#Still no Tom Bombadil! Sorry lads! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

burtlederp · 4 years

Note

Grant(3), Caleb(4), Caetan(35), Tiburon(49) oops,, its a lot, huh? Your characters are just awesome hAHA sorrYY

Nooo don’t apologize thank YOU!!! I’M sorry for taking so long to respond!!!

Putting stuff under a readmore because holy hell there’s a lot of it

3. What is/was Grant’s relationship with his father like? tw: drugs, drugs, and more drugs; child abuse a la neglect

He’s laying on his back in the middle of his apartment, staring at the domed ceiling overhead. Coherent thoughts are far and few between, his mind muddled by the haze that fills it, fills the room, the whole apartment. Before he’d started smoking, he’d known he’d regret stealing so much weed, but for now, he didn’t. He floated in a peaceful bliss, utterly serene. No thoughts in, no thoughts out. Just smoke, curling and floating around him. Shapes moved amongst the haze, too faint to identify, passing, shifting forms. People, perhaps, walking by, walking around him. Legs passing by, nobody ever stopping to look down at him. People milling about, paces slowing, soon they’re coming and going. They enter the room, they talk, they leave after a brief exchange of currencies. His father is sitting behind him, on the couch. He’s high too, he’s always high, Grant can just barely see the shadows of his father’s hunched form when he tips his head back. His father never relaxed when he was high. He always became even higher strung, if that was possible. He only calmed down when he had heroin in his veins, or something stronger.

Grant couldn’t see the face of the smoky form of his father. There wasn’t one. In his memory, there never had been. His father in the transient construction of smoke was as accurate as any depiction Grant could have conjured on his own. Never present, never really there, always drugged out of his mind, never sober. Just the same as the haze that filled the house permanently.

4. Has Caleb ever witnessed something that fundamentally changed him? If so, does anyone else know? tw: war is hell, child abuse a la war is fucking hell, no I’ve not read the Silmarillion I just like the idea of Tom Bombadil don’t @ me

Caleb scrubbed his face on his arm and shivered, pulling the tattered cloth he called a blanket tighter around himself. It’d been raining for days now, with no end in sight, and it had transformed the prairie into a mudscape. He and one other lone figure huddled around a tree that stood tall in the midst of the brown sea, one solitary rise of solid ground, one lone spot of relative shelter.

“B-beautiful weather, innit?” the other, the stranger, chuckled. It was the first thing they’d said since they arrived. They’d showed up last night, flopping down against the tree and falling asleep. Caleb had kept his distance, kept still, not showing any inclination of actually being alive. He didn’t reply to the stranger’s comment on the weather.

“Not in th’ mood ‘fer talkin’? Thas’ a’ight…” they sighed after a long minute, realizing Caleb wouldn’t respond. “An’ I know yer’ not asleep, ‘cause iss’ too cold t’be sleepin’ right now.” Caleb still didn’t respond. He was wary of the person. There was no such thing as a stranger with ulterior motives.

“Don’ worry, I got enough words fer’ th’ both of us,” the stranger, a man, Caleb realized over the constant sound of rain, scoffed. Caleb looked heavenward, praying silently.

Please, no, don’t let him talk, Caleb prayed, but unfortunately the gods were not on his side in this moment.

“I’ve met a god before. Now, I know what yer’ thinkin’--’you? Dionisio? Seen a god? Ha! As if!’ But I tells ya’, I met ‘em. Hell if I’m to know which one he was or what he did or whatnot, but I met ‘im and he was a fabulous fella. Called ‘imself Tom, of all things. Can ye’ believe that? A god, named Tom! Ah, I hardly believed it myself when ‘e said it.” Caleb sighed, rubbing his face. The man’s name was Dionisio, and he was crazy. Excellent. I’m stuck out here in the middle of nowhere with a crazy man who’s likely going to kill and eat me.

A distinct crunch cut off Caleb’s train of thought. It wasn’t a sickening crunch, like a breaking bone or the like, but like a bite into an apple, a fresh, crisp apple. Caleb spun around, looking around the tree to see the man, as crinkled and wrinkled and dirty and filthy as he had sounded and smelled, leaned comfortably against the tree. His dark, beady eyes twinkled as Caleb stared at him.

“Mm, I knew that’d get yer’ attention!” he laughed, a hand lowering to his side. Before Caleb could react, jump back from the man’s drawn sword--he realized the man hadn’t drawn a sword at all. It was another apple. He held out the bright red fruit to Caleb. “Go on n’ take it, lad, y’probably more starved than I am!”

Caleb sat there, hesitating, eyes flickering between the apple and the man, weighing his options. He could take the apple, but… what did he want in return? Was the apple cursed? Poisoned? Was this a trick? He backed up a step warily, like a shy animal.

“Ayee, I’m not gonna ‘urt you! I jus’ wanna give y’ somethin’ t’eat. I swear I ain’t mean nuthin’ by it,” Dionisio insisted, holding the apple out further. Caleb stared, waiting. Dionisio tilted his head, giving a wry smile. “C’mon laddie. I ain’t mean ye no harm, c’mon.” His voice softened as he spoke, getting a little quieter, more gentle, not so rough and abrasive like the coarse mud that surrounded them. Caleb swallowed, his stomach twisting. It’d been days since he’d eaten. He didn’t remember when he’d last eaten. And here it was, food, offered with no strings attached. It was too good to be true. But his hunger overrode his instincts now and he snatched the apple from the man’s hand, leaping away right after.

“Aye, there we go, there we go, see? An’ I didn’ even ‘urt ye!” Dionisio chortled, watching as Caleb devoured the apple. The old man kept smiling, but it faded somewhat as the small, one-armed boy ate. “Ye been hit as ‘ard as anyone else by this war, ain’t ye?”

Caleb, chewing, looked up briefly at the man through messy, curly, wet black hair that fell in his eyes. He nodded, ever so slightly.

“Ye… Ain’t we all…” Dionisio sighed, letting his head rest against th’ tree. “I got more apples fer’ ye if ye want ‘em after that ‘un.” Caleb frowned.

“Why?” Caleb was surprised as the sound that came from his throat was not one he recognized. It was a croak, rough and unused. Though it had been… well, Caleb didn’t even know the last time he’d spoken. He cleared his throat and tried again, questioning the man. Dionisio huffed a laugh.

“‘Why’? Whaddya’ mean, ‘why’?” the old man looked to him with a grin. “‘Cause I want to, and ye look half-dead, and ye barely a child! Ye need it more than I do.”

“But….” Caleb looked down at the core of the apple in his hand. “You could last so much longer if you kept them to yourself.”

“But you’ll last so much longer if I don’t, won’t ye?” Dionisio pointed out simply. “That’s reason enough fer’ me.” A spot of red appeared in Caleb’s peripheral vision, and he raised his head to see another apple being offered to him, Dionisio smiling. Caleb took it slowly.

“No… no other goal…?” Caleb asked cautiously, and Dionisio shook his head.

“None. I jus’ wanna see ye get outta’ this war alive, lad.”

Caleb leaned back against the tree as Dionisio kept telling his story, listening out of one ear as he thought about the apple. Food, so precious in this time of war and chaos, and he’d given it away freely.

Perhaps there are good people in this world, still… Caleb thought as Dionisio talked and talked and talked, and it rained and rained and rained.

35. How does Caetan behave around people he likes? in a word: badly tw: implied to-happen noncon/r*pe

Caetan drummed his fingers on the bartop, chin resting in his other hand. He nudged his drink around a bit, bored. He didn’t really know what he was here for. Well, he did, he knew very well. He’d been more than busy the past couple weeks, and was yearning for some company. But he wasn’t sure what mood he was in.

And then someone sat down a few seats from him at the bar and he did a double-take. A man, maybe 6-foot-one, with short, dark hair that was well-kept, well-styled. Lean, well-muscled, but not brawny. His face was narrow, and by god that was the most perfect nose Caetan had ever seen in his life.

Caetan realized what mood he was in and got to his feet.

“This seat taken?” Caetan inquired. The man turned, looking up at him with deep, chocolate-y brown eyes that made Caetan pray the man said no because his knees were about to give out. The man shook his head, and Caetan tried to slip into the seat without giving away how weak he was already. “You here alone tonight?”

“I am,” the stranger responded, eyeing Caetan somewhat warily.

“That’s a shame,” Caetan shook his head. “A beautiful creature like yourself on your own on a Friday night? I’d say that’s a crime against humanity.”

The man stared at him, and Caetan suddenly second-guessed everything he’d said or done already. What had he done wrong? Could he fix it? What--

“I’m straight.” Ah. That’s what’s wrong. Caetan’s face fell a bit.

“Well, damn. You sure?” Caetan sighed.

“Very,” the man replied stiffly.

“That’s an even bigger shame, then,” Caetan grunted, motioning the bartender over. “Let me buy you a drink then, to save some face.”

“No thanks,” the man said quickly, getting to his feet. “Have a good night.” With that, the beautiful stranger turned and walked away. Caetan watched him go, and slowly got to his feet, moving stealthily through the bar as the man headed to the door of the bar, and he followed him out into the night.

49. If Tiburon was put into ______ situation, they’d rather die than live to see it through. I had no idea what to do with this for a looong time, ngl cw: cannablism(?), consumption of human flesh, gore, Tiburon doesn’t give two shits about your ‘ethics’, he’s got his own that he’s following; oh and implied kidnapping, planned torture that never happens

It occurred to Tiburon, now too late, that perhaps he was in over his head. ‘Infiltrate the mafia,’ they said, ‘it’ll be fun,’ they said. ‘You surely won’t be forced to torture and kill someone!,’ they said, he thought bitterly as he stood in front of a man tied firmly to a chair, a black bag over his head. His head was bowed inside the bag, but he wasn’t unconscious; Tiburon could hear the man choking on sobs, shoulders shaking. Tiburon had killed people before, he’d eaten people before, he had no issue with that; it was the torture that made him hesitate. Every time he’d killed, he’d taken special care to not let them suffer, he hated suffering.

And now here he was, being compelled to do it. Well, he would be, it hadn’t happened yet. He was trapped in this shipping container, another man standing by the door, waiting, watching, playing witness to Tiburon’s actions to let the boss know he was legit. Tiburon sighed, rubbing his face. What a fucking inconvenience. Six months--six fucking months of work, all down the drain, just like that. He tortured this man, made him suffer, or they would kill Tiburon. Well, they thought they would. Unfortunately, they were currently on the docks, so Tiburon would make his getaway before they ever knew he’d changed his mind about the work.

He turned away from the sobbing, bound man to face the guard, crossing his arms. The man, at least a head taller than Tiburon and fifty pounds heavier, every ounce made of muscle, eyed him.

“What?” The man’s voice was exactly what Tiburon had pictured--deep, raspy, heavy. Appropriate.

“Nothing,” Tiburon replied, looking away with a sigh. He rubbed his jaw, thinking. He had to cut to the chase before things started getting iffy. He turned back around and walked close to the guard.

“What’re you doing?” the guard grunted, sizing up the supposed torturer while the supposed torturer did the same to him. Tiburon did not reply, not verbally, grabbing the man by the head and pushing him against the wall. The guard barked in alarm and fought back, but Tiburon was quicker and slippery. Before the large brute could get a good grip on him and make the whole ordeal a lot more trouble, he leapt forward and sank his teeth into the man’s throat. The guard’s shout of alarm quickly twisted into a scream, then into a gargled wail that was silenced as Tiburon pulled away, trachea still in his teeth. The guard slumped to the floor, grasping at his own neck with wide eyes, and Tiburon hated it. A swift kick, and the guard’s body shuddered and went still, skull dented. Tiburon chewed thoughtfully on the trachea for a moment, surveying his work, and went to the captive man. The poor creature yelped in alarm at the touch as Tiburon cut through the zipties, but went quiet as the black hood was yanked off. The man’s eyes went wide as he saw the cartilage in Tiburon’s mouth, the dead body, and scrambled backwards with a terrified shriek.

“No, no, no no no please!” he begged, tears rolling down his cheek, one hand outstretched protectively. Tiburon frowned.

“Don’t worry, I won’t, I just figured it’d be cruel to leave you alone in the summer heat. Toodles.” With that, the merman turned and stepped out of the shipping crate, walking to the edge of the water, at some point discarding the trachea (cartilage wasn’t good eats anyhow) along the way. He dove in, relishing the cool ocean saltwater as it closed over his head, pleasant in the summer heat.

Six whole months… he thought again as he swam away, his legs fusing into a long tail, skin becoming rough, teeth sharpening. Ah well. Now I know; the mafia isn’t worth the work.

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imaginexhobbit · 6 years

Text

Con Amore

Author | Imagine | AO3 Link

AN: In case anyone was wondering Con Amore is Italian (aka the language of music) for With Love. Some slight angst ahead, but I hope you enjoy!

Falling into Middle Earth had been, well…

Unexpected was probably the understatement of the century. Or Age. If you remembered right, Lord of the Rings lore had always been told regarding different Ages.

Falling, on the other hand, was probably a bit of an over-exaggeration. It was less a fall and more…random transportation. Not that you were complaining! You’d been taking a walk in the woods around your home town, violin case strapped over your shoulder as you searched for a quiet place to practice. Idyllic bliss had been what you were going for, but then all of a sudden, instead you’d gotten a company of thirteen dwarves, a hobbit, and a wizard all surrounding you, a particularly broody Thorin Oakenshield glaring at your sudden appearance. Honestly, it was probably just a lucky thing he hadn’t decided to kill you for your unexplained presence. Even luckier when Gandalf decided to let you tag along (apparently visitors from another dimension were of interest to wizards. Who would’ve guessed?)

On one hand, it was actually nice, in a way. Middle Earth was pretty damn idyllic, especially by the time you didn’t have to keep looking over your shoulder in fear of more death glares. But on the other, you really did miss home. You’d been in rehearsals for a musical, and it was never far from your mind now, snippets of songs constantly flitting through your head to the beat of the horses’ hooves.

“I don’t mean to be rude, but,” Kili appeared at your side, practically out of nowhere. How lost had you gotten in your own head? “What is that you’re singing? I’ve never heard it before.”

“Come now, lad,” Bofur was suddenly at your other side. Were dwarves normally this stealthy? You never would’ve guessed. “Our songs are different than those of men. I would be surprised if any of our number could recognize their songs.”

“I’d be surprised, too,” you interrupted, “but, probably not for the same reasons you’re thinking of.” Really, the only songs you could remember from Middle Earth were the one sung by Tom Bombadil. And Pippin’s song. The movies really didn’t do justice to all the song writing in the books. “The thing I’m singing – it’s comes from the same place I do. Not from here. Actually,” you laughed a little, “you might catch me doing this a lot. All of them come from my world.”

“Oh!” Kili’s eyes brightened, a smile on his lips. “Could you perhaps sing them to us? I’m certain you have an incredible voice.”

“Yeah…I’m gonna have to take a pass on that. Trust me, my singing voice is passable, at best.” Quite literally. You were decent enough to hold a tune and pass your college singing class (required for your degree) but that was about it. In tune – mostly – but hardly beautiful.

“Y/N…” Kili whined, dark eyes wide with the most pitiful puppy-dog expression you had ever seen. “Please? Even if, by chance, you are terrible, I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

“Cause that’s so encouraging to hear.” You shot him a friendly smirk. “How about you wait until we set up camp for the night? I’ll play it on my violin and teach you the words.” You patted your case fondly. “You can tell me if I’m wrong, but don’t you play, too?” It was one of the details you remembered clearly from the Hobbit. For probably obvious reasons.

“Yes! And so does my brother!” Kili gestured up ahead to where Fili rode near Gandalf, discussing…something. Before turning back to you, head tilted to the side and eyebrows furrowed. “How did you know that?”

“Little birdie told me.” You grinned and explained further, Kili just as confused as before, if not more so. “I think I heard it from one of the Company. Can’t remember who it was.”

“Did Uncle tell you?”

You actually laughed at that. “Pretty sure I’m not on speaking terms with your uncle. Am I even on speaking terms with your brother? I can’t really tell.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that. Fili likes you, just had a bit too much on his mind, I suppose. In fact,” Kili’s eyes shone again; you were pretty sure that was his default setting, “he can hear you play tonight! He was far better than I ever was. Perhaps you two have more in common than you know.”

With that somewhat cryptic statement, Kili was off again, heading to check on Bilbo, who was faring arguably worse than even you were. Come nightfall, Kili was back at your side, his older brother in tow, basically demanding that you teach them the song you’d been singing earlier that day. Which was how you ended up surrounded by a group of rowdy dwarves belting out Do You Hear the People Sing? by the light of a campfire as you giggled with your violin hooked beneath your chin. Apparently the dwarves were into musical theatre pieces about the mess that history books called France. To think, a production of Les Mis put on by dwarves. You would pay an arm and a leg (maybe even a kidney) to see that.

When it came to other music, well, the dwarves’ enthusiasm made up for any lack of skill. By which you meant that Hamilton wasn’t really something in their repertoire. Rapping just wasn’t really a thing in Middle Earth (unsurprisingly) and probably went slightly over their heads. But they tried, and you ended up with quite possibly the most energetic rendition of Yorktown you’d ever heard, which was all you could really ask for. At some point in the evening, the requests began to change, Ori asking if you knew other types of songs, too. After all, Do You Hear the People Sing? and a decent amount of Hamilton were exciting songs, and sunset called for a new kind of music. A few selections out of Into the Woods, Allegiance, and even some Hit List had the Company’s ear for quite a while; eventually, you and Fili randomly held each other’s gaze, him giving you a small smile that had you immediately looking away, Kili’s earlier words in your head. You were being ridiculous. For real, what was wrong with you? The embarrassingly flustered part of your brain was probably what was responsible for eventually choosing to fall back onto Phantom, the upper octaves of some of the melodies getting more than a few impressed stares from the rest of the Company. Which, unsurprisingly, ended with Bofur requesting you teach him the lyrics.

The completely mortification melted away at that, and you laughed through your response. “Tomorrow, okay? But maybe not the last one. I don’t really think you’ll be able to hit those notes. Unless you know something I don’t?”

Unfortunately, the universe on the whole seemed to know something you didn’t, or else you wouldn’t have been caught off guard when Thorin approached, clearly not in the mood, ordering the other dwarves to set up camp for the night. While ordering you to stay out of the way. Clear enough he didn’t trust you. Not that you minded too much, wandering off with your violin, listening to the way the notes echoed across the open land. Run Away with Me sounded particularly beautiful in this setting, if sorta nonsensical to the situation. Not like you could really run away without probably getting slaughtered by orcs or mauled by wargs, and who would that even be with? Every person you were close with was worlds away, literally, and you didn’t have the slightest clue how to get back to them. You would run back to them if you could’ve had the chance. Although, even back home, there wasn’t really anyone who would be able to sing that to you, or anyone you could sing that to, either. You’d hoped, but, well, what was really the use now?

“Y/N?”

You spun in place, the older of the princes watching you from across the clearing you’d meandered into. “Fili! Sorry, I didn’t see you there.”

He smiled, glancing downward. “You have nothing to apologize for. I’m the one who should be apologizing for forgetting to introduce myself, and for sneaking up on you.”

“No, no it’s totally fine. I was just lost in my head anyway. I thought Thorin wanted all of you setting up camp?”

“We have. I was sent to look for you.”

“You…shit, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have done this. I mean, I have a decent sense of direction, but I’d probably never have been able to find my way back alone.”

“Trust me, it’s perfectly alright.” He signaled for you to follow him back to camp before speaking again as you walked. “You play beautifully. Another song from one of your musicals?”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s one of my favorites actually. But that’s probably ‘cause I’m not a pianist and had to accompany all the singers who audition with it.” You were rambling. Why were you rambling?

Thankfully, Fili didn’t comment on it, actually holding a sane conversation, unlike you, apparently. “What’s it about? The song. I’m curious.”

“Love. And…doing anything for that love. Even when the world doesn’t want you to.”

Fili hummed slightly, in thought. “Perhaps you could teach it to me tomorrow. After you teach Bofur your other songs, of course.” The last part was said with just a bit of mischievousness, enough to make you laugh.

“I think you mean after I try. If you’re all woken up by ungodly screeching, blame him, not me. I’m still sure agreeing to that was the worst decision I’ve ever made.”

The days and few weeks to come passed by surprisingly quietly. No imminent fear of death (well, at least from anywhere other than Thorin), and a bunch of peaceful nights during which you could bond with the Company. There were still occasional requests to hear songs from your world that usually did turn into the dwarf version of campfire sing-alongs, and those always lifted your spirits. Aside from that, you got the chance to actually learn more about each of the dwarves; Peter Jackson and Tolkien both had done most of them an injustice, really.

Especially Fili.

Kili hadn’t been exactly right about how much the two of you actually had in common, but after he’d been sent to find you that one night, you did spend much more time together. Usually it was just talking, or sometimes finding a quiet corner and gazing at stars that were different than the ones you knew, dotted across the skies, bright without the lights of big cities. Pretty soon, you both knew more about each other than you’d really figured was possible, considering the whole alternate universe thing. He told you tales of his childhood, growing up in Ered Luin with his mother and uncle, never really understanding their history until he’d come of age. He and Kili had been told stories about dragons and kingdoms and warriors, of course (really, like a lot of the stories you’d heard, too, as a kid) but the dragon that had taken their home was another matter entirely. The weight of being a prince, being responsible for getting their people back home and the consequences should they actually succeed – all when Erebor had never really felt like his home, when a future in which they succeeded never felt like the life he wanted. He did care about the mission, their people, but his first priority would always be the ones he loved; he’d never bring it up to Thorin, but there were plenty of times when he didn’t agree with his uncle about this entire journey.

Maybe (or obviously) you couldn’t exactly relate to that, but that didn’t end up mattering. Not when you would talk on other nights about all the things running through your own head. How much you missed home, all the things you’d left behind – all the dwarves knew about that. But then also the conflict there now. Because, somehow, you didn’t really want to leave anymore. Home meant everything you knew, but also everything you knew you didn’t really know yet. The future, family, career, relationships – balancing all of those when just really figuring out one seemed impossible enough, but being expected to get it all right just the same. Middle Earth felt like a fairy tale, in comparison, because there weren’t any masks to wear, trying to please all the right people in all the right places. You were just you, and you liked that.

Among other things that made you wanna stick around. Things you didn’t tell anyone for a million other reasons.

But then the orc attack happened, bringing you all to Rivendell, and it seemed like things had changed somehow.

Not that most of the Company really seemed to notice, having too much fun antagonizing the elves. Kili basically demanded that you take your violin out again and accompany their more raucous drinking songs. Eventually, the excitement did wear down, though, pretty much in line with when the elves stopped shooting their group skeptical side-eye glances (apparently the elves giving up on them made things less fun). At that point, most of the Company – save Thorin, Balin, Bilbo, and Gandalf – began to drop off to sleep, and your muscle memory took over, the melody of Story of Tonight being carried out across the hidden valley.

It seemed weirdly fitting.

By the time the super-secret meeting with Elrond finished, you stashed away your instrument for a private word with the lord of Rivendell, before finding a secluded balcony and reclining against a pillar, breathing in the night air, not paying much attention to the rest of the world.

“Y/N?”

“Fili?” You turned toward your friend, his blue eyes soft and eyebrows furrowed slightly. He wasn’t stupid; he knew something was wrong. “You okay?” Easy deflection.

“Yes, I’m fine, I just…I realized you were gone, and…” he trailed off, looking away.

“Well you found me.” You patted the ground at your side. “You’re welcome to join.”

He did, looking ready to ask you what was wrong. Except… “What was that?”

You were completely caught off guard. “What?”

“With your hands. You were doing it just now, before you saw me, and I’ve seen you do it while we were riding, too. The same motions.” He held out his hand, thumb and pinky finger stuck out, gently raising and lowering it.

“Oh!” The sign language. Sometimes you didn’t even notice it at this point. “It’s…the lyrics to another song, actually. People who can’t hear, they talk with their hands, and there’s a group that does musicals with that language, too. I’m a bit of a fan,” you finished with forced lightness.

Fili nodded, quiet. “Y/N…I won’t mind if you don’t want to talk about it, but…what’s wrong? You disappeared, and…”

“No, it’s…it’s fine.” Really, it was. He deserved to know, if you were being honest. “I…talked to Elrond. About…staying here. Just for a while, until I figure out what to do.”

“What? No…no you can’t.”

“Fili, you and I both know I’m not a fighter. I’m gonna get myself killed at worst, or just hold you all back at best. Well, that and…” Oh, shit.

“And what?”

“You,” came your answer, breathed out and at length. “I just…I can’t.”

“Why not? I care about you, too, Y/N. I was afraid to tell you, afraid you might not feel the same, but if you do –“

“No, Fili, that’s not it.”

“Then what?”

“It’s…it’s what the song is about. The one you keep seeing me signing. Love that isn’t gonna work ‘cause it just hurts in the end instead.”

“But you can’t know that.”

“You’re right, and that’s why I can’t risk it. I’m not from this world, and I still can’t promise what that’s gonna end up meaning.”

“You said you like it here. I don’t mean to take you from your family, but…”

“It’s not just that. It’s…” the fact that, if this played out the way you’d read and seen, then he wouldn’t make it out alive. You didn’t know if there was anything you could do about that. “Just trust me. Please.”

He sighed, but didn’t push. “So then, this might be the last time I see you?”

“Aside from tomorrow morning, possibly.”

“Will you show me the song? All of it, just for something to remember you by.”

You smiled, even though it felt forced. “Sure.” Signing and singing at once, you mirrored the performance you’d seen so many times online, except that there was no slick piano to slide across to deliver that kiss. And maybe that was all for the best, really. Although the shared signs brought the two of you closer, hugging tightly as you trailed out of the chorus, both of your breaths labored.

“Be safe, okay?”

“I promise.”

A whole year passed, and very little seemed to ever change. You spent your days in Rivendell, Elrond always off to chat with either Saruman or Galadriel or a different powerful someone every day. About Sauron, no doubt, not that you could tell them that without raising suspicion. Aside from that – the slowly rising tension over the darkness on the horizon – you wouldn’t have known the days passed at all. The elves couldn’t find any way for you to return to your world (interdimensional travel wasn’t really understood, big surprise there) and you couldn’t decide if that was a good or a bad thing. You did miss your family, your home, everything you’d grown up with. But you’d be lying if you said your mind wasn’t on Fili way too often. Technically, you knew he made it to Erebor without any harm coming to him, but that didn’t exactly make the waiting game any easier. Especially when you knew what you were waiting for, ultimately.

Maybe it would be better to go home. Not like you wanted to hear that he’d died in person. The movie was bad enough, even with how little importance it actually gave that. The book, too, honestly. He deserved so much better than that, than just…dying and…and…

You missed him. So damn much.

By the time the year had passed, you honestly hadn’t even noticed it. You only became aware of it when word came to Rivendell that the battle at Erebor had been won. That word…and a letter for you. The dread of opening that letter sent you back to that secluded balcony you’d last seen him, and your breath caught as you opened the page.

A letter from him, asking you to come to Erebor, hoping beyond hope that you hadn’t left, because all he wanted was to be able to see you again. Thorin had survived – injured, but ultimately alright – and he’d been hurt too, but not badly. Kili was in his usual high spirits, spending most of his days with a female elf they’d met along the way.

Somehow, things had changed. You had no clue how that was even possible, but it wasn’t like you cared, packing all your things to see him again and basically demanding that you be given a way to get to Erebor. Maybe this wasn’t destined to turn out badly, and like hell you were about to give that up.

Someday, you would find a way to get back, to tell your family what had happened, but, given the thundering beat of your heart in your chest as you rode toward Erebor, that wasn’t home anymore. No, home was where you could see your golden prince again, because now? It was time to teach him a happier love song.

AN: If any of you were wondering, the last song I’m referencing is The Word of Your Body (Reprise) from Deaf West's Spring Awakening. It’s honestly my favorite thing ever.

#drabble #the hobbit #submission

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garden-ghoul · 7 years

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fellowship of the bloggening part 2

“I am out of my mind impatient to get to rohan and it’s probably going to take MONTHS I hate this”

Chapter THREE IS COMPANY

Frodo has been dragging his feet, but what’s a couple months after seventeen years? He’s trying to figure out how to leave non-suspiciously, how to not leave at all, where to go, he is all over the place. He’s REALLY excited to go to Rivendell. So he buys a house in Buckland and sells Bag End to the Sackville-Bagginses (ugh!). Everyone thinks he’s downgrading to save money, even Merry, who helped him buy the new house. I think it’s very sweet that in his internal monologue he considers Merry & Pippin & co “his young friends.” Because honestly they are probably about half his age.

‘Whatever happens to the rest of my stuff, when the S.-B.s get their claws on it, at any rate I have found a good home for this!’ said Frodo, as he drained his glass. It was the last drop of Old Winyards. ...

‘Our last meal at Bag End!’ said Frodo, pushing back his chair. They left the washing up for Lobelia.

Sorry I love Frodo being petty to the Sackville-Bagginses (ugh!). So Frodo, Sam, and Pippin set out at sunset, because they like walking in the dark. Cute? As they leave they hear Some Creep asking where Frodo has gone. Secretly a Nazgul, I’m sure. They sleep under a tree and immediately upon waking Pippin starts loudly telling Sam to get water ready for a bath?? Okay is he just your servant, Mr Took? Don’t be an asshole. Anyway the next day the Nazgul passes them on the road; everyone is stirred up. Here we get a lot of loving description of the English Shire countryside and a travelling song Bilbo made up. It’s the one Pippin sings for Denethor in the movies, but it’s rather less serious, I think, than they made it seem by picking the most serious bits.

Then world behind and home ahead, We’ll wander back to home and bed. Mist and twilight, cloud and shade, Away shall fade! Away shall fade! Fire and lamp, and meat and bread, And then to bed! And then to bed!

ALSO he always pluralizes hoof as hoofs, not hooves. argh. So the Nazgul comes back, but is almost immediately chased away by a bunch of elves singing about Elbereth Gilthoniel (presumably it is Song, in the magic sense, because the hobbits can all understand them; I think it’s funny that they’re using Song to amuse themselves while travelling). From this Frodo concludes that they are high elves... but isn’t that Eldar? Elbereth is her Sindarin name, and like... literally all the elves speak Sindarin now...

In any case, he happens to be right, because the leader of the elves is Gildor ben Finrod (hahaha that naming convention sounds dumb with elf names). I didn’t even know Finrod had kids... as I recall his heir was his nephew, Orodreth. Yes I’m just here to pick apart continuity snarls that Tolkien didn’t manage to fix. ANYWAY the elves are kind of jerks, they think hobbits are too dull to associate with... until Pippin asks them who the black riders are, at which point they get scared and invite our heroes to stay the night with them. Only after the hobbits have started to fall asleep do the elves eat. Frodo tries to soak up as much Sindarin as possible (the elves think he’s adorably precocious, I don’t like them); Sam afterward remembers it as “one of the chief events of his life,” despite the fact that he is going to save the world later. Sorry what

A SHORTCUT TO MUSHROOMS

The perfect title for a chapter that starts right after Gildor gives Frodo some truly scary and cryptic warnings!

‘Did you ask about the sniffing?’ said Pippin.

‘We didn’t discuss it,’ said Frodo with his mouth full.

‘You should have. I am sure it is very important.’

‘In that case I am sure Gildor would have refused to explain it,’ said Frodo sharply.

Good old Gildor! I think Pippin’s right, though. Probably the fact that Nazgul can smell the Ring bodes p ill. We also get a bit of a glimpse at why the elf party is one of the main events in Sam’s life; it has totally changed his views on elves, and on the world, in a way he can’t quite put into words yet. It’s so jarring, the way Tolkien treats Sam like a dog one moment and the next “It did not sound like the voice of the old Sam Gamgee that he thought he knew. But it looked like the old Sam Gamgee sitting there, except that his face was unusually thoughtful.” Make up your mind, Johnald. Are servants people, or not?

Our heroes decide (after much arguing) to go overland to Bucklebury rather than by the road, to be harder for the Nazgul to find. Amusingly, one finds them almost immediately but is, I guess, unwilling to get off its horse to follow them down the bank. Maybe the horses evaporate if you get off them, it would be so inconvenient. He’d have to call Mordor for another one, and Sauron gets so mad if you ask him for a new horse.

Our heroes have a talk and some dinner with Pippin’s old friend, Mr Maggot, who unintentionally terrorized Frodo as a lad for stealing his mushrooms. It turns out the Nazgul have been asking around here, too, but Maggot saw them off. He graciously drives our heroes to the ferry, where they find Merry waiting for them, and gives them a parting gift, a large basket of mushrooms. And so the shortcut to mushrooms was being polite and friendly! A shame they cut that from the movie, it’s a nice morel.

A CONSPIRACY UNMASKED

Our heroes make it to Frodo’s house at Crickhollow, where Merry and their other friend Fredegar ‘Fatty’ Bolger have drawn three baths! And they have dinner, including the enormous amount of mushrooms they received as a gift. As an aside, Tolkien notes that hobbits love mushrooms more than anything else. Puts me in mind of badgers or pigs or some other woodland creature that loves to snuffle.

Merry reveals the fact that they all knew all along that Frodo was leaving the Shire, because he’s really not a very good actor. Unexpectedly, they all want to come with! Well, they are young, and they seem to thirst for adventure. Unlike Frodo, who is terrified, they seem to think it’s pretty fun. And yet...

‘But it does not seem that I can trust anyone,’ said Frodo. Sam looked at him unhappily.

‘It all depends on what you want,’ put in Merry. ‘You can trust us to stick to you through thick and thin - to the bitter end. And you can trust us to keep any secret of yours - closer than you keep it yourself. But you cannot trust us to let you face trouble alone, and go off without a word. We are your friends, Frodo.’

Aww.

So they plan to be away into the Old Forest by first light. Fredegar is afraid, but Merry assures him it’s pretty safe during the day “when the trees are sleepy and fairly quiet.” Woo! Ominous! Are there ents in the Shire? Fredegar promises to wait for Gandalf, while our heroes go into

THE OLD FOREST

I wasn’t gonna do another chapter but this transition was too good to pass up. Merry tells our heroes a little of the history of the Old Forest: at one point it tried to attack the Hedge that marks the border of the Shire, but hobbits made war on it and cut down and burned a great many trees. Since then it has been even less friendly, but during daylight Brandybucks, at least, are pretty safe there. Frodo tries to sing a song, and the forest gets mad at him. Merry is apparently still cheerful, or a good actor.

They gradually realize that the forest is shunting them toward the Withywindle, the “center of all queerness.” Every time they try to veer north toward the road, they encounter great difficulty. Eventually they are forced to go right down into the river valley and walk along the river. But they begin to get very sleepy. I LOVE how Faerie this is. Sam is the only one who realizes something fishy is up, and has to rescue Frodo from being drowned by the tree. They realize it’s eating Merry and Pippin, and when they try to scare it by lighting a fire it threatens to kill them. Hostages! Frodo runs along the path, crying for help, and hears my favorite song in the entire entire:

Hey dol! merry dol! ring a dong dillo! Ring a dong! hop along! fal lal the willow! Tom Bom, jolly Tom, Tom Bombadillo!

Sorry these are just such merry sounds, I love them. I’ve heard some very strange things about Tom Bombadil, though. He sings to the willow tree and it releases Merry and Pippin, and then offers to let them eat at his house as thanks. Y’ALL DON’T DO IT. NOTHING GOOD COMES OF EATING FAERIE FOOD.

#blog of the rings

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