of truths and lies, something I think we all are way too familiar with, by now. But that does not preclude, nor excuse in any shape or form, your eagerness to ahem, 'embellish" a very real love story and twist it according to your naivete and parochial life experience. Morally, you are 0, to me: a sentimental troll, completely on par with *urv.

I could blather on and on about Jess's main competitor, Puffy, too. I think I already wrote enough about her, if only because many believed me to be her latest avatar, which is completely ridiculous, but ridiculous with an agenda. So, did Puffy lie, too? Probably, especially while creating Stella and Deep Throat out of thin air. Let's agree she heavily extrapolated, which is a shame, because some of her analysis is really spot on.

The Ascent of Lying then morphed, along with an US busy social and political agenda being more and more sensitive to the 'fake news" issue, towards the Factchecker Anti blogs, who mimicked neutrality and promoted online stalking to unprecedented levels. Along came people like Meowkabob, who even manufactured their own facts/evidence and released them online. That was perfectly premeditated and done for increased credibility (I have debunked her shite last fall, if you remember), being fully aware that her libel could not be justified only by a prior, questionable, 'London experience', of which we conveniently have no concrete details. The other blog, you all know and sometimes visit: whether she is a PR plant or lonely rider doesn't really matter, yet a stalker and a hypocrite in her own right, too. The fact that both these persons suddenly felt an urge to express themselves during the heavily conspiratorial climate of the first COVID pandemic wave is not innocent at all, I think.

Lying is the real Uncharted Territory of this fandom and one of the main reasons we seldom have nice things to talk about, anymore. I barely scratched its surface and merely stated the obvious. If anything, it only comforted and strengthened my own beliefs, which I always strived to base on personal findings and facts, along with other likeminded people's experience. And I'd rather take the general brunt and simply say 'I don't know", than embellish. Also, when I am wrong, I am wrong: it happens to the best of us and it's always either immediately edited and explained or taken full responsibility for.

What I do know with a reasonable degree of certainty is that These Two are together. And this is all that matters to me, justifying my presence here.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk. There's more, but here is just an overview of the sentiments that prompted my next investigation.

#fandom #shitshow

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velvet4510 · 13 days

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chainsxwsmile · 9 months

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Finally done— and not too bad for a self-taught animator!

This is Bruce, a friendly Olog / battle troll whose kind is seen in Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings. Bruce escapes Mordor and heads west to avoid the war for which his kind was created.

Framerate: 24fps

Programs: roughanimator and procreate

#reblog friendly #my animation #animators on tumblr #Bruce the Olog #Bruce the troll #my art

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tamurilofrivendell · 1 year

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With My Life | Elrond x Reader

one shot using this prompt

read on ao3

pairing: Elrond x Reader

summary: you think Elrond doesn’t trust you to fight despite your skill but it turns out the real reason he is loath to let you is a little different.

You had lived in Rivendell for a fairly long time by this point, coming here seeking safety and solace. You had been travelling alone for a long time, facing many hardships and even dangers on the road, but Imladris had been good to you. The Lord of Rivendell had taken you in without a question, as he always did with weary travellers, those seeking a safe place to rest their heads. You had not planned to stay quite as long as you actually had but the valley had become something of a home to you, just as the Lord of it had become someone you were proud to call a friend.

However, it was not all a wonderful dream. Darkness had been creeping back into the world and, as war approached and skirmishes broke out all over, you were forced to pick up your trusty sword once more, going out on border patrols with the others. You wouldn’t feel right sitting pretty in Rivendell while everybody else risked themselves defending this refuge from the forces of Mordor. You were happy to help and happy to have an excuse to leave Rivendell for a time, something you had grown to enjoy over your time here. You had always had a bit of a habit of leaving the safety of the Halls and crossing the river or exploring the surrounding wilderness. You had always had a wanderers heart and exploring had simply become a part of you after all these years.

Trouble was, with the world becoming more dangerous, you found yourself getting into more scrapes and problems than before. You were almost eaten by a couple of trolls. A warg stalked your scent and chased you all the way to the river. A stray band of orcs waylaid you in the woods, which you got away from with minor injuries - this one got you in the most trouble with Elrond, though he didn’t say a word. The way he looked at you while he tended to your wounds was enough.

As time passed and things continued to only become more and more dangerous, you found yourself in a situation you had not been in before.

Elrond started to say no to you.

It began with a wave of his hand, telling you there were enough numbers in a partcular patrol to deal with the issue they were facing. It continued with an angry look the likes of which he hadn’t given you before when you tried to press the situation and force your way back into the midst of things. Elrond only continued to outright deny you, eventually going so far as to completely remove your weapon from your possession as you slept.

When you woke and realised it was missing, you were furious, and you had finally had enough. What had changed between the two of you, you did not know, but you had reached your limit. Try as you might, you could not seem to stop disappointing him and you were desperate to know what you had done to upset him, to change the way he viewed and treated you.

“Don’t you trust me?” You cried out in frustration, bursting into his room as he was readying to leave with his patrol to hunt yet another band of orcs that had dared to come too close to the border for comfort.

Elrond turned to look at you, brows furrowed with confusion as he wondered how you could even ask such a question. How you could even think such a thing. He realised that things had not been the same as they had been but he could no longer allow you to waltz around in the wild beyond Rivendell, where anything could happen to you, where things had already happened. You were reckless with yourself and it frightened him, especially that last time when the orcs had gotten too close and hurt you - you were seriously lucky that it was not more serious and he had spent all that night unable to rest due to his anxiety over what might happen the next time.

The next time, you may not be so lucky.

How had he allowed these thoughts to enter your mind? How had he not seen it? He had been trying to keep you safe and in doing so he realised that he had pushed you away and made you feel like he did not value you. “I trust you with my life.” He said emphatically, covering the distance between you both in two long strides. Elrond reached out to take hold of your hands gently in his own, looking you directly in the eyes with a tenderness he had been hiding from you for the past few months. “I’m not so sure I trust you with yours.”

You blinked back at him as you allowed his words to sink in. He was quiet, patient, as your mind worked over the meaning behind what he had said. His thumbs brushed softly across the skin of your hands, sending a light shiver through you. Your gaze softened slightly as you looked back at him and he smiled. His smile began to fade away when you pulled your hands from his but returned when your arms moved to circle his neck, pulling him into a hug. His own arms moved around your waist as he returned the gesture and the two of you stayed that way for a few moments, content in this moment to at least be on the same page once more.

#elrond x reader #elrond x you #elrond fanfiction #elrond fanfic #lotr x reader #lotr fanfiction #lotr fanfic

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just-shower-thoughts · 2 years

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In LOTR there is someone in Mordor whose job it is to teach trolls how to play the drums

#thoughts from the shower #water based introspection #wet on main #showery contemplation

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tathrin · 10 months

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6... on a falling tear and 38... because they're running out of time （＾ω＾）

Oh how lovely and tragic, very nice choices! Thank you very much for the ask. I'll split them up into two separate posts because I'm incapable of ever writing anything succinct though, sigh! Prompt taken from this; anyone can feel free to send other numbers in at any time, I don’t care how long it’s been. (Just maybe add some context to your ask if it’s been like a month or more since I posted this, because otherwise I won’t know what to do with the random number in my inbox lmao).

#38....because they’re running out of time. [mood music anyone?]

“Never thought I’d die as a diversion,” Gimli muttered, watching as Sauron’s army poured out of the Black Gates and surrounded the two small hills on which Aragorn had arrayed their forces.

Gimli could not count the teeming numbers of the enemy that stood before him—they were too many, too foul—but Legolas had the keen eyes of the elves, and he had told Gimli that their force of six thousand was outnumbered at least ten-to-one. They were not all orcs, either, which would have been bad enough; for surely each troll should be counted six or seven times at least.

The hills would help, Gimli thought numbly, at least a little; the incline would grant the defenders an advantage over the enemy that would have to scramble to climb up at them, and the slag pools of fetid Mordor that surrounded the low hillocks would be another impediment—but it would not be enough.

They had known it would not be enough even before they set out for the Black Gates, and they had all of them come anyway. Gimli did not regret his choice to follow his friends into doom, no; but that did not make the moment of the end any less bitter. And that moment was almost here, now; they were running out of time.

The enemy paused at the feet of the hills, hissing and cursing and some of them even spitting, and Gimli spun his axe to stretch his shoulders in anticipation of the battle to come.

He stood near the front, with Aragorn and Legolas and most of the mightiest of their fighters, where the attack would surely be the thickest. He eyed one lumbering troll that was pushing its way through the milling ranks of orcs, an ugly line of drool hanging off one side of its jaw where broken teeth distorted its already ugly grin into something macabre and ghoulish.

“Gimli,” Legolas said, standing so close beside him, his voice light with echoes of distant birdsong, and Gimli could feel himself smiling in instinctive response even as his heart twisted in sorrow at the thought of what was soon to come for them both. “Gimli,” Legolas said, “may I��I would ask a very great favor of you, my friend, if you would indulge me, please.”

“Of course,” Gimli said immediately. He turned to look up at the elf beside him, standing like a slender ray of sunlight in that bleak land, and tried to hide his breaking heart behind his smile. He could not imagine what sort of favor Legolas might ask at this late juncture—or if he could, then it was a favor that need not be spoken aloud, for Gimli had already vowed to himself that he would not allow the enemy to take this elf alive for torment when the battle ended and their defeat enfolded them.

“Anything, Legolas, you know that.”

Legolas gave a strange, half-choked laugh, and pressed his free hand to his face as though smother some strong feeling; with his other, of course, he held the mighty bow of the Galadhrim that the Lady had given him, and Gimli’s heart gave another pang at the thought of three golden strands tucked away safely behind white walls far away, waiting for a dwarf who would never return to reclaim them—but then Legolas moved, and Gimli’s eyes were drawn instead to tight golden braids that swayed before him as the slender Wood-elf suddenly swayed like a falling sapling and bent down close to Gimli’s face.

He caught Gimli’s bearded cheek with his hand and turned the dwarf’s face up to meet him, and then—oh, and then Legolas was kissing him and Gimli’s mind seemed to dissolve in a blaze of starlight. His whole world narrowed down to those smooth lips pressed so tight and hungry to his own; those long fingers twined so gently through his beard to cup his chin in their narrow palm; the brush of heavy golden braids against Gimli’s shoulders as Legolas bent low over him...

Belatedly, Gimli realized that he had reached up to press his hand to the elf’s face as well; he only noticed when the pad of his thumb brushed against the tip of one long pointed ear and Legolas’s breath hitched in both their mouths.

The drew apart, Legolas swaying back upright with a last lingering flutter of his fingers against Gimli’s beard before he pulled away. Gimli’s jaw worked soundlessly around words that would not come,his wide eyes fixed so fervently on the beautiful, beardless face before him that he almost forgot the stink of the orcs and the jeers of their ugly voices in his ears.

“Forgive me the liberty, I pray,” Legolas rasped. His mithril-bright eyes shimmered with unshed tears, in that moment looking suddenly so like the pool of the Mirrormere that Gimli almost felt as though he had been transported somehow back to the hills outside Khazad-dûm, and this desperate death at the doors of Mordor made into naught but a terrible dream.

But the creeping tendrils of fear that marked the approach of the Nazgûl was no dream; nor were the thundering steps of the trolls as they began to scale the hills, nor the shouts of the orcs as they struggled to follow. In moments, the enemy would be upon them. There was so much Gimli wanted, needed, to say; but they were running out of time.

“There is—there is nothing to forgive, Legolas,” he managed to croak.

“I am relieved to hear it,” Legolas replied. “For I could not bear to die without ever kissing you, Gimli.”

Gimli reached up for those golden braids and bright eyes again. “Legolas—!”

Legolas flashed him a brief, bright, heartbroken smile, and then turned away to face the enemy as the orcs rushed towards them. Gimli raised his axe more out of habit than intention and stepped up beside the elf. “Legolas...” he tried again, but his head was reeling and he could not find the words he wished to craft; they all slipped through his mental fingers, like he was trying to scoop cave-cold water with naught but his bare hands.

Then the first troll reached them, bellowing as it knocked three soldiers of Gondor off their feet to tumble down the hill towards the waiting blades of the orcs below. Gimli growled and gripped his axe, and then suddenly Legolas was scaling the troll, blasted fool of an elf that he was!

“Legolas!” Gimli shouted again, and raced to follow him into the fight.

The troll was too slow to catch the nimble elf, but its attempts to do so blunted its attention to the axe in Gimli’s hand as he hacked at its knees. The creature roared belatedly in anger, even as thick blood wept down its legs. It reached down to try and swat Gimli away, and Legolas scampered across its shoulders and drove his long knife in deep into the troll’s eye. Even that was not enough to kill the beast, but when two Rohirrim came up with long spears the troll was too woozy with pain and blood-loss to bat the weapons away from its throat.

It went down with a thud and a cry of rage rose from the orcs in response. Legolas skipped away from the body and landed on the ground again at Gimli’s side. Shaking with fear, anger, and adrenaline, Gimli caught him by the wrist and gave the elf a shake. “Don’t do that again!” he shouted. “You’re going to get yourself killed!”

Legolas laughed, fey and unfettered, his merriment as sharp and keen as his arrows. He slashed his knife through the throat of a climbing orc and twisted easily away from the resulting spray of black blood. “Gimli, we are all going to die here,” he said, wiping the blade clean on the skirt of his tunic before sheathing it and drawing his bow once more. “Put aside your fears, my dear; we have moved beyond that now. All that is left to us is to make our deaths worthy of those that came before us, and to sell our lives dearly enough that we might hope to buy enough time for others to save all those who may come after from this Shadow.”

His arrows flew true, burying themselves in throats and eyes and black-blooded hearts even as he looked back at the dwarf more often than he did at the oncoming orcs. In Legolas’s eyes, Gimli could see the glimmer of all the years together they would never have; could see the crumbling eternity of an immortal life cut short and the unscalable chasm that lay forever between the fates of elves and dwarves, sundering them from one another for all time even unto the breaking of the world.

This, he realized, was all the time they were ever going to have.

Tears stung his eyes, hot and bitter. It was not enough. It would never, ever be enough—and it did not matter, because there was no more to be had.

Gimli shook his head, swallowing down the urge to weep; he had to focus on the orcs. There were too many coming up the sides of the hill now, too fierce; it was all Gimli could do to swing his axe in time to block their blows and cut them down. It was all he could do to keep close to Legolas’s side, the elf now reduced to fighting with nothing but his long white knife. There were maybe half a handful of arrows in his quiver yet, but even elvish speed was insufficient to allow for proper archery at sight a tight distance in this tumult.

Oh, why had Gimli not seen to it that his elf was better armed before they rode off to this final battle? Legolas was deadly with that little knife, yes, but oh it seemed so short in his long fingers. Why had Gimli not sought the armories of Gondor, and borrowed some mightier blade for his friend? Why had he not sought the forges, and made him one to suit his lanky frame?

He was such a fool. What had he been wasting his time on instead, when he could have—should have—been seeing to Legolas’s safety?

When he could have been kissing him?

Gimli growled, and swung his axe harder, and watched one burly uruk go down gurgling and clutching at its guts. Gimli swung again, and its head toppled free and he could turn to the next enemy, the next threat. Beside him, Legolas whirled and slashed in a flurry of golden braids and a black-blooded blade. He lunged over Gimli’s head to slit the throat of an orc that was angling a spear towards Gimli’s ribs as Gimli kicked-out low and took the feet out from under another orc that had managed to get a grimy hand around one of those bright braids.

“Away from him!” Gimli bellowed, and the orc feel back squealing over the stump of its arm. Gimli stepped closer to the elf—his elf—and they ended up fighting back-to-back, or back-to-shoulders at least; their disparate heights should have made them terrible battle-partners, but it was so easy to fall into a rhythm with Legolas, a balancing of their skills and statures. Legolas spun high with his short knife and Gimli swung low with his broad axe, and the enemy gave way before them.

But more came, replacing those that fell. Always more came, and the fight went on. Gimli could feel his limbs tiring, his bones aching from the weight of his blade and the blows that had glanced off his mail. A dozen small cuts he could not remember taking bled sluggishly, adding a dull sheen of red to the viscous black liquid that splattered his armor and his skin.

More came, and the Nazgûl followed, and all around them men shrieked and cowered beneath that mindless fear. Gimli fought on, so numb with grief that he barely startled at the cry that the eagles had come. That felt unreal, like something out of some other story; one that had a better ending than theirs. Despair rolled thick across the Host of the West and even Gimli, stout-hearted dwarf that he was, faltered for a moment before it—

And then Legolas laughed.

There was nothing merry in that sound, and the only brightness was the sharp brightness of a pale blade flashing out of the shadows of tall black trees. It was a laugh full of teeth, and claws, and all the dark and dangerous things that lurk within a wood. It was the sort of laugh that would send wise folk fleeing for strong walls and sturdy doors; the sort of laugh that might send children shivering to hide under their beds and wait for dawn. It was the laugh of a wild thing, untamed and dangerous, and it rang out light and sharp-edged above the gutteral shouts and screams of the orcs and the roaring bellows of the trolls.

Legolas laughed, and Gimli smiled to hear it. He lifted his head high against the weight of Mordor’s bleak despair and raised his axe high once more. Legolas was right; there was no longer any cause for fear. They had faced the end already, and the end was here; there was no sense cowering before it. Better to stand tall, and die fighting proud and unbowed, defying the power of the Dark Lord to the last.

And then—and then, on the other side of fear, after all hope seemed so long lost it was little more than a memory, everything changed.

The Nazguûl fled; the army crumbled; the towers fell.

Sauron was destroyed. And they had lived.

They lived.

Gimli could hardly process it. He turned to Legolas, still at his side, the both of them weary and blood-stained and heartsick from the tangled mingling of hope and despair, and he opened his mouth to speak—but no words came out.

He saw all their tomorrows flow suddenly back into Legolas’s bright eyes and the elf swayed, as though the sudden lifting of the Shadow had left him unsteady on his light feet. Gimli caught his hand and held him steady.

“Legolas—” Gimli began.

“Tomorrow,” Legolas interrupted him with a smile. “Let us help the wounded now, Gimli; we will talk on other things tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Gimli said, rolling the taste of the word around in his mouth; rolling the feel of it around in his mind. “Yes,” he said. “Tomorrow. To think that there will be such a thing!” He laughed from bewildered joy and squeezed his elf’s hand once, tightly, before letting go and turning back to the grim battlefield. “Tomorrow. We will talk on all things then.”

Legolas bent and pressed a light kiss to Gimli’s cheek. “Tomorrow,” he said again, the word heavy with promise, and then they walked off together into the carnage of hopes renewed and deaths well-fought.

“Tomorrow,” Gimli murmured once more to himself, and there on the bloodstained soil of the Black Land, he smiled.

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tanoraqui · 1 year

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Notes for the 5th and final season of Crownless, the Young Aragorn show that has lived rent-free in my brain since a slightly insane message to a friend at 1am sometime in 2019:

[s1&2, s3, s4]

A few quick notes before we get juicy:

- Gandalf still appears once per season this whole time

- hopefully Stephen Colbert has been doing the same thing, as a random assortment of unrelated very minor characters

- the man who's herb-loremaster of the Houses of Healing in RotK, who explains the linguistic history of athelas rather than producing any of the plant, is a junior apprentice with the healers. We met a young Ioreth in Lossarnach in a MotW episode in s4 I think

- reminder that the theme song is a setting of the "All that is gold does not glitter" poem and that young Aragorn is SO hot. We WILL cast someone who could slam open the doors of Helm's Deep and swagger in like sex on legs.

- I am definitely playing fast and loose with canon timeline and geopolitical events this season

Okay, real stuff now:

Until now I’ve mostly just described character arcs and plot points but now it’s time for MAJOR THEMES. As manifested by character foils.

[maniacal delighted laughter]

Note: this season, Aragorn is like 40% protagonist and Arwen and Denethor are both 30%, and Dúnawen, Halbarad and Roddis are solidly secondary cast - but, to an extent, more notable than in s3-4, because we're spending less time on monster of the week with all its minor 1- or 2-ep characters.

Yes, we've completed the slow transition from pure MotW to nearly pure season-long plot. There's still an element of new problem and/or location each week, but the driving issue all season is the increasingly unavoidable war with Umbar. There is at least one episode where Aragorn is back in the northern woods with Halbarad and Dúnawen and they save a random hamlet from trolls or something...but it's not as simple as it used to be...but maybe it still feels more right than all the work Aragorn has been doing in the south...

[we'll get to that]

So, ideally, this show is a 5-season musing essay on leadership…and Denethor is a good leader. He is a good Steward of Gondor. I WILL die on this hill. He is too proud to bow his head to any other and he looks first to Gondor's advantage and only sometimes beyond that, but these are not terrible failings in the Steward of Gondor. By the time we meet him in LotR, he has led his country in an increasingly hopeless war for four decades, and they love or at least respect the hell out of them -

No, actually, let's talk about amdir vs estel.

Both are forms of hope. Amdir, as defined in the Athrabeth Finrod a Andreth (courtesy of Tolkien Gateway) is "an expectation of good, which though uncertain has some foundation in what is known." Denethor, I posit - I write in this show - has a good capacity for amdir. He believes in the strength of Gondor and its people...but Sauron overthrows his hope of victory by showing him the seemingly overwhelming forces set against him. Denethor isn't pessimistic by nature, but even when he's optimistic, he's realistic. He cannot bring himself to believe in goodness beyond what there is at least a glimmer of evidence for.

Estel is an unfortunately symptom of Tolkien's Catholocism more synonymous with "faith" than "hope." Finrod describes estel as, "not defeated by the ways of the world, for it does not come from experience, but from our nature and first being. If we are indeed the Eruchin, the Children of the One, then He will not suffer Himself to be deprived of His own, not by any Enemy, not even by ourselves." Or, if we strip out some of the religiosity for network television and my own preference: estel is hope beyond reason or any real evidence, save perhaps gut instinct. Estel is sending 2 halflings alone to take the Ring to Mordor and hurl it into Mount Doom, and in the end using yourself as bait to give them more time. Estel is the belief that joy always lies on the far side of sorrow, no matter how long the journey through the dark.

Aragorn, of course, is literally named Estel.

And estel is the empirically correct choice in Middle Earth, because that's how the world and story (same difference) is built. The characters do not and should not know that, but it is - we the audience knows that the answer to the question "who should rule Gondor, Denethor or Aragorn" is 100% "Aragorn." But the characters don't! And therein lies the conflict.

(Ecthelion is still here, being the actual Steward of Gondor. But Finduilas's death and the loss of his friend Thengel, and the mounting stress of the rising power of Mordor and how it's riling up all their southern and eastern neighbors, compound with his genuine age...he is still mighty in heart and mind, but his time is passing and everyone knows it.)

The question of the first 4 seasons, for audience and characters alike, was, "can Aragorn be King of Gondor?" Is he wise enough, is he charismatic enough, is skilled at diplomacy and at war, does he know how to care and command without being overbearing, he capable in a practical way at bureaucracy, tolerating fools and the hundred little tasks which a king must do daily...

By the end of s4, we all know that the answer is "yes." He still lacks experience, but he always will until he starts the job - Aragorn did some clever stately thing at the end of s4, and when Thengel fell he took able command of the battlefield before handing it gracefully to Theoden, and if Ecthelion died tomorrow Aragorn could successfully claim is crown and lead Gondor in the war they all know is coming...

The question now is: should Aragorn be King of Gondor? This is really multiple questions: Does Gondor need a central ruler at all? (What about democracy?) If so, does Gondor need a King, when they have a Steward? Does Gondor need a King right now? What about Arnor?

The answers, which will be clear by the end of the season, are in order:

1. Yes Gondor needs a central ruler; this isn't even really a question the show poses. We are NOT dropping modern political theory into my medievalesque fantasy show, thank you very much. We will continue to explore hte internal Gondorin politics set up in s4, though - the Steward's power isn't absolute; there are fiefs to the south and there are always other lords, merchants, scholars, craftsmen, farmers and laborers with their own power...

2. Gondor doesn't necessarily need a King...but it does need Aragorn more than it needs Denethor, see: amdir vs. estel. It will especially need Aragorn more, Aragorn's personal and political philosophy more, when at last the war is won and there is rebuilding to do for nor just Gondor but all Middle Earth...

3. But the sort of unlikely alliances at which Aragorn excels (because he is capable of thinking of other nations before Gondor) will not save then now, or, will not save them when Sauron truly begins to attack, except with Rohan. Rhun might be convinced to neutrality, but there is too much bad blood with Harad, with Khand, with Umbar... Aragorn can be king of this realm, he should be king of this realm, but there is nothing he can do for it for now that Denethor cannot...

4. And there is still trouble in Arnor, where there is no glory to be had for dealing it [see: aforementioned 'back in the woods' episode]. S5 is based out of Minas Tirith, but there is more travel - the designated "land of the season" is really the Kingdom of Gondor and Arnor as they will be in the Fourth Age. it opens with a 2-parter diplomatic mission to (Rhun?) to avert whatever war would otherwise have started from the attack on Rohan at the end of s4. Aragorn spends a lot of time in the southern fiefs (Lossarnach, Lebannin, Dol Amroth, etc), especially as the threat of the Corsairs of Umbar becomes paramount. And he returns to Arnor, as he has only a couple times since s1...

Though mostly it's Arwen who spends time in Arnor this season. Arwen's questions are different than Aragorn's. She's been competent this whole time - she has studied wise, strong, gentle rule with some of the greatest stewards Elvenkind ever knew. She did have to figure out how to adjust to Men, but she's done that, and moreover, she knows she wants to do that. She loves Aragorn, she loves Minas Tirith and Gondor, its hills and shores and people; she could make a life here, even if a short one, and something in her trills at the mystery of what would come next...

It also scares her. That she wants it, the ferocity with which she wants it, scares her. And the cost is so high...

The show's 100th episode would happen this season, and I would beg, I would blow half my budget, I would ritually sacrifice an unpaid intern...I would hopefully have proven myself enough with s1-4 that I could convince the Tolkien estate to sell me the rights to the extended Tale of Beren and Lúthien, or the Lay of Leithen or whatever complete form they're willing to share, for just one episode...so the 100th episode would some sort of flashback/dream sequence/illusion cast by a skilled elvish minstrel of the complete tale of Beren and Lúthien with Aragorn cast as Beren and Arwen as Lúthien, and etc. characters in corresponding roles.

(I'd do it with just what we have in LotR+Appendices, but I want the full rights so bad. For just 1 episode!)

With literally 22 episodes per season, this would be ep 12, in which case it is the final straw that prompts Arwen to flee Gondor and the fate she feels drawing in on her. If it's earlier, same. If later, she might've gone already, and this flashback/imagining comes as Galadriel tells her the story as she literally saw some of it.

There's also some sort of plot for Arwen to get involved with, maybe Dol Guldur again, or the barrows...Arwen with the Dúnedain, because she will be their queen, too - much easier than Gondor, for she has long been their cousin! but still a new thing. We ABSOLUTELY get 1 episode of pure Arwen, Elrohir and Elladan being a badass team.

She also discusses her Choice with them, and goes home to Rivendell and discusses it with Elrond. I forget what fic I read suggested that Arwen consciously makes the Choice not of Lúthien but of Elros, but it's SUCH a good point/interpretation and it 100% comes up in some conversation.

(I dunno if each episode is showing events in the south and north or if they wholesale switch back and forth or what.)

Throughout this, Arwen and Aragorn also start to develop the long-range dream-sharing they sometimes do in the LotR movies. They haven't done any of the traditional things elves do to bond telepathically (sex, cooperative meditation, etc), but they've grown close and the Great Song pulls them closer.

BACK TO THE SOUTH...

There’s an early-season episode in which Aragorn and Denethor both go back to Rohan to help young King Theoden with [stuff], and they both start to get competitive over it. Theoden ends up telling them both, “Full offense but I’m the King of Rohan actually, so thank you for your help and get the fuck out of my court.” Aragorn is duly chastised, and reminds himself to keep his pride in check. Denethor is chastised…for a while, and his pride will not forget this, we it has never forgotten any slight.

S5 is kind of a tragedy, and the tragedy is that Aragorn and Denethor could achieve so much if only they could get along. Or rather, if only they didn't naturally occupy the same ecological niche, that niche being ruler of Gondor.

Could Denethor ever serve Aragorn as Steward to King? No, because Denethor's pride is too great - he will never bend the knee to one he considers unworthy, and he will never consider anyone worthy above himself. Could Aragorn stay anonymously in Gondor forever, serve as Captain to Denethor's Steward? (This is Ecthelion's plan.) For Aragorn's pride...yes, Aragorn is capable of that with someone he deems greater than himself...but Denethor just does not qualify. Equal, perhaps, but not greater, and inevitable Aragorn would feel the need to step up and do what he thought right, and then there would be trouble...

Could they be true equal partners? No, because this, too, would try Denethor's pride, and Aragorn's more humble but also more righteous pride - and then Gondor would be lost, because if you took a poll in late s5 for who should succeed Ecthelion as Steward, Denethor or Thorongil...Denethor would win, but it'd be pretty close. Civil unrest–close.

(It needs to be clear why Aragorn could walk into this city 50 years later with no warning and be hailed and accepted as king)

(Denethor knows he has his father's support. He also knows he doesn't have many of his people's. This stings bad.)

(Aragorn is hurting his popularity a little by a couple times this season disappearing back north for Things up there)

(Also, to be clear, Denethor and Aragorn are both predominantly focussed on the growing problem of Mordor and its allies, and too wise to sabotage each other/themselves in that with rivalry...much.)

Btw the existence of the Minas Tirith Palantir was introduced in s4 (someone stole it maybe, and Aragorn had to get it back ASAP?). S5 sees Denethor start to use it...secretly. One time he's nearly found out; another time, he nearly tells someone...but he is not and does not. He promises himself he will only use it in diremost need, and he does hold to that promise (in these early years)

Then, late-season, Denethor finally figures out who Aragorn is. What Aragorn is. A comment let slip? A sketch of Isildur in the archives? A comment Finduilas made, before she died, about how Arwen plans to be a queen of somewhere someday soon? The Palantir?

Before he can do more than digest it, however, Ecthelion is assassinated! (Or, a harbor is deliberately attacked while he was visiting? They were aiming for him but it wasn't a 'knife in darkness' thing.)

Gondor is now AT WAR with Umbar and probably Near, maybe even Far Harad!

Yet on the eve of a big fight - or a month or so before, because travel times - Aragorn is needed urgently in the north! He must choose!

...He chooses to ride north. Just before he goes, Denethor confronts him about this abandonment of his duties to Gondor - and about his heritage. It ends with Denethor spitting, "Come back for your crown or don't come back at all!"

(Denethor regrets his words as soon as Aragorn is out hte door. What if he did come back for his crown? Would they tear Gondor apart between them? Denethor tells himself that for Gondor, he would hand over his scepter of office peacefully...but he knows he wouldn't. What right has Aragorn's ancient blood to the country that Denethor's family has served with blood and sweat all these generations! ...Anyway, he has more important things to worry about. The Corsairs besiege the coasts; the Haradrim advance from the south.)

Aragorn rides north as fast as can be, with (Dúnawen or Halbarad? Both work for different reasons). They meet up with Arwen and the Dúnadain to deal with the rising barrow-wrights (threatening the Shire, ultimate symbol of peaceful civilians!) Meanwhile in the south, Denethor, Halbarad and Roddis go to war--

Aragorn wraps up the fight in the north...for now. It'll be a problem again in the future...

He borrows a ship from the Havens and he and [whichever OG Ranger Trio friend] race the wind back south. (Arwen stays in the north)

Gondor has had victory in pitched battle on land, but the main problem is still the Corsairs. Was always the Corsairs, as Aragorn warned Ecthellon ago. Gondor has a navy, but not enough to win a pitched sea-battle, much less enough to guard their whole coastline.

Aragorn reaches Umbar ahead of the bulk of the army (which Denethor is with). He meets the vanguard, containing his friends (skilled scouts that they are)

Aragorn: I have an idea. Dúnawen: Is it another of your impossible plans based on ancient history. Aragorn: Maybe.

With a dozen-odd small ships as bait, they lure the bulk of the Corsair fleet into a vulnerable position... and then they burn the motherfucking pirates to the waterline.

When the Gondorin army catches up, they are met by Roddis, Dúnawen, and whoever else walked away from that naval escapade...with a message from Aragorn. [this text is pure canon!]

"To the Steward," Dúnawen said, and bowed to Denethor (though her voice was pitched to carry to all those watching). "He said, 'Other tasks now call me, lord, and much time and many perils must pass, ere I come again to Gondor, if that be my fate.’"

Denethor internally: what the FUCK does that mean. Is he coming back or not? If he comes back after this dramatic victory, the people will surely support him...

But he says something gracious and grateful, and goes home to be Steward of Gondor, watchful and warlike ever toward Mordor

Dúnawen stays in Gondor and marries Roddis. A couple weeks later, though, she hikes up the mountains behind Minas Tirith, where she spent much time in s3, and meets Halbarad, who spent much time there with her, and who left with Aragorn after the battle in Umbar. They catch up a little, clarify that she's staying, he's going north...

Dúnawen: You'll visit, I hope? Halbarad, looking out over Minas Tirith and the lands stretching out from it: No. The next time I lay eyes on these fields shall be the last.

(But he comes south anyway, in the War of the Ring! He knows he'll die there and he comes anyway, because there is Aragorn to aid and evil to fight!)

Dúnawen says, "Ah. Then Roddis and I shall have to visit you - and our crownless king, of course!"

Halbarad warns, "He meant his words, you know, and more. He will not return until the need is greatest and the time is right."

Dúnawen says, "I know. Aragorn always means his words. I did say we would visit you."

Halbarad laughs. "Indeed you did! Well, wait a few years - when we parted ways, he was paddling up toward Lothlórien, in expectation of meeting a lady there. Who knows how much time will pass in that enchanted wood, ere we see either of them again!"

The camera lifts as the music swells - Gondor's theme, Arnor's theme, the theme of the King as the camera flies through Gondor up the Anduin, passes a boat pulled over below the Falls of Rauros, passes the status of Anárion and Isildur by Amon Hen and Amon Lhaw, and catches up with a Man in a dark green cloak as he steps at last beneath the boughs of golden Lothlórien. He knows where to go, though they never discussed it, only shared a dream. The music changes to the theme of Aragorn and Arwen as he comes to where she waits on the white-flowered hill of Cerin Amroth. They take each other's hands while looking deeply into each other's eyes, pledge their troth, and embrace with a long kiss as the camera pulls out and twilight fades to dark...

And the dark turns to the flipping pages of a closing book, as the camera pulls out further to show once more a middle-aged Sam Gamgee - comfortably portly in his fireside armchair in Bag End - reading to half a dozen children.

"But aren't they going to get married?" a young hobbit-lass asks.

"Not in this story," says Sam.

Rosie comes in from where she was leaning contentedly on the doorway and says, "Not until after the king helps your Da and Mr. Frodo save the whole world. But--"

[young hobbits clamoring for that story! Nine-Fingered Frodo and the Ring of Doom! Samwise the Brave! I wanna hear about the spider!]

"But," Rose repeats more loudly and firmly, picking up 1-2 children at once, "that's a story for another night. Right now it's bedtime."

"Listen to your mother!" Sam says, puts the red-bound book on a side table and gets up to lift a slightly larger protesting child. "This Da is getting too old to be reading at all hours anyway!"

They usher the children out, to bed. The camera lingers for an extra moment the cheerful living room: where Sting hangs on the wall above the fireplace and on the adjacent wall, a small but expertly woven tapestry, with gems-encrusted threads which almost glow with their own light, of a star breaking through dark clouds to shine on a small figure holding a mirrored-shining glass in a dark land [implication: personal gift from Arwen]. There is a mayoral sash draped haphazardly over the back of one sofa, toys and a late-snack plate or two scattered about, and the thick red book from which Sam was reading, with the bookmark only about 3/4 though. The tale is never over, you see.

Fade to black for real this time, credits roll over a choral cover of the full poem: All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost. From the ashes a fire shall be woken, A light from the shadows shall spring; Renewed shall be blade that was broken, The crownless again shall be king...

#aragorn #arwen #denethor #lord of the rings #lotr #fanfiction #my fic #if I get enough notes on all of these together I’ll take them and picket a tv exec with them #(I will not but a girl can dream)

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laneynoir · 1 year

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@legoriel-fan this is the one inspired by that link you tagged me in, so I blame you.

Legolas x reader: Not All Come Back.

Word count: 1279 (pretty short, oops)

He understands.

Finally he understands. What causes his fathers protective nature, the reason for his closing the borders of his kingdom. Why King Thranduil keeps those he cares for so close, so protected.

It has taken this. No arrows fire from Legolas' bow, as foes and friend alike make a barrier between himself and you, you who are locked in combat with a troll that is at least six times the size of yourself.

You take it down, but not without a sickening crack from your leg, broken by a final sweep from the horrid creature's mace.

Legolas cries you name, but despite his elven strength he cannot clear a path to your side. He is forced to pull his daggers free, slaying many, but not enough. Never enough.

You are unbable to stand, and glancing at your leg provides a hopeless sight. Not bothering to stiffle the sound of pain that escapes, you drag yourself against the troll and pull free your belt of knives.

Each throw finds a target, but there are only so many of the weapons, and the enemies are endless. Legolas fights against the tide as you loose the last knife. An orc steps close, jagged dagger in hand and malicious smirk on it's face.

Legolas is pressed in from all sides, silver in his hands flashing on auto pilot, he cannit move.

He can only watch.

The orc stomps on the already shattered leg and your body wrenches in pain. You lash out with a half spear from the ground, the orc dodges to the side, but to late and his side is slashed open.

Ripping the weapon from your grasp, it mimicks the movement, cutting your stomach open. It's other hand still holds the knife, which he applies to your face; slicing from right below your hairline, through your brow and down to your chin.

Back. He's been pushed further away, the tide of battle will not allow him closer, but he needs to, he needs to get to you. The accursed orc kicks you, hitting the wound. You roll a few feet before landing, absolutly still.

The Eagles have come, but Legolas does not notice. The majestic birds however, do notice the sound that next escapes the fair prince's body; it is the sound of a shattered heart, breaking the body.

And Legolas understands.

Suddenly by his side is a red haired windmill of fury and determination. Axe hewing oponents with a will, Gimli shouting in Khuzdul.

When a small area is cleared, the dwarf kneels, Legolas taking only a moment to see the idea. Once he does, he feels enough love for the dwarven race to orchestrating an epic balled in their honor, maybe thirteen of them.

"You are mad," Legolas says placing a foot into the double hold of Gimli's hands. "But bright stars I am as well. Away!"

And on his shout, he is launched into the air. The weight of elves is very little, and coupled with the strength of a dwarf the effort is more than sufficient to send Legolas tweanty feet into the air.

Drawing the bow of Lothlórien the orc falls dead before it can touch you again, the next two orcs follow their fellow to deaths door before Legolas touches the ground, a third joins quickly.

You lie still as a corpse, and for a time he thinks that is all he protects. That is all he can see, your face mangled and bloodied so that he cannt even discern your features, but at last his quick eyes catch the shallow choke of breath.

Hope renewed -though still shallow- he stand by your body until the ground shakes and the forces of Mordor retreat. Until the Eagles collect the hobbits. Until Aragorn is running to Legolas, and a short while later you also are in the sky.

Though there is little chance that you will live, he sees the dispare in Aragorn's eyes.

He cannot leave.

Four weeks you have laid in the bed in comatose state, no recogniton for anything, the only sighn of life is your now steady heartbeat, and steady rise and fall of your chest.

The wound on your side misty healed, and all cuts and bruises have now faded, but your face...

Wraped in bandage, skin reknit by nothing less than magic and the work of a wizard, an elven lord, and, to Legolas relief, an Elvenking. At the three week mark, Legolas asks if there is a way to wake you preemptively.

"Not that I see. And indeed the pain of healing would be... Highly unfortunate. Unconsciousness is, in this case, a blessing." Legolas nodds wairaly at Elrond's words, but does not look away from you. Elrond sighs and leaves the room.

Elves can go long without sleep, but this is far to long, and though Elrond worries after the moral stansing of such a plan, Thranduil is not above drugging his own son.

"Four weeks Elrond,"

"Yes Thranduil I know, however-"

The king waves a gracefully impatient hand. "Four weeks my son has gone without proper nourishment, and no rest to think of. I will not tolerate my son's ill health because of your stubbornness."

Elrond rubbs his temples, Thranduil's voice carries still the tone of a King, but there is such worry beneath the surface that the effect is somewhat lessened. "Alright, I concede, " at the last Elvenking's smug look Elrond scowls. "I still remember exactly how to do so. After all I've had practice. Your famil2u is rather self destructive under mourning, Mellon"

A tilt of the head. "Your administering the tonic after my Maereth passed is exactly what gives me this idea. Legolas is far to muvh like me for anyone's comfort, and I cannot loose him," the piercing blue eyes make contact with Elrond's, they glisten. "Not to the loss of his love, and especially if there still is hope still."

A short while later, when a caring Sam apears with a cup of tea, Legolas has not the heart to turn him away. Elrond smirks despite himself when Thranduil moves his son over to the cot in the corner, covering him gently.

Though Legolas is decidedly displeased when he wakes, he is eventually convinced to take at least a two-hour rest each day, or the threat of removing him from your side will be carried through.

As fate -and the author- would have it, when Legolas has finally layed his head down to sleep (on his own, no more druging thank you father) he hears a movement from the the bed on which you lay.

He's never moved so quickly as this moment, kneeling beside you he grasps your hand, staring anxiously.

"Legolas?"

He moves his head in a movement of affirmation. "Yes Meleth, it is me."

You sit up, and Legolas startled as you rub your eyes vigorously. "Y/n, don't, you are unjured still!" Your breath has vecome eratic, and worried he calls for the guard outsude the door to fetch Elrond.

He snatches your hands away from your face befire you can open the healing wounds. Whispering your name brings yoyr attention back to him.

"Legolas, I cannot see. I cannot see anything."

His heart stops for a moment, before, "Worry not, it is dark still I'm sure your eyesight will be fine my love. It us only temporary."

Elrond arives, immediately checking over your person. When he places a hand in your forehead, tilting your head back, his face is grave. It is not much larer when he leaves, unable to do anything.

You are permenantly blind.

#this sucks and i know it #oh gods #legolas x reader #legolas x you #legolas #elrond #thranduil #my fic #NOT a recomendation

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enchantingkryptoniteheart-blog · 6 months

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Just a fun little quick write, trying to pull myself out of a horrid case of writers block that I find myself struggling with. Not sure if I will continue this or not. But it was certainly amusing to write. 😂

~Arachnid Deathicus~

Part 1

It was a rare thing to see a Dwarf of the male variety scared, Dis would know. She was surrounded by them on a daily basis. Strong willed, stubborn, and fearless are the words she would use to describe her brother and her sons. She would think no different of the 10 other dwarfs that made up the rest of the famous company that reclaimed Erebor, either. Fearless, thick headed, loyal souls the whole lot of them.

Restoring Erebor was a monumental job. Not just from a structural standpoint but from a cleanliness one as well. Dragons were not particularly good house keepers, and the amount of dust and critters that had made their home in the abandoned halls and rooms of the mountain city was astonishing.

In comparison, critters and dust bunnies should be an easy feat, or at least that’s what Dis had thought. It was shortly after her arrival from the Blue Mountains that she came to witness this well-hidden terror that each and every member of the company kept well hidden.

It was mid-day. The lunch rush was done, and everyone was heading back to their assigned tasks. She was walking along with halls, approaching the kitchens when she hear a cry of sheer terror accompanied by the cacophony of pots and pans bouncing off the walls and floors. Dis gathered her skirts and ran quickly to the kitchen, ready to come to the aid of whoever needed it.

As soon as she ran through the door, she stopped in her tracks, stunned by what she saw. Bomber was up on the counter, tediously balanced while welding a saucepan above his head, a crazed look gleaming in his eyes as he zoned in on some unknown target.

“Bombur!? What in Mahal’s name is going on?” Dis exclaimed.

The rotund dwarf jumped in surprise, eyes wide as his face turned a bright crimson red, almost a complete match to his fiery hair and beard. “Nothing your majesty! Absolutely nothing is amiss.” He chuckled nervously, lowering the sauce pan to act like he was wielding it like a sword. “Just making sure my sword arm is still in good form is all.”

Dis’s eyebrows were clear up in her hairline. “On the counter, my dear Bombur?”

“One must stay fit after all.” He huffed. “We can’t be caught unawares. Who knows when an enemy can sneak up on us from the shadows.”

“Uh huh.” The princess pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes at the well-fed dwarf. “Ok, well just making sure all is well. I’ll leave you to your … endeavors.”

Bombur bobbed his head up and down with dizzying speed. “Of course, your majesty.”

Dis hesitated, her eyes shifting between the discarded pots and pans laying hap-hazardously all over the kitchen, but decided it was probably for the best she leave the dwarf alone to finish whatever it was he was up too. As she turned and walked out the double doors, she heard Bombur cursing in Khuzdul under his breath, wondering how in the world he was going to get down from his perch on the counter.

The next instance came a few days later as she was heading back to her private chambers. As she was about to pass her son Fili’s rooms, she heard a high-pitched shriek accompanied by the sounds of crashing and terrified yelps of “Kill it! Kill it! Squash it!”

“May the Valar have mercy on your soul! You call yourself an archer?! Your aim is horrid!”

“I’d like to see you throw a boot with precise aim troll brain!”

“Crap! Where did that spawn of Mordor go?”

Silence. One could have heard a pin drop with how quiet it got in the halls as Dis stared at her son’s doors incredulously. Before she could even consider taking one step towards the door, another shriek pierced the silence, and the doors flew open with a resounding ‘BANG!’ as Fili jumped out flailing his arms while jumping up and down. “It’s in my hair! Kili! Get it out! Get it out!”

Kili stumbled out, laughing hysterically as he watched his older brother flail about. His mirth didn’t last long however, as a black speck about the size of a small coin went flying out of Fili’s hair and landed square on Kili’s nose. His eyes crossed momentarily stunned at his sudden bad luck before he let out an unbecoming shout of dismay as he began smacking his face “AAAGGGGHHHHH Get it off! Get it off!”

“BOYS!” Dis shrieked. “What in the name of Mahal is going on!?”

Fili looked up at his mom, his body still squirming and twitching as if trying to fight off some invisible force torturing him. “Amad! Hey! How was tea?” He grinned painfully,

Kili, not caring that his mom was watching, was bent over and vigorously shaking his head while scratching his hands through his hair. The black object fell from his hair onto the floor before him and he stomped on it, a gross crunch barely audible coming from under his boot. The younger dark-haired prince then looked up at this mother with a prize-winning grin. “Amad! We were just about to come check in on you.”

Dis narrowed her eyes, her hands firmly placed on her hips. “The whole mountain just heard that horrendous shrieking. What is wrong with the both of you?”

“Rats Amad.” Fili replied, dead serious.

“Disgusting creatures, hiding in all the nooks and crannies.”

“Falling from the ceilings.”

“Lying in wait for the opportune moment to strike.”

“Dreadful business Amad, truly you should go back to your chambers where you are safe.’

The two brothers played off each other flawlessly, not missing a beat as they both looked at her with a schooled innocence, she learned a long time ago to not trust. “You are the crowned princes of Erebor!” She hissed, as she shook a stern finger in their direction. “I expect you to act like it!”

“Of course, Amad.” Fili nodded towards his mom stoically, his hands grasped firmly behind his back not even caring that his blonde, braided hair was an absolute wreck.

“Forgive us Amad.” Kili added graciously, his hair sticking up at all ends as well.

DIs rolled her eyes. “Good grief boys fix your hair!”

These were not the only instances she happened across either. They were to be the first of many.

#thorin oakenshield #erebor #hobbit thorin oakenshield #thorin and company #hobbit fanfic #fili durin #kili durin #lady dis #dis durin #bombur #thorin fanfiction #alternate ending #dwarves #king thorin #the hobbit trilogy #hobbit #the company of thorin oakenshield

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sgiandubh · 1 month

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Sketch for a possible aftermath

Did you ever ask yourselves how would that almost fabled Day After look, as in the day after a Reveal?

Yesterday should be a good indication.

Prudent celebration, but clear celebration here. And across the street, a stunned, heavy silence. It's only fair: shite has been eaten in colossal amounts, in Mordor, on a daily basis. S has been particularly maimed, in the process, the daily divertimento of women sniper commandos, their own sexual fantasy poorly disguised as snarl.

Two of the three sopranos remain silent and the Ur Troll still has to distance herself from the last Harlequin fanfic, featuring something that never was, on a distant shore she has no idea about. The one who immediately spoke, paid perfunctory tribute to her favorite, C, and that's about it. The other, speaking only today, answers Anons about Xena's teeth, Xena's filtered Instagram and Xena's bra: where is her vulgar courage, now? Oooh. Right. Lame, as usual and I have to say I am surprised. And their Investigator in Chief remains silent as we speak: her inflated ego blew a fuse, in the process and anger is always a lonesome territory.

The Spanish Evil Twin does not count. Her attempts at irony are tinged with her proverbial stupidity and, perhaps for the first time, with clear and present panic: she sounds drunk, just like my Anon. She is laughable.

So long for Reason. So long for Braincells. So long for all those painstaking, intricate webs of lies. Something snapped, in the Narrative and you all know it. And it happened not because all those bitter honchos at *** had a sudden Damascus like revelation, but because their complete lack of professional ethics, shamelessly lying to an entire fandom, backfired in the most horrible way they could have ever imagined.

Yesterday was a wonderful day.

Credits given to @themusicsweetly, for this wonderful gif that clearly shows just how much these two people hate each other.

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velvet4510 · 7 months

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let’s talk about LOTR book vs. movie differences.

Overall, I prefer the book over the movies. The book just has even more depth, even more great character moments, and of course, all the lore (particularly the appendices) that could never be squeezed into a film, even a film trilogy.

The movies were perfectly cast - every actor was born to play their respective role - with magnificent direction, music, cinematography, and SFX. But the script has many problems when compared to the book.

These are, IMO, the worst changes that the films made (in no particular order):

Far too much emphasis on action/battle scenes. Helm’s Deep is 1 chapter long in the book but the equivalent of at least 5 chapters long in the movie. Ridiculous. LOTR has action scenes, but it is not an action story.

Frodo sending Sam away and going into Shelob’s lair without him. Everything about this added scene is an absolute atrocity. Enough said.

The entire butchering of Faramir. It’s really quite tragic. For the sake of drama, the films stripped Faramir of everything that makes him the incredible character that he is in the book.

Deleting the Scouring of the Shire. I get why (pacing), but it’s the true climax to the hobbits’ storyline and character arcs, and is just a better ending IMO.

Not including any of Frodo’s moments of impressive strength from the book (saving his friends from the Barrow-wight, fighting back against the Nazgûl at Weathertop, defying the Nazgûl at the ford, saving Boromir from a troll in Moria, and choosing all by himself to go to Mordor alone). He has so many bad*ss moments in the book that Elijah Wood would’ve nailed, but the movies made him too helpless and didn’t give a true talent like Elijah nearly as much to work with. (Elijah himself, though, is absolute perfection in the role, and it pains me to think how many great moments from the book he was robbed of.)

Cutting Tolkien’s beautiful songs, especially the “Man in the Moon” from the Prancing Pony. Why couldn’t the film have been part-musical???

Gandalf’s fall looks like he just…lets go. For some reason. In the book, the Balrog’s whip drags him down immediately, but onscreen he grabs onto the cliff and then lets go himself. Makes no sense.

All the stupid hamfisted foreshadowing of Boromir’s attempted theft of the Ring. The script bashes it over our heads, especially in Galadriel’s scene, and I have no idea why any of this was added. Why not just show Boromir glancing at Frodo and the Ring several times, like the book describes? That’s all that was needed.

Making so many jokes at Gimli’s expense because of his height and reducing him to mere comic relief. In the book his character is treated with dignity and has such depth.

Reducing Faramir and Éowyn’s phenomenal love story to a single 30-second scene. Screw pacing, those two deserved a full half hour (at the very least) of screentime dedicated to just them.

The butchering of Tolkien’s point about the Ring’s power by making Isildur’s failure seem like a personal flaw, to the point where it’s the reason Aragorn doesn’t want to be king. A refusal to destroy the Ring isn’t about the Ring-bearer’s own internal character; it’s about how the Ring’s power is absolute and no mortal has a chance of directly destroying it. Elrond, Gandalf, Aragorn, et. al. are fully aware of this in Tolkien’s canon. This change makes it seem like there’s something wrong with Isildur and Frodo specifically for not destroying the Ring.

Cutting the pivotal moment of Sam’s entire character arc where he takes the Ring from Frodo’s body, decides to try to continue the Quest alone, and then wears the Ring to hide from the Orcs. The movies just cut all of this critical content just for the sake of a surprise reveal of “omg Sam’s got the Ring!”

Deleting the CRUCIAL scene where Frodo curses Gollum outside the Cracks of Doom. The whole point of Gollum’s fall is that it’s not caused by a physical struggle between him and Frodo (as the movie portrays), but rather by his own actions, breaking his oath to Frodo and ignoring the warning within Frodo’s curse. The movie instead makes it into the climax of a typical action film.

Apparently this doesn’t bother most fans, but it most certainly bothers me: reducing Rosie to distant eye candy for Sam who he’s never talked to. In the book their relationship is so much more substantial because they grew up together and know each other inside & out and Sam’s love for her actually feels real. In the movies, the relationship just feels so shallow.

Referring to Frodo’s ride to Valinor as “the last ship to leave Middle-Earth.” A flat-out lie when you know Tolkien’s canon, completely ignoring the fact that Sam will be allowed to sail West eventually and they will reunite. They don’t even include Frodo’s line “your time may come, Sam.”

Sam, Rosie, and their children apparently not living in Bag End at the end. One of the book’s most beautiful developments is that after years of being too big for bachelors, Frodo’s generous parting gift to Sam finally enables Bag End to be a family home. It shocks me that the trilogy ends on a closeup of a random yellow hobbit-hole door instead of Bag End’s iconic green door.

On the other hand, there are a few book-to-film changes that I really like:

Arwen helping Frodo at the Ford instead of Glorfindel. I just love the idea of giving Arwen something important to do in the actual narrative, besides just being Aragorn’s wife. At the same time, as I said, I feel like the way the film did it made Frodo too helpless. My ideal version would be a mix of the two: Arwen meets the travellers in Glorfindel’s place but then sends Frodo off on her horse by himself, like Glorfindel does.

Boromir training and playing with Merry & Pippin.

Boromir carrying Frodo out of Moria.

“Give them a moment, for pity’s sake!”

Boromir saying “they took the little ones” instead of “they took the halflings.”

My favorite of all of the screenwriters’ additions that aren’t in the book is the immortal “Roast chicken” exchange.

Giving Théoden a sadder, more realistic reaction to his only child’s death.

Just giving Éowyn more screen time and showing why she falls in love with Aragorn. In the book, she only talks to him a few times and her love for him feels quite rushed; one of the book’s few flaws, in my mind.

Pippin being the one to directly save Faramir by jumping onto the pyre and rolling him off of it to safety.

Denethor realizing too late that Faramir is alive; a heartbreaking moment.

Théoden getting to see that Éowyn is the one who saved him and say a proper goodbye to her. It’s so unsatisfying in the book how he never knows she was there; I much prefer how Éowyn in the movie gets that moment of closure with her beloved uncle.

“I can carry you!” is the scene with the greatest page-to-screen adaptation, hands down. Everything from the acting to the gut-wrenching addition of “do you remember the Shire?” to the music is flawless. Makes me choke up every single time without fail.

The Ring lingering on the lava’s surface, trying to survive, and only melting when Frodo chooses Sam over it. Absolutely phenomenal.

Frodo saying “I’m glad to be with you” to Sam on Mt. Doom instead of “I’m glad you’re with me.”

“You bow to no one.”

Expanding the timeline of Frodo’s last months in the Shire after their return from 2 years to 4 years. I love Jackson for gifting Frodo more time in the Shire before his departure than Tolkien gave him.

I’d love to hear other people’s thoughts about their favorite and least favorite book-to-film changes!

#lotr #jrr tolkien #lotr books #lotr movies #lotr book vs film #lord of the rings

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