#nen hithoel

[ebaeschnbliah]

Before the travellers lay a wide ravine, with great rocky sides to which clung, upon shelves and in narrow crevices, a few thrawn trees. The channel grew narrower and the River swifter. Now they were speeding along with little hope of stopping or turning, whatever they might meet ahead. Over them was a lane of pale-blue sky, around them the dark overshadowed River, and before them black, shutting out the sun, the hills of Emyn Muil, in which no opening could be seen.

Frodo peering forward saw in the distance two great rocks approaching: like great pinnacles or pillars of stone they seemed. Tall and sheer and ominous they stood upon either side of the stream. A narrow gap appeared between them, and the River swept the boats towards it.

`Behold the Argonath, the Pillars of the Kings!' ...

... cried Aragorn. `We shall pass them soon. Keep the boats in line, and as far apart as you can! Hold the middle of the stream! '

As Frodo was borne towards them the great pillars rose like towers to meet him. Giants they seemed to him, vast grey figures silent but threatening. Then he saw that they were indeed shaped and fashioned: the craft and power of old had wrought upon them, and still they preserved through the suns and rains of forgotten years the mighty likenesses in which they had been hewn. Upon great pedestals founded in the deep waters stood two great kings of stone: still with blurred eyes and crannied brows they frowned upon the North. 

The left hand of each was raised palm outwards in gesture of warning; in each right hand there was an axe; upon each head there was a crumbling helm and crown. Great power and majesty they still wore, the silent wardens of a long-vanished kingdom. Awe and fear fell upon Frodo, and he cowered down, shutting his eyes and not daring to look up as the boat drew near. Even Boromir bowed his head as the boats whirled by. frail and fleeting as little leaves, under the enduring shadow of the sentinels of Númenor. So they passed into the dark chasm of the Gates.

Sheer rose the dreadful cliffs to unguessed heights on either side. Far off was the dim sky. The black waters roared and echoed, and a wind screamed over them. Frodo crouching over his knees heard Sam in front muttering and groaning: `What a place! What a horrible place! Just let me get out of this boat, and I'll never wet my toes in a puddle again, let alone a river! '

`Fear not! ' said a strange voice behind him. Frodo turned and saw Strider, and yet not Strider; for the weatherworn Ranger was no longer there. In the stern sat Aragorn son of Arathorn, proud and erect, guiding the boat with skilful strokes; his hood was cast back, and his dark hair was blowing in the wind, a light was in his eyes: a king returning from exile to his own land.

'Fear not! ' he said. `Long have I desired to look upon the likenesses of Isildur and Anárion, my sires of old. Under their shadow Elessar, the Elfstone son of Arathorn of the House of Valandil Isildur's son heir of Elendil, has nought to dread! '

Then the light of his eyes faded, and he spoke to himself: `Would that Gandalf were here! How my heart yearns for Minas Anor and the walls of my own city! But whither now shall I go?'

The chasm was long and dark, and filled with the noise of wind and rushing water and echoing stone. It bent somewhat towards the west so that at first all was dark ahead; but soon Frodo saw a tall gap of light before him, ever growing. Swiftly it drew near, and suddenly the boats shot through, out into a wide clear light.

The sun, already long fallen from the noon, was shining in a windy sky. The pent waters spread out into a long oval lake, pale Nen Hithoel, fenced by steep grey hills whose sides were clad with trees, but their heads were bare, cold-gleaming in the sunlight. At the far southern end rose three peaks. The midmost stood somewhat forward from the others and sundered from them, an island in the waters, about which the flowing River flung pale shimmering arms. Distant but deep there came up on the wind a roaring sound like the roll of thunder heard far away.

`Behold Tol Brandir!' said Aragorn, pointing south to the tall peak. 'Upon the left stands Amon Lhaw, and upon the right is Amon Hen the Hills of Hearing and of Sight. In the days of the great kings there were high seats upon them, and watch was kept there. But it is said that no foot of man or beast has ever been set upon Tol Brandir. Ere the shade of night falls we shall come to them. I hear the endless voice of Rauros calling.'

JRR Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings, The Fellowship of the Ring, The Great River

#the lord of the rings #the fellowship of the ring #the great river #jrr tolkien #anduin #argonath #isildur #anárion #nen hithoel #amon lhaw #amon hen #tol brandir #falls of rauros #aragorn #boromir #legolas #gimli #frodo #sam #merry #pippin #movie pics #peter jackson

[lotrscenery]

Nen Hithoel

#lord of the rings #nen hithoel #gondor #lotr #middle earth #scenery

[midnightcowboyarthur]

We Both Know - Aragorn x Reader

Aragorn x Reader Fanfic

Warnings/Content : longing, angst, flirting, terms of endearment

Summary : Aragorn arrives to ask you, a studious woman with a love for the land around you, to help the Fellowship find how to best navigate the coming leg of their journey. When Boromir shows interest in you, Aragorn has some...feelings about it.

A/N : This is currently a stand alone fic, but I will be continuing it with the hopes of turning it into a mini series. Enjoy!

Word Count : 1.7k

You sat quietly in your small cottage, the trees rustling gently in the breeze as you mend your garden apron. There was a hole in the floral-patterned front pocket where you gathered the produce from your small front garden. In front of you, various maps and quills were spread out on your desk. You studied maps religiously, and knew the land in and out. You breathed it, you lived it, and you loved it. You loved the feeling of the dirt beneath your toes as you gathered carrots from the garden patch, and at the moment you enjoyed the quiet peace that came with mending your personal items. 

You finished up your apron and set it on the desk, flexing your neck side to side as you finally looked up. The strain was a bit bothersome, but you had suffered worse and were not too worried about it. Standing up, you bring the apron to the back door, hanging it gently from the golden doorknob. You hummed to yourself, shuffling into the kitchen to put the kettle on the stove. Tea sounded nice, and you searched through your cabinet for the perfect blend. 

Living in between Lorien and Fangorn Forest was interesting at times, but your small cottage was cozy, quaint, and perfect enough for just you. You loved watching the birds and rabbits, and you loved it when you saw some of the elves out hunting. You pulled out a green tea blend and placed it into your mug. You startle slightly when the kettle whistles, so deep in thought you almost forgot you were waiting for that high pitch. You pour the hot water into your mug, bringing it up to your lips to blow lightly on your beverage when you hear a knock on the door. 

You furrow your brow, curious about who could be at the door. Moving to your faded blue front door, you set your mug of tea on your desk as you move to the front. You open the door, surprised at who you find there. 

“Lossë nin.” He says, quietly. You blink. And then you blink again.

“Aragorn?” You breathe. You glance over his shoulder, noticing a ragtag group of men standing across the front garden, near your gate. Your eyes slide back to Aragorn, your eyebrow raising. 

“We need your assistance, y/n.” He says, and you motion for him to come in. You tilt your head at the group, then motion with your arm for them to follow. 

After introductions are made and you are all settled into your small, warm living room, you look around at the group. 

“We would be honored if you would assist us in finding the best route forward.” Aragorn says. You cannot believe that he would even think he would have to formally ask you. You nod deeply, quickly standing to grab the large map you keep for navigational purposes. 

“You do not need to ask, Aragorn.” You say, spreading the map out in front of the men. You notice the hobbits gather close near your elbows, too small to see around the larger men and Gimli. You run your fingers over the weathered map, feeling as if your fingers were following a groove that had been traced there from excessive use by your seemingly endless studies. 

“We are here.” You point. “You will have to take the boats to keep along Nen Hithoel, and go along the hills there, Emyn Muil.” You move your shoulders slightly. “This will be the best path for you, seeing as you have the Halflings here.” You smile down at them, and the ones called Pippin and Merry grin back at you enthusiastically. Your eyes travel back to Aragorn, who is nodding silently, looking down at the map. His dark hair falls forward, concealing his face. 

You have known him so long, and yet you have not seen him in quite a few years. You had spent every moment together when he was last around. You bit your lip at this memory, remembering the upset you had felt and expressed to him then. He had left, leaving your heart aching. You were not quite sure why it had hurt so, it was not like Aragorn was a lover. He was just a friend. 

Aragorn nods once more. “Yes. This is what we will do. Many thanks to you, y/n.” He looks up at you, blue eyes sparkling. He gives you a small smile. You smile back, then look around at the rest of the Fellowship. 

“Well gentlemen, you must stay for rest and food. I will not hear of you leaving without. I have just made a lovely mutton stew.” You swore you could hear the Halfling’s stomachs rumble. 

“Beautiful and hospitable!” roars Gimli. “Where have ye been hiding this lass, Aragorn?” You laugh openly, amused at the dwarf.  Aragorn shakes his head at Gimli, as if to say “You are too much”. 

Boromir claps a hand on Gimli’s shoulder. “Beautiful indeed, and I am sure she is a delightful cook as well.” He smiles at you, the glint in his eye almost mischievous. 

You raise an eyebrow in return, waving your hand. “Who? Me? I am quite flattered, Boromir.” 

At this, Aragorn clenches his jaw shut tightly. You pretend not to notice. 

After supper, you watch Boromir wrestle with the Halflings, Pippin and Merry. You find it sweet. He treated them as if they were younger brothers. Legolas was whittling quietly while he listened to Gimli speak about dwarf women and what they were like. Frodo and Sam were next to you, looking at your garden. Sam was a gardener himself, and he was delighted at all of the different produce you grew. You told him to take what he wanted, so they may have food for their journey. 

You did not know where Aragorn was. Boromir glances up at you and smiles, and you smile back. 

Boromir makes his way over to you. “Lossë nin.” He says, mimicking what Aragorn had called you earlier. Legolas turns his head at this, brow raised. 

You laugh lightly, unable to tell him that term is something Aragorn and Aragorn only called you. You hear Aragorn scoff, and you realize he was leaning against your front door. He pushes himself off the worn, weathered door, and stalks around the backside of your cottage, where the flowers rested. You blink. You look at everyone else, who in turn stare at you. You clear your throat and turn, quickly following after Aragorn. As you disappear around the moss covered stone wall, you hear whispers. 

“That’s a term of endearment, Boromir.” Legolas whispers. You bite your lip, the urge to speak to Aragorn growing prominently. 

Aragorn stands among the flowers behind your house, silent. You walk to his side, staring forward just as he does. 

“What is it you want?” He says, and you turn your head at this. 

“I do not have want for anything, seeing as this is my house.” You retort. He closes his eyes briefly at this, then turns to you. 

“My apologies. I do not like it when others call you by the name I affectionately gave you.” 

You narrow your eyes. You did not know why this bothered him so, but his apparent possession over you had something bubbling in your chest at the moment. 

“How affectionate was the giving of this nickname? I do not find myself bound to you.” You say, your nostrils flaring. Aragorn’s jaw tenses again and he looks away from you briefly. 

“We both know that I cannot be bound to you in the way that you wish, y/n.” He clenches his fist, and you can tell he is trying to control his emotions. 

“You cannot or you will not?” You challenge. You did not know what had come over you. Perhaps it was the years missed, perhaps it was because he acted with jealousy and you secretly enjoyed that. Before Aragorn has the chance to answer, you move to another topic. “I have decided that I will accompany you on the next leg of this journey.” 

Aragorn fully turns towards you now. “You cannot.” 

“You cannot tell me-”

“I can and I will.” He says without letting you finish. He steps closer to you, his blue eyes blazing as he gazes at you. You look back at him defiantly, refusing to back down. He usually did not get this close to you. 

“No. You cannot. I am the person to bring along. I know the route better than anybody. I am a valuable resource.” You state calmly, looking up at him. He leans in, his lips mere inches from yours. 

“You are more than a resource to me, lossë nin.” He glances down at your lips, his eyes trailing up to meet yours. You swallow, becoming weak in the knees. 

You steel your e/c eyes on him and give your response. “I am more than capable of taking care of myself. I think you know that.” 

“We both know.” He says, leaning just slightly closer again. “But I cannot lose you.” 

“It is not only about you, Aragorn.” You say, your tone becoming slightly heated. “I am able to make my own decisions, and if I choose to accompany the Fellowship as your guide, I shall.” 

He shakes his head before you finish what you are saying. He is sighing, exasperated. “You…always so stubborn, y/n.” And then he cups his large hand around the back of your neck, and oh. Aragorn is kissing you. You kiss back, tasting the sweat and tears and hardship that has brought him to this point. You slide your hands up his chest, your delicate hands cradling his face. He deepens the kiss slightly, his arms encircling your waist and pulling you close. All too soon, the kiss is over and your head is reeling. You step back from him, breathless. You do not give him the chance to continue holding you. 

“This changes nothing. I will be accompanying you when dawn breaks.” You inform him. He looks at you. But he doesn’t look disappointed, he looks almost peaceful, as if your lips had been just what he had required on this long journey. 

“Please.” He says, as you start to walk away, back to the others. “Do not let Boromir call you as such, again, lossë nin.” 

You tilt your head. “Perhaps he can bestow his own endearment upon me.” You retort, enjoying the opportunity to toy with Aragorn, who always seemed so stoic. You do not give him a chance to respond before you return to your front garden, wondering where this Fellowship would take you. 

-----------------------

translations

Lossë nin - my blossom

#aragorn x reader #longing #heartache #jealousy #angst #lord of the rings fanfiction #lotr

[jartitameteneis]

Los Argonath

También llamados los Pilares de los Reyes o La Puerta de los Reyes, fueron dos colosales estatuas de piedra apostadas a cada lado del Anduin, marcando las antiguas fronteras de Gondor.

Estaban sobre grandes pedestales, y fueron talladas a semejanza de Isildur y Anárion, hijos de Elendil; ambas miraban hacia el Norte con la mano izquierda levantada a modo de advertencia contra quienes osaran perpetrar las tierras de Gondor, y en la mano derecha llevaban un hacha y portaban en la cabeza un yelmo y una corona.

Fue Minalcar, quien en el 1248 de la Tercera Edad, lideró una gran fuerza que derrotó a los orientales entre Rhovanion y el Mar de Rhûn y a su regreso, tomó el nombre de Rómendacil, entonces fortificó la orilla occidental del Anduin hasta la desembocadura del Limclaro, y prohibió que ningún extranjero descendiera por el Río más allá de Emyn Muil. Mandó construir entonces, los Pilares de los Reyes en la entrada de Nen Hithoel.

Y a medida que avanzó la Tercera Edad, el poder y el tamaño de Gondor disminuyeron, dejando a los majestuosos Argonath en tierras desiertas, sin marcar más sus límites. Estatuas solitarias que recordaban el antiguo poderío de las tierras de Gondor.

[dianaprincewonderwoman]

Tell me you’re a geek without telling me you’re a geek :

you’re on holiday enjoying a nice moment with a friend by a lake

the view reminds you of Nen Hithoel and you can’t help but picturing the Gates of Argonath in front of you

*running for your iPad* : « I have to photograph this and draw the Pillars of Kings on it right now!!! »

(and your friend doesn’t even roll her eyes because she thought the exact same thing and is clearly as damaged as you are)

(Nantua lake, march 2022)

#lotr #lord of the rings #argonath #mixed media #procreate #lord of the rings edit #lotr edit

[lordoftheringsfanart]

Nen Hithoel oil painting on canvas by me Source: https://ift.tt/YsVcuQI

#lord of the rings online #lord of the rings wiki #lord of the rings cast #lord of the rings shop #lo

[tolkien-obsessed]

#lotro #lord of the rings online #lotr #lord of the rings #argonath #rohan #I love the sunrise/sunset over this lake! #nen hithoel #my screenshots

[manyworldspress]

Brothers Hildebrandt, The Pillars of the Kings. Illustration (April) for the 1978 J. R. R. Tolkien Calendar (Ballantine Books, 1977).

__________________________________________________ Our shop: https://bookshop.org/shop/manyworldspress

#Brothers Hildebrandt #The Lord of the Rings #J. R. R. Tolkien #argonath #isildur #anarion #river anduin #nen hithoel

[negreabsolut]

Mapa del Nen Hithoel i voltants.

#mapa #plànol #Nen Hithoel #Àmon Hen #Àmon Lhaw #Tol Brandir #Emyn Muil #Sarn Gebir #El Senyor dels Anells #cartografia #Rauros #tolkienià #mapa fantàstic

[laigaming]

Helwynn sees the Argonath and Nen Hithoel

#lotro #lord of the rings online #helwynn grimwight #argonath #nen hithoel

[thearkenstone-ck]

My Middle-earth Journey  ❁

Nen Hithoel Mavora Lakes / New Zealand

#amon hen #lotredit #frodo baggins #samwise gamgee #landscape #nen hithoel #movie locations #the lord of the rings #lotr #travel #new zealand #mountains #mine #my gif #my edit #my photos #1k

[ebaeschnbliah]

`Boromir! I do not know what part you have played in this mischief, but help now!

Go after those two young hobbits ...

... and guard them at the least, even if you cannot find Frodo. Come back to this spot, if you find him, or any traces of him. I shall return soon.'

JRR Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings, The Fellowship of the Ring,  The Breaking of the Fellowship

#the lord of the rings #the fellowship of the ring #the breaking of the fellowship #jrr tolkien #anduin #nen hithoel #parth galen #amon hen #rauros #aragorn #boromir #merry #pippin #lurtz #the uruk-hai #movie pics #peter jackson

[lotrscenery]

Nen Hithoel - Hintersee, Germany

#lord of the rings #gondor #nen hithoel #lotr #middle earth #scenery

[volvaofowls]

How will they confess their feelings to you?

-       Aragorn

You were injured in the battle of Helm’s Deep. Your injured body was laying right next to Haldir’s body, your breath was ragged, and your body curled into a ball of pain. Upon examining Aragorn realised that you were stabbed in the side and few ribs were broken. He wasted no time to take you into his arms and deliver you to the safety of what was left of the Helm’s keep, and in the hands of a healer. When the battle finished Aragorn was by your side, using skills learned from elves to soothe your pain and mend your injuries. There seeing you crying from not being able to do more, he said how much you did for him – giving him hope and strength to lead the people, as he wanted to protect the world and all its people, to create the world without fear and pain for you to live in and be happy. This is when he confessed his feelings for you, promising to do all in his power to protect you.

-       Boromir

As he was laying on the ground, with orc arrows piercing his body, he was afraid. Afraid to leave this world without telling ever how he felt. He didn’t care that everyone else was around him, he took your hand and his and put your palm onto his chest where his heart was. As Aragorn and Legolas were working with everything, they had to stop the bleeding, you were crying as Boromir was confessing to you, wiping your tears away with his free hand. As the three members of the Fellowship decided to pursue orcs and rescue hobbits, you chose to stay by Boromir’s side in Nen Hithoel, unwilling to leave him now more than ever.

-       Legolas

During the celebration in the Golden Hall of Meduseld Legolas defeated Gimli in their drinking game, and even though he wasn’t drunk, he appeared to himself to be lighter in both body and spirit. He was walking around the hall in this uplifted mood looking for you. As soon as he found you, swaying with the music and talking to Eowyn, he offered you his hand which you took and both of you started to sway with music in unison. As the music progressed, so did your dance develop, you didn’t even realise, but Legolas was gently moving both of you to the terrace, where you both stood silently until your eyes met and he shared how you made him feel.

-       Gimli

Other members of the Fellowship were sleeping after the long road. It was your turn to keep the watch, bundled in your warm coat you were sitting there, trying to warm your outstretched hands with fire and being alert of the surroundings at the same time. So, you were a bit startled when you heard someone stir. It was Gimli, he woke up and silently came up to the fire, putting time worn kettle with water and herbs over the heat. Just as silently he poured the tea into a mug and passed it over to you, sitting himself by you and lighting his pipe. Your whispered words of gratitude and his hum was the only thing heard for a while. After finishing his pipe, he made you two tea again, and you quietly fished into your bag for some cooking. As he passed you the cup and took the cookies from you, his hand held yours and he didn’t let go, calling for your attention to tell of all time you made his heart skip a beat and that exact moment when he realised he wanted to take you home and to make that very same mountain berries pie that he told you about.

-       Frodo

Frodo’s feelings for you have grown for a long time, yet he didn’t know how to confess to you. Especially after the quest to destroy the ring has finished, he felt empty for words and he didn’t know if he even deserved to be with you, after being so damaged. That was until he remembered Bilbo and his love for stories and songs, it inspired him to write a song for you. One evening, when you both were sitting outside his home, in the warmth of the summer evening, he started singing the song, it was gentle and delicate, telling of a broken heart which was held in tender hands of a woman, keeping it beating and the caressing touch bringing back the light into it. And all the while he was looking at you with affection, and as he wrapped up the song, he pronounced you to be that woman that is healing his damaged heart.

-       Sam

You will be telling a story to him on one of the nights when you will make camp for the night. Frodo will be resting, preoccupied with talking to Gollum on the other side of the camp, giving two of you space. It was carefully planned out so that Sam can confess to you, but they didn’t take into account that you will find this as an opportunity to re-tell Sam a story, and you chose a long one to tell. Sam was initially nervous and wanted to interrupt you to confess his feelings, but after looking at how passionate and immersed in it you were, he just sat there with a smile and listened to you. After finishing the story, you were out of breath, full of thrill, this is the moment when Sam started to recount to you his story of his feelings for you.

-       Merry

After injured Eowyn and Merry were delivered to Minas Tirith, you came to their sides as soon as you caught wind of it. Upon seeing you Merry stretched his arms, and without words you understood him, giving him a comforting embrace. There in your arms he was moved to tears, talking of all the death and pain and loss he has seen that day and memories of Boromir’s death resurfacing. Your arms were around him, encasing him in a protective circle, allowing him to share pain without speaking yourself. You stayed with him that night, both of you cuddling in bed in each other’s arms, the last thing you heard before falling into dreams was soft “I love you” from Merry.

-       Pippin

Pippin would feel his love for you flow through him, something which elevates him, and the only way to stay grounded is confess and for you to share in his emotions. He would want to tell you pretty much as soon as he realises his emotions but waits for a perfect moment. The day of Aragorn’s coronation there is a big celebration, it is as if whole world is salutes the victory of good over evil and return of rightful kind into Gondor. In this merry atmosphere he will steal you away from the main event, to tell you all he feels.

#lord of the rings #lord of the rings imagine #lord of the rings x reader #lord of the rings preference #lotr #lotr x reader #lotr imagine #lort preference #aragorn x reader #aragorn imagine #legolas x reader #legolas imagine #boromir imagine #boromir x reader #gimli imagine #gimli x reader #frodo imagine #frodo x reader #sam imagine #sam x reader #merry imagine #merry x reader #pippin imagine #pippin x reader

[arofili]

the line of elros ♚ royalty of gondor ♚ headcanon disclaimer

          Minalcar was the elder son of Calmacil, and unlike his forefathers he was a vigorous man eager to prove his worth. His uncle Narmacil I recognized his strength and appointed him the Regent of Gondor so Minalcar might rule in his stead, as he had little interest in politics. As Regent, Minalcar turned his attention to the North and East, where there were stirrings of rebellion among both the conquered Easterlings and Gondor’s sometime-allies the Northmen. With the aid of the Woodsmen of Rhovanion, Minalcar defeated invaders from the East and ensured the loyalty of the northern people. Minalcar returned home having taken the name Rómendacil after King Rómendacil I, another warrior who had defeated the Easterlings. At this time he married Calamistë, an archivist in the Library of Gondor; together they had a son, Valacar.           Without war to occupy him, Rómendacil focused on the affairs of the capital, making King Narmacil nervous he would seek to supplant him, though no such thought crossed Rómendacil’s mind. While Valacar was still a child, Narmacil sent Rómendacil and his family north again to reaffirm Gondor’s alliance with Rhovanion. Valacar grew to manhood among the Woodsmen, raised alongside King Vidugavia’s children, and eventually marrying his daughter Vidumavi. As well as integrating many Northmen into Gondor’s army and solidifying their alliance through marriage, Rómendacil and Valacar fortified the western shores of the Anduin and built the Pillars of the Argonath above Nen Hithoel.           It was not until Narmacil’s death that Rómendacil returned to Gondor permanently. His father Calmacil was crowned king, but as he was already old and had always been indolent like his brother, Rómendacil kept his position as Regent. Upon Calmacil’s own death ten years later, Minalcar was finally crowned King Rómendacil II after sixty-four years of ruling as Regent.           Soon Rómendacil called his son back to Gondor as well, for as his heir he believed Valacar ought to take an active part in governance. By this time, Vidumavi had borne Valacar a son, named Vinitharya after the fashion of his mother’s people. The court of Gondor, consisting almost entirely of “high men” descended from the Númenóreans, were displeased with Valacar’s decision to wed a woman of a “lesser” race, especially when Vidumavi grew old and died much younger than a woman of the Dúnedain might have. Nevertheless, when Valacar inherited his father’s throne he named Vinitharya, now called Eldacar, his heir, though this would not be the end of the resistance against the Woodswoman’s son.

#tolkienedit #oneringnet #lotr #silmarillion #gondor #minalcar romendacil ii #romendacil ii #romendacil ii's wife #oc calamiste #valacar #vidugavia #vidumavi #eldacar #my edit #my writing #edit writing #headcanons #tefain nin #line of elros #royalty of gondor

[anghraine]

For some reason, I woke up thinking about the f!Aragorn verse I came up with years ago.

The idea is that all the Númenórean throwbacks in LOTR are genderbent, so it’s also f!Denethor (Steward Andreth), f!Faramir (Lady Míriel), and f!Imrahil (Lady Imraphel). I never wrote much of it, and I don’t care for everything I did write, but I'm still fond of two pieces: 1) a prompted fic in which Aranor (f!Aragorn) has a nightmare of herself as Queen, and 2) Aranor finding Boromir’s body.

So here they are!

1.

Aranor drummed her fingers on the arms of her throne, the rings on her hands glinting in the brightly-lit hall, bracelets jangling a little. Even that small gesture was enough to make Arwen, standing behind and to the left of her, stiffen with fear. The other nobles in the court shifted uneasily, but for Boromir and a woman who looked very much like him; both of them gazed at Aranor with pride and admiration.

Andreth herself stepped forward to stare down at the four men kneeling before the throne.

“Tar-Elessarnë will hear you,” she said, then retreated back to Aranor’s right hand, malice curling her mouth.

They were tradesmen from Esgaroth, stammering that they were no spies of Sauron, and only wished to offer treasures from the Lonely Mountain to the great Queen. Aranor turned the dwarvish trinkets over in her hands.

“We well know of the Dwarves’ craft,” she said coldly, and held up a bright stone. “What is this? Not armour or weaponry. A bauble for a child. Do your masters take us for one? Do they think we shall be placated with such treasures?”

“No, of course—we only—” said the leader.

One of the men lifted terrified eyes to her face. Another crawled back; the last and youngest sprang up and ran towards the doors.

Boromir and Míriel laughed outright, soon joined by the rest of the court.

“Send them all to be questioned,” said Aranor indifferently, while the guards seized the young merchant. “Then put them to death.”

She tossed the baubles at Arwen.

“They should be sufficient to amuse you.”

The Ring gleamed bright on her hand.

Aranor woke slowly, the starry sky blurred above her. Frodo, who had kept the last watch, was bending down to shake her awake. The Ring on its chain swung right past her eyes.

She jerked away.

Frodo, looking hurt, said, “It’s your turn, Strider—”

“Forgive me! You woke me out of a nightmare.”

“Oh! I hope it wasn’t too bad?”

Aranor swallowed. It was everything she wanted, reflected in a broken glass.

Not like that, she thought. Never like that.

2.

It was months before Aranor and Boromir spoke privately again, once more beneath the trees. This time, they did not sit peacefully in the light of fair Lothlórien. Boromir now lay sprawled not far from Nen Hithoel, propped up against a massive tree. Aranor, after one glance, raced across the glade, crying,

“Boromir! Boromir!”

She fell to her knees beside him. He lay in a dappled pool of sunlight, and she had seen everything the moment she laid eyes on him: the black arrows piercing his chest, his sword broken in his hand, the great Horn of Vorondil cloven right in half.

Slowly, he opened his eyes. She knew already that not all the healing in her hands could save him; Elrond, greatest of their kind, could not have done it.

“I … tried to take the Ring from Frodo,” he said, his voice weak and faltering: not Boromir at all. But the Boromir she knew would never have threatened Frodo. Aranor swallowed her shock and horror, and was always grateful that she had done so, for he went on, “I am sorry. I have paid.“

His gaze drifted to the two dozen orcs lying at his feet.

"They have gone. The halflings. The orcs have taken them. I think they are not dead. Orcs bound them.”

His eyes drifted shut, and her last command sprang into Aranor’s mind. Whatever else had happened this day, Boromir had died a faithful soldier, following orders: her orders. It was now her duty to comfort him as she could, but all words stuck in her throat.

He managed to lift his eyelids once more. “Farewell, Aranor.” Anguish twisted his face, and his grey eyes looked directly into hers. “Go … to Minas Tirith … and save my people. I have failed.”

“No!” Aranor seized his hand and leaned down to kiss him. “You have conquered! Few have gained such a victory. Be at peace! Minas Tirith shall not fall.”

Her words rang out with all the power of an oath. So be it. She owed that much to Boromir, the greatest warrior of Gondor, dying in her service and Gondor’s. Had any other fallen to the Ring and returned? It was, indeed, a great victory. He had reclaimed himself.

He smiled up at her.

“Which way did they go? Where is Frodo?” she asked. But he said nothing more: he was dead.

No longer distracted by soothing Boromir’s last moments, Aranor cried out in grief and despair. She should have seen this coming. She could have sent Legolas or Gimli with him, or gone herself; mighty a warrior as he was, how could she have done this? Why indeed had Gandalf trusted that she could? She could not have betrayed his trust more utterly. It is I who have failed!

And now Boromir was dead, her comrade and—yes—her friend. She had not known it.

Boromir’s hand lay still warm in hers. Aranor began to cry, painful wracking sobs that tore out of her throat, drawing the strength out of her until she was bent with weeping. It was there that Legolas and Gimli found her, and from her anguish thought that she must have taken a fatal wound.

Aranor just managed to regain some semblance of self-command: enough to explain some part of what had really happened. She kept Boromir’s confession to herself. He had repented; none else need know what he had done before.

Together they raided the bodies of the fallen orcs, to lay their weapons at Boromir’s feet. There was no time to bury him properly—much less as he would have been consigned in Rath Dínen—but they could send him home in honour and glory. As quickly as they could, they carried Boromir to the shore, labouring under his weight, and lifted him into the only spare boat remaining. Aranor combed his long dark hair while Legolas folded his hood and cloak under his head, for a pillow. Gimli, stern and reverent, placed the orcs’ weapons at his feet, and Boromir’s own across his lap. Then they cut his boat free, watching it float down, disappearing into the falls.

It was Aranor and Legolas who sang for him, her voice soaring high into the desolate air.

“Oh, Boromir! The Tower of Guard shall ever northward gaze—” She remembered all of Boromir’s kin, Andreth’s fierce face softening as she swung her son up into the air, Gwindor kneeling beside him, teaching him to read, Prince Túrin and Lady Imraphel leading him by the hand, showing him paper boats. She remembered him tugging at her leggings, demanding to know but what next? And she remembered him in Lothlórien, haughty and suspicious until he began to speak of Míriel, the sister he had loved and protected through all the days of their lives. Boromir the tall, the fair, the bold, had died, and his treasured sister lived on; what was Aranor’s grief to that?

May the news of his loss come to you swiftly and kindly, jewel-maiden!

Aranor’s voice nearly broke at the thought. She forced herself to continue:

“—to Rauros, golden Rauros-falls, until the end of days!”

#anghraine babbles #fic talk #anghraine's fic #aragorn #boromir #legendarium blogging #genderbending #i'm sorry but like ... canon aragorn is interesting in both his virtues and flaws but also frustrating in some ways #f!aragorn is interesting in both her virtues and flaws and also ... super hot #even as tar-elessarnë! #idk i'm gay and weak #aranor #long post #aranor daughter of arathorn