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a-lonely-dunedain · 10 months

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12.............. with Corunir?

So you have chosen... Tur-Morva. *evil laughter* wherein the rescue instance goes horribly awry in a canon-compliant way

“Eth… Help me” Ethedis hears a weak but familiar voice behind her, one that she would be overjoyed to hear in any other circumstances and speaking any other words. She was a split moment from sprinting down the tunnel, where she had heard Bregadir frantically calling for a healer mere seconds ago.

Instead, she stops and pivots around to see Corunir collapsed on one knee, breathing heavily and bleeding more so, a deep shadow of crimson growing beneath him. Horror sets in the pit of her stomach.

She stoops to steady him just in time as he falls forward into her arms. “I think… wounds reopened…” he mutters faintly as Ethedis struggles to reposition him to asses his injury.

“Corunir…?” No response “…Corunir!” She calls frantically, still to no avail. He’s fading fast. She fights to bury the panic welling up in her heart. She has to stay calm if she is to have any hope of saving him. She prays someone else heard Bregadir’s call for a healer, she cannot help both of them.

There is a long cut on his stomach, that seems to be the primary source of the blood. The wound is not fresh, seeming days old yet healing very poorly. No doubt an injury sustained during the Grey Company’s capture and left to fester after he was thrown into that dark cell, just beyond the reach of his kin. It seems to have reopened in the battle. His strength has already been long spent, and this rapid loss of blood would be enough to push him over the edge. His face is pale and his breath slows with each moment, he is minutes away from death.

She puts her hand to the wound, applying as much pressure as she can in her already weakened state. “Please… just hang on. Just a little longer…” she pleads, blinking away tears. He cannot hear her.

She takes a deep breath and turns her mind outwards, beyond herself and this small corridor. She does not know how deep below the earth they are, but deep enough that she cannot hear the slumbering trees or even reach their roots, but she doubts they would be willing to lend her their power anyway, not while it’s still winter. She keeps searching. She finds some moss, it wants to help, but it is too small for this task.

After a search that, in reality, barely lasted a moment yet it felt like hours, she finally finds something. An underground river, flowing swift and strong beneath the earth, unaffected and uncaring of all else, yet holding great power. She begs the dark cold waters for aid, to lend her its strength and grant this dying man in her arms new life.

‘Please. Please just buy him a little more time. Let me save him. It isn’t his time yet. Not here. Please.’

There is nothing. The river has no reason to care. She fears it will give her nothing.

Nothing, and then the sound of rushing water thundering in Ethedis’ ears alone, the shock of cold water in her veins, and an unfamiliar power flowing through her hands. Flowing like a torrent of water too powerful for her to tread in such a weakened state, yet tread it she must. She sends it into Corunir’s near-lifeless body. Close the wound, stop the bleeding, give him the strength to survive.

There is water now, but not from the river, it flows from Ethedis’ eyes. Her hands tremble and her arms burn as though she has been swimming against the current of an ocean. Acting as a conduit of power such as this would test her limits even on a good day, and this was anything but ‘a good day’.

She cannot do this. She cannot hold onto this river. Corunir is still bleeding. If she stops now it will not be enough to save him, but she cannot hold on. More water escapes her eyes, a sob from her throat.

Suddenly she feels another set of hands atop her own, calloused, worn, and strong. A familiar voice beside her, it belongs to Golodir.

“Easy, Ethedis, easy. You’re doing well. It will be alright.” If he is afraid, his voice will not betray it, and that is all the better for Ethedis.

With the practiced confidence only an experienced captain could possess, he manages to steady her. She can hold on a little longer, she is not fighting alone, Golodir found them. He says it’s going to be ok, and she believes him.

She keeps it up just long enough, but not a moment more. She cracks open one eye and sees Corunir's bleeding has finally slowed, if not stopped altogether. Some color has returned to his face as well. She thinks it is safe to stop now. She looks over to Golodir and sees worry in his eyes, but no fear. He simply nods at her, she thinks she hears him say something, but she cannot make out the words. She lets go and collapses. She thinks Golodir caught her, but her body is numb with cold and she can’t feel much of anything. He calls out to her, but she lacks the strength to respond and consciousness quickly abandons her. Corunir is alright at least. Golodir found them, everything will be alright.

(Yaaay Golodad to the rescue! there was meant to be another part to this, where Corunir comes to later and actually has the chance to talk to Ethedis, but it wasn't coming together fast enough so I'll probably just add that part *gestures vaguely* "later". I DO like what I had so far, but it was my first time actually properly writing dialog between those two and I wanted to make sure I did a good job, ya can't rush it. you'll see it later.)

#anyway heeey look my first time actually writing about the ranger I'm so obsessed with!#idk why I put it off so long I think I was just worried about doing a bad job #you know when you have a blorbo you care so much about you're afraid to make content about them bc what if it won't be Good Enough #yeah me with Corunir #I still don't even know how to draw him #ty for the ask friend!#I'm doing these horribly out of order I still haven't technically gotten to the first one yet oops #oh well!#love that cameo of Tossdir literally dying in the background hehe (the reason Bregadir was frantically calling for a healer)#also hi Bregadir how do you keep showing up in my fics?#my favorite background character has to be that moss tho #I wants to help!!! it's just moss it can't DO anything but it wants to help!! I love it #lotro #lotro fic #Corunir #Golodir #lotro oc #Ethedis

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find-the-path · 1 month

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'Seeing you brings me hope... hope like I knew when Golodir was here.' - a dwarf in Gath Forthnír.

This dialogue is deliciously ironic when you consider that, the moment Golodir gets back, he starts exuding dread to everyone around him.

#lotro #golodir #angstmar #i love lotro's hope/despair mechanics

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a-little-hobbit-hole · 9 months

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Finished one of my favorite battles in game recently! I've done the main quests a few times on a few characters and I always get sad about it all. I really need to finish reading the books too 😖 it inspires me every time but I get sidetracked every time

I'm still sad I missed screenshots of the Ride of the Rohirrim speech, but I was too busy sitting there watching and listening like a dork lol

But at least I got to see Golodir 🥺

#lotro #lotr #nennith #high elf #lotr elf #grey company #golodir #theoden #eomer #ride of the rohirrim #minas tirith #pelennor #sad feels #liek if u cri evrytiem

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incorrectlotroquotes · 2 years

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Radanir: Here you go, Golodir, a nice hot cup of coffee!

Golodir: It's cold.

Radanir: A nice cup of coffee.

Golodir: It's horrible!

Radanir: Cup of coffee.

Golodir: I'm not sure if this even IS coffee.

Radanir: C U P.

#radanir #golodir #incorrect lotro quotes

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coolinformations · 1 year

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#golodir #golo diet #diet tips #fitness tips #healthy lifestyle tips #@na tips #dieting #weightloss #lose weight #healthy weight loss #fat loss

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rohirric-hunter · 2 months

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One of the things I love about LotRO is that it allows its female characters to be feminine while not confining them to traditionally feminine roles.

This woman is a captain. She's in charge of several other (unnamed) captains, managing diplomatic relations, organizing defenses and offensives. And this is how she dresses when she's not in uniform. And at no point is any sort of doubt cast on her dedications to or ability to perform her duties because of this. No one expresses surprise that someone like this would go into the military, or that a military woman would wear this sort of clothing out of uniform.

IDK, it's just really hard to find characters like that, especially in fantasy. Female characters get shoved into a number of stereotypes that don't allow for this sort of character depth and expression and more than anything it's tiresome. LotRO has always been very good about not doing that, and I'm very grateful for it.

#lotro #gondor renewed spoilers #not even slightly an exaggeration but i wept tears of joy when i got to gath forthnir for the first time and lorniel #a very hyped up character as a trusted leader (if not as hyped up as golodir)#was wearing a DRESS #and then more tears of joy when the time came to go out and fight and she PUT ON PANTS #almost like she was some kind of like. realistic character who doesnt just wear carbon copies of the same outfit all the time or something #like you know a real person #and then other tears for other reasons #but like idk. lotro has always been good about this #appreciation post for that #also i suppose i should say that. i ASSUME this woman is out of uniform

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rannadylin · 11 months

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I found it! I found the corner of Rohan that clearly inspired Golodir's Cloak. XD Green fields, orange and yellow flowers, and a Rabbit! (It's near Faldham in the Norcrofts; not far from the lathbear den.)

Now the real question, for any LOTRO players out there: Why a rabbit? What does a rabbit have to do with Golodir anyway? Is this like a family heraldry thing or something? Or perhaps in his youth Golodir was Rangering in Rohan (or...somewhere with yellow and orange flowers and bunnies, at least; i.e. anywhere but Angmar probably) and just...liked the aesthetic and got it embroidered on a cloak?

Whatever the story behind it, as non-dyeable quest reward cloaks in LOTRO go, Cerphedis is certainly getting a lot of use out of this one. (N.B.: Cerphedis may be the first alt I've actually used it on but she at least is glad I put it in my wardrobe back when Lennidhren received it!)

#lotro #cerphedis of gondor #golodir's cloak

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poetry-draws · 1 year

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is he breaking into Minas Morgul to finish off Gothmog himself? sneaking home after Dagoras’ Harvestmath Masquerade party went so hard it became a security risk? you tell me

#lotro #golodir #is this Yet Another golodir au #i don't know man #i think i just wanted to give the old man cool stuff to do #as he's got a 50/50 shot of crying when i draw him #so *shrugs*#to add: i think i watched robin hood and the prisoner of zenda at my grandma's house when i was very young #on like the local pbs or something #that was formative #guy breaking into a castle in the dead of night??? you got me #and then the great race 1965 was like. my pandemic movie #oh it's so good #if you liked wacky racers as a kid you're in for a treat

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lotrojourney · 1 year

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...... Amarthiel?

lotro's og poor little meow meow 😔

#asks #discounting laerdan and golodir

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aurore-parle-de-ses-idees · 8 months

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45 with Corunir if you're feeling angsty? (bonus 22 for less angst)

panic + hug for corunir :) rescue in nurz ghashu

It’s a long, long way to Norbar.

He tries to catch Golodir earlier, but whatever madness has driven him here gives him too-great speed, and Corunir can only catch glimpses of him vanishing around corners and into hot, winding tunnels.

The ancient city is massive. A part of him would like nothing better than to stop and admire it, but more of him only curses its size now, too great and labyrinthine. The risk of losing Golodir to the maze of the ruins is nearly as great as that of whatever has drawn him here.

Surely something has drawn him here, right? Surely he has not come entirely of his own volition, alone and with no word to any of them left behind in Gath Forthnír.

It must be hours, he thinks, following Golodir deeper and deeper into Nûrz Ghâshu. The great heat only grows, and he must have sweat through his shirt long ago. He wishes he had thought to at least snatch his pack before running headlong into the hills of Angmar, but he has barely kept up with Golodir as it is, racing after his captain who had gone running even more heedlessly than he from the caves.

There at the edge of a great lake of fire he watches Golodir cross the basalt causeway to a great and marvelously intact coliseum, but when he goes to follow great vents of scalding steam and heaving stone erupt across his path, as if they had only been waiting for Golodir to pass.

The pounding of Corunir’s heart cannot come only from the heat and exertion.

“You will not keep me from him,” he says lowly, drawing his sword. He hacks at the fumarole until it deflates in a burst of steam that heats his sword until it glows. He grips it tight despite the burning and barrels through the remains of the vent to the great coliseum doors.

He finds the doors locked against him, despite how easily they had swung open before Golodir.

Up through the side passages then, clambering over old, collapsed stairs and up through cracks in the floors, until he finds his way to the seating of the old coliseum, rows and rows of low stone benches overlooking the arena itself. Most of this, like much else here, has been consumed by flame, the center sunken into a deep pit from which molten rock bubbles up- and there, beyond it, is Golodir.

He is calling for Lorniel.

No, no he knows she is gone. He has thought of little else in the months since. This must be the work of something else. But what is it, that seems to have accomplished what even Mordirith could not? Corunir comes around the curve of the arena. He calls for Golodir, but he receives no answer.

And then the creature comes, darkness and power rising with such force Corunir falters even in the seats above, clutching at his chest as it strikes him like a blow, like but unlike the tangible presence of the watchers. It’s a creature like they said was summoned into Barad Gúlaran, like some have seen at times wandering Nan Gurth, demon-things that recall nothing so much as the dread legends of the balrogs. Golodir seems not to notice it, hammering madly on the tall steel doors that lead out of the arena. It approaches him, one hand stretching out to strike at the door in time with the pounding of Golodir’s fists. What lies beyond the doors? What need has this thing for Golodir?

It matters not. It will not have him.

Corunir rises, and grips his sword tight enough it does not shake, and ducks low to the ground in the cover of the wall that once kept spectators from joining the entertainment in the arena. The creature does not see him, nor does Golodir, and he comes to the edge of the seats and climbs into the box above the doors where some announcer or official may have sat, and peers over the edge.

The creature looks up.

Golodir looks up, but he sees nothing.

“Let him go,” Corunir says. It comes out far softer than he means it to, but no less vehemently.

“He is my gateway,” the creature says.

“Let him go.”

The creature snarls, and Corunir throws himself over the edge, sword leading, and falls like a stone towards it. It screeches, and Corunir lands hard in a tumble of heat and smoke and ash. He pushes himself up, groaning. Everything protests.

Golodir stands quiet by the door, his hands fallen to his side. The creature rears back, Corunir’s sword still embedded in its chest.

“Golodir?” No response. Corunir curses, casting about the arena as the creature turns its ire on him. There. A piece of obsidian maybe, or some ancient black-steel blade scorched by fire and time. He snatches it up, and it cuts his palm, but it cuts also into the stone walls of the arena, and with it he carves out some sign, learned from a friend not so long ago, one that recalls ice and winter and the bitter winds from the mountains, and when the creature draws near he pours his strength into it and casts himself down, covering his head as shards of ice scream out and out until the creature howls and howls and vanishes into the pit again.

He hears Golodir fall, hitting the ground with a faint rush of breath and nothing more.

He tries to rise, but his shaking arms give out and he cuts his cheek on the sharp, splintered stones. No, no- Golodir- But such workings have a cost, especially for those untrained, and he was weary before the arena. He pants for breath in the awful heat that has left him none to spare, embers spit from the fires all about burning holes in clothes entirely unsuitable for such a trek.

Something shuffles near the door. Golodir groans.

“What…? Where am I?”

Corunir gathers all his strength and pushes himself to his knees, his elbows wavering under his weight.

“Corunir!”

And then Golodir is at his side, and things are right in the world, because he knows where he is and he isn’t trying to to reach the deepest places of the cursed Rift- and not only because he is nearly there already. Golodir takes Corunir by the shoulders and holds his eyes, and Corunir barely has the strength to close one hand around Golodir’s wrist in tired relief.

“I am well,” Corunir insists, though his thick voice tries to give the lie to the words.

“Lorniel was alive,” Golodir says, as if it explains all of it. Corunir only shakes his head. He opens his mouth to speak, but Golodir is far too familiar with the designs of their enemies and works it out himself, the horror growing in his face as he realizes what he has done and what nearly happened. “I am ashamed,” he says. “I am no Ranger-” “No!” Corunir finds the strength all at once, in anger and desperation and don’t you dare, not after all this. He glares at Golodir, though his eyes would surely burn with tears if the fires hadn’t dried them all up. “You are the bravest Ranger I know. Why else would they try to take you from us again?” Golodir stares at him, stricken, and Corunir throws his arms around his mentor, leaning more than he means to into his support. “We need you, Golodir.” Golodir holds him, hands fisted in his singed, soot-stained shirt. Corunir can’t say which of them is trembling worse, but they cling to each other in the empty arena in the burning depths of an ancient, nameless city, until the shaking calms and they can stagger from Norbar together.

#ask games #lotro #my stories #fun times in the sad about rangers tag #corunir #golodir #the panic just lasts all the way back to gath forthnir #ty friend :)

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hallothere · 7 months

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this is apropos of nothing, but it is adjacent to the Golodir brainwashing AU.

it does go into a little detail on the setup, but this is a branch of a sarc au focused around the Horrible Canonless Potion called Mindcoil, which lets the party administering it control the mind of their poisonee. in this au, Golodir was under said evil influence during his stay in Carn Dum, was subsequently freed, further subsequently re-exposed just prior to the Grey Host's jaunt through Gondor, and re-freed after the battle of the Pelennor. this fic takes off in the Tower of Barad Curon, where Corunir finds himself (and soon, Golodir) prisoners of Gothmog

enjoy

Corunir sat on the top step of the dais as calmly as he was able. There was to be a tournament in the tower of Barad Curon, and the stage was set. Every single aspect of this trial of arms had been calculated. The weapons, the fighters, the stakes, the decor, the level of dust allowed to keep coating the floor- Gothmog had factored all of the random variables, and engineered some for his own ends.

It became obvious from the moment Corunir had woken up in a strange room. Instead of the traditional slime-covered walls, barred doors, and corpses for company, he had found his prison lavish, if dusty. A single bed sat in a large room with windows so high up on the ceiling he doubted they could be opened or closed by human hands. There was a cabinet and set of shelves on every wall, some with tables and the remains of paper, glass containers, and shreds of wood he couldn't guess the purpose of.

But he did recognize the room. That had been calculated. It was similar to another room, one he'd last seen Golodir in. High, warm walls, comfortable beds, the implements of healing. People. Chatter. There was always the smell of herbs and soothing tinctures in the air. The sound of flowing water.

This room was a tomb. Corunir clenched his jaw hard and stared at the cover of an ancient olia that stretched over most of the floor. These had been the healing halls of Minas Ithil. One corner of the cover was slightly askew, and there was no dust on it. He was meant to look. At all costs, he must not.

Gothmog may have made a fatal error there. His knowledge of Corunir was limited, and his calculations off. He knew only of the steadfast follower, the one too stubborn in the face of horrors beyond comprehension. With the palantir that had once lived in the halls of Carn Dum, he was familiar with the young man undone by the sight of his fellows lying dead in the grip of the Rammas Deluon.

He did not know Corunir very well at all.

The room had not been emptied, with purpose, and now Corunir bent that tactic to his own ends. There remained here more than remains. That would be the wraith's undoing.

Now, he sat perfectly still on the top step of the dais. Gothmog had dressed the scene well- Corunir would give him that. He had been divested of his armor and boots, allowed only tunic and trousers to attend the duel in. He'd been dragged through the city once already, and still found cobwebs and white patches of dust all over. Between the condition of his clothes and the manacles, it spelled a message just for Golodir: He is ours, he is helpless, and the outcome you desire rests in our hands.

Perfect nonsense. Smoke and mirrors. Corunir, in his own act of defiance, had scrubbed his face clean and put his hair back as neatly as he could. Gothmog underestimated him. He was no pawn, not in this game. He was moving pieces of his own, and unfortunately they were both in silent contest over who would be moving Golodir.

The mindcoil was the most prominent factor. It was a newer potion in the grand scheme of things- five hundred years of refinement and only a few decades worth of scholarly materials on how it could be undone. Corunir had been under the effects just once, and at a lower dose. He had felt muddled, compelled but not wholly under the command of the loudest voice. It did not entrance him completely, but it still drew out his complete obedience.

Corunir had worked from his despair in Aughaire on the antidote until he had the weapon, if not the means to wield it. On days where he was too weak to stand, he would pour over herbs and distillations. When he had his strength, he found stories from the Trev Gallorg, sometimes even venturing to Angmarim encampments to steal a tome or a sample. Even before he broke the Rammas, he broke the power of mindcoil in secret. A cure guarded jealously from the enemy was one they would not know to prepare against. Mindcoil was no longer the Iron Crown's ultimate weapon.

But Golodir had been in its thrall for years, puppeted by Mordirith in the halls of Carn Dum. Once ensorceled so deeply, his freedom hung more precariously than Corunir's. It had been taken in Rohan once already. Golodir had been well, of sound mind and decent enough condition, all things considered, when he had been snatched from them in secret. Dagoras had nearly died retaking him. He'd accepted the risk for kin he so loved.

Last Corunir had known, Golodir recovered alongside his longsuffering cousin in Minas Tirith. The fact that he was here, now, meant this struggle coming to its natural conclusion. Corunir was ready.

Golodir was brought forth in short order. Staged as he was, Corunir still held his head high and nodded to his captain- his friend- with all the courage in him. He would need a show of strength from both of them for this to work. Golodir, at least, was armed and armored. The mail looked solid, if old, and he had been given a clean blade as well as every scrap of plate or leather he could wish. They were arranged in a familiar configuration, with similar pieces to what he usually carried. Golodir had been allowed to choose, then. Corunir's brow darkened at the sight of the tabard of Minas Ithil with a hole- dark and stained- right over the heart. He would have to live with it.

"Here he is-" Gothmog's voice grated over the stone floor as he rose from the throne, "-my Champion. The Red Knight of Carn Dum, deserter of the Iron Crown."

"I am none of those, Mordirith." Golodir challenged. Corunir's heart soared. It was not too late! "Golodir of the Dunedain am I, and I come to remove you from a throne unlawfully taken."

Corunir fought down a smirk. Fury rolled over the room like a wave as Golodir's barb hit home. He was no pawn either. Three could play at this game.

"You accept my terms, then?" The voice took on a silkier air, forced as it was, as Gothmog pushed past the blow well-struck. "I am to win the city, your service, and your boy-" Here, Golodir couldn't stop his eyes from flicking towards Corunir, "-uncontested?"

Corunir waited expectantly for Golodir to bristle and say "And the lot to me when I win", only, his answer was not immediate.

"The first I have no claim over." Golodir stood rock-steady, looking every bit the knight. Quite suddenly, Corunir had doubts, and not the kind he anticipated either.

"The second is not mine to give freely, though it may be taken." One of his hands rested on the pommel of his borrowed sword, secured about his waist. It tightened fiercely. "And the third you will not have as long as I draw breath."

He almost laughed as several of his fears disappeared, unfounded. Golodir was of his own mind and undaunted. While he was forced to play this game as well, he was not lost in it. Not confined to it.

"But, I will abide by all terms as far as I can in my honor. Though... I have no assurances you will do the same." That was true enough. To what degree Gothmog sought to reject any semblance of Earnur, they did not know. If a new mantle and a new name meant new capacity for deceit, only time would tell.

"I stand by those terms as well, Golodir." The tone was ice, skating along the veneer of protocol and chivalry. Corunir could feel watching eyes on his back. "Your squire may attend you, and then our contest will begin."

Corunir waited for Golodir's nod, then got up and hurried over. It was time for his final preparations. Instead of maintaining an air of calm as he had before, Corunir threw himself into Golodir's arms and grabbed his tabard with both hands. Golodir, shocked but ever attentive, wrapped his arms around Corunir in response.

"Corunir," he said, relief mingling with worry, "do not be afraid. There is still hope, don't lose your nerve."

"I have not." Corunir whispered. "But if he thinks I have, and have startled you, all is the better. I come bearing gifts." Golodir would not be able to feel so fine a movement through mail and plate, but Corunir uncurled one hand hidden between them.

"Take this," he breathed, "and eat it in secret. Put a hand to your mouth when I leave, pretend to cry, do whatever you must. And worry not for me! I have had some already. Mordirith will play us false, but he doesn't know all that I do."

Golodir didn't respond, but stepped back to take both of Corunir's hands in his. The sachet passed between them easily.

"I thought you'd already made acceptance with our meal in the city." Golodir said, eyes too full of emotion to catch just one, "Though I do appreciate it, son."

"Would not a dutiful son do all he can?" Corunir smiled grimly. "If he thinks me your son by blood, I'll not dissuade him. Though if I wish to hold a meal for you, you can't stop me."

Golodir chuckled. "He returns. Try not to do anything rash, whatever may come. I'll not lose son and Captain both today."

"It will come to neither." Corunir's heart sank a little at the proclamation. He had laid his plans, but the mindcoil of Minas Morgul might be stronger than he knew. It would not sway Golodir into Mordirith's command once more, but it might leave him confused and Corunir in charge.

"Let us hope you stay the captain. I have no love for command." He felt the presence of the wraith looming near, steeled himself, and began his act anew. "He will not frighten me! I will stay strong for you, father!"

As he was pulled away, he saw Golodir turn and put a hand to his face. Father though he may be by heart, it was never Corunir's habit to address him such. In this, he would know all was well and the scheme was alive. Now, the empty sachet lay abandoned on the floor. Corunir smiled. Even if that acrid scent filled the air, and the potion's fumes soaked the room, they had their defense.

Gothmog had underestimated him. It would never pay to trap such a prisoner in the herb stores of Minas Ithil. Whatever the trial, he and Golodir would face it with their minds free.

#writing tag #fic tag #corunir #golodir #mindcoil au #yes that *is*a reference to the Traditional Dunedain adoption dinner #can also coexist in the lorniel lives verse #replacement? never. free brother

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