#also toss boromir in there too

[garashir]

sorry not sorry but arthur morgan and dean winchester are the same character

[shirefantasies]

How would the fellowship, Thorin, Fili, Kili, Haldir, Arwen and Eomer react to someone they like who always calls everyone by cute names like ‘love’, ‘babe’, ‘hon’, ‘darling’ etc.

Oooh, good question! I’m going to split this up into LoTR & The Hobbit imagines for the whole casts if that’s all right 😄

LoTR Characters When You Call Everyone Pet Names

Aragorn

His favorite part of your habit, in all honesty, is other people’s reactions. The first time you do it to him he sort of quirks up a brow, but others take it more extremely, offense or otherwise. He gets protective, though, if those others respond taking it too far. He’ll step in front of you if they start flirting with you or try to touch you unbidden even if you’re just friends at that point. No matter who in his group that is, unacceptable. At the use of a regular name slid into the flows of your conversation, something akin to "Oh, honey, you have no idea", his lips quirk up and privately he wonders if you’ve ever meant it.

Legolas

Your first meeting is you brushing past him at Rivendell with an "Excuse me, darling". Needless to say he stares after you with wide eyes because you must know him, but from where? Then you greet Elrond with an enthusiastic "Sweetheart, how I have missed you", and while the Lord of Imladris appears aware of the affront, he is also amused. Clearly this is simply your manner. Because of this, he accepts it without much overthought, though your pet names never fail to bring a smile to the elf prince's lips.

Boromir

The kindness you show him almost breaks him- is he worthy of your honeyed words? "Easy, dear heart, the troubles you carry are not even your own, are they?" The part of him tempted to lash out almost wins, but at the end of the day, you are right. All he can do is shake his head. He's heard you say call such sweet names before, but alongside your other words they pierce his heart like nothing before. He bids you sit by his side. "Wish me to speak or to listen?" You ask, and that is when Boromir knows he has fallen for you.

Gimli

"Who are you calling sweetheart, darling?" Offended as he may be, Gimli also takes it as a challenge of sorts, leaning in closer with smug satisfaction. It becomes a sort of tension for you both, an odd banter of affectionate nicknames tossed out even with the bloodiest challenges. "Cut his head off, Gimli darling!" "Wouldn't dream of doing any less, dear!" Gimli begins getting offended as your habit pops out with others, asking you pointedly what you think you're doing calling the elf sweetheart. "What's he done to earn that, eh?" Leaning in, your noses almost brushing, you give him a smile dripping with smug mock-sweetness. "I thought you didn't enjoy being called that." "Well," he crosses his arms stubbornly, eyes falling away from yours, "I suppose I've gotten used to it now."

Frodo

"Frodo, my sweet, please eat just a bit more for me, I worry so." Frodo's heart does a somersault- he's made sure notice of your habit by now, heard you speak your darlings and sweethearts aplenty. You often said it to tease the others when spirits were light or when you cared for them, but that was not all. The words my sweet were reserved for him. Everyone else got a plethora, it seemed, but him, and it vexed him in the best way possible, twisting his heart like nothing else. The sound of it was like a balm to Frodo, and he dared hope it held the meaning he dearly wished it to, for he was too shy to ask it of you just yet.

Sam

“Sam, love, pass me the ladle, if you please.” Samwise, thinking his heart might burst from his chest and run right up to you, pauses, speaks carefully. “What was that?” He asks, your name falling softly, almost delicately, from his lips. He’d heard the way you tease people before, usually addressing them as ‘my dear’. This was something else. The smile you gave him in response, too, was practically enough to kill him- could you tell? “I just asked if I might borrow the ladle, love.” Yep, the jig was up now.

Merry

“It’s got to be some sort of custom.” “That or you’ll be very, very wrong.” You arched a private brow over Merry and Pippin’s back-and-forth whispering, but thought nothing more of it until your next interaction with the blonde hobbit. “Merry, sweetheart, what are you doing?” Looking up from his knife, he held up a small chunk of wood with a strangely cocky grin. “Just a bit of whittling, dear.” Something about the roguish look he gave you, the confidence with which he adopted your habit, had your heart fluttering; you faltered a bit in your response before you sat at his side. Unbeknownst to you, he was elbowing Pippin triumphantly on the other side.

Pippin

His heart soars the first time he hears you call him honey. No matter what attacks you or what happens that day, day made. Then he hears you saying "No put that down, Merry sweetheart" and it all comes crashing to the ground because he’d gotten it into his head that he was special- was he wrong? He had to have been. When the words so easily pass between your lips again, this time in the form of '"Gimli dear, let me see that", hurt mingles with realization of your manner- that is just how you are. Moments pass, thoughts drifting by as clouds deciding whether or not to storm, before Pippin makes up his mind: he'll make known his interest, try everything he can until he truly does stand out.

Faramir

Publicly he barely humors it, trying to keep a tough face when his seniors or especially his father are present. Privately? It amuses him. Pleases his heart to see one with light spirits in the face of everything. Your ways make you something of an anchor, a reminder why he does the things that he does. You make Faramir laugh and he knows Boromir enjoys your company too- the three of you together form an escape that reminds Faramir of his younger days. And perhaps that happiness you always brings him has slowly metamorphosed, glimmering with hope every time you call him dear.

Eomer

This man, a military leader, and you call him honey? Eomer is shaken up honestly. He can’t even be annoyed because he’s too busy freezing with a slight frown upon his face. Wits coming back about him, he opens his mouth to question you, ask in his blunt way why you address him so... then you turn around and call his sister my dearest and oh, perhaps he was truly overthinking it. He laughs it off, swears to put it out of his head...but the mental image of you calling him a name of endearment plays over and over again whether he wills it or not.

Haldir

“And what has our precious jewel brought to us now?” Since discovering Haldir bristled a bit at your little names, you had decided to find the most ridiculous ones possible for the marchwarden. It worked every time, too, judging by the furrow of his brow. “They go to the Lady of Lórien,” he replied simply, not to be goaded so easily. The man he seemed to know the best, the ranger, exchanged looks of amusement with you. “And what do you have to say for yourself, my dear?” You asked the man. Just as you suspected, Haldir’s expression darkened a bit further- perhaps he had gotten a bit more used to his names than he let on. At that, you couldn’t help a chuckle and a smirk.

Eowyn

Though she may not voice it, she is questioning of your ways at first because she has firsthand experience of people using words as weapons, saying whatever they can to influence others’ will. So sure, call her dear but you will get nothing of her she does not want to give. The day this changes is actually when you call her brother a pet name and he’s shocked and the wide look in her eyes has both of you laughing in a way you usually do not. She envies your carefree ways and from that moment on enjoys basking in them. It is impossible to help the way her heart gives a little flutter whenever a 'dear' or 'my darling' is directed her way, however...

Arwen

The surprise she fixes you with upon playfully addressing her as ‘my pretty’ encourages you, if you are being honest. It’s a pleasant look, flattered and floored, that you think a lady like Arwen deserves to make again and again. As a result, while everyone else gets a casual darling or dear, you make it your mission to fluster Arwen as much as possible. “Ah, treasure, how has this day treated you so far?” She flushes. “…Well, I say. Thank you. And I wish you to know that you are no less than you say I am. The way you speak to me? It can also be said of yourself.”

Elrond

You are caring. Parental. As a father of three, Elrond appreciates the way you speak gently and warmly. Assist his healed patients with soft whispers of be free of your pain, dear heart. As he granted you leave to use his name rather than My Lord you still slip up at times…until it becomes quite the opposite and a good night, dear slips from your lips upon parting for the evening. Elrond accepts and assures your every apology with an affectionate smile, shocking himself with the realization that his feelings for you are much stronger than he had allowed himself awareness of.

[edges-of-night]

OMG YIPPIEEIE YOU'RE BACK🎉 you're one of my favorite Lotr blogs ever❤❤❤ hope you're having an absolutely wonderful day❤

You know when there's a short character that's comically strong? Could you do the characters of your choice reacting to a short reader just tossing them over their shoulder like it's nothing? I'd think it'd be a little funny

Thank you very much, nonnie! I hope you’re doing well, too. I picked six characters which I think would be the funniest for your prompt!

Also: I’ve decided to introduce a “humour” tag! And a divider, perhaps? What do you guys think? Anyways, have fun reading!

･ﾟ✧ Boromir.

When you pick him up, Boromir is so stumped he cannot speak. How could a small person like you be so strong? Did you practice dark magic? Have you been bonded to the enemy and only now shown your true colours? It causes him quite a dramatic headache. He would stay up late by the fire to stare into it and question your relationship. Once he realises nothing had changed – you’re still yourself after all, always have been! – he would grin and exhale in relief (but still probably ask you to not do that again).

.

･ﾟ✧ Éomer.

You probably won a bet against Éomer, that’s why he lets you throw him over your small shoulders in the first place. He expects to hate it but actually has a lot of fun being carried around like this. The two of you would often joke about how you could become his horse (or rather: pony) and use your strength to win many bets and free drinks among those who haven’t heard of your power. Additionally, Éomer would invent legendary stories to tell about you at drinking sprees. His fun would only be over when someone would ridicule your height – then it’s time for a brawl.

.

･ﾟ✧ Éowyn.

When you first threw Éowyn over your shoulder, she protested like a dragon, so you let her down again quickly. But as time passes, she grows accustomed to the thought of being carried by someone she loves so deeply – just maybe not over your shoulder, but bridal style through the halls of Edoras. She would also carry you in return, needless to say, though she would often blush when asked about it. But she would always defend you against bigots! Sidenote: Éowyn loves your standing on your tip toes to kiss her ♡

.

･ﾟ✧ Gimli.

You and Gimli vow to never speak of the day when you effortlessly carried him all the way back home over your shoulder. Though it fractures his Dwarven pride, Gimli is impressed with your strength. After all, he was wearing his heavy armour as well as his helmet and axe. Secretly, he would think back fondly to the instance. Still, the principle remains: “No one tosses a Dwarf over their shoulder!”

.

･ﾟ✧ Haldir.

You wouldn’t have carried Haldir all the way back to Lothlórien if it hadn’t been absolutely necessary. But he was unconscious, so you had no choice. Other Elves of your party had volunteered, but you were quicker than anyone else (and also untiring). Every single one of you swore to never speak of this again, though you now do share a great insight joke to rile dear Haldir up more than you already do. Needless to say, he would never suspect you tiny little thing were the main culprit!

.

･ﾟ✧ Legolas.

Being the Elven prince that he is, Legolas likes being carried around by you (and the scandalised faces of other people) so much that he would pretend to be fainting or otherwise stricken so that you would pick him up again. He is very playful about the entire thing, throwing his long arms around your neck and kicking his legs like a damsel in distress. He would also retort to your massive strength to threaten people, should the need arise…

[zeldalizzy]

I noticed you said that you're into both LU and LOTR... have you considered how those characters might interact? 👀 /curious /nf

- hero-of-the-wolf

Ooooo, ok ok actually yes i have!! Someone also requested a drawing of the Chain as the Fellowship so that may or may not be coming soon also! ;)

Anyway, in terms of how they would interact, hm. I think that each Link would kinda latch onto a member of the Fellowship that they most resemble, and kinda stick to them, but i think both groups would be chummy, and i mean, the pure defensive and offensive power of the Chain and the Fellowship combined would be immense.

In terms of similarities, here's kinda how i think of it:

Gandalf and Time: both are leaders, both are ridiculously powerful but don't use all their powers, both are kind, cryptic, and self-sacrificial, and have a soft spot for the little ones

Aragorn and Twilight: horse girls, but also natural born leaders, kinda mysterious, VERY protective, strong warriors, and extremely noble. Also they were both raised by a different people group (aragorn was half-human half-elf, raised by elves, twilight is hylian, raised by ordonians)

Boromir and Warriors: yeah so... this one is kinda just vibes. idek why, but would Warriors take three arrows or more to save one of his brothers? Absolutely. Also, Boromir is a Captain (Captain of the White Tower) and Wars is too, so they would relate on many levels there about taking armies to war and what not. Also... yeah... sorry Wars, of all the ppl to try to steal the ring it would be you. So sorry. And then he'd feel horrible about it and probably cry.

Legolas and Wild: long-eared archers with long, blonde hair. nothing more needs to be said here.

Gimli and Four: ok, hear me out on this one. Four is a blacksmith. He would have SO much respect for dwarves in their weapons and in their smithing skills in mining and making armor. He would probably just see shorter guy with a beard and latch on immediately because of his grandfather too. And both are a little embarrassed about being short and would NEVER want to be tossed unless absolutely necessary. Gimli would also be very impressed by Four's skills and have a lot to teach him too!

Sam and Sky: also vibes for this one. Sure Wild might be the Cook, but no one is as kind-hearted, loyal, over-protective, and compassionate as Sky and Samwise. Both have special ladies too, and Sky would 100% no hesitation carry one of his brothers up a massive exploding volcano if need be. Both soft, huggable, but not to be underestimated on the battle field.

Frodo and Hyrule: the burdens, my friends. the burdens. Frodo has to carry the cursed ring, Hyrule has to carry his cursed blood (as seen in Adventure of Link). Both are a bit shy, but very brave and loyal (we talkin' book Frodo here) and both have to go through a ton, kinda on their own. they are also both polite and selfless and have pure hearts that help them to resist the evil thrust upon them.

Legend and Merry: the trouble and disasters these two would get into, my goodness gracious. Legend may be a bit prickly around the edges, but he's also a prankster (Entrance), similarly to Merry. However, both of them have good hearts despite how they present themselves as tricksters. They are both loyal brothers who are extremely brave and adventurous.

Pippin and Wind: mostly just personality for this one. fun, childlike energy, brave, and sometimes make rash decisions. but also kind, lighthearted, and loyal. both are the youngest so they both have to deal with over-protectiveness from the other members of their group. they are both also dangerously curious, and likely to get up to mischief if one does not keep an eye on them...

Well, that was a total whirlwind, sorry for ranting!!! but I hope that answered your question!! Thanks so much for your ask, @hero-of-the-wolf!! i hope you are doing well! nice to meet a fellow LU and LOTR fan!! 🩵

[cinnamon-girl-writes]

If you're taking Lotr requests, could you please write some headcanons or short one-shots about Boromir and Aragorn falling in love with someone who's really short and insecure about it? I have pituitary dwarfism so I'm only 4' 10" (147 cm) and I get insecure about it because I look so much smaller and younger than I actually am. Plus I saw that you were looking for fellow Boromir fans so I figured I'd send a request about him because I love him too. Thanks! 🥰

a/n: thank you for sending in a request, i love this idea!! yes it's so nice to see that there are other boromir fans out there after what seems like a drought of boromir content!!! also: I'm working on an aragorn version of this as well!

✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚

castles crumbling . . . boromir x reader

boromir x short!reader, fluff, whump, comfort, hurt/comfort

by @cinnamon-girl-writes

The long days of traveling with the fellowship were starting to take a toll on you. Long days and restless nights weren't exactly cohesive with a healthy body, and yours was constantly aching in protest as you trudged up mountainsides through snow, rain, and mud.

Seeing as the weather was only getting worse and the party was becoming increasingly worn out from days of hiking, Aragorn called a halt to your expedition and led the group to a nearby cave to rest and wait the storm out. The rocky area was large enough, letting the group spread out sufficiently, securing their belongings in a dry spot.

As you knelt to lay your bedroll out, hoping to get some rest before having to trek again, a familiar voice rings out behind you, "Aragorn says we'll rest here until the storm clears out." Without needing to turn your head, you know it's Boromir behind you, and you can hear the rustling sound of him setting down his belongings and sitting beside you.

Settling onto your own cot, you fiddled with the ties on your pack. "We'll be waiting a while then, I suppose."

Boromir settled into his own spot, nodding in agreement with your assertion. With the unpredictability of the weather in Middle Earth, it could be a sunny, cloudless sky in the next half hour.

"You've been an incredible help on this journey, you should know. We wouldn't have made it this far without you," Boromir said.

You thanked the Valar for the dim lighting in the cave so that he could not see your blushing face. "Really, it's nothing," you argued, "Just my duty."

"Nonsense! You're the spirit and lifeblood of our company. Without your presence, I daresay we all would have gone mad from the quarreling of the elf and the dwarf and the hobbits' antics."

You laughed, the sound ringing out throughout the damp cavern. The other members of the fellowship looked over at the pair of you from their respective resting places across the cave, but none said anything-- save for Aragorn, who concealed a knowing smile at Boromir's endeavors.

A few minutes of silence endured afterwards, the two of you enjoying the quiet presence of each other's company and chuckling at the occasional quips of the youngest hobbits.

As the night went on, dusk fell over the land and the rest of your companions had fallen into a peaceful slumber, Boromir declaring that he would take the first watch-- ever the gentleman, you thought to yourself.

You watched the moon rise and climb slowly across the sky, tossing and turning ever so often to attempt to alleviate your insomnia.

Likely noticing your restless state, your companion placed a hand on your shoulder ever so lightly. "Y/N, you should get some sleep. We'll have a long day tomorrow."

Internally sighing, you shifted your position so that you could see his face. You were eternally dreading having to continue the journey and the physical labors that came along with it. Not only did you not have the physical stamina to keep up with your company, but the journey took more of a toll on you as well.

"Y/N, is something the matter? You look as though something's bothering you."

You considered dodging his advances, but in your exhausted state, you didn't have the fight left in you to avoid the question.

"I'm only tired from the journey, that's all," you replied. "I'm not quite as . . . adept for these types of journeys as the rest of you."

He nodded his head, "I understand. When my younger brother Faramir first trained with our army, well, that was a sight to see!" He chuckled.

You managed a small laugh along with him, trying to hide the still present knot in your chest.

He leaned in ever so slightly, giving you a reassuring look. "But over time, he grew to be one of the greatest soldiers under my command. He was braver than any other, and couldn't have made me prouder."

This made you smile. Boromir's love for his brother was evident through the was he spoke so admirably about him, and you knew from your time spent with Boromir that he would do anything for those people he loved.

He continued, "So whatever it is that ails you, girl, don't let it trouble you any further. You are as much of an aid to this mission as any of the rest of us."

His words spread a warmth through your chest. You blinked slowly, soaking in the comfort in his words.

"Thank you, Boromir," you replied. "That means a lot to hear."

He smiled warmly, "Now, get some sleep, child. We have an adventure ahead of us tomorrow."

[entishramblings]

Fuck the Forbidden Pt. 2

[Boromir/F!MermaidReader]

PART 1 | PART 3 — coming soon

Fuck the Forbidden: FTF LINK MASTERLIST

A.N: my apologies for taking so much time to update: graduate school is a tornado, plus getting sick and the craziness of holidays season didn’t help. Anyways, thank you for your patience and your continuous support! I literally read all your comment in order to inspire me to write again!

Request: none

Pairing: Boromir X Fem!MermaidReader

Summary: The Reader is a Mermaid and witnessed a shipwreck. She becomes interested in human life—particularly one human: Boromir.

Disclaimer: Any mythology relating to the mermaids of middle earth is not canon. also I tried my best with arda water/river geography plz don’t come at me—it’s not one of my finer subjects :/

Word Count: 5.7k — listen, yes, I STILL have a problem

Warnings: depression, drowning, ptsd, alcoholism, angst, comfort, fluff, stalking (idk how to make that last one sound less creepy. you’re just gonna have to read it).

MASTERLIST | AO3 | WATTPAD

The following day, (Y/N) waited in the depths of the Anduin River by the entrance of the Minas Tirith castle. Sure enough, the captain, decorated in silver, came out upon his steed. Though he did not have the cheer he normally held—despite his recent struggles—he seemed….different. (Y/N) had hoped that he didn't remember what he saw under the lake. Maybe he figured he was too drunk and his mind was playing tricks on him? Maybe he would forget it all together? However, that fearful look in his eyes when he glanced at the river told her otherwise. It appeared Faramir failed to convince his brother that the mer-folk were just a myth.

Boromir deviated from his routine as well. He did not go to the market for the breakfast that he seemed to love. No, no. Instead he went out towards the edge of the city–towards the docks. And (Y/N) went with him. He passed his horse off to another and walked upon the wood, passing ship and boat, until he came upon a small fishing vessel. (Y/N) swam around it and took to the surface upon its side, far enough to not be spotted, but close enough to see and hear.

“Iwar,” Boromir called out. “You there?”

“Oi!” the old man replied, emerging from the sails. “What can I do for yer?”

“You have a moment?”

“For ye? Of course I do, lad. What is this about?” Iwar stated, squinting in the sun.

Boromir huffed, and pulled something from his pocket. He lightly tossed it to the older fellow. “What do you make of this?”

Iwar frowned, holding the whale up before his face by the string Boromir had used to make it into a necklace. “Where’d ye get it?”

“In a pond. One that connects to the Anduin River.”

Iwar sent him a strange look. “Do ye know what this is made out of?”

Boromir shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.

“It’s bone, Boromir,” he replied tentatively.

At this, the captain’s lips parted. “Bone?”

Iwar tossed the whale carving back to him. “Aye, couldn't tell ye what it came from. Whittled too much away for that. Ye said yer got it from a pond?”

He nodded, swallowing dryly.

“Could’ve washed up from the currents.” Iwar stated, nonchalantly, returning to the tasks of his sail. “Some trinket someone lost to the sea.”

Boromir dipped his head, his anxiety present as he fiddled with the whale.

Iwar glanced at him. “Something else, boy?”

Boromir inhaled slowly. “Iwar, do you–do you really believe those tales of the sea-folk?”

The old man sent a weary look at the captain as he tied off one of the ropes upon the fabric. “Aye. Saw one of em’ when I was just a lad. Nearly lost my life.”

Boromir focused his gaze upon Iwar. “I think–I think I saw one last night.”

At this, the older man froze. Slowly, he turned his full attention to the captain, dread slipping from his face.

Still, Boromir continued, trying to justify his sighting. ‘Though, I don't know. I was very drunk. Had a couple ales too many. My mind could’ve—”

“You were out on the sea last night?” Iwar interrupted, confused.

Boromir shook his head.

“The shore then? Never heard of em’ venturing so close.”

Boromir released a nervous chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “I, uh, I was in the pond by the Minas Tirith castle.”

Iwar’s form stiffened as he walked toward the captain. He nodded at the bone carving in Boromir’s hand as he spoke in a tone that held so much anxiety that it radiated through the air around him. “The same pond where ye found that?”

“Yes.”

Iwar’s eyes widened wildly. “I’d tell ye what, lad. Ye have been marked by em.’ And that—” he dipped his head at the whale once more. “—I reckon that's human bone.”

Blood drained from Boromir’s face, replaced with sheer panic. His fingers clumsily grappled with the carving, uncertain of how to handle it. Reluctant to make direct contact, he hesitated before settling on gripping the string, allowing the whale to dangle. Disgust etched across his brow.

“I’d get out while ye can. Stay away from the sea waters, boy.” Iwar warned.

….

That night, Boromir didn't go to the pool of water by the white walls—nor the following night. He, quite frankly, didn't go near the water at all. He stayed far from the beaches and from the Anduin River. He took longer paths to where he needed to go in order to avoid such circumstances that put him near what Iwar had described to live in the sea.

And this—all this broke (Y/N)’s heart. It stirred up a tumult of emotions—sadness, anger, fear, and frustration. Therefore, on the third day, she sought solace in a secluded nook along the Bay of Belfas. Hoisting herself onto a warm rock, she sat, enveloped in her misery. Her once-vivid fantasies of the land-people and Boromir now dissolved into sorrow and regret. What lingered was the haunting image of Boromir's disdainful expression when Iwar speculated that her gift was crafted from human bone. Any mer-folk would be delighted to receive such a heartfelt gesture! But Boromir wasn't of the sea, now was he.

(Y/N) stayed upon the rock for hours, hoping the sun would soak up her melancholy mood. However, that is not what the golden beams absorbed. Her skin dried, her hair lightened and billowed freely, and the scales on her tail lacked the moisture they once held. It was at that moment discomfort struck. Excruciating, searing pain surged through her tail, a relentless agony that prompted a deep cry from her lips. Every nerve seemed to flare with an intense, burning sensation, rendering her nearly paralyzed by the sheer intensity of the pain. She couldn't move, only shake and claw at the rock she perched upon. It felt like hours as she laid there, praying to the gods to make it end. And when it did, she instinctively reached for her scales. However, to her surprise, her hand met no such thing; instead, flesh had replaced the once-familiar tail.

(Y/N) gasped.

Her father had said…

He had tested them all…

None had the gift….

He lied.

Emotions swirled around her naked form as she stared at the strange extension that replaced her glimmering scales—legs. Anger, irritation, sadness, regret, frustration, excitement all ran through her blood.

Slowly, she stood. As she took a wobbly step upon the rock, a loud, breathy giggle escaped her lips.

Was this a dream?

(Y/N) took another uncertain step, and another, and another—until she stumbled, her hand reaching out to break her fall. However, a splash came from that, for her palm struck where water had gathered in a dip upon the rock.

Immediately, she felt it.

Her skin tingled, then burned and stung, stretching and pulling in a painful dance. (Y/N) cried out as the pain intensified. With scales attempting to form on her dry legs, the tugging became excruciating once more—tears streamed from her eyes as she desperately scrambled towards the water.

Her form slipped and rolled, right off the rock and into the ocean.

Immediate relief enveloped her. Scales continued to knit together without a hint of pain. The water soothed her. It coated the soreness into nonexistence.

(Y/N) allowed her form to sink, adjusting.

There she floated, letting her body and mind adjust to what had just happened.

It was then when one of the turmoiling emotions overtook the rest of them. It coursed through her gills and surged through her veins.

How dare he…

With a decisive flick of her tail, she propelled herself toward her father's palace.

The anger granted her remarkable speed, causing other merfolk to whip their heads around in confusion as she barreled past them.

She swam directly to the grand chamber, where she anticipated her father perched upon his throne, and busted the door open with her tail.

“HOW DARE YOU?!” she screamed at him.

Heads turned instantly—her father’s, her sisters’, the guards’.

“HOW DARE YOU LIE TO ME, FATHER. HOW DARE YOU NOT TELL ME I HAD THE GIFT?!”

Her father rose, signaling the guards to leave. They swam away quickly, avoiding the impending wrath of the sea's king and his children.

“You lied straight to my face,” (Y/N) stated.

“(Y/N), what are you talking about?” Anahita interjected, appalled by her sister’s tone.

Mareena added to her statement. “That is no way to speak to our father!”

(Y/N)'s tail flicked with irritation as she focused her gaze on the man before her. “I have the gift to walk among the land-folk.”

Una gasped. Seria’s mouth dropped open. Rana’s eyes widened. Nerida’s brows shot upwards.

Their father swam towards (Y/N). “You went to the land?!” he growled. “It is forbidden.”

“I DID NOT GO ONTO THE LAND!” She snapped back. Taking a deep breath, she spoke again. “I was letting the sun warm me upon a rock when it happened—the tingling, the splitting, the pain.”

“You went to the surface—”

“How dare you not tell me, Father!”

“I DID NOT TELL YOU BECAUSE OF THIS!” He yelled. “Because I knew the minute you would figure it out, you would want to test out your new form. You would put us all in danger.”

“YOU HAVE PUT ME IN DANGER. YOU HAVE MASKED YOUR PROTECTION IN LIES THAT HAVE ONLY CAUSED ME PAIN. HOW DARE YOU!” (Y/N) retorted.

With that, (Y/N) swam away. She twisted through the reefs and the grass. She slipped through the schools of fish and their bubbles. She slithered through the rocks and caves. She did so until she was back in the Anduin River, where the lively markets and the hustle of people's households awaited. Breaking through the water's surface, she emerged with a cautious awareness, ensuring she remained unseen.

She swam along the edge until she came upon a line of clothing strung between two buildings. On it hung sheets as bright as a lemonpeel angelfish, a skirt holding the vibrance of an orange clownfish, a flowing wrap the hue of a blue tang fish, a pair of trousers the color of a brown leafy sea dragon, a top shaded like that of a pink fairy wrasse, and a flowing dress the cream color of a stingray’s belly.

(Y/N) looked at her surroundings.

The people were on the other side of the clothing line—all mucking about in the market. None even bothered to shed a glance behind the fabric. All were too busy going about their day.

Therefore, with little regard for the forbidden nature of her actions—because, really, fuck the forbidden—(Y/N) decided to defy the rules that had once controlled her life.

Originally, she hadn't intended to act in such defiance, but the anger coursing through her veins urged her forward into impulsive urges.

Hauling her form out of the water, (Y/N) manipulated the water clinging to her, using her fingers in twisting and rippling motions. She gathered the liquid into a cohesive ball and, with a flick of her wrist, sent the sphere dancing through the air before it plopped back into the river.

The tingling sensation began, followed by the excruciating pain, and soon enough, the transformation into legs commenced.

Anxiously, (Y/N) stood. Her shaky legs wobbled as she adjusted to their unfamiliar form. Her trembling fingers swiftly seized the cream colored dress—she didn't want to stand out, she needed to blend in—and she clumsily slipped it on. Her gaze then fixated on a brilliant blue wrap. The color resonated with the deep seas she hailed from, and she couldn't resist. The mermaid grasped the silk and yanked, winding it around her hair in a manner she had observed from land women when peeking from the river. Letting some of her locks cascade out of the twisted band, the blue fabric draped over her shoulders. She smiled.

Her hand instinctively rose to her neck, where her necklace adorned with shells, sea glass, and bones encircled her skin. A frown crossed her face. She couldn't part with it—this cherished gift from her since passed mother. Therefore, she let it remain, finding that it didn't look too out of place.

(Y/N) ventured into the market, nervously navigating the bustling city of Minas Tirith with her new, wobbly legs. The vibrant atmosphere teemed with life and excitement as diverse groups came together to weave the people into the human race. So many men, women, and children—all different sizes, all different shapes, all different skin tones—bustled through the streets.

Young children ran through the tents playing games and tricks on one another. Often enough, a woman was pursuing the chase while yelling for their halt of mischief. Men were not involved in this matter. Instead, they loudly called out the names of what they sold, along with prices, at the busy passerbyers in hopes of getting a customer. Never had (Y/N) seen something so brilliantly enthralling and engaging—not in her time under the sea with the mer-folk.

As she moved through the people, she discreetly snagged what she needed. A pair of sandals disappeared from a rack, and she swiftly turned away before anyone noticed. Vibrantly colored bracelets caught her eye at a vendor's stall, and she couldn't resist snagging a few. Additionally, she plucked food from bins and baskets. She didn't know what it was—but oh how delicious it tasted when it was not dunked in the salt of the sea.

Here, (Y/N) stayed, exploring the thrill of humanity and letting their culture enrapture her senses. So much so, that she failed to notice a soldier adorned in silver until she collided with his metal-plated chest.

Her form tumbled backwards, taking an extra moment to steady.

“Are you alright, miss?” a concerned voice inquired.

(Y/N) slowly raised her head to meet a familiar face: Faramir.

Unable to find her voice, she could only nod in reply. Shyness and anxiety filled her as she backed away from the unexpected encounter.

He acknowledged her reply with a dip of his own head before turning to another soldier a little ways away. He made way towards him and gently touched his arm. “Boromir, we should get going. Father is expecting us.”

(Y/N) went still. Her inquisitive gaze shifted towards him, and indeed, there stood Boromir. His dark, sandy hair brushed upon his forehead, tousled slightly from the refreshing breeze. Vibrant blue eyes held a sternness, concealing the sadness she knew resided in his heart. His pink lips pressed into a firm line, refraining from the warmth of a smile. Boromir was clad in the silver armor and the metal weapons that she had seen him in nearly every day. He looked fit for his position as captain, his authority nearly radiating from him. Now that she was upon the land, he seemed so much bigger—so much stronger. So much more important.

(Y/N)’s cheeks began to heat, prompting her to quickly ducked behind the fabric of a tent. After giving herself a moment, she peaked out.

Though she knew she shouldn't, she found herself following them. At a safe distance, she mimicked every turn, accentuated every step, and utilized every path they took. And when the Steward's sons crossed the threshold of Minas Tirith Castle, so did she.

Instantly, she was met with just as much business as the market. Servants flooded the halls, carrying trays of fruit and platters of meat. Maids held onto neatly folded laundry and finely pressed sheets. Guards bustled about, their steel clanking as they moved through the halls, to get to their next shift, meal, or rest.

(Y/N) was so overwhelmed that she failed to notice a group of soldiers rounding the corner. As they pushed past her, a heavy shoulder slammed into her, the edge of the metal plate catching her forehead. The impact sliced the skin open, causing her to tumble backward against the wall.

Surprising her, she felt a gentle hand upon her arm, holding her steady. A soft voice that she knew all too well, that spoke words all too similar to his brother’s, filled her ears. “Are you alright, miss?”

In a daze, (Y/N) looked up at the dark sandy hair, vibrant blue eyes, and perfect pink lips of Boromir. Too stunned to speak, she merely stared at him, every thought that had occupied her mind vanishing in the moment.

Boromir turned towards the group of soldiers who had caused the commotion and knocked her down. With a tone infused with authority and anger, he snapped at them, “Watch where you are going!”

They turned, initially confused and uncertain of Boromir's reprimand until they spotted the frightened and injured girl beside him.

“What kind of soldiers are you that you let your steel hit a woman!” Boromir added, his irritation even more obvious. “Keep better track of your things—and your forms!”

The soldiers nodded, though their indifference was evident, and they shuffled away without much concern.

Boromir turned back to (Y/N), repeating his prior question, his tone gentle once more. “I apologize for the actions of my men. I will reprimand them later, but right now you are more important, yes? Miss?”

She looked up at him, blinking. He didn’t recognize her, did he?

“You’re bleeding,” he stated softly, his finger pressed gently upon her forehead.

A quiet gasp of pain escaped (Y/N)’s lips and her expressions distorted slightly.

“My apologies. I did not mean to make your pain worse. May I take you to the infirmary? We can get that treated.”

Unsure what to say—and what an infirmary was—she nervously dipped her head.

“Alright,” he began. “Let’s get you moving.”

Gently, he helped her move away from the wall, one arm wrapped around her waist. However, with a couple steps, her vision swirled and she stumbled.

Boromir caught her quickly. “Whoa, whoa. Slow down. Just a step at a time.” His brows pulled together as he looked down at her. “Are you dizzy? Is the room spinning?”

“I—I,” she stuttered. “Y-yes, uh, sir.”

He released a heated breath from his nose, the anger at the men who had harmed her simmering within him. However, he pushed it away, ensuring his attention remained on her. "How about you sit back down? Lean against the wall to keep you upright, yes?"

(Y/N) nodded, allowing him to help lower her to the stone floor. As the coldness rushed through her bones and the stillness began to steady, she looked up at him. “T-thank you,” she whispered. “Uh, sir.”

The captain smiled softly. “You may call me Boromir.”

She nodded slightly.

Boromir looked up and stopped a passing servant. “Could you please fetch me a medical kit from the infirmary? Just basic supplies.”

The man nodded, accepting the order, and rushed off. Moments later, he returned with various materials in a small box.

Boromir expressed his gratitude as he opened the kit. Without hesitation, he took hold of a soft cloth and gently swiped it upwards, collecting the blood that was now trickling down (Y/N)’s forehead. He then pressed it against the cut that was bleeding rather heavily. "Hold this there," he commanded gently.

The woman reached up to follow his instructions, and Boromir proceeded to lay out an array of little bottles and scraps of cloth. "What is your name?" he inquired as he doused a cloth in the liquids of one of the containers.

Her eyes followed his motions nervously. “(Y/N),” she replied timidly.

The Captain smiled, attempting to provide some comfort. “Are you from around here, (Y/N)?”

She shook her head.

“No? What are you doing in these parts then?” He asked.

“I—I don’t know.”

Boromir frowned, looking up at her from the medical supplies. She appeared more disoriented than he had initially expected. Perhaps the blow to the head was more substantial than he had thought?

“You don’t know?” He questioned, no alarm in his tone. Meanwhile, he began threading a needle, preparing it for the task of stitching her forehead. “Have you come with anyone? A husband? A father?”

She frowned, a blush creeping into her face at the implications of his words. “N-no. Alone.”

Boromir pressed his lips together, a sudden loneliness hitting him—one that he knew all too well—as he placed the threaded needle upon a clean cloth.

“Do you have a place to stay?”

She shook her head.

“Hmm. Alright. Let’s get you cleaned up, then we can worry about that.”

Boromir took the cloth from her forehead, his hand brushing upon hers as he did so. He then began bringing a damp cloth towards her face.

Instantly, her eyes went wide and she ducked away from the material. “It’s alright. It’s alright. It’s just alcohol.” He replied, lowering the cloth.

“N-not water?” She whispered, almost fearful.

He shook his head. “Nay. Water would not clean it properly. This will prevent any infection, though I’m afraid it will sting a bit. Is that alright?”

Slowly, (Y/N) nodded.

Boromir pressed the cloth to the cut and, instantly, she hissed.

“I know, I am sorry,” he murmured.

Gently, he cleaned the wound, being careful to not make any sudden movements that may startle her. When he was certain it was clean, he moved to pick up the needle.

“I will have to stitch it back together so it heals properly.” He looked into her worried gaze and he instantly felt guilt tugging at his heart. It appeared she had never experienced such an injury, or perhaps she had but never received proper treatment for one.

Cautiously, he used his other hand to pick up her own. Her soft palms brushed upon his hardened calloused, gentleness upon her touch. Placing her hand upon his knee, he spoke softly, “If it hurts too much just squeeze really really hard, and I will pause, alright? It is important that you keep your head still, yes?”

She nodded, adjusting her grip upon his knee, a mixture of anticipation and anxiety in her eyes.

Slowly, Boromir began the delicate task of stitching her skin back together. Her grip tightened upon him, only slightly, as she adjusted to the strange sensation of tugging on her skin.

"You are doing beautifully, (Y/N). We are almost done. I promise," the Captain reassured her. As he finished the last stitch and skillfully moved the thread to knot itself, he breathed out, "There we go," placing the needle back upon the cloth. He smiled gently, a reassuring warmth in his eyes, as he carefully cleaned the area around the stitches. "All finished," Boromir stated before leaning back, (Y/N)’s hand slipping from his knee.

“It will be sore for a bit,” he said. “But it should heal in a week. The stitching will fall out on its own, so if it starts to come out, do not worry. Though, I would advise you not to get it wet.”

At that last sentence, (Y/N) smiled softly. She wasn’t planning on getting wet—not anytime soon.

“Can you stand? Has the dizziness subsided?”

The woman nodded and slowly rose to her feet, taking Boromir’s hand when he offered it.

“Let’s find you a place to rest while you heal. And I would like to apologize for my soldiers’ actions once more. You are welcome to stay in Minas Tirith as long as you would like. I will make sure you get everything you need.”

(Y/N) looked up at his kind expression and spoke with that same nervous hesitancy. “Thank you.…Boromir.”

The captain guided her through the castle, arriving at a room. He opened the door and gestured inside with a soft smile. "It is yours to stay in. I will ensure the maids are alerted to provide you with adequate care. If you need anything else, my chambers are just down the hallway to the right, the second door."

She nodded in reply.

He bowed his head. “I will leave you then, miss.”

With that, he was gone.

(Y/N) moved to the center of the room and slowly spun around taking it all in. It was massive and airy. The windows were wind open, the sea breeze rushing in and caring hints of the city. The white curtains blew with that gentle wind, dancing in its whispers. The walls of the chamber were adorned with intricate tapestries depicting only what she could assume to be the legendary tales of the city. They were woven with beautiful silver and turquoise thread, catching the light so delicately. A bed sat in the middle of the room, soft white blankets and comforters piled on it. (Y/N) walked towards it and gently sat upon the fabric. It was….strange. Very different from the large shells she was used to curling up in.

Feeling a sudden tiredness take over her form, she laid down with ease. Resting her head upon the pillow, she allowed sleep to consume her.

…….

When she finally woke, the sun had set, and the stars took their place among the blanket of the sky. Cautiously, she pulled her legs from the cage of blankets and let them dangle off the side of the bed. They looked so….strange upon her form. She was used to her glimmering tail that collected light to share among the waters. Not—not this. She lowered her feet upon the stone floor, almost startled by the coldness that greeted them.

Hunger settled into her stomach as she moved towards the door. However, she found herself at a loss, unsure where to find a meal at this time. The markets were long since closed and she knew not where the kitchen in the Minas Tirith castle was. Of course, she could wander down to the tavern that Boromir frequented regularly—she knew the way well enough, but she didn't have any means to pay.

(Y/N) shifted on her feet. Boromir did say she could come to him if she needed anything….

Almost as if it were an excuse to see him again, she slipped through the door and began following his directions to his chambers. With every step, her heart pounded harder. She would get to see him again—and it wouldn't be through layers of water.

Upon arrival, the door stood ajar, allowing a whisper of cold air to drift from his open windows. Cautiously, she peered into the room. It was shrouded in darkness, with only the soft glow of the moon reflecting upon the vast room—oh, and what a beautiful room it was. The room eluded a captivating chaos, in the most exciting way. Tablets and shelves were filled with various items—maps, books, stones, germs, inventions, and trinkets. The room held a multitude of objects, each beckoning to be looked at, studied, and pondered—igniting a sense of wonder and an urge to guess the intention. Oh, it was a captivating sight.

“Boromir?” she called out.

Silence.

Slowly, (Y/N) stepped in. She let her feet carry her throughout the room, her hand brushing upon every object that her eyes could consume. She picked things up, examined them, then put them down for another. She did so continuously, urgently, the thirst for knowledge of the humans’ customs eager in her blood. She did so, until she came across something familiar—something she was surprised to see.

(Y/N) picked up the bone carved whale from the shelf that it rested on.

He had kept it.

A little grin formed on her face, for after his conversation with Iwar she didn’t think he would.

“Does that one interest you?” A soft tone asked.

(Y/N) jumped, startled.

Boromir chuckled lightly, stepping into the room. “I am sorry. I didn't mean to startle you.”

She glanced down at the whale carving before looking back to him.

“I am not quite sure how that one came into my possession,” he continued as he moved to stand beside her.

She frowned, looking up. Her eyes were now direct at him, focused and stern—for the first time since he had met her. He would be lying if he said it didn't startle him a bit.

“You don't remember?” she asked, her tone strong.

“Well, no it’s not that. Of course, I remember how I got it. It just was a bit peculiar.”

(Y/N) tilted her head, not understanding.

Boromir sighed, his tone was distant as he spoke, his blue gaze not wavering from her curious eyes that suddenly seemed so bold. “A friend of mine says it's a dark omen, ment to mark me for death.” His vision trailed across her face. “He says it is made of the bone of my fallen brothers, urging me to follow them to their deaths.”

“Do you believe that?”

He blinked, his gaze lingering upon the whale. “I do not know what to believe.” Boromir looked at her expression. “What are your thoughts on such a statement?”

(Y/N) shrugged, placing the whale in its spot upon the shelf. “I believe people don’t understand other cultures and customs. I believe they make their own assumptions out of ignorance and fear.”

The captain raised a brow at her intelligence. “You are feeling better then?”

“Hmm?” (Y/N) hummed in question as she moved to another object.

“Well, that is the most I have heard you speak since I met you. You are wiser than you appear to be.”

She only shrugged in response, picking up a telescope and looking through its glass—by the wrong end.

“Though,” Boromir continued in a teasing manner as he plucked the object from her grasp, turned it the correct way, and placed it back in her palms. “That wisdom seems not to extend to everything.”

She frowned, looking through the glass once before placing it down. She then went for a music box, her confused expression deepening. “We do not have all these….these things where I am from.”

Boromir reached across her and twisted the little lever, releasing the gentle music from its hold. “And where is that, may I ask?”

At the twinkling sound, her smile, born of pure delight, extended from her expression. Her response to his question, however, was only that of a simple word, “Far.”

The captain raised a brow. “How far?”

(Y/N) shot him a strange look, placing the music box down and picking up a crystal sphere instead. “You ask a lot of questions,” she mumbled.

He grinned playfully. “You do not seem to give many answers, Miss (Y/N).”

She glared at him.

With that playful smile, he spoke again. “Would it help if you got to ask a question?”

(Y/N)‘s eyes crinkled with thought as she placed the object down and turned towards him. She saw how his shoulders slumped ever so slightly, how the circles under his eyes appeared so dark, how his expression was so hollow. Softly, she spoke again. “Why are you so sad, Boromir?”

Taken aback by this, his lips parted. “I—I do not know what you mean.”

She took a step closer to him, a step that nearly eliminated the space between them, and her piercing gaze burned up at him for the truth.

Hesitantly, he whispered that truth, as if she compelled it right out of him. “I—I recently was in a shipwreck. I thought, well, I thought I was dead—left for the watery graves below.” He paused, just for a moment. “But yet I am here and I do not know why. And, I am beginning to question things that I know, well, thought I knew, for the world appears different now.”

Silence.

Boromir's soft voice then picked up again, his breath warm upon the woman’s face. “Why are you so sad, (Y/N)?”

At this, her shy nature returned. (Y/N) turned her head away, not wanting to look at the source of her sadness.

Gently, Boromir tugged on her chin, forcing her to look at him. “You implored me to tell you such a truth,” he whispered. “May I not ask the same of you?”

(Y/N)’s tone was soft. “My truth is complicated.”

“Are not all truths complicated?” he responded.

With that, she withdrew from his grasp—a hold she desperately craved—and created enough distance between them, leaving him to wonder if such closeness had occurred at all.

A loud grumble then echoed through the dark room—splitting the darkness with something else, something much for lighthearted.

“When have you last eaten?” Boromir asked.

Her brows pulled together as she looked at her stomach.

He chuckled, offering her his hand. “Come. Let’s get you some food. I can take you to my favorite place.”

“But I—I have no coin,” she whispered shyly.

“You are a guest of Gondor, Gondor will see you fed.”

(Y/N) smiled, that innocent gaze returning. She hesitantly took his hand and he led her through the castle and towards the tavern.

The two arrived at the tavern rather quickly. Urine, stale ale, and sweat flooded (Y/N)’s nostrils—familiar aromas reminiscent of her vigilant watch over Boromir along the Anduin River. The lively atmosphere enveloped the pair. In the corner, a bard sang to the patrons, his melodic voice resonating throughout, enticing some to join in. Drunk men, tapping their feet along to the beat of the tune, howled in laughter and glee as they clinked their ales together and shoveled food into their mouths. Requests for additional drinks prompted maidens, adorned in long skirts and aprons, to gracefully deliver brimming glasses, the foaming liquid sloshing about.

(Y/N) smiled, taking in the environment.

Boromir cast a glance at her out of the corner of his eye, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. “It’s just a tavern.”

She turned to him, her grin unwavering. “We don’t have taverns where I am from.”

He raised a brow. “And where is that? You never said.”

She shrugged. “Far.”

(Y/N) moved deeper into the tavern, with Boromir following suit. He motioned towards an available table, and they both took a seat. Before long, a serving maiden approached. Boromir signaled for two meals and two ales, and they promptly arrived.

The woman wasted no time and eagerly indulged in her food, swiftly emptying the plate.

Boromir tried to suppress a smile as he saw this, for he was glad she was getting proper nutrition after her likely long and hard journey. He, of course, wished to know more of her origins; though, he could see she wasn't quite ready to discuss such things. Instead, he opted to answer any and all questions she had which began with her curious tone.

“Boromir, would you be willing to tell me of your city? How you live in these parts? I wish to know.”

His soft gaze made contact with hers and he nodded, chewing his food and swallowing before he spoke. “What would you wish to know?”

“Everything—its structures, its people, its culture, its history.”

Therefore, Boromir spoke of such things. He described the White City's towering architecture, the valor of its people, and the complexities of the various beliefs held. He relayed its history and tales, showcasing the values of the Gondorian people.

His narratives ignited a spark in her eyes, drew laughter from her lips, and filled her heart with joy.

Fuck the forbidden indeed.

As the hours stretched on, Boromir’s friends joined them. (Y/N) could see the gleam in their eyes and catch the less-than-subtle teasing tones as they whispered about Boromir bringing a lady to their tavern. Faramir, arriving shortly after, seemed prepared for a night of dealing with his drunken brother, only to find himself pleasantly surprised by his brother's apparent sobriety and the joy the unknown woman seemed to bring to his melancholy soul.

Yet, amid the cheerful atmosphere, a pair of shifting gray eyes belonging to an old man that (Y/N) recognized as Iwar, kept her uneasy heart alert.

…..

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[rivendell-poet]

Trick and/or Treat

modern au, candy corn, with Boromir

please and thank you

Trick-or-treat anon! Thank you for the request, and hopefully I managed to capture a modern Boromir - I've spent too long staring at his dialogue.

*･༓˚✧ ❝𝐁𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐫 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫❞ ‧͙⁺˚༓˚✧ « trick-or-treat »

GN!Reader | Wordcount : 130 words | TWs : None

Trying to catch a piece of candy corn in your mouth, you almost succeed before choking and just missing another. Amid your spluttering you turn to glare at your husband, who isn’t doing an incredible job of not laughing at you. Coming nearer, you think he might be about to kiss you before his hand sneaks into the bag of candy corn, tossing one up and effortlessly catching it. 

There’s a shine in his eyes, “I didn’t think I’d actually catch that.”

“So what? You were trying to share in my misery?”

“A problem shared is a problem halved, as the wise ones teach.” Looking at you, you can see the way his gaze can’t decide where to look - your eyes or the candy corns. “Shall we both try again?”

A/N : Here's my confession, I've never had candy corn. Also this is inspired by me absolutely failing to catch stuff in my mouth, my struggles are honestly impressive.

« masterlist » thank you for reading *･༓˚✧ Taglist : @ferns-fics @fleurdemiel-145 @stormchaser819 @starwars2222 @bespectacledhuman (cont. in comments)

[from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras]

A Need of the Soul

Summary: Éomer is teaching Faramir how to speak Rohirric as a surprise for Éowyn. Come for Faramir being a sweet husband, stay for the emotional links to Boromir and Théodred. Oh, and for Éomer being a big horse dork.

Context: I pulled a JRR and wrote a whole story around a special word I like! More on that at the very bottom. You can read this without knowing any of my personal Rohan head canon, but just in case it’s helpful: In my world, Éomer is married to his childhood best friend, Mereliss. My Théodred (who you can read more about here or here if you’re interested) was a nurturing soul with a curious mind, and I may be obsessed with him. And damn it, my Éomer can absolutely read and write! (See here for why that’s the case in my HC.)

As soon as Éowyn left for the morning, Faramir pulled out his secret stack of papers, the ones he had started requesting from Éomer six months ago when he first decided to try learning Rohirric. He wanted to master the language as a surprise for Éowyn, ever conscious of how much she had sacrificed on his behalf when they married. Although he knew she loved Ithilien, he also knew that sometimes she still longed for the familiarity and comfort of home, for the people, places, and culture that were now many miles away. If he could bring some of Rohan to her in the form of her language, he hoped he could brighten her heart on those days when she looked most in need of a reminder of all that she missed.

With this goal in mind, he had thrown himself wholly into the pursuit, but the process was more difficult than he had hoped. The Rohirrim didn’t keep written records in their own language, nor did they have textbooks or primers made to learn from. All Faramir had were the pages that Éomer would write out and send to him every few weeks, using Westron to describe basic grammar rules and listing common Rohirric words and phrases by their definitions and rough pronunciations. Working from written materials to learn a language that was only taught orally was maddeningly difficult, and Faramir spent long hours alone at his desk laboring at the exercises Éomer sent, unsure if he was even getting close to the sounds he was attempting to produce.

At least he would be aided today by the presence of Éomer in person. The king of Rohan was coming to Gondor to take counsel with his allies on military matters, and he had agreed to make time for some lessons while his own wife, Mereliss, kept Éowyn occupied in furtherance of the surprise. With Éowyn gone now to meet her sister-in-law, Faramir looked down his lists of Rohirric words and tried to commit a few more to memory, repeating them slowly out loud to himself while he waited for Éomer.

“If someone back home heard you slur your way through those words like that, they might assume you were a drunkard.”

Faramir looked up to see Éomer smirking at him from the doorway, still dressed in his riding clothes and holding a small pack. “Well, if the performance of the student falls short, I think we have no option but to blame the instructor,” Faramir returned with a smirk of his own.

“A fair point, I will grant you.” Éomer strode in and tossed his things on an empty chair before pulling Faramir up into a strong embrace, thumping a fist on his brother-in-law’s back with enough enthusiasm to knock the breath out of him.

When they separated, Faramir smiled and held up his stack of papers. “I do appreciate all of this. It’s a lot of work for me, but for you, too, I’m sure.”

Éomer gave a dismissive wave. “I have the easy part. Besides, there’s some benefit to me in all of this, as well. I’ll certainly enjoy the show the next time you visit Edoras and all the ladies at court discover that you can actually understand their scandalous comments about how handsome they find you. Your admirer’s club is in for a big shock.”

They both laughed, though Éomer noted the flush of pink in Faramir’s ears and cheeks and that only made him laugh all the harder. “Don’t let them see you blush, you’ll only make it worse!” He plopped down into a chair and put his feet up, smiling.

As Faramir took a seat across from him, he felt a warm, familiar echo in his heart. The easy camaraderie, the good natured teasing balanced with true affection…it couldn’t help but bring Boromir to his mind. Faramir still missed his brother every single day and looked for reminders of him everywhere that he could. But he didn’t think it was a stretch to see clear elements of Boromir reflected in Éomer–in his strength and brashness, his earnest intensity, his fierce loyalty. They were both proud men of action with an unshakeable sense of duty and love for family. Éomer could never replace Boromir, and he was surely his own man, different in many ways from the brother Faramir lost. But it lifted Faramir’s spirits to once again have such a figure in his life.

Now his brother-in-law reached into his pack and pulled out more pages, covered from top to bottom in his own scrawly handwriting. “I’ve brought you some more to learn–words you’d hear often around Rohan and that any self-respecting Rohirrim would know.”

Faramir accepted the papers from him and skimmed his eyes down the first page, but a look of confusion slowly built on his face as he read. “Am I understanding this correctly? Why do you have twenty different words for ‘horse’?”

“I have not given you twenty words for ‘horse’! Each one of those means something very different.” Éomer grabbed the page back and pointed. “This one here, éotynde, this is an old, calm mare that would be suitable for a young child just learning to ride.” He pointed again. “And this one, éoweder, is a high spirited horse that has quickness and agility but is unpredictable and difficult to control. The others are equally unique. Do you not see?”

Faramir gently extracted the page back from Éomer’s grip, hoping to avoid a further explanation of each specific variant on the list. “I understand those distinctions, but are they really significant enough that I require a whole separate word for each one? We make do in Gondor with but one term. A horse is a horse.”

“A horse is a horse?” Éomer gaped at him, incredulous. “You think the language of the Rohirrim would put a courier horse, whose purpose is swiftness and endurance, in the same category with a farm horse, who sacrifices speed in favor of strength and power? They aren’t remotely the same thing, and a proper language wouldn’t treat them as such. If we went by your rules, we’d all be calling the blacksmith a baker because they both make things with heat!”

It was obvious from the truly scandalized look on his face that Éomer would never concede the point, so Faramir held up his hands in smiling capitulation. And if all these varieties of horse were important to Éomer, likely they would be to Éowyn as well, so Faramir would learn them as best he could. But he desired to speak to Éowyn of many things, and horses were nowhere near the top of the list. He shuffled through the papers one more time. “Have you finally given me anything that would be suitable to say to a beloved wife?”

Éomer shot him a look. “I am not the right person to consult for words of romance. And certainly not when the woman to be romanced is my own sister.”

Faramir laughed. “Fair enough. Let’s get back to your many words for ‘horse’ and I will ask Mereliss to help me with some more emotional thoughts later.”

Éomer sat back, satisfied. “I will have you sounding like a Rohirrim in no time. Now, do you know the word for a horse that likes to cause trouble in the stable with the other horses?”

**********

The next morning, Faramir spent two hours with Mereliss while Éomer and Éowyn went for a ride. When the siblings returned, Éomer sent Éowyn to Mereliss’s quarters and went himself to check on Faramir’s progress. He found his brother-in-law once again at his desk, bent over his work, and dropped casually into a nearby chair.

“Did you get all of the flowery and eloquent phrases you need?”

Faramir put down his pen and smiled. “Mereliss helped me to write a special toast to Éowyn for our upcoming anniversary. I knew what I wanted to say, and Mereliss made sure it will sound not just like a bunch of Westron bluntly converted into Rohirric words but rather something that was written by a native speaker. Something truly of Rohan. She has quite a talent for beautiful language and imagery.” He gave a sly smile. “Though she told me that you also have something of a poet’s heart when the two of you are alone in your own chambers.”

Éomer’s head snapped up, a tinge of dark red sweeping across his cheeks. “She told you what?”

Now it was Faramir’s turn to laugh at his brother-in-law’s furious blushing, so out of character for one who was otherwise always self assured and confident. Faramir had faithfully reported Mereliss’s remark, and it was clearly true that Éomer really did speak his softest thoughts to her or he would not be so flustered by the possibility that she had shared those thoughts. But Faramir had no need or desire to prolong Éomer’s self-consciousness.

“There is nothing to worry about. I know only that you are capable of words to enchant and delight your wife, which is no bad thing. But she didn’t reveal what those words are. She wouldn’t betray your privacy, and I would never ask her to.”

Éomer’s shoulders noticeably relaxed, and he laughed a little at his own embarrassment. “Well, your discussion of my clumsy attempts to please my wife aside, I am glad that she helped you. Westron is very useful, but there are some things that just cannot be said as effectively without our own words and expressions.”

“Indeed. She gave me a number of things that I quite like, ways to convey entire concepts with a single word that has no direct equivalent in any language that I know. Like sáwolthearf. Every language should have such a term.”

Sáwolthearf. The word sent a wave of fond remembrance through Éomer’s heart. It translated literally as ‘a need of the soul’ and was used in Rohan to mean someone who is necessary in order for another person to feel truly happy and complete. His late cousin Théodred, who had always been so free and generous in expressing his feelings, used to call his bride-to-be sáwolthearf, and Éomer could easily picture Eadlin practically glowing with love and pride whenever Théodred referred to her that way.

To hear Théodred’s words coming now from Faramir’s lips was no great shock to Éomer. On the contrary, it only intensified a feeling he had long had in the presence of his brother-in-law: a sense that he was not with Théodred himself, but with a kindred spirit of his cousin. Someone whose modesty, eagerness for knowledge, gentle heart and dreamer’s mind so thoroughly echoed Théodred’s own nature that Éomer felt immediately at ease in his company. Théodred had been many things to Éomer–a deeply loved cousin, but also much like an older brother and at times even a father figure–and he had carried Éomer through some of the most difficult moments he would ever experience. Éomer could never truly reconcile himself to Théodred’s loss, but having Faramir in his life helped to salve that wound.

Watching Faramir now—shuffling again through his notes and drafts, applying himself so diligently to such a difficult task and all for the purpose of simply making Éowyn smile—Éomer was struck by a profound feeling of gratitude, one that he felt should be voiced even if it was not normally in his nature to speak of his innermost feelings. He cleared his throat, and Faramir looked up.

“What you’re doing for my sister is very admirable. I know it will mean a lot to her, and for that reason it means a lot to me. Thank you, eyre-brothor.”

Faramir frowned slightly and looked back at his papers. “Eyre-brothor? I don’t think I’ve learned that yet.”

Éomer smiled. “It means ‘brother by choice.’ Write that one down.”

**********

[Language nerd notes:

“Sáwolthearf” is a real Old English word (though I modernized the thorn in the middle for readability–it’s actually “sáwolþearf”) and it really does mean “a need of the soul,” which I just think is incredibly beautiful.

I made up “eyre-brothor” by combining two other real Old English words, “eyre” (“a choice made of free will”) and “brothor” (“brother”, though once again I turned the thorn in broþor into a “th” to make it smoother to modern English-reading eyes).

“Éotynde” comes from an approx combo of “eoh” (“horse”) and “tyende” (“teaching”) for a horse that’s calm enough to be good for beginners.

Éoweder comes from an approx combo of “eoh” (“horse”) and “weder” (“weather”) because to be impressive but quick-changing, unpredictable and uncontrollable is to be like the weather.

And it’s not in the story, but Éomer’s word for a horse that likes to cause trouble in the stable with the other horses is an “éodrefa” from “eoh” (horse, again!) and “drefan,” which is “to stir things up or cause mischief”.]

[mimilind]

Stranger of the Falls - Bonus - Explicit

Pairing: Boromir x Reader

Rating: E

Chapter Word Count: 1900

Parts: [ < Previous Part ] [ Masterlist ]

Full story: [ AO3 ]

This is a bonus chapter for a longer fic but can also be read as a one-shot. Boromir survived the orc attack thanks to you. Tonight he shows his gratitude… physically. ;)

※※※

8. Love

Boromir’s lips were soft, the kiss tender. His scent overwhelmed you. 

He was taking his time. Slowly exploring you, tasting you. His tongue tickled the seam of your lips and you let it in.

Again it struck you how respectful he was, how he held back. You knew there was something wild and passionate in him; you had seen it when he fought. He wouldn’t let that side of him loose until you were ready. Until you invited it.

He had been cupping your face in his hands, now he slid them down to your neck. Stroking the skin under your ears with his thumbs.

You buried a hand in his hair, combing through it with your fingers. He hummed deep in his throat and slanted his head to kiss you even closer. His tongue swirled around yours.

The intimate kiss did things to you. It woke something up that you had never felt before.

You knew of course what couples did together at night in their beds; you were a healer after all. But you had never felt a need to engage in such activities yourself. 

Until now.

Kissing like this made you want to touch his bare skin. See him naked – and show yourself naked, too. Letting him look at you with eyes full of desire. 

You wanted to feel his hands on your body. You wanted to feel him inside you.

Still with one hand in his hair, you lifted his tunic to slide the other one under it. You surveyed the landscape of his back and chest, both familiar and foreign. You had seen it many times, touched it to apply ointment or change the bandages. This was very different.

The hairs on his chest tickled your palm. Again you longed to see it. You knew how beautiful he was, how well sculpted and perfect in every way, and now you would finally be able to look to your heart’s content.

“Take it off,” you mumbled against his mouth.

He moaned and the kiss became more intense. His tongue no longer hesitated; he bore it into you, and his hands around your neck pressed harder.

You were glimpsing the untamed fire beneath his self-control.

He made a pause to pull his tunic and shirt off, tossing them away without caring where they ended up. “You also,” he urged. His eyes were heated, his gaze holding yours with an intensity that made your breath catch.

You obeyed.

His eyes trailed over your exposed chest. You let yours do the same with his.

Vána help you, he was so attractive. His body achingly beautiful. You would never get tired of looking at his husky form, all muscle and sinews.

His lips parted, a breath of air escaping them. “Magnificent…”

“No more than you.”

He caught your hands, pulling you to him to resume the kiss. Your lips were raw but you hardly noticed it. You kissed him back with a fervor you did not know you had in you. 

He leaned back in the grass, drawing you with him. Your bodies pressed close together, skin against skin, and your legs intertwined. You knew what the hardness was that you felt. You wanted it even closer.

You slid your hand along his arm, feeling the muscles flex as he moved, both thrilled and excited at knowing how much stronger he was. He could break your arm with hardly any effort. 

He explored your body in a similar way, as if learning every curve and every ridge. He found your sensitive nipples and rubbed them. 

A burning ache erupted in your core. You pressed yourself against his hardness, moaning with need and longing.

He broke the kiss, allowing both of you to catch your breath. Instead he planted heated kisses along your neck. 

He reached a nipple and sucked it, producing another throaty moan from you.

You raised yourself on an elbow so you could follow his example. As you trailed kissed over his flat chest, you reveled in the salty taste, filling your nostrils with his masculine scent. His nipple was hard under your tongue. You rolled it between your lips, giving it a light nip.

He groaned and slid his hands up your thighs, pressing you down on his hardness.

Turning you over on your back, he lay over you, resting part of his weight on his good arm. He covered your form entirely with his bulky mass. 

You loved how small he made you feel. You loved to feel safe and protected.

His lips found yours and now you knew he no longer held back. His passion drove you along with him and you lost yourself in the moment. 

Then it was as if he momentarily woke up. He sat back a bit, chest heaving, his hair disheveled. “Do you want this? We do not have to–”

“I do.” You tried to pull him back down, but of course he wasn’t easy to budge.

He smiled lopsidedly. “I do too. But not this way.”

“Boromir!” You frowned at him. He had made you completely unraveled and now he expected you to stop?

“It is becoming cold and the ground is hard. Beds are an excellent invention.” His smile widened. “But I must say, right now you look glorious, and I would love nothing more than tearing those last garments off and take you right here.”

Your mouth went dry. “I would not say no to that.”

But he was stoic, as always. Soon you were dressed again and heading back. Your tempo was a lot quicker than on the way out, and the last part you almost ran.

You slunk into your house, and for once you latched the door. 

“At last,” he exclaimed, taking you in his arms and actually picking you up, carrying you the few steps to the bed.

“Boromir!” you scolded. “Think of your injury.”

“Tonight I very much prefer not to.” He stripped you of your clothes, again exposing your torso, and ridding himself of his own garments too. “Now, where were we?”

You had to admit your wide bed was a lot more comfortable than the riverside, and having him lay beside you felt familiar. You had missed having him there.

Then you resumed where you left off, and in a strange way the brief break had made your senses heighten. When Boromir kissed you with ill-restrained ardor it felt like the first time all over again.

Only this time you were less patient.

“Undress,” you begged.

You did not need to ask twice; he shrugged out of his pants and underwear, unabashedly exposing his length to your curious eyes.

Seeing the size of him, your curiosity briefly turned into anxiety. 

But then you got other things to think about. He caught hold of your last garments, slowly sliding them off, his eyes all but eating your body with every exposed inch. He did not say anything when he saw you but his expression spoke all the more. 

He swallowed. 

Almost shyly, he trailed his hand nearer. Meeting your eyes with a question in his own.

“Touch me,” you whispered.

He did. His rough fingers were surprisingly gentle as he slowly explored your most intimate parts. Finding your sensitive spots, figuring out what you enjoyed, listening intently to your soft moans and hums of approval.

Moisture leaked from you as your arousal grew.

His fingers became slick with it, and it felt so good. You repeatedly forgot to breathe.

He eased his fingertip into you. Your heartbeat roared in your ears. It was big, but not too big. It felt so different, yet unbearably good. You had needed this without even knowing it.

Slowly he came deeper, and then withdrew, the slickness from you making his finger slide along your walls. 

You would never cease to be amazed by his gentleness. How he, the large, strong warrior, could be so careful and restrained.

Still lingering inside you, he used his other hand to stroke you on the outside. Fleetingly you reflected that you were grateful he had enough mobility in his right hand to do that. 

But then he began to move his finger in and out, still stroking your most sensitive area, and you could not think about anything but how unbearably good it felt. Your attention turned inward as you felt something build up. A knot of lust, a bubble on the verge of bursting. 

Steadily he pressed deeper, probing, exploring, finding more sensitive spots on the inside.

“Please,” you mumbled hoarsely. “I want you. All of you. In me…” You did not even have words to express what you needed but he understood.

He spread your legs so he could lie between them, angling himself until he could press the tip in.

You winced. It did not hurt but there was a strange stretching feeling.

He held his stance, looking imploringly at you. His chest was heaving and you saw a rapid pulse flutter on his neck. Holding still like this wasn’t easy for him.

You moved your hands onto his back, sliding them over his smooth skin. He bent his head down and kissed you, and now with the tip of him buried in you it felt different. He became your whole world, filling all of your senses with his scent, the taste of his tongue, the sound of his fast breathing, his hardness quivering against your tight walls.

He pushed a little deeper and you gasped against his mouth. 

When he stopped you urged him on. “More. I need more.”

He obeyed. Slowly, ever so slowly he filled you with his girth. The stretch no longer felt strange, it felt good, you craved it. You raised your hips to take more of him in, pressing yourself against his front.

Sparks of lust shot through you as you did so. Your inner walls clamped down, squeezing him, and he groaned into your mouth. 

Your tongues intertwined, and so did your legs. You caressed his back, a bit erratically because it was hard to keep your attention on anything but the hardness within.

He began to move, pulling far out and pushing back, and you raised your hips to meet each thrust. Every time he buried himself to the hilt, a new jolt of pleasure chased through you, making your limbs tremble and your body grow tense. 

His pace became rapid, he was losing control. You loved to feel him let go. Allowing his instinct and unbridled lust to take over.

Again and again he plunged into you, again and again you met him. Your body was adapting, welcoming him. You effortlessly took in every glorious inch of him.

What he had started in you when he touched you with his fingers before was building fast a second time, reaching new heights. Raptures of sweet bliss swept through you like a storm.

You could not hold back a low scream as the dam burst and a prolonged series of spasms made you clench around his hardness.

He shook as well, his length pulsating as your release pulled him along. 

Exhausted, he sank down beside you. You lay your head on his damp, heaving chest. 

“I love you,” he mumbled into your hair.

“I love you more,” you claimed, a smile of giddy happiness plastering itself on your lips.

Not long afterwards you fell asleep in each other’s arms.

※※※

Parts: [ < Previous Part ] [ Masterlist ]

Full story: [ AO3 ]

[naldoreth]

LOTR tag meme

LOTR themed tag game! Reblog with your own answers and tag three or more people you want to get to know better! I saw it in @legolas-fan-blog and had to do it C:

How old were you when you read/watched LOTR for the first time: 11 when I watched FOTR, 14 or so when I read the trilogy for the first time

Favourite LOTR character: Legolas <3

Books or movies: I love them both equally but the movies are my comfort piece

Favourite movie: The Two Towers

Which location in Middle Earth would you want to visit most: The Shire and Rohan!

Favourite scene: this is too hard! For FOTR, the Council of Elrond and Boromir's death, I'd say. For TTT, clearly Aragorn entering Helm's Deep like he owns it, or Legolas surfing down the stairs, or Aragorn tossing Gimli... And finally, in ROTK, I'm no man and You bow to no one.

Favourite quote: "Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines, it will shine out the clearer". (Also "PO-TA-TOES).

What Middle Earth race would you want to be: a hobbit. I'm already half hobbit as is.

Favourite LOTR ship if you have one: Legolas/OFC (my OFC, specifically). I'm also not aversed to Legolas/Gimli and I know for a fact that Frodo and Sam are an item (and Rosie knows it and she's ok with it). I also love Aegnor/Andreth (The Silm) and Galadriel/Halbrand (Rings of Power).

Tagging @lordbhreanna and anyone else that wants to do it! :D

[fantasies-fairytales-n-fics]

Thranduil and Josie Pt. 160- Mirror Mirror On The Wall

Summary: Josie dives deep in her thoughts and feelings for the men in her life. Lola reveals an object of interest. A King arrives in Dorwinion. Narcisse is given an unexpected ultimatum. Twin or alter? Mirror, mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of them all? The answer shocks someone. Josie is being watched. An envious trick of spite is served ice cold. Thranduil unwinds with his go to wine and thoughts of Josephine. A vision tugs at his heart and the Elvenking disapproves.

*Chapter Warnings* language, angst, blackmail, coercion, mentions of murder, mild violence, smut, self pleasure

Chapter characters: Josie, Lola, Francis, Mary, Narcisse, Conde', Darken Rahl, Ravenna, Garrett, Kate, Thranduil

Chapter word count: 8,013

Stories Stories Stories Masterlist

While Legolas had went to check on Boromir and speak with Aragorn about going to find Haldir, you stood on your balcony, wallowing in your misery over Narcisse's harsh words to you earlier. As angry as you were over it all, his words were true...and they also hurt. It was something the warlock lord was infamous for, lashing out at others when they had hurt him...and you did...you hurt him. Not intentionally, for if there was any truth to be told, it was that you did care deeply for him, the only difference was that he was in love with you and you could not say the same. Just as Legolas and Haldir loved you too, the love you felt for the two elves was merely platonic, even if you had at one time long ago been intimate with the Marchwarden and recently shared a kiss with both he and Legolas...a kiss they each initiated. Your heart belonged to another and always would. Another you could no longer have...your King Thranduil....and now...your heart lied with the greatly despised vampire...King Garrett Lee, another truth Narcisse blatantly pointed out, a truth all could see but you....until now.

Did it matter though? Stephane was also right about other things. Garrett left you yet once again, something he promised you over and over he would not do and every single time, he broke those promises for his own selfish reasons. Was it really selfish though for wanting to protect his own heart? For he believed yours did not love him and never would. Should you just continue to move on and try to forget him? Would he even let you? considering you shared his blood and he was the only one besides your late King that could sneak past your shielded mind....with the exception of when you were in a vulnerable dream state.

Stephane was there. Always had been. He risked everything bringing himself and his men to Lestat's chateau to fight YOUR battle and he continued to fight it after the fact and still does, even after you had unintentionally hurt him. He could have tossed you out to the wolves, literally, as you thought of Harker, but he didn't. Instead, he tore you apart himself with his typical words of spite.

Narcisse was different from Legolas and Haldir. Not because he wasn't an elf, but because the only connection he had to Thranduil was through their business of trade. The connection the elves had to your King was too deep. So deep that his millenniums of great friendship with Haldir, who was also Legolas' guardian, was forever scarred because of you, something you had trouble forgiving yourself for. Then there was Legolas and that was pretty clear cut. He was the King of Mirkwood's son.

And Garrett once again. His connection to Thranduil was toxic, to put it mildly. Vampires were an elves natural born enemies as it was and as Narcisse had also thrown in your face, Garrett had done hideous things to you and him, even Haldir. Although you had forgiven him for it, it didn't change the fact that he did it, nor the fact that no one else was going to forgive him or accept him in your life. Subconsciously, was it all of that, especially Thranduil's rightful loathing of him, that kept you from admitting your true feelings for the vampire? Because now...consciously, you didn't give a damn what anyone thought. You hadn't for awhile. It was your life. You didn't forgive lightly. Garrett worked hard to prove himself to you and to show his remorse over his crimes was genuine. He despised himself and what he had become. It was the human that still lived inside of him that he desperately held onto. You had seen Garrett at his most vulnerable moments through blood, sweat and tears. He shared things with you that he never spoke about to anyone or would because you and he also shared a connection. A crazy one at that, but it was real. You both came from the same worlds and time and were so much alike and he trusted you, which trust was something he had a very hard time with in his world, even in his human life as well. And you trusted Garrett too... with your life, for he certainly had saved you more times than you could count on all your fingers. He saved Legolas too, pulling his unconscious body from the icy Black Sea of death and even if he only did it for you, it scored major bonus points in your eyes, proving what you already knew, that he had good in him and you hoped that someday, maybe in a different light, Legolas would see that too and come to accept him, for he was empathetic like you were something he certainly did not inherit from Thranduil...or his mother so you assumed it came from Carandolel, his grandmother. You had noticed a slight softening in Legolas, regarding Garrett, when he returned the favor of saving the vampire from Amara's deadly kill tree, but shortly after that, the Seelie Queen's twisted kissing game may have ruined any chance of a vampire/elf reconciliation. The game that forced out your feelings for Garrett, feelings you had only admitted to one person, Selene, when she brought you Garrett's goodbye letter. You told her you would have chosen him.

As far as Haldir, that was a lost cause, end of story. His hatred of vampires stemmed clear back to Kraven who killed his father and with the things Garrett had done to you, to Thranduil, to him, he would not get past. His rescues of you and Legolas also carried no redemption in the Lorien elf's cynical eyes. Even Thranduil, if he were alive and knew Garrett saved his son, and also you...well, to put it simply, the pride of the Elvenking would never allow him in his world. Selene either, although oddly, Thranduil had seemed to accept Lestat and even vice versa, most likely over their mutual hatred of Raven and your mother. Marius and Maharet, your grandmother, also were considered to have a free pass. It was all such a complicated and selective situation, vampires and elves.

Then there was the connection you had with Narcisse. When you met him, he told you how he had waited years for your arrival, that he knew you would come, and his reaction upon seeing you and realizing who you were, proved just that. But you, you had no idea who he was other than what you had heard from Legolas, which was nothing good and you had believed the elf's words to be true at that time, especially once Stephane's true colors shot out of him like a rainbow of fireworks. Still...there was something about the warlock lord of Dorwinion that was able to keep your attention.

The physical part was obvious, for the mystical man of magic and mayhem, in and out of that form fitting Kingly attire, was of pure eye candy indeed, so far from monotonous and he knew just how to get under your skin in every single way. The man simply knew how to make you tick...from his electrifying touch that happened with no other witch but him, to his sweet words and gestures of endearment, to his intimidating, arrogant, egotistical, asshole persona he used as a shield of protection and power, right down to his softer, vulnerable, loving side underneath that barrier, his true heart, bound tightly by barbed wire that only you seemed to be able to break through to. Stephane was a warlock of light, but one should never be blinded by it, for he also had a dark side which you believed to have been brought forth by the betrayals of his past. To provoke, cross or hurt him would either be an immediate death sentence or drawn out torture as many had found out, including Catherine and Asher....even you were facing his wrath. Hell hath no fury like a warlock scorned and you knew this be to be very true after the dealings with Jareth and Harker.

So what was it that drew you to Narcisse when he was nothing but a hot mess? Well, so were you, weren't you? But you knew that was not the reason for the pull. It became quite obvious really. You had just described your King... Thranduil.

Your extensive thoughts were soon interrupted by the sound of the door to your room opening, then closing and Lola coming out to the far reaching balcony to join you.

"Legolas wanted me to inform you that Bard will join Aragorn and Gimli in the search for Haldir and that he will be with Boromir if you need him."

"Oh...thank you Lola. I am so glad to hear that." you acknowledged with a desolate and bereft tone that contradicted your words as your watery eyes remained peering out into the open emptiness.

"It seems I have interrupted your thoughts. Are...you alright Josie? Do you wish me to leave?"

"No...it's alright Lola. I could actually use the distraction from the mess of my own mind."

"Maybe you just need somewhere to put all your thoughts instead of keeping them locked inside? I am a very good listener."

"I know you are. You have let me talk your ears off many times. Surely you must be bored of my problems by now."

"I would not have offered if I was. I see you as my friend and it's nice. I do not have any of those here."

"Yes you do. Me. I see you the same way Lola. One of my best ones actually and I...don't have any of those anywhere."

You briefly thought of Tauriel and her more in depth betrayal to you and Legolas that he finally admitted to you. The elleth had been your first and only friend when you arrived at Thranduil's halls and she had soon became your best friend. A part of you missed her but you knew you could never forgive her, nor trust her ever again even if you did. Sarah, your childhood bff that Harker killed, crossed your mind too. She had been your best friend in the entire world and was there for you during most of your father's poison induced sickness, and all because of you, she died. Even Selene had become your friend, but the vampiress had her one true love back, Michael, so you knew you wouldn't see much of her. The world had moved on while you would forever stand still, grieving your King.

"That is not true. You have Haldir."

"But it's not the same as having a girl bestie and... he is not here now no thanks to Stephane and...and I miss Thranduil so bad that I don't even know how I am still breathing and I miss Garrett and my dad and now they're all gone and Stephane, I've probably lost him too because I hurt him and I never meant to. He's been so good to me, so sweet and patient and now, he's so angry with me and god Lola, I am just so fucking lost and I know I have people who love me but I just feel so alone." you rambled as tears began to fall.

"I am so sorry Josie...I somewhat understand. We are just hopeless romantics wanting so badly to believe love conquers all, that there is some fairytale ending, but the world keeps disappointing us with it's brutal reality. I know Charles is smitten with me but strangely, I just do not feel the same attraction for him. So, I feel the loneliness too. I have felt all alone in this people filled castle ever since my mother died. As I mentioned, I have no friends here. No family. I am merely just a servant and midwife."

"If...I may ask...what about your father? Is he in your life at all?"

"No. I do not even know who he is..or was. He could be dead for all that I know. My mother never spoke of him. She was very private and kept to herself and well, Lord Narcisse expected his servants to be seen and not heard. He was very different back then. Like there were two of him. One sweet, one sour." Lola explained in a dispiriting tone.

"You mean just like he still is?" you scoffed. "Are you sure it wasn't his deceased twin that you remember, since you were only a small child?"

"Twin? Well, if Lord Narcisse had another brother, I certainly have never seen him."

"They didn't get along so that would make sense I suppose." you vaguely explained, not wanting to air Narcisse's dirty laundry about what his brother did to their father, since Lola didn't seem to know anything about Rahl.

"Anyways, I'm so sorry Lola. You seem to remember your mother. Hopefully you have some good memories. How...how did she pass?" you asked, although you knew exactly how that happened. Harker happened, which is how Lola ended up remaining in Stephane's castle under his wing because he felt guilty for what happened, but you still probed a little to see what she knew since Stephane said she had no memory of her abduction by your wicked warlock uncle. You were worried because the amnesia was a trauma response so you just hoped to god Lola didn't witness her mother's death or that Harker didn't do something to Lola.

"I was told that she had suddenly developed some kind of cancer in her stomach? One the healers could not cure. I...I would dream of her from time to time after she passed. The same dream. She is in the forest, frightened and calling out to me over and over, "come to mommy." I don't know why I dreamt of that."

"I know you think Lord Narcisse has only treated me as a simple servant, but he's actually been quite good to me. I've never minded earning my keep to live in such luxury."

You knew that was because he felt guilty for inviting Harker's World of Wonders into his realm. Lola deserved to know the truth but you didn't have a clue as how to tell her.

"You call luxury rooming with two other servants and having to share a bath?"

"Well I don't any more thanks to you and besides, that wasn't Lord Narcisse's doing like you think. I..I wanted to stay in it. It was the room my mother and I stayed in."

"Ohhh...I...no one told me that. Well now I just feel shitty again for getting on Stephane's case to give you better accommodations."

"He had given me enough when he did not have to or even have a reason to. Lord Narcisse, he even saved all of her things for me when I was older and gifted me this on my 16th birthday."

Lola held her hand up to show you a golden bracelet on her wrist, looking to be very real and very expensive, and it had a single fancy script letter on it. J.

"Lola...that is sooo beautiful." you gasped. "Was that..your mother's?"

"Yes. I remember her wearing it. I do not know where she got such an expensive item but lord Narcisse made sure it was given to me when he figured I was old enough not to lose it I suppose."

"That was so very kind of him. May I ask...what the J stands for?"

"I assume it was for her name. Jocelyn."

"Joc...celyn??" you sputtered, immediately thinking of Sarah's mother who went missing right after Sarah had, but before you both could continue the conversation, a sound was heard of multiple horses feet coming up the gravel entrance to the castle and the clanking of the gate opening. For that to happen, it must have been someone of importance considering Narcisse had his kingdom on lockdown and from what you could see, it appeared to be someone of high stature.

Two men on horses led a carriage, followed by at least two dozen other men on horses appearing to be guards. One of the leading men was of short ebony hair wearing a casual style cloak and the other was quite debonair, like Narcisse, that had longer strands of golden waves and curls, wearing a fancy cape with patterns that reminded you of the floor throws Stephane had laying about through his halls.

As the carriage approached the gate, you could see two women inside, dressed in attire similar to the pretty blonde man. Once they passed under the stone wall, you could see no more, but you certainly heard Stephane's voice and it did not seem to be a pleasant tone.

"Lola...who are all those people that just came in??"

"THAT...would be King Francis and his wife Mary and her snooty sister Kenna. The other man is his deputy assistant Conde'."

"A King??" you marveled and ran to the opposite side of the terrace to try and get another look at this blonde King while Lola giggled. Also, you were very curious as to why Narcisse was upset.

"Yes. He is Catherine's eldest son with the late King Henry of Esgaroth. Francis and Lord Narcisse are not friends by any means, which would explain his grievance of Francis' arrival. Francis blames Lord Narcisse for his father's death and his parent's division. I do not know all of the details but I am sure he is here for his mother."

"Hmmph. I was in Lake Town for quite some time once and I never met him, only that vile assistant deputy Alfrid who got his just deserves. Hopefully Francis is here to take the wretched witch away!" you reeled. "Where has he been all this time and why has he not come sooner?"

"I can only presume the responsibilities of Lake Town has kept him away. Even now, they are still rebuilding after the dragon attack. And as I mentioned, there is no love lost between he and Lord Narcisse. What I do know is that he and Catherine are quite close and corresponded through letters often. She does no wrong in his eyes. So I think we can all see how this visit is going to go."

You continued to watch as Francis and Stephane shared sarcastic greetings and then suddenly, the young King glanced up and locked his azure orbs into yours, but not without Narcisse noticing.

"King Francis. A word in the courtyard. Now." Stephane barked and gave you a disapproving look as he impatiently waited for Francis to exit.

"Oh yes Lord Narcisse. You and I have much to converse about." Francis snidely remarked and then went on his way, giving you another glance as he did so.

You then stood to watch the two women exit the carriage as the coachman gathered their belongings. The brunettes with long locks giggled and paid no attention to anyone, not even Francis, then strutted inside the castle as if it were theirs.

Stephane and Francis walked onto the sheltered patio of the courtyard and stopped by the burning braziers to offer some heat on the breezy December evening while both men had theirs guards chaperoning in near corners.

Narcisse approached Francis, fidgeting with the gold ring on his right hand like he would do when pressing matters were about. Sometimes it was his nerves or possibly even intimidation depending upon the threat, but in this case, it was neither, for he had no fear of Francis, no matter the vicinity they were in.

"Bard gave me word when he arrived here that you would also be arriving, but the funny thing is, I do not recall inviting you."

The golden haired King, who stood merely two inches shorter than Narcisse, glowered at him.

"I do not need an invitation where my mother is concerned. You see, she has always written to me, but when Bard began returning with no such letters, I knew something was awry, not to mention the things she previously told me only furthered my suspicions and Claude's letters only confirmed them."

"Let me remind you that, you may be a poor excuse for a King, but you are no King in my realm, just as I am not in yours. I allowed you in for one reason and one reason only. For Charles and for Claude. As far as Catherine, well, if you have come to claim her, that will not be happening, for she has committed many crimes here and must atone for them as anyone would. Besides, she will not leave Charles behind and he will not go with her, for he has come to see the monster she really is. Not to mention, it will be over my dead body before my son will leave here with either of you."

"That could be arranged." Francis warned, as he also had no fear of Stephane.

""You dare threaten me on my lands??!"

"I don't like you." Francis blatantly said.

"I don't care!" Narcisse immediately riposted.

"You need me." Narcisse snidely continued. "My lands feed your people and your words will have you sharing a dungeon cell with your malevolent mother and her rather large furry feline foe."

"And your actions will start a war right here on your grounds or did you not notice the company I have brought. Surely you did not think I would come alone to a kingdom wreaking of wretched warlocks?"

"My warlocks outnumber your small-scaled and powerless squad. Of course I knew you would not come alone. That's what cowards do. You're a disgrace to hold the stature of a ruler. Young, ignorant and very overconfident. Much like your father and look how that all ended for him."

"My father was murdered, but you knew that because I believe you were behind it. And for what, the riches my mother stood to inherit before she knew there was none??"

"Since you want to delve deep into the past, it was no secret that King Henry and I shared a mutual dislike of one another, but let me make this crystal clear. Your mother was never that special and I certainly did not nor do need more wealth. I assure you, I had no hand in his death. Now you on the other hand that we speak of, didn't like him either and you had plenty of motive to want him gone, didn't you Francis? His beddings of a different woman every week and leaving your mother penniless with only the clothes on her back when he learned Charles was not his son, then later removing her from his will all to hypocritically punish her for her infidelity, the very same thing he was guilty of and let us not forget, with him gone, you would inherit the oh so heavy crown. But, laying all that aside, a jousting tournament is hardly murder. Your father was an undefeated champion yes, but that does not make one invincible. Death is always an obvious possible outcome of the sport...that is unless someone is not in it for the sport, but solely for the intent to kill. Maybe you should be questioning his opponent...or maybe YOU were the opponent underneath that metal hood."

"I'm questioning you. And now you have recently killed my uncle in the gambling tournament of fighting to the death, who was also a reigning champion. Were that not your sole intentions??"

"It is the entire INTENT of the game for all who play it. It was a fair and square fight and being inebriated while doing so, in which he highly was, is at one's own discretion. Your uncle got exactly what he had coming to him because he killed MY father out of greed. Theodore was my good friend and he knew this castle inside and out. My father trusted him, just as I did. How simple it was for him to do and even more simple for me to figure out."

"And what motive did he possibly have to do it? Well, that's what's simple. You see, I know your dirty little secret. Theo told me all about the bribe he was offered from the man who looks exactly like you and he was quite adamant about it. Why would he say that? And why is it that you wanted him dead for doing exactly what you paid him to do? You call me a coward, yet you couldn't even do it yourself. Or did you? Theo also claimed that when he arrived, your father was already dead. It would seem if anyone is hypocritical, it is you when you speak of greed or accuse me of murdering my own father. Is that not what yours was killed for? The crown per se?"

"It was not me who conspired with Theodore to murder my father and the fact that he said it was should answer your question as to why I wanted him dead. And of course he would place the blame elsewhere and I was the perfect scapegoat and look how easily you believed his fabricated farce of a story. He was simply there to rob my father blind of his gold and got caught, so he silenced him."

"I did believe him and I still do...but with that said, he was just as guilty for accepting the baleful bribe. Now, as you said earlier, it is the past, as far as my uncle and your father are concerned anyways, but this...this is not."

Francis pulled out two worn envelopes from his surcoat and held them at waist level as he intensely stared at Narcisse, who's eyes slightly gaped from immediately recognizing the one with your name on it.

"I thought this might get your undivided attention." Francis gloated. "You see, one of these is from my mother, explaining in great detail what the other letter is and your involvement in concealing it from the one known as the Queen of Mirkwood, which I assume was the ever so lovely redhead my eyes had the privilege and pleasure of gazing upon moments ago. I can see why you would want the contents to remain unknown, for you certainly could never compete with the infamous Elvenking for the heart of his Queen and one true love."

"What do you want?" Stephane quietly stressed as his eyes cautiously scoured his surroundings for curious ears.

"I believe that is quite simple. I can make these both go away, right now by tossing them in this fire. In return, you will release my mother and allow her to roam wherever she pleases, including here if she chooses to do so, my sister too and you will no longer use Charles as a bargaining chip. Just know, I...still know what you've done if you decide to cross me. I will not hesitate to inform Josephine. And keep in mind, I am far from ignorant as you put it. I too, can play a mean game of blackmail and I know how you love games."

"Do you have any idea what your mother has done?? If anyone is murderous, it is she and I would not look so far past the fact that she may indeed be the one who had your father killed out of revenge for disowning her and to claim his fortune. Not only ignorant you indeed are, but blind and biased as well in condoning her actions. Catherine has committed a series of crimes in my kingdom. She used black magic and placed it upon me to alter my morality. She poisoned a Marchwarden of Lorien and used your sister in aiding her evil deeds. She tortured my beloved horse and made me believe she fed him to me AND she tried to have the ever so lovely redhead killed that you had the privilege and pleasure of gazing your eyes upon. Oh, and let me add that she likes to place dead rats in people's baths and has now wormed her way back into my castle and into the infirmary from self inflicted wounds. The woman is rabid. Completely mentally unstable and deranged, but it seems those words are too big for your pea sized brain to comprehend, so maybe the word crazy will suffice. You are making one deadly mistake if you force my hand in releasing her."

"No one is forcing you to do anything. But you, you are the one who forced my mother's actions by deceiving her with your infatuation of a woman you will never have. As I said, it is simple. Release her and all will be well. Don't and all hell breaks loose for you." Francis negotiated as he held the envelopes up towards the flames, waiting for Stephane's approval.

"This is in every way forcing my hand. But as I always say, I do love a good opponent. Heed my warning though. If anything happens to Josephine at Catherine's hands, you will suffer dearly. Burn it."

Francis then dropped the letters into the flaming brazier as Narcisse skeptically observed and once the incriminating words began to burn, Stephane lightly grinned as he locked eyes with a pleased Francis.

"Now that this is settled, I am going to get settled in with my wife, then see my mother and siblings. It's been a long journey here. Dinner, dancing and drinks would make for a celebratory evening yes? Considering we both got what we wanted."

Francis headed off while Narcisse glared his exit down with jungle cat eyes slitted like that of a viper as he growled through his teeth.

"I did not get all I wanted, but I will be greatly satisfied when you and your mother no longer breathe. All in due time young King."

Stephane Raged through the halls, his cape flapping about behind him as he made his way back to his chambers to numb his anxiety with some wicked Dorwinion whiskey.

Francis was cautious, glancing back at the two warlock guards watching him as he made his way to meet his Queen as she waited just around the corner of the hall.

"It is done. My mother will be freed."

Mary smiled with happiness for her King and they embraced.

"Your plan was brilliant." Francis added in his win.

"And he didn't ask to see the contents of the letters?"

"No. I burned them before he could discover the pages inside were blank."

"Since I put them in the original envelopes, well, I think you could imagine the look on his face when he saw the one with Josephine's name written on it by Thranduil." Francis gloated. "He thinks he's free now of any evidence linking him to knowing the King of the woodland realm is very much alive."

"He may not know you still have the real letters, but he knows that you know the truth Francis and although it is just your word, it is still a threat to him. He's a very dangerous man, enough to kill his own father and with what he's done to Catherine, your uncle and possibly to your father, I think it's safe to say that you're not safe and Dorwinion is our main resource of food."

"If he comes after me, it will start a war he does not want or need and he made sure he reminded me of his food supply but you know as well as I and everyone else how he feels about children. He would never deprive them. Now, I'm sure you have chosen a chamber. Come, let us settle in and prepare for this night's festivities."

On his way to his chambers, Stephane indulged in multiple goblets of his wicked whiskey as he alerted his staff to begin arranging the night's impromptu party that he was no way in any mood for and contemplated skipping all together, but he knew he couldn't, not with Catherine's presence. He had to protect you, regardless of how angry the both of you were with each other and he knew you were going to be even more angry when you saw her. How he was going to explain her release was far beneath him at the moment.

Stephane felt like he was losing control of everything, including losing you, if he hadn't already and to add insult to injury, it was all happening right there in his own castle and he was powerless to stop it. His men were being picked off one by one by the warlock wolfhound Harker with his brother Bash almost being one of the brutally murdered. Catherine was now going to be free to wreak more havoc all because he was being coerced and blackmailed by her self-satisfied son. Thranduil's letter would never have been discovered by Catherine if he had just done away with her long ago and then Francis would have no knowledge of it to hold over his head. Although the incriminating letters were destroyed, Francis still knew which made him an added liability. What the convinced King didn't know though, was the truth regarding the death of Stephane's father. Francis' theory was partially correct but of course Narcisse had denied any involvement in it. The story he had told you about it was more accurate, minus a few major details. Details he felt you would not understand and would cause you to see him as a monster and for a brief moment, he understood how Garrett felt and why he left.

Narcisse entered his chambers, mumbling bitter words under his blazing breath as he furiously freed himself of his jacket.

"You smug little weasel. You have made a very grave mistake."

As he approached his desk, Narcisse froze solid at his image in the mirror on the wall.

Stephane slowly walked up to it with his gaping blue eyes staring into those of his own, but the reflection was that of another man baring his face. A man with long chocolate locks that wore a sleeveless scarlet red robe. A man he knew as Lord Darken Rahl.

Bringing his hand up to touch his face, he watched his own lips move in sync as he whispered to the doppleganger.

"It cannot be. You're.. you're dead. I killed you."

"Guard!!" he then shouted.

The guard swiftly entered and bowed.

"Yes my Lord."

"What do you see?"

"I..I'm sorry? my Lord?"

"In the mirror. What do you see??"

"I...I see you, my Lord."

"What do I look like?"

"My lord, you...you look like...you?"

"WHAT do I LOOK like in the fucking mirror you imbecile!?? Do I have to spell it out for you?! WHAT AM I WEARING?!! WHAT DOES MY HAIR LOOK LIKE?!!" Stephane thundered as his eyes glowed of the sun.

The guard was now wondering just how much of the Dorwinion whiskey Lord Narcisse had consumed and he knew nothing good came from his raging eyes, so he quickly answered with a short but exact description.

"My lord, you are wearing the same attire you have worn all day and...your hair...is short and brown? In the mirror and as you stand before me."

Narcisse whipped his head to the guard, then immediately swung it back to the mirror with a gasp when he still saw Rahl. Was he hallucinating? Because clearly, the guard did not see what he did.

Stephane's paranoia had now turned into a paroxysm of fury. Three times he pummeled the mirror with his fist as the white tiger's roar bellowed out of him.

He now stood heavily panting through flared nostrils, glowering at Rahl's fractured face as he held his hand that dripped of blood.

"Are you alright my Lord?"

"Leave me." Narcisse grumbled. "Go and inform the Queen of this evening's dinner party and ask her to come by my chambers beforehand. It is of great urgency."

"Which Queen my Lord?"

"There is only ONE Queen in this castle!!! Now GO!" Stephane barked.

After the guard departed, Narcisse poured another glass of whiskey and reclined on his sofa to try and ease his stress and anxiety. He knew he had to tell you about Catherine before you found out some other way. He also knew that his vision, if real, was a far greater danger than Catherine and as he once tried to make you leave to protect you from her, he might possibly have to do it again to protect you from himself.

After the guard's visit to your room, you sunk into a warm bath and contemplated going to see Stephane. Not even an hour earlier, he had said all those awful but true words to you. Was he going to try and apologize? Did he really need to? Because his reaction to Haldir kissing you was as expected and validated, except for making Haldir leave. The guard had relayed to you that it was urgent, so you decided you better at least find out what he wanted.

When you finished, Lola then took Leean in for her bath and you began to prepare for this spontaneous dinner gathering. As you sat at your vanity, looking into the mirror, your thoughts once again went back to Garrett without your consent.

"Damn it Garrett. Where ARE you??" you spoke aloud in a tearful voice. "I just need to know you're alright ok? I...I miss you so much. I...I need you. Please...please come back to me."

Simultaneously, in a land far far away, Jareth's witch Queen Ravenna was anxiously pacing about in her colossal castle she had acquired for her and Jareth's only sister Freya, who had now been successfully converted to the dark side. The two blonde witches had departed the goblin King's realm long ago to track down Ravenna's and Jareth's warlock son, but without prevail, for Jace did not want to be found, especially by his parents.

Ravenna's relentless nerves had nothing to do with Jace though. She had a very big problem of her own. The very youthful and beautiful blue eyed sorceress with long wavy locks of sunshine was aging due to a curse placed on her centuries ago by her own mother-in-law, the very powerful winter witch Jadis. In order for Ravenna to maintain her youthful glow, she had to consume the souls of children. It may have sounded a simple task for a witch of magic to complete, but there were strings attached. They could be no more than 13 years of age and 3 per day, no more, no less, was required to keep the wrinkles away. The kicker was that they had to be given to her and Harker had been her go to for that, but with his time being spent in Dorwinion, Ravenna now had to rely on Freya to bring them to her, who had left hours ago and had not returned and the clock was ticking, for the children's souls had to be ingested before the strike of midnight.

Her pacing continued as her orbs of blue skies darted between the clock and the mirror at every turn of her path and it wasn't long before Ravenna began to have her own hallucinations. On the next crossing in front of the mirror, she gasped in panic to see herself as an old woman with dried out gray hair and skin of old worn and cracked leather.

"NO! It is not so! It is not me!" she cried in anger as she tightly squished her eyes shut.

With hesitation, she opened them to then find her image of beauty restored. The pacing then continued and in her desperation of needing reassurance of her beauty to calm her insecurities, Ravenna asked the mirror a question.

"Mirror mirror on the wall. Who is the fairest of them all?"

Expecting to see herself, she halted her steps and fixated her eyes on the blank reflective glass. A swirling pattern formed in the center and grew in size until the entirety of the mirror was spinning like a record and then...an image began to appear. An image that was not her own, but an image of you and she knew exactly who you were with your lustrous locks of fire and doe like eyes of the moon.

A resentful rage of seeing red filled Ravenna's gaping eyes and she rushed to the mirror to smash it on the stone floor.

"How dare you betray me like this!! LIES! It is ALL LI..." she screeched but then her words and her feet came to a skidding stop when she heard you speaking as you sat at your own mirror.

"Well now. The widow of the Elvenking desires his fiendish foe, the vampire King, Garrett Lee. You are no fairer than I little witch of loathing light. No one is! You did not earn your beauty. I will make you see that not every man desires you. By the power of three times three, make her see..."

With a wicked grin and a single twirl of her slender finger, Garrett's image appeared in your mirror and he wasn't alone.

Your heart skipped a beat when your eyes connected with his crimson hues and then fell upon a very much alive Kate wrapped in Garrett's arms whom you also locked eyes with. Gasping, you sprung to your feet.

"G..Garr...ett?? What...how..."

Ravenna began to speak through the projection of Garrett, but it was his voice you heard.

"Hello Josephine. As you can see, my Queen has returned to me and I'm going to have to ask you, no, tell you to stop contacting me. I am moving on just as you need to."

You clamped your eyes shut and rubbed them, whispering aloud that it wasn't real, that HE wasn't real.

"Oh I'm very real. How else are you able to hear and see me? You're wide awake are you not? And Kate well, I thought the same thing when I saw her too but it's all very real Josephine. Anywho...I would wish you the best but you already had that with me so now I am going to stay at the side of someone who wants to be with me and does not grovel over a dead husband that she'll never be with again. I have finally excepted that I do not belong in your life. It's time you accept it too. Welp, time to fly. It's been real. Enjoy being alone."

"No...WAIT!!!" you shouted in desperation, making Ravenna cringe as her power was weakening from the lack of youth fuel.

"I..I have been looking for you! I...I have so much I want to say to you. Please Garrett...I don't want you to go away. I miss you terribly."

Garrett's eyes rolled in sync with Ravenna's.

"Groveling again. You're too late. I don't want you any more Josephine."

Your eyes were now burning and dripping of tears.

"Why are you being so cruel?? I...I heard you...I heard you singing to me just the other day?!"

"I am a vampire Josephine! We are cruel!" he snapped. "And...I was not singing to you. I was singing to...Kate!" Ravenna stammered out because she did not know all the details of yours and Garrett's relationship.

"Liar! Why are you doing this???!! Are you trying to make me hate you???"

"YES!! because that is how I feel about you now! YOU were the cruel one. Go chase ghosts and get over yourself. You're not that special."

Kate smirked at you, then looked up at Garrett. "I love you my King."

"And I love you my Queen. Always." he replied and kissed her right in front of you.

You began to tremble like a violent earthquake.

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!" you screamed as you ripped the mirror from the vanity, slammed it on the floor and began stomping on it with your 4 inch spiked heels until Garrett's face became a pile of sparkling dust, then you fell to your knees and doubled over into a blubbering bawling mess.

Thranduil floated through the magical waters of the blue lagoon within his chambers to try and relieve his own frustrations after the validation that Jareth's blood coursed through his veins. It wasn't that he wasn't enthralled with his new dark elf lord image, it was how he obtained it, for he despised the goblin King in ways he had no words for and that said a lot in itself because the Elvenking always had a colorful dictionary in his 6000 year old mind. To add to his misery, Legolas had been turning a deaf ear to his words and was also keeping his father from hearing his thoughts. If his son did not respond soon, Thranduil would have no choice but to go reclaim his daughter himself.

Once out of the pool, Thranduil relaxed in his chair, completely bare with his legs sprawled open to view his aching rock hard cock as he indulged in his wicked wine before dressing for the evening's feast to celebrate his return. The magical waters had allowed you to enter his thoughts which in turn had caused the solid throbbing mass standing before his stomach leaking droplets of precum that shimmered in the candlelight.

Cursing at his oppressing cock under his breath as he reluctantly submitted to entertaining it's demands.

As he arched his head back and closed his eyes, he firmly gripped his member and began stroking while he envisioned you upon his lap, his girth sliding in and out of you with your taut nipples being ravaged by his twirling tongue. Moans and groans escaped his parted lips as he rocked his hips up into his pumps and within seconds, his moans and groans became bellowed grunts as his essence pulsed over his chest.

As good as the release felt and was much needed, he still found himself cursing again that it had been brought on by you, the woman he now loathed.

Thranduil cleaned himself up and then began to assemble his attire upon his body. Once satisfied, he made his way to the mirror on the wall to assure his long platinum strands were in place to his satisfaction. As he brought his eyes to his reflection, satisfied was far from what he was, for he now looked into his moonstone eyes and upon his perfect porcelain skin. His dark image had returned to that of light, but his mind had not.

"Wretched water." he snarled as he side eyed the healing vat of liquid.

As he turned to walk away, your distressed cries came from the mirror, Thranduil's head whipped back with a slight gasp slipping from his mouth. There you were, in the mirror, sobbing upon the floor and even in your state of despair, to him, you looked as beautiful as ever.

Thranduil's heart palpitated and caused a single tear to fall from his eye. Feeling the wetness upon his cheek, he brought his fingers up and wiped it off. Holding his palm out before him, he gazed at the pea sized puddle on his fingertips. His hand began to tremble and his lips pursed as his nose flared from the heavy gust of breath he released in anger.

The mirror was ripped from the wall and crushed beneath the Elvenking's large leather boot, twisting and grinding it deep into the glass.

"Be gone witch. You have no power here!"

A pleased grin formed at the sound of the crunch and then the dark elf lord swiftly turned to attend his feast.

[ach-sss-no]

SH liveblog ch6

First chapter & explanation | Previous chapter

Oh this is the 'Gollum rediscovers literacy' chapter!

It's named 'Indelible Ink' online but the draft chapter's name was 'What Does It Mean To Be Very, Very Good?' which I like better but maybe it's not quite appropriate, as it hints something important will happen and this is really just a chill downbeat breather chapter after the tense conversations with Boromir and Bilbo last chapter.

[Gollum is offered the chance to write a letter to Frodo] He had not held a pen since leaving his village. He had had few opportunities to read anything, either. He did not want to say so. He merely said, o yes, Sméagol would like to be given writing things.

It's a toss-up whether Gollum would be literate and whether his culture even used the written word. I wanted to let him know how to write but have forgotten. It's another 'rediscovering the old self' note and gives him something to do. Also, pretty much every important hobbit in LOTR is an author, so it gives him something in common with people he's struggling to connect to.

So they give Gollum stuff to write with, which is probably expensive, and he's just drawing the Ring with it. of course

But writing practice had somehow devolved into Sméagol drawing endless circles. Circles upon circles. A nice shape, the circle... These Men are o so clever, perhaps they could lend a poor creature some golden ink, [absolutely not, dude] he thought absent-mindedly, having already forgotten the knock at the door

Sam and Frodo have come to visit (Gollum has asked to see Frodo. and Sam is not optional)

Oh, here's a mention of Faelon, who inserts himself into the story later.

I got the names from an online Sindarin name generator (https://www.fantasynamegenerators.com/lord-of-the-rings.php) and here's what Faelon allegedly means:

Faelon (Fael (Generous) + on (Male))

Generous Dude

So, I never explain that anywhere in the fic, but multiple people jokingly call him a generous guy. (Including Sam. who I think does know enough Sindarin at this point to catch on to this? and might be doing it on purpose?) Suffer my stupid puns on the made-up names.

Once he had hidden up there while one of the younger Men who looked after him was searching the room for him, and then casually reached out to tap him on the shoulder. Faelon, his name was. How he'd shrieked! But then instead of running or fighting he had laughed merrily and called Gollum 'incorrigible', and Gollum was still not sure how he felt about that.

Also the first description of Smeagol's room. He's seeing it in a new light now that Sam and Frodo are here to look at it and he's wondering what they're thinking. Whatever they're thinking, they're tactful.

There was also a mirror in the room. Gollum had taken one look into it and turned it to the wall. Frodo was looking at the mirror now, but he said nothing about it.

Haha here's the beginning of the mirror angst as well.

Here's an anecdote, some of y'all were around for this and remember it only too well; one of the specific and oft-repeated piece of taste-based writing advice that's been passed around over the years is Your Viewpoint Character Never Looks In A Mirror, Ever. I think it was aimed originally at a certain niche boilerplate intro scene a lot of YA authors were using and it got telephone-gamed into 'no mirror, mirror bad' as if hack critics are all vampires.

Maybe they are.

"I have been whisked off my feet with merriment I did not request and I have been both asked for and given more advice than any hobbit need ever hear," Frodo said, quickly and with a touch of impatience, though the impatience seemed not to be aimed at Gollum. Gollum did not know exactly what he was talking about but he understood what it was to be impatient and irritable, perhaps because one's mind was chafed raw by something one could never really explain. "Poor Master," he said, and if his attempt at sounding comforting was overdone, and sounded disingenuous, well- it was the same tone Gollum used to comfort his own precious self, and he knew no better. "He is tired."

In LOTR Frodo and Bilbo and Sam all have something of an arc with learning to recognize and empathize with Gollum's misery (Bilbo's arc is short because Gollum's only in one chapter but it's still super important). Here Gollum is realizing that other people share his misery. He's taking pity on Frodo. This is also a step forward for Gollum in realizing that other people have interiority and feel the same pain he feels.

"Why- it is not my place to tell you whether to go or not."

Frodo just wants to be freeee

"Are you trying to remember your letters, Gollum?" Sam asked. "Ssss." Sam didn't even look like he realized he had done anything wrong, which was worse than an intentional slight. [I think it's easy for the reader to also miss what Sam did wrong, because the narration has been doing it too. Sam just called him Gollum.] But at least Sam made sense. "It has been a long time, since we needed to write anything..." "Well, if you want help remembering, I'm here," said Sam, putting his hands in his pockets. "In fact I can write some things down for you to try and copy, right now, if you'd like. It'll give you something to do." He glanced at the circles.

Sam's doing the thing he usually does, which is to take over practical day to day matters and active work when Frodo is too ill or disengaged to do it, and now that's stuck him with the work of assisting Gollum to be a person.

So Sam spends a little time helping Gollum write (and Frodo does join in), but he's obviously struggling, like way more than they'd expect.

Frodo was watching his hand move. He and Sam gave each other a look, and Sam said: "Let's see your hand, Sméagol. Give it here." Gollum hesitated, and hissed, but a sense of helplessness overcame him and he gave Sam his hand, after letting go of the pen. His fingers trembled. Sam did not take his hand. "I just want a look," he said. "Why?" Gollum demanded. "Just in case." Sam held up his own hand. "Try doing this." He did a series of hand motions, which Gollum mimicked. He could do almost all of them. "That's all right, then," said Sam, "you should be able to hold a pen. Just wanted to see." "We thought your hands might not be quite like ours since you walk on them so much," said Frodo.

Actually, Sam and Frodo were beginning to think his hands might be crippled from all of the thumbscrews, and they didn't want to upset him with a reminder of all the torture. But that's not the problem:

"No, no, they are nice handses," said Gollum, returning to his scrawling, only this time he shifted the pen into his left hand without thinking about it, and suddenly things became easier. Frodo laughed. [...] "So that was the trouble! I should have thought of it."

Frodo laughs because he's relieved there's nothing actually wrong. Gollum is left-handed and they've been telling him to hold the pen in his right hand. Easy fix (aside from the troubles left-handed people usually have. I am not left-handed myself but whenever I work on penmanship or desultorily dabble with guitar, the lessons all say 'and if you're left-handed, all of this is different and sucks!' so I sympathize?)

That's supposed to be a little mundane detail to note that he's remembering his old self (and I see I made his grandmother also be left handed. That's my nod to why he was 'allowed' to use his left hand when in the time period that might have been something 'corrected' for)

It's also not canonical, it's one of those things from the realm of 'this was not ever mentioned in canon because why would it be'

Gollum had dexterous hands (as well as sinister hands)

This is a thoroughly foul pun. dexterous and sinister also mean right-handed and left-handed (although almost no one uses that meaning anymore), in addition to meaning 'nimble' and 'creepy'.

The lesson finishes and Sam & Frodo leave. Timeskip/scene break. Galil is back and she's POV now.

Galil (Gal (Light) + il (Female))

Light Lady

I think that's light as in sunlight and not light as in featherweight? I picked it because I found it ironic to have Light Lady bonding with Goth Darkness Man.

I tried to stick to Gollum's POV in part to keep within the LOTR metafiction tradition that he may have written his own story at some point, but I felt like I needed a little bit of outsider perspective. There is a draft version of this scene from Gollum's POV- I tried that too but didn't think it worked. Looking back at it now, I still think Galil's POV is better here and I'm glad I picked that for the final version. Gollum's internal monologue in this scene doesn't add any new information or useful context.

Also, spoilers, we get Bilbo POV later because I couldn't resist. (Gollum could have interviewed Galil to find out what she thought of this incident at some point, I suppose, but not Bilbo, so unless Gollum is into RPF, the metafiction breaks at that point.)

The woman eyed the plate. "Are you bringing that to the monster?" she said in low tones of awe and horror. "Tis no monster in these quarters," said Galil, sternly. "Hold thy tongue."

Galil seems not to have any personal liking for Smeagol at this point. I guess she's just a stand-up person. Also I guess Aragorn will be mad if people are undeservedly rude to Gollum so there's that

She noticed also a drawing of fish bones, next to a series of lines she could not identify. Sméagol pointed to it ['it' meaning the series of lines which maybe should be clearer here]. "Roots." "Roots?" "Trees roots. Has she ever dug into trees roots?" "I have not," she said. "They are interesting," said Sméagol. He did not say more, and there was a look of reticence on his face- almost shyness.

From Shadow of the Past chapter of FOTR: 'Sméagol was interested in roots and beginnings.' This combined with the left-handed thing makes me think there's a sense of Gollum 'unlocking' his past by picking up a pen, which I don't think was intentional on my part, it just sorta fell together

The version of this scene from his POV includes: "He did not bother talking about how the tree had just as many branches below as it did above, only those branches took in instead of making leaves and things, and wasn't that fascinating? No one had ever found it fascinating in his life. No one cared." Which I think is implied clearly enough by his shy look, without needing the hammering from inner monologue. Especially since I am writing this exclusively to an audience of people who read fanfiction on the internet, who all, to the last one of them, have the context to understand the 'people sometimes react weird when I tell them what I'm really into so I keep it brief' thing without having it spelled out.

His discarded clothes were slimy and had a strange odor, which was why she used the stick to move them (even though Sméagol drew away and eyed her warily when it was in her hand).

I guess if I were him I'd be paranoid too??? The version from his POV clarifies that he knows she's not going to hit him but he can't help keeping an eye on the stick. "Gollum eyed it distrustfully, although she often brought a stick and had never hit him with it- the stick was for gingerly picking up the clothing that he had left in places he thought were quite out of the way, and moving them to other places."

Just noticed, her POV calls him Sméagol only. I did that because no one has ever identified him as Gollum to her. Aragorn would definitely not be telling people to call him that in this situation.

Mirror Arc continues:

"Don't want mirror," Sméagol said curtly. "Don't put it back." "It could help you with dressing." Her voice was neutral. To her eyes it was plain why Sméagol may not enjoy the sight of his reflection, but she could not know if he saw himself as unlovely. A sallow, suspicious face looked over his shoulder, with blood smeared on the cheek. "Don't want mirror." His eyes said Surely you can see why not. "Very well," she said. She could think of no way to say 'Indeed, you are hideous' in a kind manner, so she would not say it.

Gollum tells her he'll help scout for orcs and she should pass the message along.

[sonxofxgondor]

@thegreatstrongbow asked: why did you come back?

Casablanca (1942) Prompts

Gray blanketed in white, cold and dense, the rock known as the Misty Mountains was a troublesome foe. Collected onto clothes without much sense of resistance - the thick clumps of fallen snow - an additional load that was meant to be carried by already tired backs. Sore muscles and aching joints also, the path leading to Caradhras was well carved by heavy foot work. Larger than a Hobbit's, more defined than an Elf's; Boromir and Aragorn pushing along, one followed by another, until a place of rest was camped for. Underneath an overhang of stone and more snow, the smallest of fires built for the sake of warmth, all of the Fellowship plus their newfound companion huddled close. Unable to part from him, not so wicked in his heart to send him away, Boromir about near demanded that Beleg come with. Smiled and nodded cordially, until all of the Fellowship held little uncertainty in their eyes, until the waves of hesitation returned no more to their sands of thought.

Mid-afternoon sun cast in the cloudless skies, still did the harsh winds blow into the shelter of the stone overhang. A bitter chill that numbed Boromir to his very bones. Hardened them and turned them near solid, fixed and situated to their recent position. Clutched around his body - another layer that could trap warmth - helped to bundle in tighter the cloak and coat that he wore. Limited protection to his face, facial hair began to show years of advanced age, flecks of white unnatural to the times. About to be considered another beard for he, Boromir and his fuzz dotted in blizzard, his eyebrows iced, too, relief from his brief journey away the sweetest of rewards. Come back to the safety of their camp, his task finished, his bounty barren in count. Caradhras and the Mountains provided little in kindle. The few trees that tried to grow there dead and frigid - broken by the gentlest touch, crumbled to pieces save for the three that Boromir carried. Thin and brittle, tossed into the fire softly, careful not to disturb the flame that labored against all odds.

Crouched into the snow, more so swallowed whole and surrounded, Boromir breathed his own air into his hands. Rubbed them together, exercised his frosted fingers and thumbs, tried to bring color back into them. Glanced to Beleg shyly, head bent to the flame in a mixture of shame and desire for heat, hands flexed and wiggled within his own grasp again, a second go for warmth.

"Oh, Beleg! You would not believe! There isn't one good tree in all this mountain. Not even grown within the cracks and crevices. Nothing but brutal winds and harsh cold can be found here. Only three measly sticks could I find in my search today. It won't last us until night, but I do hope that it tends to our companions well, especially the little ones. Already are they almost frozen over!"

Boromir's stare traveled all about Beleg's face, looking for signs, worrying at the slightest change from what was best remembered.

"Are you warm enough, my friend? Dear me, your poor hands are a picture of cold. I have not said it so yet, but I do thank you for coming on this journey with us, with me. You needed not to stay, but you did. You have been a greater help to myself and my companions than could ever be described. You've braved many perils for our sakes - this mountain included. Here. You and your hands need this more than I. Take my coat. I have managed worse, I promise, and I will not allow for you to suffer on my account. Please, Beleg. If not until tomorrow, just until Aragorn returns with his share of the firewood. Given the chill, I do not think he will be much longer out."

[nihilizzzm]

I have something I desperately need to share. This is one of my favourite poems ever, originally written in polish, this translation I found by Michal J. Mikos (or I hope I checked it right at least). I always get emotional when I read it, but I somehow thought about Boromir now while doing it and I just had to show it to you.

Juliusz Słowacki

Testament mój (My testament)

I have lived with you, suffered and shed tears with you.

No noble person have I ever passed aside.

Today I leave you, ghosts in shadows to pursue,

And if happiness were here – in sorrow I stride.

I have not left behind me a single offspring

Either to play my lute or to carry my name;

My name has passed away like a flash of lightning,

And will last for generations like an empty strain.

But you that have known me, pass to all in legend

That I wore out my youth for the land of my fathers;

When the ship struggled – I stood at the mast to the end,

And when she was sinking – I too drowned in deep waters...

Yet some day, pondering about the destined lot

Of my poor homeland, any noble man will consent

That my spirit’s cloak was not by begging begot,

But as my ancestors’ glories shines resplendent.

Let my faithful friends at night gather together

And burn up my poor heart in die leaves of aloe,

Return it to die one who gave it to me later:

So the world pays mothers – giving them ashes to stow...

Let my friends sit down, each one holding a goblet,

And drown in wine my burial – and their own despair...

If I am a spirit, I’ll appear to them yet,

If God frees me from torment, I will not come there...

But I beg you – let the living not lose hope ever

And bear the torch of learning before their compatriots;

And when called, go to their death one after another,

Like the stones tossed by die Lord onto the ramparts...

As for me – I am leaving a small group of friends,

Those who were able to love my haughty spirit;

One can see I have fulfilled God’s hard assignments

And assented to have here – an unwept casket...

Who else would go on without the world’s accolades,

Such indifference to the world as I display?

To be the helmsman of a boat that’s filled with shades,

And fly off as quietly as the shade flies away?

And yet I leave behind me this fateful power,

Useless while I live... it just graces my temples;

But when I die, it will, unseen, press you ever,

Till it remakes you, bread eaters – into angels.

There is also a great song made out of it in polish, I leave this for you and encourage you to check more of Słowacki’s poetry if you like to experience this kind of despair and tragedy while reading.

[mischieffoal]

LotR Musical: Round 3!

Just a bunch of my thoughts, once more. From Wednesday 4th October matinee

Pre-Show: 

Hobbit!Gimli asked if I wanted to play Ring-toss, and Lobelia challenged me to a game… if I gave her a spoon if she won. I went on stage, shook hands, bowed, played and failed, she got one, shook hands, happily congratulated her with a spoon. Which Rosie then accused her of stealing from me! The audacity!! 

Also, I gave Fatty a chocolate bar, and he loves it when people come back again because they always bring him snacks. Got some very funny photos with him. Also, he was having great fun yelling about food - “Hey! Everyone! If you want a Mars Bar, they’ve got a whole bag!”

Mrs. Bolger came and chatted to us about the party, and birthdays, and Rose having her birthday the day before Bilbo’s, and Fatty and Mrs.’ twins being born then too! A busy time in the Shire! The little fauntlings are over their with Fatty’s mum! For Bilbo’s speech, Gollum sat right behind me on the picnic table! He was wearing such a cute jumper. I have a problem. 

Act 1:

Gandalf!! I like this understudy! Actually much better than the original! Patrick Bridgman. More sure of himself, powerful in a way, authoritative. Felt more magic and different from the elves than Peter.

Aragorn carries Frodo in so many different ways in the space of about a minute (fireman's, bridal, piggyback, shoulders round)

When Bilbo says "I'm worried I'll turn into him", Gollum pokes his head in from the side and sneers. I’ve never noticed it before, it’s that subtle. You would only notice it at all if you’d seen it before, because he’s still in full hobbit costume. Holy shit it sent chills down my spine.

Each time they mentioned rings and losing their power, they all held theirs, including Elrond who doesn't even mention his

All the Hobbits are so HAPPY all the time up to and during star of Earendil, when around them others are worried and scared and sad - but they’re still set on their Adventure!! I love them!!

Gimli's outfit has the knotwork on the set, lit up in Moria, I really like that detail. It’s obvious, I just hadn’t made the connection before. He’s connected to the “earth” around them. 

Gandalf hugging Sam into Moria. Everyone in this show hugs so much and I love that.

It's *Legolas* who tells Merry that Gimli is singing a song of his ancestors. Goddddd the elf/dwarf everything in this musical. (Earlier, in the council, Gimli has to sit down on a bench next to Legolas, clearly hesitates, and Legolas literally turns his body away from him once he’s sat down)

The movement in Lothlorien is so *different* and fluid

Frodo just fucking crying his eyes out in Lothlorien. Everyone else is having the time of their lives. Poor poor man.

Boromir really is the bad guy in this musical, huh?

All the chest and head hand signs are so so sweet - touching you to me, sharing my mind and heart and soul. Elrond does it from his heart to Frodo’s heart, touching his chest and it’s just… so affectionate. The three hunters do the same to Boromir’s body, along with all their different prayer signs, and it makes me cry. 

This time the flute music truly was menacing - Saruman’s evil grin held for a while before playing

Have some accidental floating hobbits for the intveral:

Act 2:

R’s favourite bit was Aragorn and Arwen, she kept talking about it!

Aragorn/Arwen’s duet ends very abruptly with lighting changes and Arwen disappearing to aragorn finishing last note kneeling alone surrounded by men. Yes. God. Dream sequences for the win.

Legolas leaps around and does not-quite-flips in his fighting, whereas Gimli is always on the ground

Legolas snogging his bow

Legolas always looks so... clinical, practiced when fighting

"Come back when you're sober" catty asshole

Wonder - bunch of men (including many principles in human gear) sit on the round. As Galadriel sings each "out of", another person gets up and stands before her, until Aragorn, sword held high, “WONDER” - really uplifting. I also really really love Aragorn’s little bit “day may end”, why isn’t it in the cast recording.

When Gollum climbs, it’s up the wall rather than the ladders like Sam and Frodo, and in act 2’s lighting you can’t even see the holds - very creepy

Shelob was actually fantastic when I was properly aware of her. Beautiful and creepy and so much going on. 

Frodo and Gollum moving together and also SPEAKING together, when Gollum hears Sam say they'll destroy the ring

When Sam is convincing Frodo to get up so they can walk to mordor, he's reaching out to him, everyone comes on stage and reaches out to him, and he eventually manages to grab his hand

Sam yelling as he carries Frodo on his shoulders is spine-tingling again

Gollum's death, was, again, incredible

Sam and Frodo and Rosie standing together hugging as they wait for the wedding, making me awwww

Group Hobbit foot goodbye aaaaaaa

At the end as Frodo leaves, Gollum and then Bilbo play the tune accompanying him aaaaaa

Final observations:

Head holding situations: 

Aragorn and Boromir practically in each others’ faces as he dies

Aragorn and Frodo practically kissing

Gimli and Legolas do this too!! After they’ve proposed!! The spotlight has gone to Aragorn but they’re holding each other in the darkness!

Funny hobbit versions: 

Gollum x Aragorn Hobbit AU, 500k

Mrs. Bracegirdle is actually in the show! She’s Kelly!

Gollum is a Proudfoot. Need I say more.

Rosie is Scottish! How could I forget this!

After the show, I congratulated Rosie, Legolas, Haldir, Bilbo and Saruman! I passed on E’s praise of “gay supervillain audacity” and they laughed and said “well it’s hard to hide”. (Side note: they’re enby, of course this is why I find him so attractive)

And, finally, my favourite thing I noticed in the whole show:

For all of Act 2, Frodo's voice is tremulous, breathy and tired EXCEPT directly after Sam says “Well, there’s nothing we can do about that” (the elves leaving for the West). 

“Yes we can.”

Completely normal voice. Terrifying.

[actuallyitsstar]

aaaaaaa so tumblr is not a functional website and it ate my next two drafted asks so prepare to get tagged in textposts but @brambleberrycottage sent Lord of The Rings (which will be v interesting bc im quite new to this franchise so pls dont crucify me i know nothing im baby lol) for the fandom ask game:

✨ send me a fandom and i'll answer with the following!

blorbo (favorite character, character I think about the most)

↣ VERY IMPOSSIBLE CHOICE but i think i have no choice but to go with aragorn. idk i dont know enough yet about all the lore of the universe to unpack this but. idk. something about that specific Flavor of generational trauma and the concept of corrupted legacy/rejecting his bloodline and coming back to it and learning to accept it and himself and what that means for middle earth in the grand scheme of things and h ow he has to 'forgive' himself/his kind to help everyone else. idk idk. It Compels Me. ive only seen the movies 3 times and i have not yet read the books so im sorry if im saying anything stupid aldjfkfhf 😭

scrunkly (my “baby”, character that gives me cuteness aggression, character that is So Shaped)

↣ SAM!!! SAMWISE GAMGEE !!! SAMWISE THE BRAVE! he is so so friend shaped i just love him so much so many of his scenes make me ugly cry. he was my big toss up for blorbo in this ranking. but i want to squish him. you know ???????

scrimblo bimblo (underrated/underappreciated fave)

↣ NO idea who is underrated in this fandom but i have a Soft Spot for boromir. hes that type. the type we've discovered i always love. the traumatized man with emotional problems who is overconfident. akdjfkfjfkgfj and i KNOW he obviously has his faults but he redeems himself and he reminds us of his true character and he does right by those halflings in the end by god 😭😭 still sad abt it

glup shitto (obscure fave, character that can appear in the background for 0.2 seconds and I won’t shut up about it for a week)

↣ again not that obscure probably idk enough of the more background ppl yet and idk who is popular but i have a soft spot for king theoden. his speech on the hill about burying his son always rly gets to me and he seems very noble and level-headed and fair, if not a little bit prideful at times. so interested in the concept of legacy and the way he talks about it and then how aragorn talks about it too and i always wonder if there is meant to be contrast/reference between them.

poor little meow meow (“problematic”/unpopular/controversial/otherwise pathetic fave)

↣ LISTEN..... DO NOT COME FOR ME BUT ITS KIND OF SORT OF SMEAGOL......hear me out. if faramir hadnt caused frodo and same to betray him i think he might still have been good and might still have been free of the ring at last. and idk if that lines up w the lore at all i may be talking out of my ass. im just saying i feel so so terrible about that twist happening to him bc he seemed so happy and free before the ring and then its just IMMEDIATE awfulness and crimes forever. he must be suffering. he died suffering. for the stupid ring. id like to think in another universe he gets something better.

horse plinko (character I would torment for fun, for whatever reason)

↣ im sorry this is literally frodo i think 😭 canonically and also fandom-wise. frodo ily i am sorry this burden ruined your life it PHYSICALLY pains me, literally, yet i cannot stop reading about it and thinking abt your struggles.

eeby deeby (character I would send to superhell)

↣ OBVIOUSLY SAURON OR SARUMAN.....NEXT QUESTION