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fineillsignup · 5 years

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Ling Tong and emotions

a meta trade for @purple-fury

“You’ve always been skilled at hiding your emotions.” - Lu Xun to Ling Tong, Dynasty Warriors 6

The teenager ran as fast as he could, but the boats were too far from shore by the time he got there. Tears were blurring his vision as he watched his father’s murderer sail away. The bastard wasn’t even looking back at him. It didn’t matter. Ling Tong was memorizing every detail. Tattoos and bells… he would find out who he was, and nothing would stop him from killing him. - from ch. 4 of my fanfic “Covering Your Ears to Steal a Bell”

[When his father died in battle] Ling Tong was 14 years old [by modern reckoning, 15 by traditional East Asian reckoning], and was widely praised and talked about. Sun Quan... gave him his father’s troops. [In his first assignment] Ling Tong drank wine with the Commander Chen Qin... Ling Tong despised the Commander’s entitled and bullying behaviour, and confronted him but it was no use. Chen Qin was furious, and insulted not only Ling Tong but his father Ling Cao. Ling Tong cried but did not talk back... On the road Chen Qin continued to hurl abuse at Ling Tong, until Ling Tong could not bear it. He drew his blade and attacked Chen Qin, who died several days later. Then it was time for the attack, and Ling Tong said: “Only by dying can I apologize for my crime.” - from the biography of Ling Tong in Record of the Three Kingdoms 三國志, ~280AD, my translation

Gan Ning, the guy who killed my father, has joined Wu as well. I hope they don’t expect me to get along with this guy! No one cares how I feel and now we’re getting ready for the next battle. ˆ— Ling Tong’s Musou Mode intro to the Battle of Chibi, Dynasty Warriors 5

“You sure talk a big game.” - Ling Tong, to Gan Ning, Dynasty Warriors 7

Ling Tong looked back at his lord, and tears were streaming from his face as well. “I’m the only one. I lost them all… I couldn’t save even one of them… They trusted me and now…”

Lord Sun Quan cradled Ling Tong as his officer sobbed. Their lord closed his eyes. “I know… I know exactly…” - from ch. 5 of “Covering Your Ears to Steal a Bell”

[In response to the news that Cao Cao was coming with 400,000 troops] Sun Quan said to those in the tent, "Cao Cao is coming from far away. Who dares to be the first to destroy the enemy?" Ling Tong said respectfully, "I would like to." Sun Quan said, "With how many troops?" Ling Tong said, "Three thousand should be ample." Gan Ning said, "A hundred cavalry would be enough to destroy the enemy. Who needs three thousand?" Ling Tong was very angry. The two of them began to fight right there in front of Sun Quan... [When Ling Tong was duelling Yue Jin on horseback] Cao Xiu ducked out from behind Zhang Liao's back and let fly an arrow, that hit Ling Tong's horse dead centre. The horse reared up and threw Ling Tong to the ground. Yue Jin came with a death-grip upon his spear to kill him. When the spear's blow had not yet landed, there came the snap of a bowstring. An arrow hit Yue Jin in the face. He recoiled and fell from his horse. The two armies came out to save their generals and take them back to camp, sounding the gong to end the battle. Back in camp, Ling Tong went to pay respects and apologize to Sun Quan. Sun Quan said, "The one who shot the arrow that saved you, was Gan Ning." Ling Tong therefore kowtowed to Gan Ning, saying, "Sir, I did not think I could receive such grace." After that he became life-and-death friends with Gan Ning, and never again hated him. - from ch. 68 of Romance of the Three Kingdoms 三國演義, ~1350AD, my translation

“It’s not…” Xiahou Ba ran his hand through his messy hair. “Things in Wei have been pretty bad lately, I’m not going to lie. But how can I work with the people who killed my father?”

Ling Tong laughed quietly, and when Xiahou Ba looked up with anger, he raised his hands. “Sorry, it’s just… I may understand where you’re coming from. Can I tell you about it?” - from ch. 30 of my alternative universe fanfic, Clouds and Rain

“I suppose I’d better give it my all.” - Ling Tong, when he enters rage mode, Dynasty Warriors 8

As a Naruto fan and writer of Naruto meta, I’m well familiar with skepticism at the idea that even young teenagers on the battlefield could ever be a thing, but Ling Tong was the real deal. Imagine that you’re a soldier, your commander dies, the king says “Here’s your new boss,” and in walks a high school freshman. Then imagine that the high school freshman is actually good at his job. That’s Ling Tong.

Given that Ling Tong spends most of his page time in both Record of the Three Kingdoms and Romance of the Three Kingdoms either angry as fuck, crying, or both, it may seem like a puzzling choice of dialogue for Koei to have Lu Xun tell him he’s good at hiding his emotions.

I am very fond of how Koei chose to characterize him and I don’t think it contradicts the very, very limited historical and legendary information that we have. For one thing, historical records of this kind by their very nature limit themselves to exceptional incidents.

The best early record of the era that has survived, the Record of the Three Kingdoms (SGZ), is still at least fifty years past Ling Tong’s death, and it is a history that had multiple agendas and moralizing points to make. It also makes a puzzling error about how old Ling Tong was when he died, an age that could not possibly be true.

Later, the novel Romance of the Three Kingdom further expanded Ling Tong’s story. It’s unclear to what extent the ROTK is the work of a single person, and even less clear how much he was relying on (lost) written source, oral traditions, etc. People get bizarrely huffy and act like if it’s in the ROTK but not the SGZ it’s not merely not proven, but proven false. I think they miss the point about what the stories were trying to do, which is take the historical and legendary basics and tell a story chiefly for the entertainment of their own contemporary era about them, making contemporary moral points. I feel more than free, justified, doing the same thing in my contemporary era.

So how does giving Ling Tong the mask of a carefree, withdrawn, cool, unmotivated, apathetic person work for a contemporary version of the story? Well, when you have a clash between characters, and one side (Gan Ning) is characterized with “hot” tropes, it is a long storytelling tradition to balance that with “cold” tropes. What’s more, acting cool, superior, and unaffected is culturally encouraged in the modern era as a response to negative emotions and trauma, especially among young men. To pretend not to care about something is a defence against failure and guilt. But it is definitely just pretending. “I don’t care,” I say, caringly, as I care deeply could be tattooed across Koei Ling Tong’s back.

In the Japanese dialogue, while Ling Tong uses the “ore” pronoun for I associated with young men, he unusually pairs this with “anta” as his choice for “you”, even when he’s arguing with Gan Ning, who is using “ore” and “omee”. While any form of the you pronoun is not exactly polite in Japanese, “anta” comes across as more petulant, when compared to the roughness of “omae” or even more so “omee”. When speaking to superiors, Ling Tong isn’t rude at all in his speech.

Ling Tong is attempting to control himself, in other words. And he’s ordered to do so. In an era where one’s father is practically one’s god—literally so, once he dies—and where blood vengeance is not only permitted but idolized, he is not only ordered not to kill his father’s killer, but to work with him as a comrade. He is no more than eighteen at this point and has already killed a grown man, his own superior officer, just for insulting his father. (Although it’s worth noting that he did not immediately attack the man, but only did so after a continual period where the older man would not stop.)

Yet Ling Tong, in every version of his story, never makes a serious attempt on Gan Ning, even with provocation. Cutting remarks and even fisticuffs are mild restraint by this standard. To a certain extent, even, Ling Tong’s every day kind of insults of “idiot” and “you sure talk a big game” to Gan Ning can be seen as hiding of just how deeply and profoundly Ling Tong loathes him.

Because the Dynasty Warriors have such huge casts, they usually only focus on one aspect or relationship of the more minor characters, and for Ling Tong, that usually means his role in the game revolves entirely around his relationship with Gan Ning. That’s unfortunate, because his historical rescue of Sun Quan is an amazing story, fully worthy of being told in itself without diluting it by sharing the achievement with other officers. (Gan Ning suffers from this as well, having to share the glory of his 100-man raid on Ruxukou with Lü Meng and Ling Tong.)

Ling Tong took 300 men to perform more or less a suicide mission to break open an escape route for Sun Quan, and indeed, all 300 men died, with Ling Tong alone surviving only barely, having to swim or wade through the water to reach Sun Quan’s boat, which was already leaving without him. Rather than relief at having escaped such incredible odds, he was overcome with grief and guilt at those who had died. Sun Quan tenderly comforted him, and even cared for his wounds personally.

I see this as a huge missed opportunity for Ling Tong and Sun Quan’s relationship to be explored in Koei’s canon. It’s a missed opportunity for Sun Quan too, because as his story already makes clear, he’s also struggling with his sense of unworthiness for those who died.

Again, I don’t see this as contradicting Koei Ling Tong’s conceited relaxation. The impact of seeing him actually crying, when he’s been trying to act so cool, is all the bigger for that.

Speaking of conceited, Ling Tong’s clan pride, his coming from a distinguished family, is also perhaps underrated. A lot of what enables Ling Tong to come across as so cool is that he does have confidence, in both his own competence and his belonging wherever he is. He is firmly in the “former rich kid” camp of the Wu army officer corps’ “former rich kid or former pirate?” divide.

Because of this, he also had the benefit of being educated right from the beginning. Well, it’s obvious that it had to have been so, or he would never have made it at all as an officer in his early teens, much less have had major successes. So he’s got military and also the general classical training of men of his era. But he is still so young and he feels all the more intensely for that.

He’s younger than Gan Ning—actually quite significantly younger, historically; their age gap is narrowed in the Koei games. Basically in every category—age, background, education, personality, etc—they naturally clash, and then they have this dire trauma between them.

Do they make it up or don’t they? Should they? SGZ actually doesn’t say either way but implies not, and in any case, in the moral atmosphere of that era, I would say they would actually find it immoral for Ling Tong to even think of forgiving his father’s killer. The ROTK novel has advanced quite some way (imho) and clearly intends for Ling Tong and Gan Ning’s friendship to be inspiring. I’m with ROTK on this one. I live for reconciliation, even when it’s hard and serious, especially when it’s hard and serious.

I’m running out of time for this topic, but I hope you’ve enjoyed reading some of my thoughts on the complicated matter of Ling Tong’s emotions and how he is portrayed expressing and acting on them. Please enjoy this gif of him wiggling his butt.

#ling tong #character analysis #dynasty warriors #three kingdoms #romance of the three kingdoms #my translation #long post #wait a minute this isn't naruto #chinese history #clouds and rain #my fanfic

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queen-scribbles · 6 years

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Home is Behind

Astrid decided she hasn’t ripped my heart out of my chest enough times, and went for another one. (and yes, the title is absolutely from that song in RotK. suffer with me)

Astrid had been leaving homes behind her whole life; villages too small to name, Redcliffe, Lothering, Kirkwall, but somehow this departure from Starkhaven hurt the worst. She knew why, of course. She could feel Sebastian and Eilidh watching long after even her eagle-eyed husband would be able to see her. But Varric had asked for her help, and he’d always been there for her. So Astrid left her home behind once more, though this time, she would be back.

That thought kept her going the whole long lonely way to Skyhold. When I’m done I get to see them again. I get to go back. The world might be large and grand and full of adventures that called to some--like Varric--but she couldn’t wait to go home, hug Eilidh, and fall asleep with Sebastian’s heartbeat in her ear.

>>*<<

Skyhold was an impressive stronghold, she had to give the Inquisitor that. The location was good, defensible, and even in its crumbled state of disrepair, the fortress was magnificent. The view wasn’t too shabby either, Astrid mused, leaning against the battlements facing toward Ferelden. Snow-capped peaks rising from the mists, birds circling in and out of cloud banks, as far off as the eye could see. She curled one hand around her locket, thumb rubbing the back of it as her gaze lifted further. Straining as if she could see through the ethereal mists to Starkhaven and her waiting family. Soon.

“Hawke, I’d like you to meet Inquisitor Lavellan,” Varric’s voice broke through her chain of thought.

Astrid dropped the locket and summoned a warm smile as she turned toward the sound.

“Y’ can just call me Tighe,” the lanky elf clarified as he held out a hand, smiling wide enough to crinkle the vallaslin that covered his face. “Still adjustin’ t’ the title.”

“I understand that,” Astrid said as she shook his hand. “Took me almost a year not to look for someone else when I heard ‘Princess’.”

Tighe cocked his head blue eyes curious. “I thought y’ were viscount.”

“That didn’t last long,” Astrid shook her head. “But I’m much happier Princess of Starkhaven than I was Viscountess of Kirkwall, so it worked out. And either way, Astrid or Hawke will do, especially if I’m calling you Tighe.”

“I’ve listened t’ Varric talk about you a lot, so Hawke it’ll be,” Tighe said, rocking up on the balls of his feet like a child with too much energy.

“Hawke it’ll be,” Astrid confirmed, smiling. She liked the Inquisitor. He seemed like a good man to have in charge, or even generally speaking. “Now, I hear you’re fighting a darkspawn magister named Corypheus?”

Guilt twinged sharp as they talked. One more thing she’d failed. No, he was dead, I know he was. Something else is going on here. She thought of Carver, hopefully safe, and Stroud, walking into the lions’ den for answers, and resolved to fix this no matter what it took before she turned her gaze homeward.

>>*<<

She hadn’t expected the Western Approach to be so cold at night. she’d spent all her life in more agrarian climes, and gone all that time thinking desert meant hot. Which it did, during the day. But at night it grew so chill Astrid found herself pulling on more layers and wishing she was better at fire spells while trying not to think of the huge marble fireplace in her and Sebastian’s bedroom.

She was not entirely successful, which led to pulling out her locket again and staring at the portrait of her husband and daughter. The trickle of warmth it stirred helped a little--more than the flickering campfire anyway--but Astrid still shivered at the slightest breeze.

“Not fond of th’ cold, I take it?” Tighe asked sympathetically as he offered her a blanket and sat next to her.

She shook her head and wrapped the blanket around her like a cloak. “One of the chinks in my armor. And thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he replied amiably. “Chinks in your armor are nothin’ t’ be ashamed of. Ev’ryone’s got a few. Not likin’ th’ cold’s pretty normal, as chinks go.”

“You seemed to managing,” Astrid commented, nodding at his bare feet and minimal warm clothing.

“My clan travels a lot,” Tighe said, tone going wistful as he poked at the sandy ground. “I was practically raised outdoors. Hot bothers me more’n cold.”

Astrid cocked her head. “You miss them?”

“My clan?” He nodded. “Quite a bit. You don’t miss your family?”

“Oh, no, I do. Silly of me to think you wouldn’t, I guess. You’ve been away from them even longer than I have from mine.”

“Keepin’ busy helps,” he said with a sigh. “As a distraction, y’know.”

Astrid nodded. “I’ve used that method myself. But that just makes nights worse.”

“True,” Tighe conceded. “When that happens, I just remind myself I’m doin’ this for them. And the world, of course, but...”

“Family first,” Astrid finished, and he hummed a quiet agreement. They sat in silence a few moments longer before Tighe murmured something about turning in for the night and pushed to his feet. Astrid nodded absently and sat staring off into the surrounding dark. Family first. She looked down at Eilidh’s face, the flickering firelight almost making the portrait seem alive. I’ll make the world a safer place for you, my sweet girl. Even if it kills me.

It wasn’t until she lay down for the night that Astrid thought to wonder when she’d accepted that maybe she wouldn’t make it home.

>>*<<

For the number of people it housed, Skyhold was surprisingly quiet at night. Or maybe the somber mood toward the impending seige of Adamant was causing that. Whatever the reason, Astrid didn’t encounter a soul as she made her way up to the battlements. She couldn’t sleep and the glittering night sky was always a comfort.

“I love you to th’ stars above,” Sebastian’s voice whispered in her mind, followed by the remembered tickle of a gentle kiss placed behind her ear. Astrid closed her eyes, as if by shutting out distractions she’d be able to smell him or feel him even though he was hundreds of miles away.

And I love you to the depths of the sea. The thought formed unbidden, pure habit even if Sebastian wasn’t there to finish it. “We’ll just have to call it a draw.” Maker, she missed that man so much it ached.

“With how early you’re leaving, I’d figured you’d be sound asleep right about now,” Varric said quietly as he joined her.

Astrid laughed just as quietly. “You know nerves make me restless.” She rubbed her arm.

He nodded concession. “What’re you doing up here, then?”

She tipped her head back to look at the sky. “Wondering how different the constellations look in Starkhaven. Hoping things are alright there.” She sighed. “Varric, I miss them so much.”

“Choir Boy and your kid?”

Astrid nodded. “I know you don’t like him, but he’s the world to me. I didn’t want to leave, but I owe you so much I didn’t feel like I could say no.”

Varric scuffed one foot against the stone. “Shit, Hawke, keep that up and you’ll make me feel guilty.”

She smiled faintly at his joking tone. “Never feel guilty asking for my help, Varric, You’ve helped me more than enough times. It’s only fair. And I can’t very well ignore the world being in jeopardy, now, can I?”

He chuckled and nudged her hip. “Other people, maybe. You? Never.”

“After this though...” she let the words trail off. “After this, I’m staying home. Kissing my husband every morning just because I can. Raising my daughter to be the best she can be.” She paused, ran a hand over her stomach. “Maybe add another one....”

Varric raised an eyebrow. “Are you...?”

Astrid laughed and shook her head. “Sebastian would never have let me leave if he thought I was pregnant.”

“And that’s one thing we would have agreed on,” he muttered.

“I’m truly blessed to have so many people looking out for me,” she said softly, letting her hand linger a moment more before leaning against the battlement wall.

“On that note, get to bed,” Varric encouraged, giving her a friendly shove toward the steps. “If you wind up hurt or dead because you were worn out from talking to me, Choir Boy’ll never forgive me.”

“Varric, if you’re going to use my husband to guilt me into getting sleep, at least use his name,” Astrid said, amused.

Varric rolled his eyes and sighed. “Fine. Go get sleep. So you survive Adamant and can go home to Sebastian and your kid.”

“Much better.” Astrid clapped him on the shoulder. “And very persuasive. So I’m off to bed, and hopefully sleep.”

He chuckled. “G’night, Hawke.”

“Night, Varric.” She looked at the stars and thought of her home far away. Good night, my loves. I’ll be on my way soon.

>>*<<

Things were, of course, nowhere near that simple. The chaos of battle in Adamant fortress led to tumbling off a cliff and landing in the Fade. By this point in her life, Astrid had stepped asking both how and why these things kept happening to her. This one, at least, seemed to have something to do with Tighe’s Mark. Much as she disliked visiting the Fade--taunting demons worming into her friends’ thoughts was a turn off--it was better than plummeting to her death. Still, grateful as she was for that, she wanted to get out of here.

As always, that proved easier said than done. But Astrid gamely helped fight their way through waves of demons, most of which manifested as creepy spiders. That fit with their Nightmare host, just like the jagged, rough rock surrounding them. And this monster, this demon, was what Corypheus planned to unleash on the world through Clarel’s actions. Would unleash unless they succeeded at cleaning up a mess Astrid felt partly responsible for creating. If I’d just made sure he was bloody dead...

A rasping chuckle swirled out of the air. “Ah, Hawke, do you really think you can protect Sebastian? You’ve never been able to keep your family safe before...”

She grit her teeth and refused to respond. I can protect him, and Eilidh, and all of Thedas by stopping you and your Maker-damned puppeteer. She squeezed her locket ferociously and pressed on. We are going to kill you, then I’m going home and I’m never leaving again.

We’ll see... slithered through her thoughts, and it took all of Astrid’s willpower not to fine an icicle up into the air. It would be a petty gesture of defiance that only served to show the Nightmare was getting under her skin. She was better than that.

The Nightmare flung more taunts and derision, laughed at them, but ultimately that only served to drive all of them harder. And at last they could see the exit, the rift from the Fade back to the waking world. The real world. Their path was blocked only by the chief minion of the Nightmare, its aspect to better fight the scurrying nuisances that sought to escape its realm.

I just want to go home. Astrid threw herself into the fight with the desperation of a woman tantalizingly close to her goal.

But home wasn’t meant to be. Not for her. They defeated the fear aspect, made for the rent in the Fade. One after the other, Astrid watched Tighe’s companions vanish through the rift. Safe. And then the Nightmare hauled itself in the way, trapping her and Tighe and Stroud with huge, spidery limbs as its multitude of eyes goggled at them.

Astrid didn’t hesitate, her fingers already snapping with magic even as she barked, “Go!” What’s one woman compared to the world?

“No,” Stroud protested. “If the Wardens are responsible, I should-”

“Stop arguing and go!” she cut him off. If they delayed too long it would just kill all of them. “Lead them to be better.” He had the Wardens, Tighe had the Inquisition, those were their responsibilities.

Corypheus was hers. I’m sorry, loves. Much as she’d wished to have Sebastian watching her back through all this, now she was glad he wasn’t. It would have made this even harder. She glanced at Tighe. “Say goodbye to Varric for me.” She took a steadying breath, grip tight on her staff, gaze fixed on the Nightmare as she moved toward it.

It had to be stopped. For the sake of the world and everyone in it. Heroes rarely got to be selfish; she’d been foolish to hope for a happy ending. Her locket shifted, cool against her chest, and the emotions swelled.

“I’m sorry, Sebastian, but this is for you, love,” she whispered, blinking back tears as lightning built and crackled around her hand and she heard Tighe protesting behind her. “This is for you.”

She unleashed her spell in the Nightmare’s face with with a scream of heartbroken rage for everything it was taking from her. For the hugs and braids and tea parties she wouldn’t get to have with Eilidh. Never hearing Sebastian call her lass again or look at her like a treasure he planned to cherish forever. Not getting to share the story of her adventures, with embellishment enough to make Varric proud. For breaking her promise.

“I’ll be home soon.” She wouldn’t, not ever, but at least she knew it would be safe. They would be safe.

And that was worth even this price.

#queens fic #astrid hawke #dragon age fic #i swear every time i write her i wanna change canon #MYEMOTIONS.gif

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thiswaycomessomethingwicked · 3 years

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(1/2)Ok so while eagerly awaiting the next LOTR re-write I've begun reading this book, Sixteen Ways to Defend a Walled City, and it has EXTREME Grima vibes. It's like, a bureaucratic engineer in a fantasy roman empire who has more sass and cynicism than sense is unwillingly tasked with defending a city from a siege. Like, look at these quotes:

(2/2) ""My enemies have always come through for me, and I owe them everything. My friends, on the other hand, have caused me nothing but aggravation and pain. Just as well I've had so few of them." "When I'm nervous, I talk a lot. and I'm rude to people. This is ridiculous. Other times-when I'm angry, particularly when people are trying to provoke me, I can control my temper like a charioteer in the Hippodrome manages his horses. But panic makes me cocky; go figure."

----

Oh my god this is *exactly* Grima. Panic, especially when alone, makes him do the stupidest shit but when people are trying to provoke or in heated confrontation he becomes utterly glacial.

“more sass and cynicism than sense“ ahhh that is also Grima.

I am absolutely going to check it out. He sounds like my favourite sort of character.

(also I’ll probs put the first chapter up tonight. I just .... really love Denethor ... and also having him bitch about Grima is one of my delights in life. Though that’s not till later chapters.)

(Denethor: that conniving piece of shit.

Grima: Hey. takes one to know one. My lord.

Gandalf: Someone lock them in a room and they can entertain themselves and leave the rest of us in peace.)

#lotr #reply #writing #books #lit #grima wormtongue #utter disaster of a man #my land is bare: ROTK

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thiswaycomessomethingwicked · 3 years

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Boromir turns in his saddle and looks at Mithrandir with disbelief. ‘What is this? Mithrandir going along with something I’ve suggested?’

‘If you’re going to hold onto the Gap of Rohan for the next so many years, young man, I will remind you of a wizard’s tendency towards swift anger.’

‘I’m going to tell Aragorn that you agreed to one of my plans.’

Mithrandir huffs, mutters about the ridiculousness that sometimes crops up in sons of Gondor.

‘No, no,’ Boromir continues. ‘I’m going to tell him directly he arrives. And Merry and Pippin.’

Mithrandir’s eyes turn heavenward. Boromir lets out a dry ha before he resettles into his more usual sombre countenance. The wizard lets the silence linger for several long minutes as they approach the final wall then a terribly soft: ‘No one will believe you.’

‘I will tell them that I rest my honour on it.’

‘Faramir might,’ Mithrandir concedes. ‘And Peregrin Took, if only to satisfy the Tookish need to be contrary.’

Boromir and Gandalf on a road trip to Gondor is one of the better things in this world.

Can’t wait till Denethor shows up. Going to get even better from there.

#they're such menaces to each other #boromir #lotr #lord of the rings #gandalf #boromir defense squad #my land is bare: ROTK #swimming through fire #writing

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thiswaycomessomethingwicked · 3 years

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I’ve got three chapters written and most of it planned out.

Do I post the first ROTK chapter?

Do I do it or do I wait?

This is a poll.

#still need a title #my land is bare: ROTK #boromir defense squad #writing #lotr #lord of the rings #swimming through fire #boromir #aragorn #grima wormtongue

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thiswaycomessomethingwicked · 3 years

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Grima opens his mouth then closes it. He does this several more times but cannot think of anything to say. Well, nothing beyond: This is all nonsense. Everything you’ve said is idiotic nonsense. Because that isn’t an appropriate response to one’s king.

As he chews through several thoughts on how to reply, Eomer rides up. A cautious look at Grima then at his uncle.

‘He’s in turmoil,’ Theoden says, albeit gently.

Theoden over here causing inner turmoil in returned-traitors by saying such radical things as “I think you have the ability to change” and “I believe in you”.

Eomer: redemption? sounds fake but ok.

Grima: THANK YOU! IT IS FAKE! SEE MY LORD, EOMER AGREES.

Theoden: ... I’m sending you both on a very long road trip. Learning experiences will abound.

#queue the Yuletide Nonsense fic #my land is bare: ROTK #grima wormtongue #eomer #theoden #lotr #lord of the rings

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thiswaycomessomethingwicked · 3 years

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I’d absolutely love to see the first chapter (and I’m excited to see it no matter when you post it)! Really looking forward to the journey you’re about to take us on.

aww thank you! I will probably put the first chapter up soonish/i.e. tonight. I’m also excited for this journey too! Everyone gets to have some wild times. Like just utterly batshit.

There’s a lot of Grima going: I HATE THIS I HATE THIS I HATE THIS

Boromir gets to have some “oh gods that explains SO MUCH about my father” moments.

Aragorn continues to be anxious in a bush. Except you know, it’s in a cave with a lot of ghosts.

Legolas and Gimli are just like: when will everyone calm down and see sense?? (answer is: never)

Eomer does a lot of general flailing.

Eowyn, I mean Dernhelm, kicks ass and takes names so many times.

Denethor just...oh Denethor.

<3 <3

#ask #reply #anon #grima wormtongue #aragorn #boromir #lotr #lord of the rings #my land is bare: ROTK

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thiswaycomessomethingwicked · 3 years

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Ok I’m going to start writing the ROTK installment of the Boromir Lives rewrite next week. Two things:

1. Someone for the love of gods hold me accountable to making my lazy butt work

2. Title????? What should it be??

#my land is bare: ROTK #boromir lives #writing #fanfic #lotr #lotr fanfic

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thiswaycomessomethingwicked · 4 years

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over 30,000 words later Boromir and Aragorn manage to kiss for a second time.

slow burn? this is a goddamn secret, underground fire no one can see.

#get ready for eomer and grima in the post-ROTK world #they are not a slow burn #they are a THIS IS A TERRIBLE MISTAKE BUT WE'RE DOING IT ANYWAY hurricane of life choices #mostly because Eomer doesn't do patience or subtlety #lotr #lord of the rings #writing #My Land is Bare

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thiswaycomessomethingwicked · 4 years

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‘What about this terrifies?’ Éomer asks. Gríma grips the pommel of his saddle, the leather hot against his palms.

‘It’s how big everything is. How grand this single thing is.’

Éomer looks at Gríma, the sky, the dead orcs and men and horses and strange creatures one only heard whispers about.

‘War is big.’

Gríma shakes his head, reaches up and jerkily moves hair away from his eyes. It was supposed to be tied back but somewhere in the fighting the string was lost. He twists his hair around itself into a rope and ties a knot with it. Still, some escapes. Black will-o'-wisps at the edge of his sight.

‘It’s not that. I’m — well I’m not inured to it. But I’m not scared of it. At least, not to the same degree as before.’

‘Then what?’

‘Kindness.’ He grips the pommel again. Stigr becomes restless and bobs his head, tugging reigns forward. ‘Yours. Theoden’s. Hama’s. It is undeserved and filled with such gravity. I don’t know what to do with it.’

This makes Éomer smile, albeit confused. ‘What do you mean? You exist in it and make good by it. You use it to mend things you’ve broken. Things others have broken.’

‘I’m not very good at that. I’m not a very good person. I’m certainly not a nice person.’

‘Sure,’ Éomer shrugs. ‘You’ve done things that aren’t nice. But so have I. We’ve spoken of the power of words before: tell a man he is old and infirm and that is what he will become. Tell a man he is a bitter snake and a bitter snake he will be. Well, if it works one way, surely it can work in the opposite direction.’

[...]

‘My father said that if you want to know kindness, truly know it, you have to have known sorrow and darkness. So, if there’s anyone who can know the meaning of this word it should be you. If I can be kind to you, Gríma son of Gálmód, you can surely be kind to yourself.’

‘Oh do stop being a noble and princely sort of person,’ Gríma mutters. ‘It’s unnecessary.’

Leaning over, Éomer slaps Gríma’s shoulder with a grin. ‘Welcome back. I missed you while you were dead and gone.’

‘I was never dead—’

‘I was deep in the country of metaphors for a time.’

‘And you’ve never liked me.’

Éomer shrugs. ‘I’ve always found you a difficult person but that doesn’t mean you’re not worth the effort of knowing. Come, we should turn back to the keep. This conversation will be here for us to return to. Supper, on the other, is a vanishing commodity.’ As they near the walls of Minas Tirith Éomer says, ‘After all of this. After seeing so much death and so much destruction and how mindless and purposeless it was, and is, it seems to me that kindness is the only thing that makes sense. Kindness is the only way forward.’

they’re gonna be soft for about 2.5 seconds flat, guys. Get ready for it. Blink and you’ll miss it.

In like...100k words from now.

Grima: W h y did you slap my arm?

Eomer: it’s called camaraderie and being companionable.

Grima: I - my arm is going to hurt for six months now, Eomer. I’m going to be bruised worse than I was after the battle. Eomer. Eomer. I don’t think I can feel my arm.

Eomer: You’re fiiiiiiiine.

Theoden: Who let them become friends?

#eomer #is trying very hard to be noble and mature #it lasts for like three minutes #Grima is like: WHAT IS KINDNESS NEVER HEARD OF IT I DON'T TRUST THIS #Eomer: Have you tried not freaking out anytime someone is nice to you? might make you more friends #Grima: . . . . no #My Land is Bare #though this will be in ROTK rewrite #Grima Wormtongue #rohan #lotr #lord of the rings

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thiswaycomessomethingwicked · 3 years

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Aragorn and Boromir: one of them was late to/forgot about an event for the arguments thing!

Alright! They didn’t argue-argue because they REFUSED. Idiots. But they did have some weird emotional conversations so that’s as good as we’re going to get. I hope you enjoy!

Title: Sweet is the Air

Pairing: Aragorn/Arwen/Boromir - basically.

Summary: Set in the same time-line/AU World of Naming the World & My Land is Bare. So, Boromir survived Amon Hen, to everyone’s great joy. The main plot-points remain mostly the same. Barring some people living who died in the canon.

This is post-ROTK. Denethor remains alive, the ghost at the banquet.

‘Did you forget?’ Aragorn asks.

‘I didn’t,’ Boromir says.

Aragorn repeats: But did you? It’s alright if you did.

‘I didn’t,’ Boromir insists.

Aragorn wishes the man would just admit to it. Yes, he forgot. How hard is that to say? Yes, it slipped his mind that they were going to have a Talk with Denethor about The State of the Stewardship. Or, more truthfully, Yes, he forgot because he wanted to forget because he doesn’t want to talk to his father about The State of the Stewardship.

‘Do you know how hard it is to corner your father?’ Aragorn asks, attempting to not be annoyed. Because he isn’t annoyed. This is only the third time this has happened, after all. And the first occurrence of Boromir’s lateness to the Denethor Conversation had a legitimate cause; the second - well it could be argued to be legitimate. A third time though?

But he’s not annoyed.

(Arwen, last night, You’re annoyed. Aragorn, insistent, I am not annoyed. Arwen raised an eyebrow and therefore looked eerily like her father, For some reason I remain unconvinced. Have you told him you’re annoyed? This made Aragorn scowl and so he therefore looked like a statue of one of his dead relatives, Why should I do that? I’m not annoyed. There’s nothing to talk about. Arwen, I’ll tell him if you don’t. To which Aragorn tried to forcefully declare: You will do no such thing but that merely prompted Arwen to pantomime opening a window and hollering out, Boromir, your king is frustrated with your inability to manage your father. Aragorn became horrified, You wouldn’t dare. At which Arwen smiled and said, Just watch me.)

‘I promise I didn’t forget - it was only, I was tied up,’ Boromir states.

Aragorn swallows: well that is a terrible excuse. Because that is not a kind thing to say. It is not a worthy thing to say. Boromir deserves better than Aragorn being missish. Because they are no longer on the road. Because the Fellowship is over. The Four Hunters has long been disbanded.

Gods, Aragorn thinks bleakly, I’ve been king for ten months now.

‘Well, it’s terribly difficult to force him to have ten minutes of time. Your father is wily.’

Boromir nods slowly. Picks at his nails. Looks at the sad bushes, the dismal remains of summer roses, jasmine climbing up columns, the naked trees. Aragorn isn’t sure how to proceed. He should have practiced. Arwen told him to practice. Aragorn despairs.

‘He is,’ Boromir finally agrees. ‘He is very wily. A puppet master. I don’t -’ he stops. Aragorn waits with great expectation. Boromir works his jaw for a bit. Does more scanning of the environment so Aragorn can’t see his eyes resting still for more than a second. Aragorn worries Boromir is going to leave. He does this when he wants out from a situation. When he wants to disappear into captain-hood and slide sideways from duty as, essentially, regent-steward.

‘I can’t do this,’ Boromir finally whispers.

‘You have to.’

‘I can’t, Aragorn. I really can’t. He’s my father.’

Aragorn makes a sympathetic face. He wants to say that he understands but that would be a lie so he keeps quiet. He cannot imagine Elrond no longer firmly grasping the world in front of him. He cannot imagine Elrond forcing this situation upon himself. There is no dignity to it. Aragorn cannot imagine Elrond without dignity.

Boromir is silent which causes Aragorn some small anxiety.

‘It would be a kindness, I think, in the long-run,’ Aragorn tries after another minute of muteness from the future-steward passes.

‘Yes. It would be. It is.’

‘No one need know the reason of why he is being set aside.’

Boromir looks at him with a sidelong expression. It is almost a sneer. ‘Everyone knows.’

‘Is that what frightens you? That people know and will think less of you for your father’s - um-’

‘Madness?’ Ah yes, here is a Boromir sneer. ‘Insanity? Lack of mental stability? Gone off with the birds?’

Aragorn nods.

‘No, that doesn’t frighten me,’ Boromir says. ‘I can handle it well enough. It’s more that - well, it’s demeaning to be relegated to old, doddering man. It takes a person’s pride from them and gods, I feel like he’s lost so much already. All the things that matter, too: his position, his son to a certain degree, his father’s affection, my mother. I think, in many ways, pride is all my father has left.’ Boromir draws breath to continue only to deflate. Aragorn wants to comfort him but isn’t sure this is the time or place or, indeed, the best approach.

It’s hard to know how to handle Boromir. He has more walls than Aragorn can fathom, at times. When he thinks he’s through one, there will be another five he didn’t anticipate. All of this alongside Boromir’s dislike of receiving reassurance. Comfort. Vulnerable affection, as Arwen calls it. There is such a deep fear of being seen as weak or, Aragorn thinks, being thought to be a burden.

Aragorn tries, ‘Your father has more than that. And he hasn’t lost you.’

‘I was speaking of Faramir.’

‘Ah.’

Boromir’s humourless smile. ‘It’s all a bit of a mess, isn’t it? I’m not sure what I thought would happen after the war, but it wasn’t this.’

‘It’s hard to know how people will take things. And, I mean,’ Aragorn shrugs helplessly. ‘There were extenuating circumstances. No one knew about the palantir.’

‘No.’

‘And, well -’ he stops. Shrugs. Boromir raises an eyebrow, but otherwise he is still as stone. As a king of old, the ones whose names are lost to time but their faces are committed to rock with paint, with chisel. To Aragorn, Boromir has always conveyed more of the regal air he thinks is expected of a king. That he, himself, should display.

What a thing, to walk into a room of foreign dignitaries, have the King of Gondor be announced and everyone looks at Boromir. Which Aragorn cannot blame them for, because he too would look at Boromir. Honestly, he thinks not for the first time, their roles should have been switched. Boromir should be king, Aragorn can be steward.

‘Yes?’ Boromir prompts.

‘I was just thinking, is your father truly mad or merely desperate?’

Boromir opens his mouth then closes it.

‘Sometimes, it can look like the same thing,’ Aragorn continues, gently. He is so desperately trying to be gentle. ‘It’s as you said, he has his pride. He was raised to be Steward of Gondor. To be the sole ruler of this land and then I went and showed up. He’s desperate to hold onto what is, at the end of the days, is rightfully his.’

A dismal nod from the future-Steward.

‘Perhaps there can be a compromise--’

‘No,’ Boromir shakes his head. ‘Not over this. It’s all or nothing with the Stewardship. I know my father, he does not share power.’

‘But you always seemed to have a position of influence --’

‘Of his making and of his control,’ Boromir shrugs. ‘So, you will either have him as Steward or me. It won’t be both.’

A bird’s screech ricochets through the courtyard that is empty and feels so desolate, like they are in Hollin or on the empty steps of Emyn Muil. Boromir has turned and begun a slow, meandering tour around the garden. He pauses where an arch looks out over the city, the River Anduin snakes its silver body through the eastern land of Gondor. Osgiliath shines in the distance. Boromir’s back is to Aragorn and the Future-Steward who is essentially acting-Steward, rests a hand on columned archway. Robes drape in such a way that he is a shadow against white marble, dappled grey. Aragorn wants to go to him but suspects it would be unwelcome, at this exact moment.

‘My father once told me that he couldn’t remember what happiness was and I said that there would be brighter days yet, that he would live to see them. And he has, there is sun and the clouds of Sauron are gone, but he is not better.’

Aragorn thinks that a monstrous thing to tell one’s son. To say: I can’t know warmth, so light the fire and if you do not, then all my coldness is your fault.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says instead. He suspects Boromir won’t take kindly to having his father be called monstrous.

‘Why?’

Aragorn stalls in thought then just shrugs and says that he is sorry because that is a lot to say to a child.

‘I wasn’t a child.’

‘Still,’ Aragorn says, if a bit lamely.

Boromir sighs, turns to face Aragorn. ‘I can’t do it. I can’t be the one who tells him that he is being pushed aside.’

‘Would you be able to be present?’

Boromir’s lips thin out into a line and his unhappiness at the prospect is a wave how it rolls from his shoulders. But he nods in agreement, as Aragorn knew he would. Still, it is a relief to have a firm agreement.

Or, as firm an agreement as he is going to get at this juncture.

He had asked Faramir: What should be done about your father? And Faramir had gone a little wide-eyed and said, I don’t know. What do you mean? And Aragorn had sort-of motioned as if that could contain everything that had happened. Faramir had then shaken himself out of whatever place it was he went when the question was posed and declared that the person to ask is Boromir. Boromir always knows how to handle our father, Faramir said with confidence. If you want to get Denethor to do things he doesn’t want to do, you have to have Boromir do the asking.

Later, Aragorn relayed this to Arwen who said, What family have you gotten us tangled into? And Aragorn had replied, primly, I’m absolutely sure it’s worth it. And Arwen had laughed and said she agreed and that she trusted him. It’s just, really, that was what said?

‘I’m glad you’ll be there,’ Aragorn says. ‘I’m happy to do the talking it’s only, your father is quite fearsome. Like a tempest. Or a sandstorm.’

‘Don’t be mean.’ But Boromir said it with a smile so Aragorn feels he can continue.

‘Just, this time, don’t forget.’

Boromir mocks becoming affronted. ‘Excuse me, your royal highness, I did not forget. I got tied up in other very important affairs of state and therefore was merely late. By just five minutes, mind you, and you had already scarpered.’

Aragorn takes his arm and steers them towards the covered archway that will slowly weave back to offices and studies and rooms of state. ‘Tempest,’ he says. ‘Remember that.’

‘Right. Or sandstorm.’

‘A deluge.’

‘I’m going to make a record of these.’

‘You don’t need to do that.’

Boromir grins, ‘I absolutely do.’

Aragorn shakes his head, ‘If this is the sort of treatment I am going to receive from you I shall pass you over in favour of Faramir.’

‘Oh thank the gods,’ Boromir dramatically sighs. ‘Finally, the man has a good idea. The first time I’ve heard one from him since we met.’

‘I wouldn’t go that far -’

‘Let us run across Rohan for a week, he said. It’s a good idea to chase two thousand Uruk-Hai with only four people, he said. Trust the former-traitor-witch of Rohan to be of aid on the paths of the dead, he said. Let’s hike across a mountain in February with no firewood, he said.’

‘These were all brilliant ideas, I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

Boromir laughs, then, a full one. And Aragorn grins because it is a pleasant sound to hear and these are sunny days. Despite the shadows that linger in them and the ghosts of still living men who haunt the halls of this palace, there is sun and there is warmth and there is, at the end of it all, something like hope for a new start.

#LOTR #lord of the rings #aragorn #boromir #my land is bare #fanfic #writing #aragorn x boromir #boromir defense squad #everyone is very in love but they're dumb #there is a drive by Grima reference #because where would we be without my favourite traitorous snake man

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thiswaycomessomethingwicked · 3 years

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Chapters: 1/? Fandom: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Aragorn | Estel/Boromir (Son of Denethor II), Gimli (Son of Glóin)/Legolas Greenleaf, but that's more in the background/subtle Characters: Aragorn | Estel, Boromir (Son of Denethor II), Legolas Greenleaf, Gimli (Son of Glóin), Gandalf | Mithrandir, Merry Brandybuck, Pippin Took, Théoden Ednew, Éomer Éadig, Éowyn (Tolkien), Gríma Wormtongue, Faramir (Son of Denethor II), Denethor II, many other characters Additional Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Manipulation, (It's Denethor guys.), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Boromir Lives, Fix-It, everyone has their issues but it's nothing worse than in My Land is Bare, Boromir POV, Grima POV Series: Part 3 of swimming through fire Summary:

The summation of the Boromir-Lives LOTR rewrite. Helm's Deep has concluded and we are on to the Return of the King.

Boromir and Gandalf are off to Gondor to see what they can do to help. As we are dealing with the stable, normal family of Denethor, Boromir, and Faramir there absolutely won't be any blow ups or drama at all. Aragorn, because he likes to take the most whack routes possible, is to drag the remainder Fellowship through the paths of the dead. No one signed up for this.

With our Rohan compatriots: Grima continues to be a hot wreck who is actually managing himself not half-bad, all things considered. There may be more "drunk and in a puddle" moments though. Eowyn just wants to really, really fight the baddies. Like. Vibrating she wants to fight them so bad. Theoden thinks everyone needs to cool it for ten seconds. Eomer, the man who drops sick insults for a living, has never heard the word "chill" in his life. So Rohan is doing great.

Anyway - things continue to go pear shaped.

---

Hello everyone. Welcome to the glories of ROTK: but this time with Boromir and Grima.

Obligatory Excerpt:

Men who dream by daylight with eyes open are the most dangerous, Denethor said. It was after a council meeting and Denethor was wanting for the sun so they were in his favourite courtyard looking southward over the city. Those who dream by daylight are able to enact the vanities and desires most others can only think of at night with eyes closed. Morning, they forget the wanting of their soul and nighttime mind.

Later, Denethor would explain it to a man condemned for oath-breaking and selling secrets to Sauron’s agents: You dreamt with your eyes open. You really should not have done that.

But some men dream during the day. Whether they will it or not, they are lost in the soft shadowed halls of their minds. They think all they see and experience is real and if it is not, that it can be made such.

My father’s rule is failing, Boromir said to Éomer between Helm’s Deep and Isengard. But I mean to restore it.

A dream.

Boromir knows well that in some ways he is a waking dreamer. He may not have the blood of the Westernese in him as his grandfather, his father, brother, Aragorn all do - but he does have the ability to make real what most can only dream about. Returned and prophesied kings, peace, the restoration of the nobility of his house. He will see them done. In what way would that make him a dangerous man?

#LOTR #lord of the rings #writing #lotr fic #boromir #aragorn #denethor #gandalf #gondor #swimming through fire #What Glorious Cycle of Song

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