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Mermay 2025 by Paul Briggs

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Thranduil Oropherion aka Faithless Woodland Sprite™

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THE LORD OF THE RINGS: THE RETURN OF THE KING 2003 | dir. Peter Jackson

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I am unsure about hobbits' clothes. Tried to make them a reminiscence of their past fashion, but what hobbits' fashion was like 500 years ago? Still, let it be so at the moment.

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'Come on, Bombur, we're hungry!'

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Every story needs a memorable detail.

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I’m sure we all know of the terms ‘Ones’ in the Tolkien fandom, but I’m going to raise you one.

The Sorrow.

The aftereffect of losing your One, only happens after meeting your One because then you become One. The Sorrow is the other half of you being torn away and leaving you to bleed.

(Now presenting a short story from my TWWC fic)

The Sorrow

Dis didn’t even know that she was pregnant with her second son as cradled her dying husband on the battlefield.

They always knew the possibility of losing one or the other, they’d known since the moment they committed to one another, they’d known since that first kiss, confirming the fact that they were in fact, Ones.

She wished that it could have made losing him easier, she wished for a million things in the time between his fall, and his birth.

It was indescribable. The pain, the ache, the longing, the desperation, the grief. The Sorrow.

Every waking moment felt as if she was at the doors of Aulë’s Hall, looking into the darkness within and hearing naught but the voices of her grandfather, mother and husband.

She couldn’t move nor speak. Even when Thorin sat with her for days on end, holding, singing, whispering promises and telling the grand tales he told her and Frerin in their younger years.

Even when little Fili would cry at her bedside, pleading, wailing, begging for her to wake up, to not leave him behind. Even when Thorin or one of the others came to take him back to bed with a soothing and broken hush.

Even when Balin and Bifur came to care for her. She sat as they wiped her never ending tears and poured water down her throat. She sat as they idly talked about their own survival.

Even when Nori gave it a go, against Thorin’s better wishes he brought in Fili and Ori. She sat there as the boys curled up in her lap, gently touching her swollen stomach. She sat there as Nori told Fili he was going to be a big brother.

It should have been her.

It should have been her to pull Fili into her arms as he cried, as he kicked and screamed the mountain down.

It should have been her to kiss his forehead and reassure him, to tell him that he’s going to be the best big brother.

It should have been her. Not him.

Not him.

After some time, Fili would come to her side more often. He wouldn’t say anything at first, just watched the tears fall.

But then he’d talk, to her.

To his brother.

His small, soft voice as he leant against her side, one hand always on her stomach. He held, sang, whispered promises and told made up but nonetheless grand tales to his brother.

She regretted everything, wanting only to push through this pain, to be able to speak back to her son, to apologise and to hug him tight and tell him everything will be okay.

She wanted to be apart of it all, apart of the people that had come to look after her and her son.

She wanted to be with her brothers as they raised Fili, she wanted to be the one welcoming Dori’s younger brothers into their home, she wanted to reminisce about Vili with Balin and Bifur.

She wanted to be the first to hold her baby boy.

She wasn’t officially declared a survivor of The Sorrow until three months after her sons birth.

The room was quiet, no one was with her, but she could hear the voices, the laughter.

Dis stood up on her own for the first time in a year, and stumbled to the door, slamming into it before she was able to fumble it open.

She almost collapsed as she leant on the doorframe of the living room.

Balin and Bifur at the table with Ori and Fili as the boys argued over a book, giggling at every made up insult that Bifur only encouraged.

Nori and Oin sat on the couch with Thorin, chatting about something as Dis’ brother held a tiny baby, fast asleep in his arms.

That baby.

Her baby.

Her baby, with her and her brothers’ oil black hair.

Her baby, with eyes that flickered open and instantly found her across the room.

Her baby, with his fathers eyes.

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Fog above the forest in Aulanko, Finland

laurilohi

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Thorin Oakenshield (The Hobbit):

“And he never forgave, and he never forgot.”

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I had so much fun painting the wing eared cats that I painted some big cats too~ Maybe I'll paint foxes and wolves next :D

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Plansee, Tirol, Austria

carlo_wiewaswo

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Adrien Olichon

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Foggy moments in San Francisco, California

@adam_ali91

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The Almighty Johnsons [2x1]

Anders Johnson / Bragi

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@fizzyxcustard 👀 perfect way to end a Saturday of drudge 👁️👄👁️ let us both admire

*tries to focus on the plot* … *fails*