#and i dream of him meeting tom bombadil

[the-writing-warg]

Obsessed with the idea of Thranduil turning up to an important event in Valinor for the first time looking like this

With most of the first age elves having a breakdown.

And the looks of complete adoration from elfings as he let's them add flowers and leaves, and let's them braid them into his hair

(He also struts up to whoever is ruling valinor at the time, wine glass held loosely in his hands and declares that he is thranduil and he speaks for the trees)

[novelmonger]

I had a dream a few nights ago of an LotR AU that kind of reminded me of @frodo-with-glasses's Magnolia AU (but that might just be me, lol :P). As you read, just keep in mind that the most vivid part of the dream was the ending, and the rest of this is me attempting to stitch together what little I could remember into something that halfway made sense.

In this AU, Sam and Rosie marry and start their family after Bilbo leaves the Shire, but before the Quest begins. I'm not sure exactly when they get married, but long enough before the story proper that Elanor (I know, I know, her name shouldn't be that because they haven't seen the elanor flowers yet, but bear with me here) is old enough to be toddling around, at least, and calling out for her favorite Uncle Frodo ^_^

I think maybe the Gamgees live with Frodo in Bag End, because he thinks it's a mighty big place for just him, and it's not like Frodo has any inclination to get married himself. Part of the reason for them to move in at the end of the canon story is because Frodo is in pain, and because of the friendship forged through him and Sam going through thick and thin together. But I think it would still work at the beginning of the story, because they're clearly pretty friendly with each other, even with the class differences, at the beginning as well. Probably Sam would continue as Frodo's gardener and Rosie would help with cooking and cleaning and such.

ANYWAY. So when Frodo sells Bag End and goes to Crickhollow, the Gamgees go with him. Sam and Rosie are in on the Conspiracy too. The original plan is for Rosie and Elanor to live in the house Frodo bought there while he and Sam go off on their adventure (not realizing just how dangerous and long of an adventure it's going to be, they think Sam, at least, will be able to return before too long).

But then they run into the Black Rider on the way, and Frodo adamantly refuses to let Rosie and Elanor stay in Crickhollow. They'll be in too much danger if they stay in a place where Frodo Baggins can be traced to. Frodo says the Gamgees should go back to Hobbiton, or pretty much anywhere else, and let him go on with Merry and Pippin. But Sam won't stand for that, of course. And much arguing back and forth ensues.

What's the outcome of all of this? Rosie and Elanor go with them.

I know, I know, that seems impossibly dangerous and so much more difficult! But at the time, it seems like the best way to keep them safe is to keep them close, instead of leaving them behind to potentially be targeted by Frodo's mysterious pursuers.

If we want to be a bit kinder/probably more realistic, we could move around the time that Frodo meets Elves in the woods, and have them escort Rosie and Elanor to Rivendell or something. But the idea that's stuck in my head is Rosie setting her jaw with determination and marching along with the men, her presence and advice maybe helping them avoid some of their more foolish mistakes, everyone taking turns carrying Elanor, Tom Bombadil and Goldberry making Elanor laugh, Sam being so brave and protective of his wife and daughter on Weathertop, all three of the Gamgees staring around in open-mouthed wonder as they wander through the halls of Rivendell....

And...just think. Aragorn holding tiny little hobbit-toddler Elanor. ◕ㅁ◕

Elanor immediately falls in love with Strider, and runs up and hugs his long legs even while Sam is being all huffy and suspicious, and Frodo laughs and says, "If Elanor approves of him, he must be a friend!"

Aragorn being all like, "WHY DID YOU BRING YOUR WIFE AND DAUGHTER ALONG WITH YOU DON'T YOU REALIZE WE'RE RUNNING FROM RINGWRAITHS MY JOB JUST GOT TEN TIMES HARDERRRRR!!!!! TAT"

But Aragorn carries Elanor on his shoulders when her little hobbit feet get tired. And he sings her softly to sleep with Elven lullabies. And he goes absolutely ballistic fighting the Nazgul on Weathertop to defend them. Maybe part of the reason Frodo gets stabbed is because Aragorn is busy defending Rosie and Elanor (with Sam at his side, of course).

EEEEE, there are just too many wonderful moments! ಥ_ಥ

But yes, eventually they all reach Rivendell more or less in one piece. Rosie and Elanor are a bit...well, traumatized and shaken by the experience, but the beauty and peace of Rivendell, and the way it's rather homely and inviting even for little hobbits from the Shire, do a lot to help them recover. I think Arwen would take a particular liking to them (after all, Elanor becomes her handmaiden eventually!).

Once the Fellowship is formed at the Council of Elrond, it's agreed that Rosie and Elanor will remain in Rivendell, since it's one of the safest places they could be. Frodo encourages Sam to stay as well, and Sam is understandably torn between staying with his family and going on with Frodo. But Rosie points out that if he doesn't go, he'll regret it forever, particularly if something happens to Mr. Frodo. Though Rosie doesn't know the full story of what's going on, she gets the sense that she might never see Sam again. But she says, "I always knew you were made for great things, Samwise Gamgee. Of course, I was thinking more Mayor of Michel Delving, not traipsing to the end of the world...."

"Great things? Must be thinking of someone else," Sam mumbles, trying not to cry (and failing).

"I'll tell Elanor about her father, the bravest and famousest of hobbits."

And they kiss goodbye, and AHHHHHH I'm making myself sad! TToTT

The rest of the story plays out the same way, just that Sam is often thinking and talking of what Rosie and Elanor must be doing back in Rivendell. No doubt he sees a glimpse of them in the Mirror of Galadriel, too. He misses them greatly, and he often worries over their safety, even knowing he left them in good hands. But his love for them also spurs him on, even when things are at their bleakest. He keeps alive the hope of returning to them eventually, and he knows that if they fail, eventually evil will reach Rivendell as well. So they cannot fail.

Then the Ring is destroyed, and they go to Minas Tirith, where eventually Elrond and Arwen show up...and in their retinue is none other than Rosie and Elanor! And...Rosie and Sam's second child and first son, Frodo!

In my dream, it was a surprise to Sam, but after hemming and hawing over the timeline, I don't think that would really work. So basically, the pregnancy begins shortly before they leave the Shire, and everyone knows by the time they leave Rivendell (which, you know, another very good reason for her to stay put). She has the baby in Rivendell with all the best care, and she and the two little ones join Elrond and Arwen as they make the journey to Minas Tirith. So when they show up, it's the first time Sam has seen his son, but the only surprise is that it's a boy. Rosie has held off on naming him until she could see her husband again, and naturally, Sam chooses the name Frodo ^_^

And they're reunited and the little Gamgee family gets to live together at last in Minas Tirith and Elanor gets to explore a city of the Big Folk and sit in the lap of Mr. Strider who is now a king and she gets to see her honorary uncles Frodo and Merry and Pippin and show off her little baby brother to them and Frodo gets to hold little Frodo and.... °(°ˊДˋ°) °

[warrioreowynofrohan]

Today in Tolkien - September 26th

Today the hobbits enter the old forest, get captured by a tree, and meet Tom Bombadil. Gandalf is riding north across the Enedwaith (the area beyween the Isen and Greyflood).

One of the first things to note here is that the hobbits’ troubles with Huorns and Barrow-wights, resulting in them twice needing to be rescued by Bombadil, are not (solely) the result of ineptitude or bad luck. From “The Hunt for the Ring” in Unfinished Tales:

But the Black Captain [the Witch-king] established a camp at Andrath [a short distance south of Bree]; and from there some others were sent to watch and patrol the eastern borders [of the Shire], while he himself visited the Barrow-downs. In notes on the movements of the Black Riders at that time it is said that the Black Captain stayed there for some days, and the Barrow-wights were roused, and all things of evil spirit, hostile to Elves and Men, were on the watch with malice in the Old Forest and on the Barrow-downs.

The Witch-king is deliberately blocking off exits from the Shire other than the road, in order to catch Frodo; there are no safe options. This explains why the hobbits have so many problems, when Merry’s been in the Old Forest before several times with little trouble. Merry’s thoughtful and perceptive and has already observed that the trees are “very much more alive, more aware of what is going on” and “do not like strangers.” They have reason! The Old Forest is the last remnant of a great forest that once covered most of Eriador and the lands southward was, IIRC, intensively logged by the Númenoreans, mostly for shipbuilding, until only fragments of it remained.

There are various interpretations of Bombadil, but my reading of him is as a Maia who is sort of genius locus, the spirit of a place - specifically the ancient forests of Eriador, or perhaps this specific patch of land (which is why he does not leave it). Within this area, he has considerable power and authority - and knowledge, as he tells the hobbits its history; outside it, little. Personally, I suspect that Caradhras is another such spirit, whose hostility was his own personality and had little to do with either Saruman or Sauron.

Near nightfall the hobbits reach the house of Tom Bombadil, just past the eastern edge of the forest below the slopes of the Barrow-downs. Tom seems to like humans - at any rate enough to take their general form, and their style of house construction, more than an elven one - though both his looks and his house are also hobbitish so he may be emulating his neighbours.

In the night, Frodo, Merry, and Pippin all have dreams; Merry and Pippin’s are about the forest, but Frodo’s is different:

In the dead night, Frodo lay in a dream without light. Then he saw the young moon rising; under its thin light there loomed before him a great black wall of rock, pierced by a dark arch like a great gate. It seemed to Frodo that he was lifted up, and passing over he saw that the rock-wall was a circle of hills, and that within it was a plain, and in the midst of the plain stood a pinnacle of stone, like a vast tower but not made by hands. On its top stood the figure of a man. The moon as it rose seemed for a moment to hang above his head and glistened in his white hair as the wind stirred it. Up from the dark plain below came the crying of fell voices, and the howling of many wolves. Suddenly a shadow, like the shape of great wings, passed across the moon. The figure lifted his arms and a light flashed from the staff that he wielded. A mighty eagle swept down and bore him away. The voices wailed and the wolves yammered. There was a noise like a strong wind blowing, and on it was borne the sound of hoofs, galloping, galloping, galloping from the east. “Black Riders!” thought Frodo as he wakened, with the sound of the hoofs still echoing in his mind.

As Frodo realizes later at the Council of Elrond, this is Gandalf’s escape from Orthanc, and the hooves are not Black Riders but Gandalf rising north. He is dreaming of the past; Gandalf’s escape was several days ago. Perhaps Irmo is trying to give him a hint about what has delayed Gandalf, and that Gandalf is on the way. One of the characteristic features of The Lord of the Rings is that the specific causes and nature of apparently-supernatural events often go unexplained; we are simply given to understand that there are many powers working in the world, for good and evil, and not all are identified.

[the-great-middle-earth-read]

FotR Book Two: Chapter Two - The Council of Elrond

Gandalf leads Bilbo and Frodo to the council with Sam following unnoticed. At the council there is a great meeting of people - dwarves from Erebor, elves from Mirkwood and the Havens as well as the Rivendell elves, a man from Gondor as well as Gandalf and the hobbits. Each group speaks of the dangers they have noticed - Erebor has been threatened by Black Riders to give up information on hobbits, the elves of Mirkwood lost Gollum and Boromir speaks of a dream he and his brother have had. It is decided the ring must be destroyed, after lots of arguing, and Frodo volunteers after Bilbo’s offer is refused. Gandalf, Aragorn, Gimli, Legolas and Sam all decide to go with him.

Chapter Notes

I love how the opening of the council skips over a lot of information that the narrator decides isn’t important and only tunes in when Gloin begins explaining the troubles at Erebor. It gives the impression that this moment stood out in Frodo’s mind - it’s one of Bilbo’s dwarves talking about a place that has only existed in stories for Frodo before and now here they are coming true.

I find it rather odd that the people of Gondor had no idea that Isildur took the ring. Did the wise who clearly do know the story just assume that Gondor knew? Or did Gondor let that part of history be forgotten? There's something disquieting about the fact that this information that means so much about Gondors history was lost. I also wprry when Boromir says "That is tidings indeed." Note that he does not say good or bad tidings.

On Boromir and Faramirs dreams. I'm not sure how they had them, let alone both of them having the same dream. It reminds me of Frodo and his dreams. May e it was the proximity of Mordor that affected their dreams?

So, Boromirs attitude. I think the movie downplays this during the council. Yes he shows some desire to take the ring but he appears to agree with the council at the end. In book however it is clear that he is already being affected. He doesn't agree to go with Frodo during this chapter which might suggest he thinks about how he might still get the ring to Gondor.

Aragorn and Bilbo's friendship is severely underrated. Aragorn helps Bilbo with his poetry and Bilbo writes some about Aragorn which he then uses to defend his friend at the council. I just love the thiught of these two huddled away discussing poetry together.

I would also love to read about Gandalf and Aragorn's search for Gollum. It would probably be pretty grim but its clear that these two work well together and I wish we could have seen a bit of it.

I love how Legols listens to all this talk about Gollum and waits until Aragorn says how lucky they are that gollum is locked up before revealing that actually, Gollum has escaped from the elves. He had to wait for the right moment. How the elves actually lost Gollum is an interesting one I think, and it reminds me a lot of Bilbo. "Through over-kindness" Legolas says when asked how they lost him. Just like Bilbo, they took pity on Gollum. Unfortunately for them, Gollum doesn't care about kindness and instead used it to his advantage.

Gandalf mentions that he spoke to the Gaffer who mentioned something about the changes the new owners of Bag End were implementing. "Changes for the worst" he said to Gandalf who took it as petty complaints and gave it no further thought as he was concerned about Frodo. While Gandalf brushes it off, it is interesting to see that only a week or so after Frodo has left, changes are already occuring in Hobbiton.

For someone who doesn't leave his homeland Tom Bombadil is certainly known to quite a few folk. Farmer Maggot and Gandalf know him, of course, but so does Elrond and the dwarves and northern men also have names for him.

Glorfindel is really shown to be a decisive person towards the end of this chapter. He speaks up and is constantly coming up with ideas, even as Elrond is at a loss of what to do - or at least doesn't want to put into words what has to be done until he is forced to. I kind of wish we had gotten to see more of Glorfindel.

Bilbo's decision to take the ring to mordo is heartbreaking. He hides the real horror of it behind wordplay and his usual hobbitsh jokes but even he admits that his story won't end happily. And yet, he is still willing to take on that burden.

[abeautifuldayfortea]

Storm

Summary: For the lovely @ladylouoflothlorien who requested this, I hope you enjoy! A/N and timeline for this story is below the story. Reader is an elf child from Celebrian’s escort travelling from Imladris to Lothlorien in TA 2509. For context, Osgiliath was lost in TA 2475. Quote in italics from Unfinished Tales, JRR Tolkien.

Hi hon, could I please request something with Saruman & Reader where the reader was rescued by him as a child and has been raised by him. Something a little angsty where they’re watching his descent into madness and serving the dark lord. Maybe he tries to hide what’s going on from them but they were raised smart and it’s not exactly difficult to figure out. I think this definitely calls for some(?) angst but as for where the loyalties and morality of the reader lie by the end of it is completely up to you. I just saw you were interested in writing for Saruman and this popped into my head, which is strange because I haven’t written anything like this before!!

Words: 1380

From his window in Orthanc, Saruman watched with calculated interest as a lone figure rode hard, out of the safety of Isengard, shrinking and disappearing altogether as they turned behind the feet of the mountains. It was for the north that they rode, onwards toward Imladris and Doriath, seeking Radaghast with his message, and in time they would return, bearing news to him from distant lands. Something about the child had changed irrevocably and though they tried to conceal from him its nature, he could sense their mind had altered from the course that he had set it on. Even the firm persuasion of his voice could not fully ease their troubles.

Making fully sure they were out of view, he sat smoking in thoughtful silence within the privacy of his chambers. Never before had he reason to doubt their will or their capability ere the shadow of Sauron had taken up his mantle in Barad Dur. Yet now, his faith in them wavered for he saw within them a growing doubt, no more than a flicker, but what he was sure would in time grow to a fire that would consume them both. This he feared beyond all else and though he knew it was wise to dispose of them, his heart refused and reminded him of a simpler time, if ever there was one.

Beyond the whistling despair that painted the skirmish he had found them by  the gaping mouth of the Redhorn Pass as he journeyed south to the new capital of Minas Tirith to proffer advice. His absence had cost the Gondorians dearly and thirty years on, the sacking of Osgiliath still marred the hearts of many like a suffocating tar. They needed guidance and he would be the one to give it.

But there, at the Redhorn Pass he sensed the biting sharpness of a greater grief and fear. Overhead, the looming shadow of Caradhras cast itself, breathing its chill on the very ground at its roots like the beckoning onset of winter.

The hewn earth. The song of the mountains echoing down the channels. The iron tang of blood on the wind. A memory came to him then on the same winds, a time long ago, far away and hazy as though he stood on the other side of a frosted window, intruding on something that was both intimate and distant. The shaping of iron, the forging of rings and a young man with dark hair and his master by his side. His name was Curunír then.

The vision awoke with him a great unquenchable desire for a past he could not quite remember and yet he yearned for every ounce of it, but as he did, it faded and however hard Saruman pursued it, he could grasp at nothing but a frosty wind. Before his feet lay the scattered bodies of elves, the battered standard of Imladris laying torn … and something else. The bated breath of a child. He was watched.

Saruman turned then beyond the violence and bloodshed, and toward a copse of shivering young oak trees. An elf child. Young but not quite naïve. Impressionable still. His eyes lit.

He remembered with sour hatred the founding of the White Council and Gandalf. His endearment with the hobbit people of the north and though he had mocked him then, he understood now what bound him so tightly to that merry folk. And while his heart went out to the child, he was struck with the bitter undercurrent of jealousy for Gandalf’s hobbit folk. He would take them under his wing to forge as his creation. Not as a child of the woodlands but one that would love fire and iron.

“Well, will you not come forth and tell me your name?” His voice was a gentle suggestion, light, guised as an offer but beneath it was a power so compelling that they could not refuse it. And so it was that the child strode forward to meet Saruman without fear or suspicion and gave him their name. And it is told that they were ensnared and spellbound to him, for a person’s name is ever sweet to the ears of the one it belongs to. In Saruman’s face, the child saw the visage of their lifeless father, only older and wiser for that was the veil he assumed to their eyes. Everywhere Saruman went, the child followed, growing tall and lithe like the long shadows of dusk in the even longer march of time. Their sharp eyes were ever watching and learning, for along his many wandering travels, Saruman taught them the secret way of words and to delve beyond them to discern secret thoughts.

By the time Saruman received the Keys of Orthanc, he was just as endeared to his charge as they were to him and it was as though they were molded from his own flesh and blood. To his charge, he spoke openly of preserving the Free Peoples and while they knew of his research of magic rings, he hid from them his truest desire to be recognised and undisputedly powerful. To rule. Yet this they discerned also, for they walked together through many centuries and as the time passed them by, they saw that he strayed from the road he had set himself upon, walking in the murky in-between of good and evil.

It was at the second meeting of the White Council that it was revealed to them, clear as day. There would be no attack upon Dol Guldur despite Gandalf’s protestations. It was unlike him to be careless, to claim the Ring had fallen to the sea, to deny the possibility of Sauron’s return. Saruman was always thorough, and they knew this to be true. Gandalf sat then, silent, smoking and Saruman mocked him as he always had done.

A beat.

It was in the space of a thought that Gandalf passed his gaze over to the elf by Saruman’s side, searching for some unknown thing within their gaze.

Looking keenly at Saruman he drew his pipe and sent out a great ring of smoke with many smaller rings that followed it. Then he put up his hand, as if to grasp them, and they vanished. (Unfinished Tales, Tolkien)

And the moment passed as quickly as though it never happened. The child who was now no longer a child, watched on as the hazy fumes meandered lazily out of his hands and they knew then that they were not mistaken.

Altered and seduced as Saruman’s mind was, his charge remained steadfast by his side, for the love between them was too great, though they grew ever more uneasy at the methods he resorted to. A ring he had crafted and many coloured robes he wrought, but he did not don them. They noticed the long nights Saruman spent secluded within the high chamber of Orthanc, casting his mind this way and that and communing at times with some veiled power that they shuddered to think of. A host of orcs and men arrived at the gates of Isengard and were welcomed. “As I have given you a home, they too shall have theirs” he had said, and he cast such a pitiful look at them that his charge relented. Great pits were delved and filled with fire and it was with despair that the young elf found themselves at the shores of darkness, upon the cusp of a war that should never have been.

And yet now they rode hard to find Radaghast and set his beasts to Saruman’s task. Before them lay the chance to turn away, to divert the course of the coming war. A chance to warn of bloodshed. A chance to stop children being orphaned before their time. In a sleepless dream, they walked in the halls of memory, to a bloody day at the Redhorn Pass, Celebrian’s abduction, the loss of family and the beginning of a new one. A day when a weary traveller came by and took them in as his own child. 

An impossible choice. One that would result in war either way.

They laughed at the folly of it, a peal of bright bells on the air for in the moment for there was nothing they could do but bask in the freedom of clear air with the countless miles between themselves and Isengard. A fair wind danced beside them, masking the foul tang of iron deep beneath the impenetrable tower of Orthanc. Overhead, the stars wheeled as night came and went like the swift kiss of ignorance upon their brow and for a moment in the wan gaze of the moon, everything in the world was as it should be. The knowing silence of the coming storm.

A/N: This was a challenging request (and my first for that matter) and I had much trouble trying to fit in a plausible scenario that matched the original timeline. A goodly amount of research and two weeks worth of fretting over the timeline went into this, but it still feels off :/ and I can’t say that I’m happy with the finished product.

Because the request asked for the Saruman’s descent to evil, the child/reader would need to have a lifespan that would need to stretch for a minimum of 500 years or so. Elves are the only race (bar Tom Bombadil and other strange beings) that has a lifespan matching this and so it is the race that the reader in this story belongs to. Personally, I am of the opinion that elves would take in other orphaned elves and so the scenario from which the child is rescued from must be far enough from the major elf cities to warrant them being raised by Saruman. Hence, I placed them as a part of Celebrian’s escort bound for Lothlorien from Rivendell in the year TA 2509. This small party was ambushed by orcs at the Redhorn Pass (I chose to set the scene at the junction between the Redhorn Pass and the Redhorn Gate because the Pass is described as ‘narrow’ along the cliffs and hence there would not be much room for the reader to hide! The general timeline I used is below:

TA 1000 – Saruman arrives in ME and goes into the east on regular trips

TA 1601 – The Shire settled

TA 2400ish – Saruman returns to the west, discovers Gandalf’s possession of Narya

TA 2463 – White Council formed, Saruman becomes jealous of Gandalf because he is mooted to be head of the council instead of Saruman

TA 2475 – Osgiliath taken

TA 2509 – Celebrian captured

2759 – Saruman gets the keys to Orthanc and settles in Isengard

2851 – 2nd White Council meeting, Gandalf urges attack on dol Guldur, smoke ring incident

[zoueriemandzijnopmars]

The Letter for the King reread (more than 10 years after my first read)

Me reading it for the first time after I understood LotR when reading it: Tiuri is Frodo, Piak is Sam, Marius is Tom Bombadil, Menaurus is Gandalf, Ristridin is Aragorn, Bendoe is Boromir, etc.

No but it does have a lot of similarities

Btw, does anyone wanna hear about my plans for a fanfic where Isadoro will be joining Tiuri for the whole trip

Because there are 6 women with something to say in the whole book and only 3 have a name and it annoys me

Like it’s that this book was written by a woman in the 60s or else...

But okay

Also Tiuri is such a rich privileged boy at times? Like I love him, but it’s true.

He sometimes also thinks he knows everything best, like when he made the choice for Piak to remain in the mountains at the end.

He is also soo dramatic:

“I will call this horse Loyal Helper and Fast Carrier and also...”

He can also not go without company

Also the toll is so high??? And like yes you can work for it, but 3 weeks??? Is very much??? What kind of shitty rich privilege is this??? And especially since the bridge has been paid off it is totally unnecessary to let people pay so much?

People in Unauwen are also kinda arrogant: “We speak our language like it’s supposed to be.” Like sorry dude, but you know nothing of linguistics and I think we could make a solid point for the language in Dagonaut’s kingdom to be more like it used to be.

I have always loved the map so much. And my current realization is that Tiuri grew up real close to the border of the kingdom?

Also pretty close to a sea btw

Would Tiuri and Piak ever have met the squire that went to the crown prince with a similar message?

I hope Tiuri gets to live his dream to travel the world tbh

Piak and Tiuri are both sooo young btw and I want to know why Tiuri became a knight so young?

Like his dad is still super healthy and all

Btw Tiuri knows nothing of heraldics? He doesn’t even recognize Ristridin’s colours? And Ristridin is very famous

Also, somehow I love that the worldbuilding is not great, because I can headcanon so much based on the map

Can I say that Lord Rafox ships Tiuri and Lavinia

It would be a great match from his point of view btw

Tiuri is the (only) son of one of the most famous knights in the realm and he’s a nice guy

Can I say that if my memory of Secrets of the Wild Wood is correct Piak also ships them

Also I loooove that Tiuri starts his knightly career already with a nickname and doesn’t have to be known as ‘Son of Tiuri’

I’m not normally so into naming, but this is just very nice

Wait back to the point that Tiuri knows no heraldics, he also doesn’t know geography? history? What was he taught? Reading, archery and rowing?

Oh and riding horses

He also knows no songs

Everyone he meets of his age sings songs for him and he’s never returning the favour?

The trip back is one of my favourite things tbh

I still really love this book, and I’m excited to start Secrets of the Wild Wood, which I always considered so much better.

(I’m pretty sure it has 4 women with a name who speak!)

Oh btw Lavinia is kinda like Éowyn, but we wouldn’t know that yet.

Though I guess we could draw parallels between Isadoro and Éowyn as well? But that’s in the next book.

The next book is also better because it’s less like LotR

[mythopoeticreality]

For the reader asks: What do you wish more authors in your fandom would write about?, - What reader or write do you think most deserves a high five?, and Tell me a headcanon (and who you wish would write it)?

Ohh! Awesome! Just the questions I wanted to answer too! xD Thank you, you wonderful nonnie for sending me these!^^ I umm…I might get a bit long-winded here so bear with me….>.>

What do you wish more authors in your fandom would write about?

Oh dear…you just gave me free reign here to give you my fannish wish-list anon. Do you realize what you’ve done?!

Okay, no but, these are some of the ideas and characters I’ve most wanted to see more explored for such a long time now, so this might get a bit long as I’ve been thinking about some of these things for so long, so…let’s split this up by fandom:

Silmarillon/Tolkien:

More Tinfang please, definately! Probably my most obscure fav here,but he has so much potential? I mean, he’s this haf-fey pied-piper type figure and I just need like…all of the fic of him outwitting orcs and robin-hooding it up across Beleriand just basically ruining Morgoth’s day in his own small ways xD I love the idea of Tinfang being this folklorish figure amongst the elves, and I’d love to see more of that.

On that note: More Middle Earth Fairy Lore in general. Yeah I know most of this stuff is only half-canonical at best and pretty obscure, coming from the Book of Lost Tales, but still, it’s just fun? Again, I love the idea of elvish folklore, especially pre-Valarin folklore and I’d love to see more of it, and incorporating some of these older Lost Tales era ideas is such a great way to do it? Besides, the addition of fairies answers an age old question in Tolkien Fandom:

“…they were born before the world and are older than its oldest, and are not of it, but laugh at it much, for had they not somewhat to do with its making, so that it is for the most part a play for them…”

TELL ME THAT DOESN’T SOUND LIKE TOM BOMBADIL TO YOU!?! Case closed. Tom Bombadil is a Fairy.

Asside from Tinfang and Fairy lore, however, There are a couple of things I’d love to see more of in this fandom as well.

More Amlach would always be a blessing.I don’t really see why he is so often overlooked as a character either. Here’s this guy, he’s like, ‘Okay, I’m maybe not so cool with these Elves dragging us into this war of theirs that I certainly didn’t  sign on for’  but then Morgoth comes along, and sends one of his servants to impersonate him while he’s away. Amlach finds out is all ‘What?! You stole my face?! Oh it’s personal, now…” and then goes to find Maedhros and becomes one of his vassals to fight against Morgoth. He has to be one of my favorite Men in the Legendarium, and I can’t help but picture his relationship with Maedhros to be just…so full of snark. He’s not awed by these elves after all, he’s just here because Morgoth’s an asshole. Honestly, I can’t help but feel that if Amlach feels like Maedhros is wrong about something he will speak up about it. And..Maedhros actually appreciates that? Amlach’s honesty, I mean, maybe not the snark all the time xD I just want to see more of that relationship, and it’s development, blossoming into some kind of respect and friendship between the two. Basically Amlach is awesome and I want more of him.

Finally, I’d love to see more Eönwë/Mairon stuff? This is my ship! The whole tragic lovers-to-enemies dynamic that they could have going? Those moments where Sauron came begging to Eönwë at the end of the War of Wrath and things almost, almost looked like things could have been reconciled, where everything stood on a knife-blade and a held breath? YES, I am here for that. And yeah, I’m a sucker for redemption fics, so I’m here for AU’s where Sauron actually did turn around and seek the Valar’s forgiveness as well.

Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell:

*slams fist on table* More JSMN Crossovers! I mean, the King’s Roads literally go everywhere, and I can’t be the only one who sees the potential there! You’ve got all of fiction and reality open to you! For instance: 

Send Childermass off on the King’s Roads exploring Faerie and Looking for a way to read Vinculus, and have him stumble on into the DC Universe to run into John Constantine! They can be Snarky Northern Bastards together and deal with Fairies and Demons and Magic! 

Have John Uskglass wander into Wizarding New York in 1926 and meet Credence Barebone! Can you imagine what that would be like? The Raven King meeting this orphan kid who grew up in pretty much the exact opposite situation to himself, In a world where magic is kept a secret, and who had to spend his life suppressing this magic he had? What would be going through John’s head in that moment? What would be going through Credence’s? Can the Raven King take Credence under his wing, get himself a new apprentice? He should. That would be really cool. 

Oh, or what about Strange and Norrell while they’re trapped in the Pillar of Darkness? Send them to Valinor! Imagine the reactions of the Elves and the Valar at the approach of this huge Tower of Midnight. What New Sorcery of Morgoth’s is this? Is this the arrival of some new evil into their realm, like Ungoliant? Imagine this army of Elven warriors – the very same ones that Durring the War of Wrath fought to take down the source of all evil in Middle Earth – all lining up and preparing for battle…only to discover a pair of fondly squabbling academics

Or you know what? We don’t even need the King’s roads for crossovers! One of the things I’ve been most wanting to see in this fandom is a Sandman/JSMN crossover just…focusing on the relationship between Uskers and Morpheus? Like, I could totally see Oberon’s Favorite Foster Son as having encountered the Lord Shaper over here during his time in Faerie? And just, as a being of Faerie, as a Magician, as a Legend in and of himself, he totally has this connection to Dream? And honestly….why wouldn’t I want to see these two being Melodramatic and Goth and Awesome together? I’d really love to see how they’d interact. (Crossovers involving Daniel would *also* be amazing too of course and I’d really love to see John dealing with the feelings of knowing but not knowing Daniel, of interacting with someone who is at the same time so much older and so much younger than himself. How weird does it have to get to begin to stretch at even the Raven King’s own standards for what is “normal?”) 

Other crossovers I’d like to see: John Segundus and Arthur Weasley hanging out because that would be just…the most adorable thing. And Also Henry Lascelles and Lucius Malfoy, because they just kind of deserve one another really xD

Asside from Crossovers I’d really love to read more things focusing on just the general history and world building in JSMN? I want to see like, the effects of magic on things like the Interregnum and the Restoration! I want to see what sort of History Play Shakespere wrote about John Uskglass and How opening night went! (You Know the Raven King showed up,watching from the shadows. You just know it.) I want to see Isaac Newton as a Magician, dammit! (speaking of that last one I got this lovely fic around Christmas Time about that very thing and I am eternally greatful for it, and y’all should go read it)

And honestly, more fics about the Aurate Magicians and John Uskglass would be amazing? I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: I want an entire series of novels dedicated to the Aurate era of Magic. I want *all* of the medieval politics and drama. How does John Uskglass interact with say…Emperess Matilda or Henry V? How does magic change things and introduce new issues that have to be delt with? Also…the characters of this time period just *fascinate* me. Yeah, John Uskglass, but also Thomas of Dundale? William of Lanchester? Catherine of Winchester? Donata Torrel and Margaret Ford and their troop of women magicians? Thomas Godbless? Walter De Chepe? Lookit. I just need *all* of the stories about the Aurates.

Oh, and one more thing: No 80′s AU JSMN fandom? I am Dissapoint. I need John Uskglass hanging out in Le Phonographique as is only his natural habitat ;P 

What reader or writer do you think most deserves a high five? 

But there are so many awesome people in both my fandoms? I mean Just going off of the top of my head…

@jordenspuls and @somepallings just seem like all around really cool people and it’s always a delight to see their back-and-forth crossing my dash (even if most of the time I’m too much an awkward nerd to say anything myself) Not only that but they’re also really awesome writers and if you like Johnsquared you should definitely check out both of their work!^^

@ohveda is also super-cool and is also an awesome writer, especially– again – if you like Johnsquared. Also, it always makes me smile when I see a comment on one of my metas, because we’ve always had nice discussion in the past. 

Of course I’ve gotta mention @regshoe here, for loving the Raven King as much I do, for always being an awesome person to talk to and for writing such amazing fic as well as comments in my own stories.

And on that same note, theseatheseatheopensea is another amazing writer in JSMN fandom (seriously, the writing is just georgous. Go read that Isaac Newton story.) and always leaves such lovely comments in my fic as well!^^

Finally, @thearrogantemu and @prackspoor have both written some of my favorite Silm fics.

Tell me a headcanon (and who you wish would write it)? 

Okay, so for most of my headcanons and ideas I don’t actually have an ideal writer in mind for any of them. I’d just really love to see what would happen if anyone took them up and ran with them.

That said, because I cannot provide any actual writers for these headcanons, I will give three each from each fandom to make up for it 8D

The Silmarillion/Tolkien:

  More Fairy Lore from Arda: Before encountering the Valar the elves would often leave out small offerings to appease the fairies and spirits of Middle-Earth. A few berries, a piece of meat from a good hunt, a dish of milk left out on the doorstep. After meeting Oromë and going to Valinor, the offerings became more craft-oriented and were said to be for the Valar, rather than the Fairies. Many – especially amongst the Vanyar – stopped leaving out offerings all together, seeing them as relics of the misunderstandings of the past, too pagan a tradition to continue with. MírielÞerindë, however did continue to leave out small scraps of brightly embroidered fabric as a tribute to Vairë whenever she began a new project. Fëanor continues on in this tradition, leaving a small wire spiral out on his workbench whenever he starts something new – not for the Valar or to keep the Fairies from interfering – but as a tribute to his mother.

Curufin is actually the best rider and horsemen amongst his brothers and taught Celebrimbor to ride 

Arien and Sauron were actually really close before Sauron’s eventual betrayal. Being some of the few Fire-spirits who remained on the side of the valar gave them a particular bond, and  Mairon was someone for Arien to turn to when the feelings of grief and betrayal that her brothers – The Balrogs – left her with grew to heavy. Well that was untill…

Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell:

Catherine of Winchester actually didn’t start out as a particularly impressive Magician. Actually, if anything, magic was fairly difficult for her at first. Where she was impressive was in her dedication to her craft, and her shear stubbornness in it’s pursuit was what actually impressed the Raven King enough to take her on as a student (this one is actually a fairly new headcanon for me, but there is something about the idea that I find so appealing…)

Thomas of Dundale is actually a huge nerd when it comes to Arthuriana and tales of Chivalry. He was actually kind of having a bit of a fanboy freakout when he first learned Chrétien de Troyes wrote a song about him. xD More seriously though, tales of Knights and Brave Deeds were what he grew up on before being stolen away to Faerie, and during late nights in the Brugh, when neither of them could sleep, Thomas would keep both himself and John entertained with the old stories his nurse used to tell him. Sometimes he even thinks of himself and John as a kind of reversed Arthur and Merlin. 

William of Lanchester was actually one of the Raven King’s apprentices in his youth. That first week within John Uskglass’s company was one of the most frustrating experiences in William’s life, and by the end of it he well and truely hated John Uskglass and his particular manner of doing things. It was just so much the opposite to William’s own approach? He swallowed it down and pushed on anyway, because he did want to learn, but he ranted to Thomas (who he got on with brilliantly from the start) a lot about John during those early years of their relationship. Thomas helped him stick it out, Thomas gave him space to vent and honestly? Thomas helped smooth things over between William and John when they clashed the most. “He takes growing used to. But he’ll grow on you, if given a chance.” Thomas would say to him. William would just scoff. “Yes. Like a fungus.” Yet by the end of his apprenticeship, William found himself as one of the Raven King’s most trusted advisers and closest friends – and the thing that surprised William the most? When he realized it, he wasn’t surprised at all.

[tanoraqui]

Oh hell, I’m stuck on my main nano thing. Let’s just…remember this? Okay, continuing in that style; warning: you won’t get that much out of this if you haven’t both read LotR (or at least watched it) AND watched Critical Role.

So, our story begins on Wilhand Trickfoot’s eleventy-first birthday, which happens to be his neice Pike’s thirty-third, and thus coming-of-age. To the excitement of all of the Shire who are invited, and all those who aren’t but will show up anyway (that is, the rest) there is to be a party of “special magnificence”…

The camera may pan first, however, to a simple cart trundling up the rode to Hobbiton. The cart is simple, but the man who drives it is not: skin naturally dark with tan, hair darker yet, woven with beads of gold, and purple robes worthy of a king—if, perhaps, a little worn with travel. And the contents of the cart! Simple brown boxes, yes, but the clever hobbit children already growing in a crowd, trailing behind, know what they hide. For they recognize the mark: a runic G.

“G for Gigantic!” they whisper not-so-quietly. “G for Grand!”

“I prefer ‘Glorious’” the man calls over his shoulder, or so he seems.

“What you are,” says another hobbit, “is late.” [the movies were very good, okay.]

She stands in a tree by a bend in the road, dark hair streaked with blue, hands on her hips, a little older than those trailing behind the cart. Just on the cusp of adulthood. It is, in fact, her birthday.

“A wizard is never late, Pike Trickfoot,” the glorious driver of the cart says sternly. But he cannot hide the laughter in his eyes. “Nor is he early. He arrives precisely when he means to.”

Pike Trickfoot does not bother to hide the laughter. She leaps as it bubbles out, without a care that she might miss the headboard and hit the fireworks instead. She does not, of course.

“Gilmore! It is good to see you again. Wilhand’s been worrying you wouldn’t make it.”

The Party happens. There are wonderful fireworks, including a raging white dragon. There is dancing, and singing—in no small part from Pike’s friend and companion Mr. Scanlan Shorthalt, just a few years older than she. Deft of finger and defter of wit, Scanlan was regarded as a bit of a rogue among the more proper Shirefolk, but always popular among the “wild” youth. And all agreed he could play the shawm as fine as you please, and a dab hand at lute and panpipes to boot. (For all that, Pike is ever-immune to his attempts to woo her, halfway earnest though they are.)

Wilhand gives a brilliant speech, and disappeared. He and Gilmore discussed old adventures, and older treasures. Pike gave chase, s far as Bag End, and inherited a ring. And, you know, Bag End. All of it. It was quite a lot. Really, what’s a single piece of jewelry to an entire household?

(Lol.)

Ought I start the story again, some seventeen years later? When Pike has lived on in Bag End, in Hobbiton, with its rolling his and gentle wind nd sun; its happy, homely folk and their busy farms, rivaled only by their busy gossip…

The latest, I hear, is that Miss Sybil Cotton is with child, and will not tell whom the father is. Some wonder if she even knows. Others, who could be worth protecting. Hobbits, though overall kind, do love a good gossip.

Let’s skip some of the boring bits, shall we? Gilmore reappearing in the dead of night, slamming the doors and flinging Pike’s ring into the fire. Dark words in gold, twisted and burning. A danger. A doom. A plan.

So: preparation. Pike hints that Wilhand’s dragon gold is finally running out, and sells Bag End—dear Bag End, dear childhood home—to her cousin JB Trickfoot, who is by far the least troublesome of her less favorable relations. A timid lass, but not unkind, nor full of avarice (beyond, perhaps, for books, and a healthy, hobbitly affection for mushrooms.)

Scanlan accompanies her as far as her “new” home of Crickhollow, but here’s the thing: Scanlan is a bit of a rogue. At least, he is chronically curious, and nearly as clever as that, and always loves great tales and very rarely took no for an answer. So, that night Gilmore told Pike the legend of the One Ring? He my have been…listening. At the window. And the book Wilhand had been working on for years, the true story of his travels, which he never let anyone but Pike read? Scanlan may have…read that. Just a little. Just a glimpse! (He had to jump back out the window when he heard footsteps coming.)

Also, he does know Pike, and it is clear that she is not just preparing to move houses. She is too sad. And Pike does not get sad like a simple hobbit, with a good cry and some beer. She gets sad like an elf, wandering the hills and growing distant, almost ethereal when the light hits her just right. There has always been something odd about Pike Trickfoot.

Scanlan thinks of many things, as he lets his best friend lie to him (for a time.) He thinks of how he has always dreamed of being part of a story: a real one, an important one, far grander than the little tales and jokes he tells in the taverns each night. He thinks of how Pike, whom he does love, is going into danger surely too great for any lone hobbit, and that he would fain even the odds, however slightly. And he thinks, with some guilt, how he, Scanlan Shorthalt, is really very nervous of being in Hobbiton, or even the Shire at large, in…oh, nine months time. Eight, maybe. The longer the stay away, the safer, probably.

Eventually…

“I’m not staying here, Scanlan,” Pike says quietly. There is an urge to fidget with the ring on the chain round her neck, but she knows that is a bad idea, so she twists her fingers together instead. “I know I made a big to-do about moving here, but the truth is…”

“You’re going to Rivendell,” says Scanlan, and lifts a laden pack from among the luggage they’ve dumped on the floor. “Don’t worry, so am I.”

(Already they have hidden on the road from Black Riders, who left a chill in the air as they passed. But still Scanlan grins, if only because Pike looks like he has hit her with a croquet mallet.)

In the Forest, they are nearly buried alive by a curmudgeonly old willow, and get saved by a bizarre man who calls himself Matt Mercer, wears yellow galoshes and speaks only in song. His wife is the daughter of a ray of sunlight, with hair like flickering flames, and when he puts on the Ring he smiles and does not disappear. [Confession: when convincing people to read Lord of the Rings, I often give them permission to skip the Tom Bombadil chapters. Amazing worldbuilding, Tom and the barrow-wrights alike, but SO useless to the plot.]

Here is more sensical worldbuilding: he town of Bree is the only one in all Middle-Earth, so far as the writer(s) of this tale know, where hobbits and big men live side-by-side, with only as much strife as most neighbors have. The inn is bustling, and well-ready for folk of both sizes. Pike and Scanlan welcome the warm beds, and warmer company, as it was another dark, terrifying race to the ford. All nine Rides in pursuit, their voices fell, their dark hooves pounding and dark hands reaching, calling—something in Pike’s throat, or at least around it, calling back—

Now, the hobbits drink in peace, in the warmth of a fire and a crowded, happy inn. But a stranger sits in a dark corner, and Pike cannot help but glance their way from time to time.

“Oh, that’s a Ranger,” says the innkeeper, Laina, when Pike flags her down to ask (and for another mug of ale.) “Minxie, that one goes by. She’s alright.”

“’Alright’?” asks Pike.

“Well, they mostly keep to themselves, Rangers,” says Laina. “Strange folk. One time…”

Pike loses track of the innkeep’s anecdote, because Scanlan has clambered onto a table and begun to play songs many minutes ago. That is fine—they are trying to be incognito, but even the dark forces of the world could not stop Scanlan from preforming for an audience, and Pike loves him for it. What was not fine is that now he has started to tell tales, which mostly meant gossip—and that, with the event so recent, meant Wilhand’s mysterious disappearance at his own birthday party.

“Excuse me,” says Pike, and dashes over to vault onto the table beside him. She pitches her voice to carry. “Good folk of the Greyskull Keep! I must thank you for your hospitality! Rest assured, when I finish my book, Bree will be well-accounted for as a town most welcoming, and most bestowed—and bestowing!—with great food, and ale, and company!”

She raises her mug, toasting the now-cheering crowd.

“That said, I think it might be time my companion and I retired for night, for tomorrow will be another busy day of—”

Maybe someone jostles the table. Maybe a crowd of tipsy, sloppy cheers left too much ale for to slip on. Maybe Pike has had a mug too many herself, and has lost her usual balance.

Maybe darker forces conspire. As she falls, Pike’s hand goes to her pocket, and as she hits the floor (really a very little fall) her finger slips just so, and the world fills with fog. Voices and shapes all muffled, though they are all exclaiming.

Pike crawls frantically out of the crowd, to the nearest corner and secure table under which to hide, and yanks the Ring off her finger.

No sooner has she stowed it once more beneath her shirt, than a big man’s hand grabs her by the scruff of her shirt and yanks her up. A big woman’s actually—Pike finds herself staring up, in mute terror, at the mysterious Ranger. Her face is still in shadow, but Pike can see sharp eyes, and a sword at her belt.

“You are foolish, and not safe here even if you were wise,” says Minxie. “I will meet you in your room, and we will talk.”

[wherespaulo]

Hiking from Porto, Portugal to Muxia, Spain

July 18 – 31, 2020

The Covid-19 pandemic had chained me to New York City for way too long -- after wandering around Central Park every day for four months I was ready for something different. But the surge in cases in the southern and western states, due to a president who couldn’t organize a piss-up in a brewery, meant that US residents would need to quarantine for 14 days on entry to most European countries. Portugal was an exception and had also just opened it’s borders with Spain – and after finishing the Via de la Plata and Camino Sanabres last summer, I was drawn towards the Celtic coast of Galicia in north west Spain. So I got tested for covid-19 three days before departure in the hope of getting a negative result to show to Portuguese customs – in the event I didn’t get the result (negative) for nine days, by which time I’d already walked from Porto into Spain, completely defeating the object!

I would hike the Camino Portuguese (Central Route) from Porto to Santiago de Compostela followed by the Camino Finisterre to Muxia, all over 14 days and 220 miles – although it would be easy going terrain, the heat would be a challenge, with much of my afternoon hiking in the upper 80’s/low 90’s F (shade temperatures) under a scorching sun. I would only carry a day pack, having my main luggage transferred between accommodations (small hotels, casas and alburgues) and would navigate using way-markers, mainly the customary painted yellow arrows, and John Brierley’s guide books. I would wander along two paths simultaneously – a geographical path of the body and mind, and an inner path of the soul. I hoped to get lost on both.

Beginning in the 9th century many Christians began pilgrimages to the tomb of St. James in Santiago de Compostela cathedral – the route from Lisbon became known as the Camino Portuguese. The Camino Finisterre from Santiago to Finisterre and Muxia on the Galician coast goes back even further -- local Celtic populations had a long tradition of traveling to Finisterre, toward that magical place where the living could get closest to the land of death, the end of the world where the sun died.

My starting point, Porto, had been on my bucket list for a long time and I wasn’t disappointed. The south side of the wide, shimmering Duoro was dominated by the port houses – a wall of 17th century red brick warehouses, each with a large sign identifying its brand. The 10 year tawny port was my favorite at a Sandeman’s tour. On the north bank was the main Roman city with it’s jumble of colorful facades and red terracotta roofs rising up steep slopes to the azure blue sky. As I headed north through Porto’s suburbs, it felt so good to finally fill my lungs and stretch my legs on a yet another adventure after such a long New York lockdown.

Over the next 14 days to Muxia there were too many beautiful stretches and towns to mention but here’s a few:

Ponte de Lima and Pontevedra were two of my favorite small towns, both named after their Roman bridges and full of ancient houses, pretty plazas and grand religious buildings. Ponte de Lima, one of the oldest towns in Portugal, is named after its famous 1.2 mile pedestrian bridge over the Lima River, while Pontevedra was an important Galician port for centuries and the birthplace of Christopher Columbus.

The most notable thing about Valenca on Portugal’s northern border is the enormous fortress built in the 13th century to keep the Spanish out. When I arrived it was too hot to fully explore the bustling 13th century town, set within the inner walls of the gothic and baroque military architecture. I did however stroll around a full circuit of the fortress’s outer embankment of yellowing grass in the cool of the fading evening and considered the hoards of Spanish armies which had attempted to conquer these towering walls over the centuries.

The following morning as I strolled across the bridge into Spain, I half expected to be interrogated by Spanish customs, but there was no-one in sight – not unexpected since the Portugal-Spanish border had been reopened on July 1st after a period of covid closure.

Some say the longer routes, as with life, are always more fulfilling. On the way to Pontevedra from Redondela I took the alternative route through thick deciduous woodland alongside the Rio Gafos, only 8 feet wide and full of fish, where I lost track of time as I forever meandered this way and that. It reminded me of the hypnotic effect of the Withy Windle in Middle Earth and half expected to see Old Man Willow or Tom Bombadil. I also took the alternative detour between Finisterre and Muxia to visit the Lires Estuary. The path leading off the main route to get to the estuary, through thick woodland, was not well marked, providing an excellent opportunity to get lost. It’s at times like these, when I need to backtrack to find my way in the confusion, that I consider the parallels with life, and how, in the end, everything will be revealed.

In Muxia it seemed like I was on the edge of the world -- after scrambling up to the Miradoiro do Corpino above the town, and onto the Virxe da Barca sanctuary, I sat on the rocks looking out into the Celtic Sea towards Brittany and the British Isles, and felt Muxia’s ancient pre-Christian roots. This all reinforced my desire to further explore the Galician coast and it’s never ending proliferation of isolated sandy coves somewhen in the near future, maybe along the Camino Dos Faros.

Meeting inspirational people outside my normal circle is always a big attraction for me – to be able learn something new from fellow pilgrims I’ve only just met yet feel so connected to:

Anna, 30’s, was staying at the same accommodation near Rubiaes, the Casa Oliveirinha, an immaculately renovated character property run by the friendly owner Fernando. As I sat reading a book on the patio on a scorching afternoon she came over and showed me the impressionist portrait of me that she’d secretly been painting while sitting in the shade of a fig tree. She then asked permission to do some Reiki on my feet to increase her vibration to which I duly obliged -- she deciphered my feminine side was on the left. A successful artist from Lisbon, now living in London, we walked some of the next day together towards Valenca where she displayed a propensity to view the world through a profuse spiritual lens. She explained how a dream had directed her to walk the Camino Portuguese and that she only ever bought one-way flight tickets, so she could decide when the time was right to return. I was envious of her approach to life, guided so freely by an inner voice.

It was during the stretch between Pontevedra and Padron that I met Martin, a 20 something from Germany. He‘d become dissatisfied with his first job out of university and hoped the Camino would give him some new direction in life. We walked and had many beers and laughs together over the two days – I hoped I’d passed on at least a small amount of useful wisdom to help in his quest.

I walked with Salvador and Helena, a young couple from Turin, on the stage from Padron to Santiago de Compostela. When we arrived in Santiago, as many exhausted pilgrims had before us, we formed a circle and they prayed for me. I was grateful for their concern for my wellbeing, a fellow pilgrim whom they’d only just met, and would like to think that their God would approve of their actions.

I walked with Gonzalez, 20’s from Madrid, between Olveira and Finisterre – his brother had dropped out due to severe chafing so he was now keen to set a fast pace. The last section was along Langosteira beach -- over a mile of empty white sand disappeared into a haze of cool mist, where each incoming wave of icy surf soothing our weary feet was followed by the hissing of it’s retreat as sand grains jostled for position between our toes.

[gurguliare]

obscure version - tom bombadil + the various speaking peoples of ME

You are like a little baby etc

Tombadil + Ents: gave Entwife refugees asylum after The Sauron Debacle but also like, super, super, super, super annoyed them.

Tombadil + Elves: idk I tend to assume he never lived in Beleriand actually although I may be forgetting... things... but I imagine Finwe Elwe and Ingwe might have met him on the initial trip west tbh. Orome: ok we’re going to stop at a friend’s hold on. Maybe had a part in dissuading some of the avari from the march? 

Tombadil + Men: He seems to be at the very cutting edge of future mortal fashion and it makes me wonder where he gets his... dyes. Um. Maybe he is actually slowing down the rate of fashion development in Beleriand by sucking out tailors’ dreams?

Tombadil + Hobbits: It’s kind of cool to imagine him maintaining Formal Relations of some kind with the Shire for a little while post-book, or like, one-sided formal relations in the sense of, they have an official set of laws codifying HIM and where you are and aren’t allowed to build around the Old Forest. I feel like he probably didn’t meet Frodo again though and it was one of those things Frodo realized he COULD have done once already on the ship and then like, was kicking himself over the missed opportunity

Tombadil + Dwarves: beard envy? idk. if we’re going with this idea that he’s lived in roughly the same spot for all of existence, or at least in Eriador, then it would make some sense for him to have had contact with the Blue Mountains dwarves. most of my interaction headcanons are just “when could he have been a waystation for travellers” so... something something... sheltering petty-dwarves or... I guess in connection with earlier discussion of the host of Nogrod I would suggest him rescuing a few soldiers fleeing from the Ents, if any made it that far... I mean I doubt he’d be SYMPATHETIC per se but maybe like, scaring them into running straight east

Tombadil + Eagles: I BET THEY CORDIALLY HATE EACH OTHER TBH. I MEAN. he’s SO FAT and QUICK and APPETIZING and brightly colored, ANYONE COULD HAVE MADE THAT MISTAKE

[garden-ghoul]

fellowship of the bloggening, part 3

“apple cider vinegar makes a pretty good substitute for lemon juice if you add enough sugar! I used it to make ginger tea.”

We rejoin our heroes as they are about to eat dinner

IN THE HOUSE OF TOM BOMBADIL

... we meet Goldberry, “the river’s daughter.” For some reason the floor is mostly covered in bowls full of waterlilies, which is honestly the aesthetic I want for my house. You can’t actually walk anywhere because the entire floor is a pool full of lilies. Goldberry is a nice witch. She can also tell just by looking at Frodo and listening to him speak that he is an elf-friend, which raises some questions about what exactly that entails... is he marked somehow? Or are those just characteristics that often lead people to be friendly with elves? WHAT DID THE ELVES DO TO HIM?

Goldberry also tells them that 

‘The trees and the grasses and all things growing or living in the land belong each to themselves. Tom Bombadil is the Master. No one has ever caught old Tom walking in the forest, wading in the water, leaping on the hill-tops under light and shadow. He has no fear. Tom Bombadil is master.’

THAT’S NOT OMINOUS AT ALL. Also, when he comes back, he has exactly enough beds and like, guest slippers, prepared for each of them, which is only more suspicious. Then he says he “heard news of them” (??? from where???) and repeatedly tells them to “heed no nightly noise.”  I feel like he’s going to eat and/or enchant them. And indeed, three of the hobbits have nightmares brought on by strange noises (later Tom Bombadil seems to know exactly what they dreamed. frightening??). Sam doesn’t, presumably because Servants Aren’t People. He’s too stupid to be afraid. >::( whatever! Being stupid is cool and good, I only like stupid people. I appreciate Sam.

Today is “Goldberry’s washing day,” which means that it’s foggy and wet. I LOVE weather phenomena being attributed to mythical figures doing mundane chores, doubly so if it’s actually literally true. Anyway Tom Bombadil tells the hobbits stories the entire day, or maybe for much longer than a day. Because he’s a FAERIE and I DON’T TRUST HIM. They are enchanted as hell.

‘Tom was here before the river and the trees; Tom remembers the first raindrop and the first acorn... When the Elves passed westward, Tom was here already, before the seas were bent. He knew the dark under the stars when it was fearless - before the Dark Lord came from Outside.’

What the fuck. Aside from the assertion that he was here before trees and rain existed, he COULD technically be a Sindar. But it sounds more like he was an overeager maia who ran into the level creator before anyone else had been at it and sat around until Yavanna came up with cool stuff he could play with.

That aside, tonight Goldberry is wearing fish-scale shoes. #aesthetic

Wow Tom Bombadil’s enchantment is so powerful that he straight up gets Frodo to hand the Ring over, almost without noticing. Tom Bombadil puts on the Ring and--doesn’t vanish! Frodo has to check to make sure it’s really The Ring, so he puts it on. Frodo, no! You’ve been Tempted! Hopefully this wood is too dark for Sauron to see into! o~o

Tom Bombadil instructs them to keep on the northwestern edge of the Downs south of the forest, so as to avoid the barrows and the barrow-wights that haunt them. I can’t wait to find out what exactly those are. And then they all go to sleep, tomorrow to face

THE FOG ON THE BARROW-DOWNS

Frodo dreams of “a song that seemed to come like a pale light behind a grey rain-curtain, and growing stronger to turn the veil all to glass and silver, until at last it was rolled back, and a far green country opened before him under a swift sunrise.” There is something so affecting about this line, and I know I’m not the first one to think so, I’ve heard this quoted so often. “A swift sunrise” is something so... it’s terrible. An alteration of reality that should not be. Primeval and at the same time clearly a portent of some awful (awe-ful) end. 10/10 for classy psychological horror.

Our heroes take leave of their relatively benign faerie hosts and go off along the northern edge of the Downs. They take a foolish rest in the shadow of a standing stone and awake near sunset, surrounded by fog. Like really, supernaturally thick fog that actually forms a dome around and over them, as if supported by the column of the standing stone. OH BOY! Our heroes go in single file through the fog, even though this is clearly a very bad idea, trying to reach the end of the Downs. Frodo, naturally, goes through some kind of magical gateway between two standing stones and is kidnapped by a barrow-wight, which is just a shadowy figure with glowing eyes; he wakes inside a barrow, in the classic funereal pose with hands crossed over his chest.

He saw lying beside him Sam, Pippin, and Merry. They were on their backs, and their faces looked deathly pale; and they were clad in white. About them lay many treasures, though in that light they looked cold and unlovely. On their heads were circlets, gold chains were about their waists, and on their fingers were many rings. Swords lay by their sides, and shields were at their feet. But across their three necks lay one long naked sword.

Fuck yes, this is SO tarot. It looks like barrow-wights want any traveller who passes by to stand in for their dead kings who were buried with their treasure. Frodo calls Tom Bombadil with the incantation he taught them, and they are rescued and the barrow broken open. Merry says a curious thing upon waking: “Of course, I remember! The men of Carn Dûm came on us at night, and we were worsted. Ah! the spear in my heart!” ...So it sounds like Merry at least dreamed of whatever killed the people who were properly buried in the barrow. Ah, yes, a bit later Tom Bombadil tells them that  Carn Dûm was the capitol of Angmar, where an evil king (the witch-king??) came from to defeat whoever used to be king in Eriador. And gives them all nice little swords from the barrow’s hoard.  For some reason he also prophesies their meeting Aragorn, and tells them to stay in the Prancing Pony inn when they get to Bree, which is where I believe they will meet Aragorn. Maybe Tom Bombadil is in contact with him? We shall see...

[edgeoflight]

Over Middle-earth Sent

@backtomiddleearthmonth Prompt and Path: Red Path, "I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night." Format: Ficlet Genre: Character Study Rating: G Warnings: None Characters: Aragorn Pairings: Aragorn/Arwen Creator Notes: And also for @silmread, At The Sign of the Prancing Pony Summary: Aragorn follows the hobbits from Tom Bombadil to Bree.

Evening was drawing down as Aragorn made his silent and weary way towards Bree. The rumours of Black Riders abroad was chilling; the thought that somewhere, unguarded and unprotected, the Ruling Ring wandered the wilderness between the Shire and Bree with Frodo Baggins was not comforting.

He heard singing in the distance, and cocked his head to better listen. Surely that was old Tom Bombadil, who he knew mainly by rumour and the occasional meeting. There were few among the Rangers who had ever seen him, but now and again Tom had sought him out to pass on messages and advice, often coded in nonsense rhymes that only became clear an hour down the road. Aragorn slipped behind a convenient hedge and watched.

Presently several ponies emerged, and on the backs of them, the hobbits he had been hoping to see. He breathed an inaudible sigh of relief as they discussed their destination, and the one who was clearly Frodo gave instructions that he should be called 'Mr Underhill' in Bree. As they moved off down the Road, he followed quietly behind, at a steady pace. Darkness fell, and the early stars began to come out.

Above him Gil-Estel shone bright and pure, as if to light his path, not twinkling like most of the rest of the lesser stars. He smiled up at the ancient ship over Middle-earth sent, wondering if in Imladris Arwen was looking up at that very same light, and thinking of him. His Evenstar, his light too bright and pure for mortal hands to hold...or so it seemed to him yet. That she returned his love still felt to him like a dream from which he had not yet awakened.

In his younger days, when over Middle-earth he had been sent on dark and dangerous journeys, he had made a habit of looking up at the Evenstar each night, of pouring all the love and adoration he felt for Arwen into those quiet moments, gazing upward in hope and wonder. Everywhere he went he had seen the Evenstar -- even in lands where the other stars were strange, Gil-Estel followed him.

He walked on into the gathering gloom, mind so accustomed to moving silently and stealthily that he could easily ponder the beauty of the stars at the same time. Ahead, the hobbits chatted quietly among themselves, voices sounding weary.

It was fully night when they arrived at Bree, and Aragorn slipped carefully into the shadows as the hobbits talked to the gatekeeper. The conversation went on for longer than he originally figured it would -- the gatekeeper was wary and had clearly caught wind of the Black Riders himself -- so Aragorn again turned his attention to the stars. The Evenstar hung low on the horizon, about ready to go in for the night, but other stars were coming out brighter and brighter now, all of Varda's fine work on display. The constellation Menelvagor was low in the south, as befitted an autumn evening, and not far off swung the Valacirca. With such lights to guide him, what need was there of fear? The Black Riders might be abroad and the world trembling on the edge of darkness, but as long as the stars shone above, there was yet hope.

Aragorn smiled to himself as the gatekeeper finally let the hobbits in. Turning his attention back to his task, he slipped over the gate behind the hobbits and melted away into the shadows of the night.

[kashyyyyk]

The Fellowship of the Ring (I) - Chapter 7: In the House of Tom Bombadil

man, I’m massively confused by this chapter, haha! who is this guy?! who are these people? what is going on :) pre-Silm me probably just read over all this, slightly annoyed by Bombadil’s weirdness or whatever, but now I’m like, okay he is a Maia, right? can’t be anything but, if he’s been around as long as he claims, and the whole deal with the Ring! and Goldberry as well, probably. we learn little about her apart from how lovely she looks etc (not gonna go there, these are books of their time).

or he’s possibly even been around before the Valar came to Middle-Earth??! that’s the idea I get from reading this chapter and am highly confused. which “Dark Lord” does he mean, probably Melkor rather than Sauron. perhaps, though, Tolkien was just writing here, before he came up with the Valar and Maiar etc and was like let’s have them meet this weird sort of “out of space and time” character yes good stuff. I don’t really know, though. maybe it’s because he’s not in the movies that I can’t really take him seriously somehow? (backwards thinking, I know but) he doesn’t seem to make much sense in Tolkien’s works as a whole. or maybe I should just read more background stuff.

another more shallow part of me also can’t help but think these damn hippies, they all be trippin’. and that’s just all there is to that.

also more dreams! (except for poor Sam omg) Frodo saw Gandalf escape from Isengard, right? dqksdjq I’m excited. 

[the-great-middle-earth-read]

FotR: Chapter Seven - In the House of Tom Bombadil

Frodo, Sam, Merry and Pippin follow Tom Bombadil to his home where they meet his wife Goldberry. After resting Tom begins to tell them about the Forest and the Barrow-downs. Eventually conversation comes around to the ring which Tom puts on to no effect. He then sends them on their way with directions.

Chapter Notes

Frodo's reaction to Goldberry is interesting. It's reminiscent of his reaction to the elves but "deeper and nearer to mortal heart". This reminded me of the difference between Frodo's curiosity about the outside world and his love for the Shire. Goldberry, who lives on the borders of the Shire, is linked to the Shire and Frodo's reaction makes more sense if she can be read as an extension of home.

So I don't know anymore about Tom Bombadil and Goldberry than what I have read so far but I thought as I was reading this chapter that they both seem to be connected to the land in some way. Goldberry's connection is more obvious as she is called the daughter of the river but I think Tom is also connected to middle-earth. They've both been hiding out there for a long time, Tom is the master as in no one or nothing have a hold over him and the ring doesn't affect him. I kind of read him as an extension of middle-earth almost - deeply connected to the land and that is why the ring (or one reason why) the ring couldn't affect him. The ring itself does not affect the land - those that wield it do.

Building off my last point I wanted to quickly discuss the singing. As Frodo and co eat and drink they find themselves singing rather than talking and it feels more natural to do so. If I look at this through my reading of Tom and Goldberry being connected to middle-earth than maybe what the hobbits are connected to is the song of creation. Sorry, I know that is jumping ahead to the Silmarillion but for those who haven't read it Eru Illuvitar and the valar created the song of creation which foretold the creation of middle-earth. Once the song had ended they went about creating the world as they had envisioned and the Song can be felt by some beings. I wonder if, by being exposed to Tom and Goldberry, the hobbits were able to sense it.

We also get to see another of Frodo's dreams in this chapter and this was where I realised something was up. He sees a figure standing on top of a tower with wolves at the base until an eagle swoops down and saves the figure. I won't say too much about what this just yet but I wonder if his dream was so detailed and important because he was in Tom Bombadils house - did Tom's power enhance whatever is going on with Frodo?

Theres a point in this chapter where Frodo tells Tom "more about Bilbo and his own hopes and fears than he had told before even to Gandalf". Frodo still misses Bilbo and fears for him and I wonder if the reason he didn't tell Gandalf these thoughts is because he is trying to act like an adult and not reveal his own worries. He looks up to Gandalf a lot and, especially with the ring business, doesn't want to let him down and so he keeps any worries that may detract from his put-together attitude.

I also get the sense that Frodo's relationship with Bilbo is special and means a lot to him and yes, of course it does. Bilbo raised Frodo and Frodo clearly cared about him. But there have been a few moments where Frodo has keot thoughts of Bilbo to himself. I wonder if this is because, if he voices them he is scared the Gandalf may crush his belief that Bilbo is alive and out in the world somewhere which is clearly how Frodo has thought of him all these years. He doesnt want that hope taken away.

[readbookywooks]

BOMBADIL GOES BOATING

The old year was turning brown; the West Wind was calling; Tom caught a beechen leaf in the Forest falling. 'I've caught a happy day blown me by the breezes! Why wait till morrow-year? I'll take it when me pleases. This day I'll mend my boat and journey as it chances west down the withy-stream, following my fancies!' Little Bird sat on twig. 'Whillo, Tom! I heed you. I've a guess, I've a guess where your fancies lead you. Shall I go, shall I go, bring him word to meet you?' 'No names, you tell-tale, or I'll skin and eat you, babbling in every ear things that don't concern you! If you tell Willow-man where I've gone, I'll burn you, roast you on a willow-spit. That'll end your prying!' Willow-wren cocked her tail, piped as she went flying: 'Catch me first, catch me first! No names are needed. I'll perch on his hither ear: the message will be heeded. "Down by Mithe", I'll say, "just as sun is sinking" Hurry up, hurry up! That's the time for drinking!' Tom laughed to himself: 'Maybe then I'll go there. I might go by other ways, but today I'll row there.' He shaved oars, patched his boat; from hidden creek he hauled her through reed and sallow-brake, under leaning alder, then down the river went, singing: 'Silly-sallow, Flow withy-willow-stream over deep and shallow!' 'Whee! Tom Bombadil! Whither be you going, bobbing in a cockle-boat, down the river rowing?' 'Maybe to Brandywine along the Withywindle; maybe friends of mine fire for me will kindle down by the Hays-end. Little folk I know there, kind at the day's end. Now and then I go there'. 'Take word to my kin, bring me back their tidings! Tell me of diving pools and the fishes' hidings!' 'Nay then,' said Bombadil, 'I am only rowing just to smell the water like, not on errands going'. 'Tee hee! Cocky Tom! Mind your tub don't founder! Look out for willow-snags! I'd laugh to see you flounder'. 'Talk less, Fisher Blue! Keep your kindly wishes! Fly off and preen yourself with the bones of fishes! Gay lord on your bough, at home a dirty varlet living in a sloven house, though your breast be scarlet. I've heard of fisher-birds beak in air a-dangling to show how the wind is set: that's an end of angling!' The King's fisher shut his beak, winked his eye, as singing Tom passed under bough. Flash! then he went winging; dropped down jewel-blue a feather, and Tom caught it gleaming in a sun-ray: a pretty gift he thought it. He stuck it in his tall hat, the old feather casting: 'Blue now for Tom', he said, "a merry hue and lasting!' Rings swirled round his boat, he saw the bubbles quiver. Tom slapped his oar, smack! at a shadow in the river. 'Hoosh! Tom Bombadil! 'Tis long since last I met you. Turned water-boatman, eh? What if I upset you?' 'What? Why, Whisker-lad, I'd ride you down the river. My fingers on your back would set your hide a-shiver.' 'Pish, Tom Bombadil! I'll go and tell my mother; "Call all our kin to come, father, sister, brother! Tom's gone mad as a coot with wooden legs: he's paddling down Withywindle stream, an old tub a-straddling!"' 'I'll give your otter-fell to Barrow-wights. They'll taw you! Then smother you in gold-rings! Your mother if she saw you, she'd never know her son, unless 'twas by a whisker. Nay, don't tease old Tom, until you be far brisker!' 'Whoosh! said otter-lad, river-water spraying over Tom's hat and all; set the boat a-swaying, dived down under it, and by the bank lay peering, till Tom's merry song faded out of hearing. Old Swan of Elvet-isle sailed past him proudly, gave Tom a black look, snorted at him loudly. Tom laughed: 'You old cob, do you miss your feather? Give me a new one then! The old was worn by weather. Could you speak a fair word, I would love you dearer: long neck and dumb throat, but still a haughty sneerer! If one day the King returns, in upping he may take you, brand your yellow bill, and less lordly make you!' Old Swan huffed his wings, hissed, and paddled faster; in his wake bobbing on Tom went rowing after. Tom came to Withy-weir. Down the river rushing foamed into Windle-reach, a-bubbling and a-splashing; bore Tom over stone spinning like a windfall, bobbing like a bottle-cork, to the hythe at Grindwall. Hoy! Here's Woodman Tom with his bill��-beard on!' laughed all the little folk of Hays-end and Breredon. 'Ware, Tom' We'll shoot you dead with our bows and arrows' We don't let Forest-folk nor bogies from the Barrows cross over Brandywine by cockle-boat nor ferry'. 'Fie, little fatbellies! Don't ye make so merry! I've seen hobbit-folk digging holes to hide 'em, frightened if a horny goat or a badger eyed 'em, afeared of the moony-beams, their own shadows shunning. I'll call the orks on you: that'll send you running!' 'You may call, Woodman Tom. And you can talk your beard off. Three arrows in your hat! You we're not afeared of! Where would you go to now? If for beer you're making, the barrels aint deep enough in Breredon for your slaking!' 'Away over Brandywine by Shirebourn I'd be going, but too swift for cockle-boat (he river now is flowing. I'd bless little folk that took me in their wherry, wish them evenings fair and many mornings merry'. Red flowed the Brandywine: with flame the river kindled. as sun sank beyond the Shire, and then to grey it dwindled. Mithe Steps empty stood. None was there to greet him. Silent the Causeway lay. Said Tom: 'A merry meeting!' Tom slumped along the road, as the light was failing. Rushey lamps gleamed ahead. He heard a voice him hailing. 'Whoa there!' Ponies stopped, wheels halted sliding. Tom went plodding past. never looked beside him. 'Ho there! beggarman tramping in the Marish! What's your business here? Hat all stuck with arrows! Someone's warned you off, caught you at your sneaking? Come here! Tell me now what it is you're seeking! Shire-ale. I'll be bound, though you've not a penny. I'll bid them lock their doors, and then you won't get any'' 'Well, well. Muddy-feet! From one that's late for meeting away back by the Mithe that's a surly greeting! You old farmer fat that cannot walk for wheezing, cart-drawn like a sack, ought to be more pleasing. Penny-wise tub-on-legs! A beggar can't be chooser, or else I'd bid you go, and you would be the loser. Come, Maggot! Help me up! A tankard now you owe me. Even in cockshut light an old friend should know me!' Laughing they drove away, in Rushey never halting, though the inn open stood and they could smell the mailing. They turned down Maggot's Lane, rattling and bumping, Tom in the farmer's cart dancing round and jumping. Stars shone on Bamfurlong, and Maggot's house was lighted; fire in the kitchen burned to welcome the benighted. Maggot's sons bowed at door, his daughters did their curtsy, his wife brought tankards out for those that might be thirsty. Songs they had and merry tales the supping and the dancing; Goodman Maggot there for all his belt was prancing, Tom did a hornpipe when he was not quaffing, daughters did the Springle-ring, goodwife did the laughing. When others went to bed in hay, fern, or feather, close in the inglenook they laid their heads together, old Tom and Muddy-feet, swapping all the tidings from Barrow-downs to Tower Hills: of walkings and of ridings; of wheat-ear and barley-corn, of sowing and of reaping; queer tales from Bree, and talk at smithy, mill, and cheaping; rumours in whispering trees, south-wind in the larches, tall Watchers by the Ford, Shadows on the marches. Old Maggot slept at last in chair beside the embers. Ere dawn Tom was gone: as dreams one half remembers, some merry, some sad, and some of hidden warning. None heard the door unlocked; a shower of rain at morning his footprints washed away, at Mithe he left no traces, at Hays-end they heard no song nor sound of heavy paces. Three days his boat lay by the hythe at Grindwall, and then one mom was gone back up Withywindle. Otter-folk, hobbits said, came by night and loosed her, dragged her over weir, and up stream they pushed her. Out from Elvet-isle Old Swan came sailing, in beak took her painter up in the water trailing, drew her proudly on; otters swam beside her round old Willow-man's crooked roots to guide her; the King's fisher perched on bow, on thwart the wren was singing, merrily the cockle-boat homeward they were bringing. To Tom's creek they came at last. Otter-lad said: 'Whish now! What's a coot without his legs, or a unless fish now?' O! silly-sallow-willow-stream! The oars they'd left behind them! Long they lay at Grindwall hythe for Tom to come and find them.