#but usually every time I watch boromir's death | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

marta-bee · 2 years

Note

i just saw your comment on the One Thing you don't like about the PJ movies, and I was wondering... what's wrong with Denethor?

(For context: I know the books inside and out, but I haven't watched the movies, so you can expect me to know everything in Tolkien but this is also an honest question. I'm scared. What did they do to Denethor??)

What an interesting vantage-point! Usually I see people only familiar with the movies asking how the book is different, but I don't think I've ever discussed him with someone only familiar with the books. Not that there's anything wrong with not knowing the book version, but this is new.

You may want to go to the bathroom, or pour yourself a drink, because we're going to be here for a while. Deep breath. :-)

Let's start with the family drama.

Denethor is a really bad father to Boromir and Faramir, Faramir especially. He flat-out tells Faramir he'd wished he had died instead of Boromir, which is a very twisted reading of the parallel book conversation (where Faramir asks if Denethor wishes Boromir's and Faramir's roles had been reversed). Denethor comes across as uncaring and even cruel.

But more than that, because they really did away with the lord's council other than Denethor and Faramir, the strategy debates leading up to the Battle of Pelennor Fields get reduced to a father-son squabble. When Denethor asks who will ride out to defend the Rammas Echor [though in the movies it's Osgiliath], he's not saying it to a group of commanders. Faramir's the only person there to hear him, so it comes out as very passive-aggressive. That means Faramir's decision to lead the charge isn't so much a commander doing his lord's doing as a son trying to prove his worth to his father. The revelation Faramir let Frodo and Sam go doesn't come across as a treasonous decision or an earnest disagreement on how best to handle it, but a son betraying his father. It all felt so pitifully small to me, and lacking the gravitas and thematic weight of the book exchanges. I don't doubt Jackson thought it was more relatable but for me it really hollowed out Denethor's character. It also made him manipulative, and that's even before you get into the whole Pyre sequence.

Second: as a ruler, he's really ineffectual.

There's no Beregond and Bergil, no well-organized evacuation, no him wearing armor under his clothes and working diligently to the point he barely sleeps, no rebuilding of the Wall or bringing in troops from Dol Amroth and all the rest to boost the city's defenses. Minas Tirith is much more ready to defend itself in the books than (say) the Rohirrim at Helm's Deep, and Denethor's great failure is he's so focused on Gondor's defenses it's committed him to too narrow a view of the war. But he's a remarkably good ruler on those narrow terms. In the movies he's just a doddering old fool and Gondor is not only unprepared, it's not actively preparing for war until Gandalf kicks people into action.

Part of that comes down to every movie having to limit its plot points and the details it gives. And I suspect PJ wanted to show why Gondor needed a king, why Aragorn was so important. But in the process he completely failed to show why Gondor was worthy of Aragorn; I remember thinking at the time that if it was me I'd rather have ruled over Rohan. And Denethor himself is just a humiliating shell of a man, let alone of a ruler. There's one famous scene set in the Court of the White Tree where he's raving about how Mordor has come upon them and they're all doomed and Gandalf just... conks him in the head with his staff. There are guards standing on duty, but they completely fail to react to his histrionics but also Gandalf's assault on him. And it's just pitiful.

That scene's actually a recasting of another book scene, the one where Denethor releases Pippin from his service and says they should all go find their death in whatever way seems best to them. But it happens much earlier in the movies, and without any explanation for why Denethor is SO given in to despair. Which leads me to my third reason why Jackson did our steward so wrong.

The movies also take away a really central explanation for Denethor's despair: the palantir. They do have palantiri, but really only the Isengard one recovered by Gandalf and Pippin. If Denethor had one it's never mentioned. Why Denethor used it is also never mentioned, so he doesn't come across as a man who'd fought valiantly but in the process exposed himself to "truth" too heavy to bear up under. It also doesn't explain why he's so sure they were all going to die, and why Faramir was as good as dead. He's just unraveling and comes across as weak and a poor ruler, never mind person.

That's frustrating enough in the scenes leading up to the siege, but you can only imagine what it does to the Pyre episode. More than a decade later, just thinking about that whole sequence just hurts. So I find I don't want to dwell on the details, but I do need to talk about one thing: shorn of any context for why he's so certain Gondor is about to fall, his move to immolate Faramir takes on a much more controlling --even abusive-- tone. There's an element of that in the books, but without any real grounding of why he thinks their destruction is so certain, it just seems like he doesn't want anyone taking control of Faramir away from him.

(He's also denied his stately end: instead of barring the doors and the tomb of the Stewards collapsing upon him, he turns into a fireball and runs all the way back to the Citadel and jumps off the stone outcropping. To say Jackson was showing his Harryhausen influences would be an understatement. :-) )

I try to remind myself that while Denethor may well be my Blorbo, he's actually a fairly minor character in the context of the larger story, and a lot of this may come down to where Jackson needed to center his storytelling. I can appreciate that. But a lot of it was just unnecessary, and robbed him of this high tragedy that made me so love the book character. I wept at the inevitability of book-Denethor's fall; with movie-Denethor, I just groaned.

#tolkien #lord of the rings #denethor #marta blathers #long post is long

39 notes · View notes

okay-j-hannah · 3 years

Text

Devout Hands & Rubied Apples

The Lord of the Rings : Fic

Faramir x Reader

Word Count: 3241

Warnings: Man I’ve always loved Faramir but holy frick I think he’d be such a loyal and caring husband 😭 I love wingman Boromir too

Request: “I’d love to request a Fic with Faramir where he and the reader (who was also apart of the fellowship) spend Aragorn’s coronation and the party that takes place after together. He’d slowly be building up the courage to confess how he feels while Boromir tries to be a good wingman. At the same time, Merry and Pippin are scheming ways to get them together. Just lots of fluff involving dancing, drinking, and cute interactions :)” @whitewolvesandwitches

A/N: In light of the Ring being destroyed, the fellowship find themselves in need of a new task. One appointed by Boromir to aide his brother in winning over the heart of their healer and friend

(Y/N) took it upon herself to assist in the infirmary as much as she could. After leaving the battlements relatively unscathed, ensuring the remnants of her fellowship were all right, she turned her attentions towards the wounded.

Upon entering the rows of stretchers enveloping the interior of Minas Tirith, she was quick to notice her companion Boromir. Strong and steady, the warrior was knelt over a makeshift cot wielding a man of similar fair hair.

“Boromir,” she muttered, resting a hand along his shoulders, “He will recover.”

The older man reached to touch her hand behind him, “I know. How could he not with you watching over him? You saved my life against the Uruk-hai, and you will save his life against my father’s poor judgement.”

(Y/N) frowned at the memory of being told the Steward had made Faramir’s condition worse even after sending him to his death at Osgiliath.

“I am flattered, but I’m sure he draws strength from your constant visits.”

“I would beg to differ,” the man she saw as a brother stated. He drew another stool closer as she took a seat to stay. “He is just as comforted by you as he is by me.”

(Y/N) moved a hand to feel the sickly brothers forehead. When she moved it towards his cheek, there was the smallest of movements as he nuzzled her palm in his sleep.

Boromir rested his elbows on his knees, covering his mouth with both his hands. His knowing eyes flickered to (Y/N)’s face, wondering if she’d have a reaction.

“What are you looking at with such a smile?”

“Oh, simply pondering your verdict.”

(Y/N) grinned back, “His fevers broken. It won’t be long before he’ll be walking about.” She let her hand linger perhaps too long on the scruff of Faramir’s cheek, for Boromir was clearing his throat and standing to leave.

“I must get back to the front. Aragorn is holding a council for his coming coronation.”

“Then get at it, Steward.”

Boromir flashed a grin, taking a light bow, “As you wish, Healer (Y/N). Keep my brother alive for me, will you?” He turned on his heel, trying to hide that smile that almost gave him away.

And watch over Faramir, (Y/N) did. Though attending to other duties with the quickly recovering survivors, she spent every sparing moment at his bedside. With him out of immediate danger, Faramir was moved to his own chambers, a soft pillow beneath his head and plenty of books for (Y/N) to choose from.

She became accustomed to a schedule of attending the infirmary then grabbing a tray of food and making way for Faramir’s room. She’d share a meal with him, trying to keep him awake longer and longer each day before he fell into another unconscious stupor.

When he did, she simply picked up the nearest book and read passages from it, sometimes saying them aloud to him. She found peace in those moments alone by his bedside. Chaos was attempting to be reined in by Aragorn, Boromir, and Eomer – the new lords of Middle Earth. And the sanctuary of Faramir’s chambers was always sought after a long day.

Though she was never far from boisterous visitors.

“Evening, (Y/N),” came the cheery voices of Merry and Pippin. “How are you?”

“Perfectly content,” she mused, placing a book marker on her current page, “What can I do for you?”

Merry put his hands behind his back, taking slow steps to Faramir’s bedside, “We were simply wondering when the last time you saw the light of day was.”

She laughed, curiosity peaked, “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“By our reckoning,” Pippin continued, at the foot of the bed, “You’ve done nothing but move between the infirmary, kitchens, and this room every day. You’ve done hardly anything else since the war.”

“We,” Merry gestured between himself and Pippin, “Are here to rescue you.”

(Y/N) sighed a smile, “I told you I am perfectly content sitting here. But thank you for showing such concern.” She had an impish tone to her words, “How are you healing, Merry?”

“Don’t you change the subject,” the hobbit retorted, “There is to be a party after Aragorn’s coronation, and you’ll have no one to see if you don’t leave this room to meet them.”

Pippin flickered his gaze between the bed and (Y/N)’s puzzled expression, but he added quickly, “There are many soldiers dying to meet the one that healed them after the field.”

She couldn’t see how Merry stamped on Pippin’s large foot. They weren’t supposed to encourage meeting other men of the field.

“You know I’ve got plenty of friends that’ll be there.” She thought of the fellowship and how joyous their reunion had been when the Ring was destroyed. “And I don’t much fancy being sought after by a handful of injured soldiers.”

“And why not?” came Faramir’s quiet voice from the bed covers, “Surely these soldiers have won the honor to seek your hand.”

“Oh, Faramir!” she said, standing to reach his forehead, “How are you feeling? You slept far longer this time.”

The young captain, though healed of his injuries, was still pale and weak from weeks stuck in a bed. “I’m all right. Your book reading keeps me well asleep.” He lingered his weary blue eyes on her expression, not wishing to do anything that would make her retract her hand from his face.

She was oblivious to how he was looking at her.

“Well, aren’t you going to answer his question?”

Merry stamped on his companions foot again.

“Oh, well…” (Y/N) seemed a bit flustered by the question, “I’ve never been one for courting, especially by strangers.” She moved her hands back into her lap and Faramir felt his brows slant in longing.

Merry and Pippin flipped their gazes between the two, peculiar smiles on their faces. Similar to the one that Boromir usually bore when he visited.

“What are you up to?” She questioned, “There is more than simply getting me out of this room.”

“You got us,” Merry resigned in mock defeat, “We need to get you out for a particular reason.”

“We need to speak to Faramir,” Pippin said in a rush, unable to conceal his excitement. A swift smack from his friend made him yell out, “Ow! What was that for?”

Merry sighed, “You have no tact, Pippin. Must be a Tookish trait.”

(Y/N) couldn’t help but laugh at her friends banter. The lovely sound made Faramir return his tired gaze to her.

“You could have just said so,” she said. “I have made promises to set up the festivities with Eowyn. Perhaps I’ll seek her out and start early.”

And once she had left, the hobbits were quick to let out the breaths they had been holding. Faramir, though still exhausted from his lack of energy, laughed at them. “I have a feeling Boromir has something to do with this.”

And speak of the man, Boromir inched his way into the room, looking around him as if to see if someone had spotted him yet. “Are we alone?”

“Completely,” Merry muttered, “(Y/N)’s off to find Eowyn.”

“Don’t worry, Faramir,” Pippin consoled his friend, “We’ve been putting in the good word for you the entire time you were ill.”

The poor man appeared entirely bewildered, shaking his head in an attempt to clear it, “Good word?”

“Listen to me, brother,” Boromir said, a kind of light in his eyes. “The opportunity is almost ripe for the taking. The coronation is in just a few days, and that will be when you strike.”

“Strike?”

“We’ll all be there if you need us,” Merry continued, “We’ve just got to get you up and about. You still look like death.” Him and Boromir offered to help Faramir into a sitting position.

Such small a movement and it had Faramir straining, “I still don’t understand.”

“(Y/N)!” Boromir stated with such excitement, “Now is the time to confess your feelings for her.”

That woke him up real quick. “(Y/N)? Have you three been scheming behind my back?”

“Only because you were on your deathbed,” Pippin shrugged.

Faramir ran a hand over his face, taking a deep breath, “I couldn’t possibly… how would I… like (Y/N) would actually…”

“Relax, Faramir,” Boromir smirked, “I don’t believe you have anything to worry about.”

“You should have seen her,” Merry sucked in his lips in exuberance. “She paid such special attention to you out of all the survivors.”

“Which brings us to why you have to get up, Faramir,” Pippin stated, “There’s a lineup of soldiers talking of charming (Y/N) at the coronation. You have to be better by then to take them on!”

Boromir raised a hand, seeing the slight panic entering his brothers face, “There’s no need to pick a fight with every man that comes her way. Because I am sure (Y/N) will pick you regardless.”

“You’re sure?” Faramir asked, almost breathless in his growing anxiety. “How could you possibly be sure?”

“You were not awake,” Boromir had a wicked grin, “She clearly has feelings for you. She is simply not as vocal about them.”

Merry urged him on, “I don’t see (Y/N) staying in any of her other injured soldiers rooms.”

The coronation was a celebration beyond anyone’s wildest imaginings. Aragorn was crowned King Elessar amongst a flurry of pale petals and ecstatic subjects. Friends and acquaintances gathered from every stretch of the map, offering bows of good faith and trust.

(Y/N) stood diligently beside those members of the fellowship she cherished most. Boromir clapped boisterously, whistling loudly above the cheers. It made (Y/N) smile.

Amongst the chaos, Boromir leaned around to get a better look, grasping someone near him and trading places. This new person bumped right into (Y/N), stumbling and finding that it was Faramir his brother had traded places with.

He gave her a sweet, apologetic smile, as if to say, “My brother is a menace.”

She blushed back, taking a step away from brushing shoulders with him only to discover Legolas standing steadfastly beside her. She caught a questioning, slightly smug, look on his face before retreating back to being shoulder to shoulder with Faramir.

She couldn’t possibly have noticed the minute glance the elf gave to Boromir over their heads.

And the newly made King Elessar came walking among his subjects, the fair lady Arwen on his arm. He peered at her delicate, radiant face with such devotion that it made (Y/N) blush. She could feel heat radiating off Faramir’s body against her shoulder.

She sneaked a glance and caught him staring at her, even as the King and his Queen trailed past. Faramir couldn’t seem to look away and in an attempt to appear normal, started clapping along with the crowd. (Y/N) couldn’t put her finger on it, but the expression on his face reminded her of the look on Aragorn’s only moments before.

When he looked upon his queen.

The festivities that followed were as celebratory and raucous as you’d believe, especially with friends such as Boromir and Gimli around.

(Y/N) had quietly followed Faramir and Legolas into the throne room, which had been decked especially for the occasion. A large feast surrounded them, fiddlers and minstrels in the corner, and grand chandeliers of candles above.

She found that within an instant Legolas had mumbled an excuse to leave, putting her and Faramir alone and at the edge of the party. She kept her hands folded and in front of her, a shawl gracing her back and elbows. A circlet of golden leaves and rubied apples surrounded her head, an extravagance that Eowyn insisted upon.

“Healers,” she had said. “You never do anything for yourselves.” And she proceeded to dress her friend in fine white gold and cornsilk trimmings.

It was Faramir that attempted speech first, “The crown you wear, I recognize it.” He had to lean forward slightly to be heard over the feast. “It is quite beautiful.”

(Y/N) hoped the dimness of the candles hid the crimson on her cheeks, “Thank you. Eowyn took it upon herself to dress me. She says infirmary aprons are not acceptable.”

Faramir laughed, “It suits your complexion.”

She swallowed hard; there was no way her cheeks were as red as those rubied apples. In a moment of silence she straightened the circlet nervously. Faramir appeared to notice as he opened his mouth to speak.

But (Y/N) got there first, “Eowyn told me of the summer wine.” She gestured to a table across the hall, “I simply must try some.” And she vanished in a flurry.

It was incredible how quickly his companions surrounded his shoulders.

“That could have gone better,” Boromir stated grimly, clapping his brothers arm. “I approve of the compliment though.”

“How could you possibly hear us over this crowd?”

Merry pulled himself onto a table of desserts, Pippin not far behind with a fruit pie in hand. “You’ve got her all in a tither already.”

“I’m scaring her,” Faramir frowned, trying to glimpse her golden crowned head amongst the wine glasses.

“You’re flustering her, brother, there’s a difference.” Boromir stroked his scruff, observing the surroundings. “We’re going to have to evade her defenses.”

Pippin popped a blueberry, “Back to the ways of the Green Dragon.” The hobbits shared a gleeful glance, skittering off towards the minstrels.

“What are you planning?” Faramir fretted, not wishing to frighten (Y/N) further.

Boromir waved an impatient hand, apparently deep in strategic thought, “It was not my idea. Though a clever one.”

“Must you be so vague.”

The line of fiddlers shifted in their seats, a new merriment in how they held their bows. Their hobbit friends trailed from them, grasping mugs of ale and finding the tallest table they could stand upon.

A quick, rousing tune filled the air and Faramir recognized it immediately as a sort of line dance. One that included trading partners and flying feet.

“Dancing is not…”

“It is exactly how we’ll sneak you into (Y/N)’s arms.” Boromir grasped his brothers shoulders and shoved him towards the forming circle of people. Merry and Pippin were on their stage, beginning a drinking song of the Shire.

He could already see a pale faced Eowyn greeting (Y/N) and gesturing towards the center of the room.

“Excellent,” he muttered, much to Faramir’s anxiety. “Hold her swift and don’t let go.”

A billow of fabric and laughs consumed Faramir, quickly caught by a fellow Gondorian. He looked at her petite frame surprisingly but recognized her friendly face. They danced a few paces, him memorizing the moves before passing her along – this new partner an acquaintance from Rohan.

Clapping and cheering surrounded them, the hobbits hyping the crowd with bellowing lyrics and chugs of ale. Faramir felt himself loosen as he grinned and tapped toes with different partners. He recognized many friends and shared a few laughs, though an old arrow wound flared in his leg.

He spun and found himself in front of (Y/N) – she was flushed from the dancing, but a delighted twinkle was in her eyes. He continued to smile brighter, taking her hand and twirling her as the dance instructed.

A laugh came from her strawberry rouged lips and he relished the noise, less afraid to grasp her waist as they danced about the hall. When the time came for him to pass her to the next soldier, he found himself simply trading places with him.

(Y/N) peered at him with a comical gaze, “That is cheating.”

Faramir shrugged, taking the liberty to twirl her again, “I simply could not let you go.”

This time she did not mind the butterflies in her stomach, choosing to grin back at him instead of running away. They danced like that, Faramir continuing to jump places with the soldiers so she only partnered with him, until the music died away with a flourish.

Everyone clapped, (Y/N) and Faramir included, neither seeming able to remove their eyes from the other.

“Your shawl,” he pointed out. It had fallen on one side and dangled from one arm onto the floor. (Y/N) twirled to grab the end, but Faramir lightly grabbed her shoulders, stopping her, “Allow me.”

He stood behind her, draping the fallen end around her elbow, smoothly linking their arms together as he did so.

She gave him a suspicious brow, though smiled.

“Care for a drink?” And he led her towards the refreshments arm in arm.

Behind them was a rally of stunned cheers from a certain fellowship as they watched the motion.

“Was the summer wine to your liking?” Faramir continued, not wanting the momentum of his confidence to falter.

(Y/N) was still marveling at the smoothness of Faramir’s actions, allowing him the grace of keeping her arm delicately through his. “It was far too sweet. A pity.”

He charmed her, “Perhaps the elven made wine, then? I can attest to its richness – I’m sure you’ll prefer it.”

She nodded, finding herself intrigued by the bubbling drink, golden in the candlelight. It was crisp and tangy on the tongue, a look of delight on her face as she smacked her lips. Faramir watched her, releasing her arm to find a glass for himself.

“It is delicious.”

He grinned, “I’m glad.” And his gaze lingered as she enjoyed her drink. It lingered so much that (Y/N) chose to stare at the bubbles in her hand then at that look. She was correct in believing it reminded her of the King and Queen.

It was a look of devotion.

“Earlier you told me you recognized my crown,” she spoke towards her toes, “What do you recognize it from?”

He settled his wine glass on a nearby table, “It’s Gondorian made – it comes from our family stores.”

(Y/N) grimaced, “Oh, I told Eowyn not to go snooping. I didn’t realize she took it.”

“It is no trouble,” Faramir stated lightly, “It had belonged to my mother.”

(Y/N)’s eyes widened, “I didn’t realize…” she immediately went to take it off, holding the circlet with a newfound gentleness. “Forgive me.”

“There is no need to return it now.”

She skewed her brow in apology, “This is far too precious an object, I should not be wearing it.” She offered it to Faramir, “Your mother was an honorable woman.”

Faramir held the golden crown with sincerity, gazing at the worn leaves welded upon it. He smiled sweetly, turning to (Y/N) and placing the circlet once more on her head. “My mother would be glad it was worn by someone as strong as her.”

He brushed her hair away, keeping his hands on either side of her face. “There. Beautiful.”

(Y/N) opened her mouth but found herself with no words to say. This time she returned his devoted stare.

“I have found myself growing very fond of you, (Y/N),” he whispered, “It would be shameful to leave this night with your face so apologetic.”

In an instant she was clear of the emotion – it was replaced with mingling shock and another delightful light in her eyes.

“The shame would only be my own; for my own misguided affections – I thought your fondness was only in gratitude for my healing.” That’s when he began to smile, “Then perhaps for the tolerance of your brother.”

He laughed, adoration plain in his features, “Perhaps I do feel those things. But first and foremost has always been for your heart.”

“My heart has always been open to you, Faramir.”

~~~

Buy Me a Coffee?

Tag List:

@caswinchester2000 @aria253264 @bippity-boppity-boopa

Remember to check out my tag list so you’re updated when a fic you like is posted on my blog! Tag List

#faramir request #faramir x y/n #faramir x you #faramir x reader #faramir #lord of the rings faramir #the lord of the rings #lord of the rings #return of the king #lotr #gondor #faramir fluff #faramir love #faramir oneshot #faramir imagine #the fellowship of the ring

266 notes · View notes

messiambrandybuck · 3 years

Text

Comfort

Word Count : 1,175

Pairing : The Hobbits x Male Human Reader (platonic)

Warnings : Coping with Death

Author's Note : This is set in the scenario that The Fellowship stayed together after Boromir's death. Please feel free to let me know if any other warnings are needed; requested by Anon.

This is probably going to be shite, as it's definitely not my best work; but I do hope you enjoy it lol.

A small shuffle of cloth sounds behind (Y/n) as he keeps watch, and he turns around to see two sleepy little Hobbits wrapped up in blankets, hair messier than usual.

"What're you doing up, Frodo? Sam?" (Y/n) says softly, noticing the way their eyes drooped with exhaustion.

"Can't sleep," Frodo mumbles, "can we stay with you?"

"You're very comfortable," Sam agrees, slurring slightly.

"Of course, come here."

Frodo pulls his blanket tighter around himself as they curl up under the younger's arms, against the warmth of his sides. He runs his fingers through their soft curls, and Sam lets out a content sigh as they both visibly relax. (Y/n) can't help but smile to himself at this, finding peace in their content; but as they fall asleep, it fades into a darker feeling that he was all too aware of during the night.

These Hobbits, they were too young to be in such constant danger. Frodo was the only one among them significantly past the age where they were considered adults, Sam and Merry only a few short years past that mark. And Pippin, the poor lad, hadn't even reached that age yet; he wouldn't for a good few years.

Yet here they were, a group of young boys thrown in the chaos of what would undoubtedly become a war. Day after day, forced to fight and live with horrors that no one should have to face. He promised them that he would keep them safe, in one of the first nights after departure, but sometimes he wondered: could he keep that promise? With such evils searching for them day and night, he felt his confidence deteriorate whenever the company paid him no attention. His body ached with healing wounds originally meant for the Hobbits, and his heart broke at the thought that one day he might not be able to get to them in time.

Frodo shifts in his sleep with the start of a nightmare, and (Y/n) quietly hushes him, gently stroking his cheek until he stills. Instinctively, Sam reached out for the older in his sleep; the need to protect Frodo inscribed deep into his subconscious. With reassuring whispers, (Y/n) guided the young Hobbit back into his peaceful sleep. There was no need for him to worry.

Since the start of this quest, he had become very close to these Hobbits, each of them holding a very special place in his heart. They managed to make everyone in the company smile with their bright nature, despite everything happening, and he admired them deeply for it. However, he wasn't ignorant; he knew it was taking its toll on them. He saw it every day.

He saw it in the way Merry didn't attempt to pull pranks anymore. The way Pippin would stare off into space for vast amounts of time, his eyes blank and void of light. He saw it in the way poor Samwise put too much responsibility on his shoulders. He saw it every time Frodo touched the ring without even realizing.

He tried his best to keep their spirits up; surprising them with special meals if he managed to scavenge enough, playing with them, even singing them to sleep if they requested so. (Y/n) liked to imagine it helped, but he didn't truly believe so.

"Bor... Boromir!"

Looking back at the camp, he saw Pippin tossing around, Boromir's name slipping past his lips so painfully that his sorrow was almost tangible.

Carefully moving Frodo and Sam so they lay on the ground as comfortably as possible, (Y/n) quickly made his way to the youngest's side, combing his fingers through the Hobbit's golden curls. His breathing was rapid now, forehead slick with sweat, and his face contorted in an expression of terrible pain and fear.

"Boromir!"

Softly hushing the young Hobbit, (Y/n) carefully pulls him into his embrace. "It's okay, Pippin, it's okay. It's over now, they can't get you."

Tears slip through his shut eyes, "Save- Save him! Save him! Boromir no!"

"It's all over now," (Y/n) says helplessly, his own eyes pooling with tears as his heart broke. Ever since Boromir died, it was all the hobbit ever dreamed about; one night he'd be begging to be rescued, the next he'd cry out for their fallen friend.

A whimper makes its way out of the blond's throat, and the man continued to whisper small reassurances to him, rocking them both slightly as he held Pippin close. The younger held onto his shirt as if letting go would mean the end of him, sobs violently tearing through his body. (Y/n) couldn't tell how long Pippin cried, for it felt like hours to him, but eventually, he grew too exhausted to make another noise. He fell asleep, mentally and physically exhausted from the force of his sorrow.

After putting the youngest back under his covers, (Y/n) walks to the edge of camp to resume his watch, away from the others. Resting against the trunk of a large tree, he took a deep breath, trying to force back his tears. He held back on grieving this long, if he started now it would surely wake someone up.

Soft steps walk up next to him. "Is Pip going to be okay?"

He looks over to see Merry staring at him with sleepy concern, and looks away in an attempt to hide the few tears that had managed to escape. "Despite common belief, the deepest wound cannot be healed, not even with time. It's always going to hurt, but one day he'll be able to coexist with the pain. We all will."

There was a small moment of silence, "Are you okay?"

"I'll be just fine, Merry," he says, though his voice wavers, "go on back to bed. We're planning on covering a lot of ground in the morning, and you need your rest."

Merry walks around so he was almost in front of the older, and holds his cheek. "You're allowed to be sad, too, (Y/n)." Merry says softly, "You don't have to be strong for us. Let us be strong for you once and a while."

The young Hobbit's words hit somewhere feel inside him, and a wave of silent tears flowed down his cheeks. Leaning against the tree, Merry guides (Y/n)'s head to his shoulder, where the man silently cried. The younger didn't say anything, only carding his fingers through (Y/n)'s hair as he always did with them, and occasionally gave the nape of his neck a reassuring squeeze.

"I'm sorry," the older manages to mumble out, only to be quieted with a small hush.

"Don't be... You have the right to grieve."

(Y/n) never imagined he would allow himself to be this vulnerable around the Hobbits, even if it was just one. He wanted to be the strong one they could count on without hesitation. And yet he needed this. He needed to be able to confide in the ones he cared for, and he felt the bond he had with them grow now that he had taken this next step.

#frodo #frodo baggins #merry #meriadoc brandybuck #pippin #pippin took #peregrin took #sam #samwise gamgee #bit of hurt #mostly comfort #fellowship x reader #hobbits x reader #platonic #aidan's works #ah this was probably shite but that's fine

110 notes · View notes

maaaddiexo · 3 years

Text

The Within Series | Legolas Greenleaf

Book 1: The Devil Within - Part 1.9

Mainlist | Serieslist

Nyx of Tyndall does not know love or kindness. Cursed at a young age by a jealous witch, Nyx has lived a life of solitude and death.

Until Gandalf the Grey requests her presence and uncontrollable skill in assisting a young Hobbit across Middle-Earth with nine others to destroy a ring so powerful all fall victim to its evil.

Not only must Nyx face Orcs, demons, and creatures she’s never seen before, but also the devil inside. Controlling the devil is the key to finding freedom in a spell that can’t be broken. But it will not be so easy for Nyx when every obstacle she faces pushes her to an edge she cannot return from.

Chapter Nine

Nyx slept soundlessly that night, which surprised her. She’d been dwelling on her decision to join the Fellowship the moment she’d agreed. She was tired. She didn’t want to go any further. And yet, looking into Frodo’s eyes and feeling no judgement from Aragorn, how could she possibly say no?

An elf woke Nyx up in the early hours of dawn, helping her into a warm tub and rubbing the stress away with a sponge. Nyx did her best to fight the anger at not being allowed to sleep in but she was aware of the water heating up a few degrees when it should have been cooling. Her anger was stronger than before. Harder to control.

Afterwards, the elf helped Nyx into dark pants – she couldn’t tell if they were brown or black – and a dark blue turtleneck tunic. Overtop, she was given a thick woollen cloak, black as night. Her hair was braided into two inverted braids which were then secured in a bun at the nape of her neck.

“Low maintenance,” the elf explained, standing up. “Will you be joining the others for breakfast?”

Nyx inhaled. Since her arrival she’d avoided eating in the dining hall. Being around so many people made her uncomfortable, which made it easier for the evil within to take control win. But she would be traveling with these people now for who knew how long. She would have to get used to it. But, perhaps, not yet. “Oh, um, no. I need to finish packing.”

The elf nodded and left. Nyx moved to the end of her bed, where Elrond’s gifts from the day before lay.

“You will need weapons, my dear. And not just this old…thing,” he looked at the scythe with disdain. The blade was chipped and dull, and the wooden handle was thinning where she often gripped it. The wood was also stained with blood, but it often was and Nyx had grown tired of washing the wood when she didn’t even see anyone.

“I don’t have any other weapons, Lord Elrond. I’m sure I will be fine.”

“Nonsense. Since your arrival, I have had my people working on some new weapons for you. Including a new scythe. Gandalf tells me you are quite attached.”

“It’s the only way I’m connected to them.” Gandalf had told Nyx that her parents had lived on farm before they had her. And though she didn’t have any memories of them, this made her feel close to them.

Elrond nodded and placed Nyx’s old scythe against the wall. “Then it will be waiting right here for you when you return. But you cannot take that into war. It will splinter on the first strike. Here,” Elrond lifted his arm and two Elves came in. One carried a thick bundle wrapped in cloth while the other carried a scythe made fully of metal, with strips of black wood running with the long handle from top to bottom.

Nyx ran her hand along it in awe. “It’s beautiful.”

“It is strong. It will serve you well. And here.” The second Elf unraveled the bundle of cloth, revealing two daggers with birch hilts and a knife with a red wood hilt. “For extra protection.”

Nyx smiled at Elrond. “Thank you. You owe me nothing and yet you always offer so much.”

Elrond smiled. “You are worth so much more than you think, Nyx of Tyndall. Soon you will see.”

Nyx smiled. “I really am sorry about your gazebo. And your Council Room floor.”

Elrond laughed. “Already forgiven. But don’t expect me to forget anytime soon.”

Nyx sheathed her weapons in the leather holster the Elf had dressed her in underneath her cloak. There were slots for her two daggers and the knife, plus an additional holster that she wore over her cloak. One strap went around her chest while the across her chest like a sash. The holster was on the back. She’d had a similar one before, but it seemed Elrond had replaced that as well.

Nyx knew breakfast would be over by nine, so she was in the courtyard at nine-oh-five, patiently waiting for the rest to arrive. Ever the punctual Elf, Legolas was the first to arrive.

“Good morning, Lady Nyx.”

Nyx grimaced. “Please, just Nyx.”

Legolas inclined his head, hands behind his back. He carried a bow and arrow, the bow made from a material unlike anything Nyx had ever seen. The holster for his quiver was similar to Nyx’s. His hair was braided the same as the day before: a small one going around each ear and a larger one for the hair on the crown of his head. He was dressed differently than when he had first arrived. He wore tall brown boots and grey pants. Arm guards over a grey shirt and a green elven tunic. He touched Nyx’s scythe, which she had in her hand at the moment. His fingers ran over a small inscription in elvish near the hilt of the blade.

“Dilthen lúg. Little Dragon,” Legolas read. “What does that mean?”

Nyx furrowed her brow. “It is what Gandalf used to call me…when I was a little girl. I almost forgot he used to call me that.”

“Why did he call you that?”

Nyx closed her eyes, but the memory was a good one. Those were rare for her. “I had the short temper of a dragon. Plus, my bad habit of catching fire made the nickname an easy choice for Gandalf. I used to find it endearing. Now, people say my name with malice and fear in their voices.”

“Why? You do not look so dangerous. Except, of course, for the large weapon in your hands.”

Nyx looked at the scythe as someone else joined the two of them and spoke. Aragorn. “Do not doubt her, Legolas. She has more fire in her than you think.”

Nyx looked away and took a few steps back, under an old stone arch. The two conversed and she ran her thumb over the inscription Legolas had pointed out. She hadn’t even noticed it until he’d mentioned it. She looked over at the Elf. He was laughing with Aragorn freely and she wondered how two people who’d seen battle and taken so many lives could still be so happy.

She looked at Aragorn. Though she knew he meant nothing ill, his words bothered her still, and she felt the anger inside her swell.

Take control of it.

Nyx leaned her head against the stone wall, closing her eyes and taking a few deep breaths. They didn’t work. It seemed she had less control over the evil inside her since she carried the Ring.

“Nyx!”

Gandalf was standing in front her, waving his hand back and forth in front of her face. The rest of the Fellowship had arrived but, thankfully, no one was paying attention to the two.

“Sorry, Gandalf.”

“What is troubling you, my dear?”

“It’s the Ring. It did something to me. I feel…angrier. The littlest things are making me angry. This morning, I nearly cut off the Elf’s head when she woke me up. And just now, Aragorn.” Nyx shook her head. “Maybe it is best if I do not journey with you.”

“Nonsense, my dear. You are one of us. There is more good in you than you think. Come.”

“The Ring Bearer is setting out on the Quest of Mount Doom,” Elrond announced. “On you who travel with him, no oath or bond is laid to go further than you will. Farewell. Hold to your purpose. May the blessings of Elves and Men and all free folk go with you.”

“The Fellowship awaits the Ring Bearer.”

Frodo turned nervously, taking the time to look at all the people who had chosen to accompany him on quest they may not return from. He walked through the group, leading the way.

The moment they crossed over Rivendell’s border, the air of magic dissipated, and Nyx suddenly felt it hard to breathe. She was at the back of the group with Aragorn who noticed instantly.

“Sacred Elven places suppress other forms of magic that is not their own for the sake of protection,” he explained. “Now outside of Rivendell, you once again feel the full force of the curse.”

“It wasn’t this bad before,” Nyx whispered, mainly to herself. “The Ring did something to me. To the curse.”

“Perhaps when we destroy it, you will go back to normal.”

Nyx didn’t know what normal was. “Do you really think we will destroy it?”

Aragorn was silent.

That afternoon they stopped for lunch and a longer break than usual. While Boromir helped Pippin and Merry work on their swordsmanship and Sam handed out plates of food to everyone, Nyx sat silently beside Gandalf as he smoked his trusty pipe.

Gimli, who was slightly behind Nyx and Gandalf, spoke surely, “If anyone was to ask of my opinion, which I note they are not, I’d say we are taking the long way ‘round. Gandalf, we could pass through the mines of Moria. My cousin, Balin, would give us a royal welcome.”

A sour taste filled Nyx’s mouth at the name of Moria, but she wasn’t quite sure why.

“No, Gimli,” Gandalf replied softly. “I would not take the road through Moria unless I had no other choice.”

“Why?” Nyx asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Evil lurks close there in the shadows,” Gandalf replied. “And since we are already walking straight into the fire, it would be best to avoid it when possible.”

Legolas, who had been watching the north, suddenly moved to the other side of the rocky outcropping to watch the south. He stared intently.

“What is it? What do you see?”

Legolas glanced at Nyx, who was squinting to try and see what he saw.

“Nothing, it’s just a whiff of cloud,” Gimli insisted.

“It’s moving fast,” Boromir stood. “Against the wind.”

“Crebain from Dunland!” Legolas shouted.

“Hide!” Aragorn shouted.

Nyx grabbed for Legolas, who remained where he was, quickly searching for the perfect place to hide. She found it nearly instantly, five paces from where they stood now. She dragged him along, tugging him under the curved boulder. Together, they tried to quiet their breathing and still their movements. Nyx heard everybody else scatter, their feet thumping against the ground as they ran for cover. She could feel Legolas’ chest against her shoulder and tried to match his steady breathing. It was hard but she managed to slow her breathing and calm the fire dwelling in the pit of her stomach.

The sky darkened with the birds’ arrival, caws piercing the air. Nyx saw their shadows on the ground in front of her as they flew by, circling the area before leaving in the same way they came. Slowly everybody emerged and watched the birds leave. Legolas looked back at their hiding place. From where he stood, he could barely see where they’d hidden.

“That is an excellent hiding spot,” Legolas admired.

Nyx shrugged and walked away. She was good at hiding. “What are they?”

“Spies of Saruman! The passage South is being watched. We must take the Pass of Caradhras.”

Nyx looked up at the snowy mountain, its peak hidden above the clouds. She grabbed her pack and tightened the laces on her boots. They set out immediately, climbing the steep incline of the mountain range. Nearly to the top, there was a grunt from behind Nyx and she turned to see Frodo tumbling down the hill.

“Frodo!” Gandalf called, unable to do anything but watch him roll down the slope of the mountain. Thankfully, Aragorn stopped him before he could roll too far and immediately Frodo reached for his chest. The Ring was gone. He spotted it just as Boromir did, lifting it up by the chain and holding it closely to his face.

“Boromir,” Aragorn said softly. The man either did not listen to him or did not hear him.

“It is a strange fate that we should suffer so much fear and doubt over so small a thing… Such a little thing.” He reached up to touch it. Aragorn called his name again, this time firmer. The man heard him this time.

“Give the Ring to Frodo.”

Nyx watched from beside Gandalf as he reluctantly returned the Ring to Frodo and ruffled his hair. She turned to the wizard. “I do not like the way he looks at the Ring. And I especially don’t like the way he looks at Frodo.”

Gandalf clenched his jaw, shifting his weight. “Neither do I, my dear. Neither do I.”

Part 1.10 ➺

33 notes · View notes

ainu-lindale · 4 years

Text

Just some lil' Observations During My 17 Billionth Rewatch of Fellowship of the Ring

Okay so in the prologue, for some reason I never paid attention to how many active verbs are used to describe what the ring does and how it goes about it's lil life. I don't often think about the powers and personality of the ring very much, I'm usually to distracted by my love for frodo ha

"It is no bad thing to celebrate a simple life." Love love love that, somehow never really heard that line before.

Uh oh. I'm becoming that person that unconsciously quotes all the lines as they're spoken.

I wonder if bilbo would've been a different old man if he hadn't had the ring in his pocket for decades

Tbh I am very impressed that bilbo just dropped to ring and walked out. Obviously it took some help by gandalf but still, to be able to leave it behind after all that time. Such a comforting thought to my poor little heart that hates to think about how long the Martin Freeman bilbo was slowly poisoned by the ring

Yall. When I was a kid the black riders gave me nightmares, and now they are like 0% scary

I've related to different characters over the years, but u know what I'm realizing that maybe I'm sam. bc I too would walk to the ends of the earth for frodo baggins.

Dear lorddd. That seduction of the ring theme - the one that plays at the v beginning of their journey as they're walking through the tall clovers and weeds under the trees - gives me chills every time. The use of voices in howard shore's score is MAGNIFIQUE

"If I take one more step it'll be the farthest away from home I've ever been". Have any of yall seen the 9 hour version of the movie that plays that clip every time sam takes a step?😂😂

Am I upset that they replaced merry and pippin's dedication to frodo and the journey in the books with comedic relief stealing-the-crops stuff? Overall not much. I think they get the characterization they deserve over the course of the movies. Ppl can just chill and let the movie be a movie. Tbh we need some comedic relief from this very stressful epic

Am I upset they cut tom bombadil? Also overall no. Again, for the sake of the movie, they gave us some stress relief with merry and pip and streamlined the journey to bree enough to where an extra stop for some reprieve wasn't needed. Dont get me wrong, it's a lovely part of the book, but I agree with the directorial choices to keep the movie's energy up

THE REFLECTION IN ARAGORN'S EYES WHEN HE LIGHTS THE PIPE. CINEMATIC MAGIC. also I'm just generally attracted to him anyway.

Me anytime viggo says or does anything:

Arwen's sword under aragorns chin is THE best introduction to our first legit female character I could ask for

OH MY GODDDDDDD. I think it's probably Elijah's hobbit-height double that viggo is carrying to the horse, and dear God that mask on him is so freaky looking 😂😭😂 Never ever seen that before

One thing I am just ever so slightly salty about is that they had the council of elrond be summoned to determine the fate of the ring rather than everyone coming on their own accord with their specific knowledge to lead to the collective realization that they are exactly the right group of ppl to form the fellowship

For the rest of my life, I am doomed to only think of the LOTR How It Should Have Ended during the council of elrond scene. 12 year old me really screwed herself by watching the same 5 YouTube videos on endless repeat

The solo French horn that plays the gondor theme while boromir is speaking is so subtle but increeeeeeeedibly powerful. It's just different enough from the other themes introduced so far that for that moment it takes me so much deeper into the world of middle earth ??

Just noticed the wink between gandalf and elrond when aragorn offers to help frodo. Their last conversation ended with "he turned away from that life long ago. He has chosen exile" and now aragorn is giving up his preferred solo life for the sake of frodo and for the world. Look how the turntables, elrond

Boromir's lil "sorry!" when he accidentally cuts Merry's hand 😭

"Boromir! Give the ring to frodo!" "As you wish." Boromir loves aragorn

The humans carrying two hobbits at a time to keep them safe from the snow😭😭😭

Literally Gandalf can you please just tell frodo that there is a balrog down in moria!!! This is not informed consent!!!!

Lake monster outside moria = aquatic sarlacc

We as a Society™️ need to spend more time listening to gandalf's words to frodo while chilling in moria

The chanting during the chase in khazad dum gives me similar vibes as the "track down this murderer" voices at the end of phantom of the opera. ..uh oh so I'm getting too tired to elaborate on my thoughts

I've watched Gandalfs 'death' too many times that it's not the fall itself that makes me cry anymore, but it's frodo's reaction outside that gets me now. Also the soprano voice singing (renee fleming?)

Oh my god I just heard for the first time boromir's line in lorien "i did not see it", referring to Galadriel telling him there's still hope for his people. That's the same thing he says right before he dies and I finally understand what he meant. He tried to take the ring from frodo bc the ring overwhelmed him completely with a sense of despair, convincing him that using the ring was their only option to survive. And oh my gosh it's how galadriel knew that boromir was going to try and take it. She knew he had lost hope. Wow it took me waaay too long to catch that. It's the specificity of it all that I didn't catch, not necessarily the fact that boromir thought the ring was the only way

Boromir's death hit different this time yall. With a better understanding of what was going on in his head, just ..... I may or may not have cried a lot more than usual

Soooo strategic of howard shore to have let a long time pass without hearing the Shire theme before it plays when frodo and sam hug on the boat. Every. single. damn. time. that moment gets me. The power of MUSIC people.

Aaaaaaaaaand credits roll

#dont judge me for realizing these things so late #the problem w seeing a movie in early childhood for the first time means that my brain has found rhythms of the details it pays attention to #and literally ignores everything else #🙃#but it's also the joy or rewatching!#always something new #lotr #fotr #lotr: fellowship of the ring #fellowship of the ring #frodo baggins #samwise gamgee #gandalf #boromir #aragorn #viggo mortensen #ian mckellen #tolkien

39 notes · View notes

mediawhorefics · 4 years

Note

45 & 51!

45. Name a movie that made you cry uncontrollably?

‘boy a’ really fucked me up. only seen it twice (2x in a row) and i cried for like..... 30/40 min after it was done and then i never watched it again. and when i say i cried... i mean i was curled up in a ball in bed sobbing for 40 min. it was.... Bad.

pride too. didn’t cry for almost the entirety of the film, got to the end and just....... sobbed for about 30min after it was over. it was like... 1am as well and i was trying not to wake up my flatmate :/

then there’s the usual suspects that i cry at no matter how many times i’ve seen it:

like..... yes i have seen boromir die dozens of time and yes i will sob dramatically as tho it’s the first time every single time.

i mean, you show me the pictures of rose’s incredible accomplishments and beautiful & happy & fulfilled life and i am GONE. that’s my GIRL and she LIVED a full life brb i need a full tissue box.

51. Your favourite book adaptation turned movie?

i obvs only can comment on stuff i’ve both read AND seen but.... i mean, it HAS to be lotr ?????? it was made with such love for the original and craftsmanship and care and passion and genuine desire to tell the story.

i’m actually not THAT fussed when it comes to adaptations.... i don’t mind scenes being altered/missing, plot points or characters changed and that kind of stuff in order to accommodate the new format... the only thing that matters to me is that the core theme/message/essence of the story be respected. and for it to be a good movie independently of the book. which.... a lot of studios somehow.... still.... manage to fuck up....... even at that bare....... minimum.............. don’t ask me about voldemort’s on screen death because that shit ruined the entire message of hp and i’m still pissed af 9 years later :))))) or whatever the fuck they did to the hunger games marketing :)))))))

a few others i think did a good job: trainspotting, p&p (2005), the first twilight, love simon, not a movie but the first season of outlander is kind of perfect, tsn is technically based on a book and its stellar

*୭✧˚₊television & film ask game! ₊˚✧୭*

#about me #whatevertearsyou

3 notes · View notes

alexenglish · 5 years

Note

1, 16, 32? :)

1. Talk about the first ship you ever had.

I’m not sure if it was really my first but the one I remember was watching LOTR asking my mom if aragon and boromir were boyfriends because boromir’s death scene was the most tender moment I’d ever seen in my young life.

16. Talk about a ship you initially disliked.

uhhh I have a book series called shades of magic and like the MAIN ship I was not sold on until the very last book. I’m not even sure if I’m sold on it now but I respect the hustle.

32.Share five must-read fics.

this is honestly SO hard for me, I’m just gunna go with my gut. I know so many good writers, narrowing it down to FIVE augh. I’ll try to get most of my major fandoms I’ve had in here!

I've Got Nothing To Do Today But Smile (The Only Living Boy in New York) by gyzym Inception, Arthur/Eames, T, a well-worn love, a comfort fic if you will. Inception is definitely a fandom where I prefer canon fic so of course an AU is going to be my favorite. I think it’s absolutely a necessary read if you’re in Inception fandom. it turned 9 this year, it’s got a lot of love attached to it.!

There's Monsters at Home by calrissian18 Teen Wolf, Sterek, E, monster of a fic, Spark!Stiles. every overdone cliche done to perfection, I think about this fic often and fondly. I thought the author captured Derek’s anger and trauma beautifully, and wrote Stiles into this AU in a way that was believable and enjoyable. usually overpowered versions of bamf!Stiles don’t do it for me, but I loved this fic so much. it’s my very last bookmark because it’s my oldest, most favorite fic on AO3.

it hurts to become by dinosaur, part of the infinity times infinity seriesOne Direction, OT5. finding this fic and @wepush felt like magic. I genuinely can’t describe the feeling I get when I read this fic, like hurty and healing and being seen in a way that feels wildly and uncomfortably intimate. I’ve thought about this fic so much, cried over it, loved it deeply. the first time I read it, I was filled with that soft kind of envy you get when you wish you wrote something. the second time, I was filled with relief that it existed and I got to read it. a must read for the poetry of the whole thing, the beautiful gender lense that Di brings to every fic, and the superior Niall pov.

What the Hell Do You Expect? Emotional Transparency? by clarz Bangtan, Hopekook. a masterclass in emotion tbh. I’ve waxed poetic about @clarz for years because I’ve had the honor of calling her one of my soulmates, brainstorming with her, and collaborating with her on a large scale projec, but this is another caliber of amazing. it was my first Bangtan fic and is still my favorite. Clara is an astounding, immersive, talented writer and it’s showcased in every word of this fic.

Protostellar by ninamonday Bangtan, Namkook, reincarnation/soulmate AU. my love of sci-fi, she prevails! this fic is absolutely beautiful. it’s stunningly written, and the plot is handled so well. I absolutely could not put it down. it’s just one of those fics that really stays with you for a long time.

#shipping meme #thank you!!#allirica #mic check

3 notes · View notes

acelucky · 5 years

Text

Sailing into the Past

Pairing: Bilbo x Thorin Warnings: A little angst Word Count: 2,887

Summary: Before sailing into the West, Bilbo has some time to reflect in Rivendell. His thoughts are often with one particular Dwarf, but when Pippin questions him on how his adventure changes him, memories and emotions come flooding in and Bilbo hopes on this new adventure he will be reunited with his love.

I loved writing this (although it made me a little sad) I wrote it as part of my work for NaNoWriMo 2018. Usually my Hobbit/lord of the rings material ends up 'Mature/Explicit' so I was happy with it!

I took a few liberties with story-line/plot points etc to make this fit, but I think it works okay!

Merry and Pippin stood side by side, looking into the mirror, studying their own reflections. Whilst only a short period of time had passed when considering the life span of hobbits since setting out from The Shire, they both appeared weathered and years older than they were. Decades even Pippin would say, though Frodo would laugh and accuse Pippin of exaggerating as he often did.

“You don’t suppose things can go back to how they were before, do you Merry?”

Merry turned to his friend, “No Pippin, I think that ship has long since sailed.”

Pippin smiled a sorrowful smile, “That’s what I was afraid of.”

“But dear friend, we’re alive and can enjoy all the food, ale and smoking our hearts desire,” he nudged Pippin who laughed in response and put his arm around the other.

“Yes, that is what I can live for.”

“I wonder will our lives ever go back to how they were before?” Pippin asked, a little amount of trepidation evident in the way he spoke.

Merry searched his face in the mirror, he wanted to lie to Pippin, to offer some release from the worry that plagued him, but felt unable to, “No, not entirely at least, but that isn’t a bad thing.”

Pippin nodded, he didn’t need to say anything further. Since returning to The Shire from their adventure life had indeed been different. Some folk acted the same as if they’d never been away, others as if they’d seen a ghost. But it was hard to go about one’s gardening or cooking in quite the same way as they had before. They both thought of Boromir often, to loose someone so dear to them and have to continue without them was a struggle only the other knew.

Now they were back in Rivendell, Gandalf had invited the four hobbits along to say goodbye to Bilbo as well as himself, Elrond and Galadriel. Their small merry party was now a sorrowful one, though they did not regret coming on one last little adventure.

They both turned from the mirror and walked out onto the balcony.

“I don’t think we’ll ever see anywhere as beautiful as this,” Merry sighed as he admired the view and pulled out his pipe.

Pippin, ever curious, ever the innocent looked up at Merry, “But what about The Shire.”

Merry took a puff on his pipe and patted Pippin on the shoulder, “Yes Pippin, I think home might beat this.”

Bilbo was sat close to them on the edge of the balcony with his eyes closed on a bench, his hands were on his walking stick. He was smiling, clearly enjoying the peace the Elven realm had to offer.

Merry and Pippin approached carefully, afraid to scare the much older hobbit and wanting to remain respectful as they did so. They sat on a bench next to him, Bilbo’s nose twitched as he sensed their presence.

“Hello my dear boys.”

Bilbo opened his eyes and smiled fondly at the hobbits, “Care to join me for a smoke?” They both nodded in agreement and the three of them sat staring out at the waterfall in silence for a moment as they smoked.

“Bilbo,” As Pippin spoke Merry shot him a warning look.

“Yes?” Bilbo sounded frail as he spoke.

“You’ve been on a great adventure yourself, how did it change you? Did you lose people too?”

“Ahhh dear boy,” there was a twinkle in his eyes as he spoke that seemed to the others like it might be tears.

“I’m sorry if I’ve overstepped a line,” Pippin jumped off the bench.

“Not at all, it changes you, yes, how could it not?” Bilbo spoke slowly, he himself shuffled forward on the bench and then hobbled over to the ledge. “Ahh I remember the first time I came here, I never thought I would see something so beautiful and was sure I would never see something as beautiful again…”

“And did you?” Merry asked.

“No, I saw a great many wonders, beauty beyond compare and yet, nothing came close to this.” He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, his hands rested on the marble, there was a sorrow in his voice of the likes the hobbits had not heard before.

“And loss,” He turned to them, “Yes, I know all about loss.” He looked beyond them, deep in thought, caught up in his memory of things that had been, things that were and the memories he would never know.

He thought of Thorin Oakenshield, his bronzed skin, the way he imagined he would have looked working in a kiln. He thought of the last time he saw him, of the party tree that grew back in Hobbiton.

Tears welled in Bilbo’s eyes as he remembered the promised they had made to one another in the shadows, how he knew he had softened the dwarf’s heart. They had kissed just once, cuddled into one another, the nights were long and cold, dangerous too. So no one could have questioned how close they were to each other or blamed them for that closeness. The kiss had been the kindest he had ever known, soft, loving, Thorin’s beard scratched against his smooth skin. Bilbo would have done anything in that moment to have felt it once more. He would have forsaken his own life had it meant he could have spent a single other evening with him.

His thoughts then went to Kili and Fili, two brave young souls who were taken from the world far too young. Was that the price of war? The price of power, such a loss, such a pity. He felt himself shake at the mere thought of their faces, the smell, the way they’d braided one another’s hair. It felt like a lifetime ago that he had fed an apple to Bill the pony and talked nonsense to him at night. That he had taken a bowl of Bombur’s fabulous stew to the two Princes, and they had watched the trolls. He thought of the dwarf spit above the fire, of Smaug, a dragon, a hobbit facing off a dragon! Fancy that! He thought of the splendour of Elven halls and Dwarven halls, of Thranduil riding a great, silver elk.

He thought of all of the dwarves, how long it had been since he had seen their faces. Gandalf had informed him of the deaths of Balin and Ori, his heart had broken then. He had gone a life time believing he couldn’t have stood any further grieve, but the ring had protected him from all that pain, shielded him from the real world.

“Bilbo?”

Bilbo opened his eyes and saw Merry and Pippin stood either side of him, a hand gently on each of his arms.

Bilbo shed a tear, “Sorry lads, didn’t mean to get lost in my thoughts, that adventure I went on. I told the story so well to all the children, I told them of all the fun, excitement, all the good bits. But ahhh the bits I missed out, the things I always tried to protect others from. Yes, dear boys, I know all about loss, what it is like to lose some of your closest, dearest friends, to lose the person you hold most dearest in the world.”

“We’re sorry Bilbo.”

“Ahhh it was a lifetime ago, and now I prepare to sail into the Grey Havens, maybe perhaps there I will finally find peace and be able to close this chapter of my life.”

“How do you deal with it?”

Merry shot Pippin another warning glance, “The grief I mean, how do you live with it?”

Bilbo shuffled a little on the spot and then smiled fondly, “By holding onto the memories, by holding onto those you love, by holding onto one another. Nothing lasts forever, everything comes to pass in the end and that my dears is a great comfort to me. You get through it because you must, you survive because instinct tells you to and because others need you. For the most part of my older life I was somewhat of a recluse, true, I wasn’t overly fond of others at times and loved my books a little too much, just like when I was young. But… three things got me through.”

Merry and Pippin hung on his every word, expecting the answer to their woes to fall from his lips.

“Firstly, I watched the oak tree grow, I planted that acorn when I got back from my adventure and every year it grew little by little. That has been one of my greatest joys and sources of comfort, watching something grow which I had given birth to in a sense. Secondly, Frodo, my dear nephew, watching him grow, telling him and all the other children of my adventures, that was another source of comfort to me. Thirdly, my book, writing about my adventures and especially reliving the best bits, that gave me a great comfort.”

Bilbo started to walk, “Come with me, let us go speak with Elrond and he shall console you further, as once he did to me.”

The two hobbits walked alongside Bilbo, helping him to walk, in his old age he struggled so they took an arm each and steadied him.

“Bilbo there you are!” Frodo’s optimistic voice called across.

“Ahhh come join us on our walk my dear boys.”

Frodo and Sam joined the others, the five hobbits happily walking in silence for some time, just happy to be in one another’s company and listen to the sound of the running river and birds high in the trees.

“There you are,” Gandalf’s voice boomed across at them, there was no anger in his voice however, he just seemed tired now and older than before. He looked with fondest at the oldest hobbit, tilted his head to the side and smiled, “Come Bilbo, it is time.”

Bilbo nodded in agreement, his hand reaching out for Gandalf’s. They followed him to a carriage, there were just a few ready to sail out to the final boat.

As he sat in the carriage he pulled his blanket up around him, it was the same blanket he and Thorin had used all those moons ago. He knew there was no way he could still smell the great Dwarven King and yet he would still pull it up to his nose and inhale deeply. For it made him feel safe.

His only hopes from life now were that he could sleep forever and in his dreams be reunited with his only love. The thought of seeing Thorin again, of his warm embrace, the smile he had, stroking his hair, made him weep.

He hoped that in the next world he would appear in the great halls under the lonely mountain, there would be tables covered in food and wine, glowing candles and the riches were not that of silver nor gold, but of friendship and love. The kind that warmed your heart to your belly and your very soul.

“Bilbo, you have changed me,” Thorin’s words echoed in Bilbo’s mind. He had to shake his head as if trying to get rid of them, it wasn’t a bad memory, just painful and he didn’t want the other hobbits to see him sad.

Bilbo felt like nothing in Thorin’s arms, weightless, as a feather carried by a great, rapid current. Thorin was the storm that raged and Bilbo was the calm ocean after a storm.

“If we make it out of this alive, I will smother you with riches beyond your wildest dreams.”

Bilbo had shaken his head to this, “No, Thorin, I don’t want riches of that nature, I only want you,” he wrinkled his nose, “I’ve spent my whole life wondering about love, whether I would ever find it or not. I always thought I was a little strange, everyone else seemed so happy, crazy in love even…. and yet there were many pretty hobbits, beautiful women, I enjoyed to look at them, they were pleasing on the eye you see, the same way a well arranged garden is or a warm hearth. I loved many women, but not in the way you read about in story books… I thought I would never find love, but you, the moment I saw you back in Bag End I just, anything that was frozen inside me was instantly melted.”

Thorin had stroked his hair, “I cannot imagine you with a frozen heart at all.”

Bilbo nodded, “It’s true you know.”

Thorin chuckled, “No, I won’t have it, not my Bilbo,” he leant forward and rubbed his nose against Bilbo’s.

They had spent one night laid by one another’s side, when the others weren’t looking they would steal glances at one another, small smiles, the kind of facial expression that others could easily miss. There was a point when Bilbo thought Fili and Kili might have guessed, they noticed the looks between their Uncle and the hobbit and had given one another knowing glances before whispering away from the others so no one else could hear.

The day at Erebor when Thorin ordered the others to take Bilbo’s life for stealing the Arkenstone had nearly broken Bilbo’s heart. Even now, after all of these years when he thought back on it he felt a great sorrow that in the end even his love wasn’t quite enough to break the terrible spell that had taken ahold of his love.

The way Thorin’s voice had changed, the anger in it, the sound of portrayal. Bilbo had begged, had wished that Thorin would see he had made the choices he had to protect the dwarf, for Thorin was behaving as no good King would. Bilbo had done it to save him, he believed that in his dying moments realisation had washed over Thorin and he knew this to be true.

The moment Thorin’s eyes had closed, Bilbo wished the world could have sucked him up, taken him with him. A world without that adventure, without the happy ending that Thorin had promised him, barely seemed like a life he wanted to live.

But then there was Gandalf, Gandalf had given him the strength he needed to return him and continue with his life, to write down his tale so that Thorin, Fili and Kili would live in forever, so that their story would pass into the halls of fame and through the valley of Kings.

Bilbo’s thoughts kept him company during the short journey to the shoreline. Dismounting from the carriage, Bilbo stared at Frodo, Samwise, Merry and Pippin, he wondered how they felt when they returned home for the first time. Did their homes seem as empty as his had? Did material possessions now seem worthless to them as they had to him? He pitied them in a way and in anther he felt glad, they had their wholes lives ahead of them and plenty of joy to come, more adventures, love, they would have the chance to move on from whatever terrors they had seen.

When he arrived in the white harbour he had the same reaction he had had when he saw both Rivendell and Erebor for the first time, he was blown away by it’s beauty. The ship that was awaiting for him was a gorgeous, carved, elven ship. Galadriel, Celeborn and Elrond were waiting for him with open arms.

He turned back to the hobbits one last time and gave them a frail hug, “So how has home been?”

They smiled fondly at him, with tears in their eyes, ��It has changed and we are not the same, but just as you said, the memories of one another and each other’s love, that is what keeps us going,” Pippin said as he hugged Bilbo farewell.

Gandalf looked at Bilbo with a melancholy look, “Go on now my dear friend, let us sail together.”

“Yes I quite think I am ready for another adventure.”

Gandalf gave Frodo a knowing look and bowed, “Frodo, it is time.”

There was unexpected sorrow then, Merry, Pippin and Samwise wept for having to say goodbye to their dearest friend. But in their hearts they had always known this was what lay ahead in their future, that for them life may return to what was before or at least as close as it could. That while they were changed, there was a chance for them to live a normal, though wiser and richer life. But for Frodo, since Weathertop there could be no going back, not really. So in the end, they made their peace for they knew it was right.

Bilbo took Frodo’s hand in his own after the younger hobbit had said his goodbyes and turned to the elves. Walking slowly up to them, in his mind he heard Galadriel talk to him secretly, “The great thing about sailing into the West, is you never know who might be waiting for you when you get there.”

As Bilbo stepped onto the ship he could swear he heard a voice, “Come home to me Bilbo, come home, I am waiting, the hearth is hot, there is more mead than myself or my nephews could ever manage to drink and there is food fit for a hero.”

24 notes · View notes

dolamrotha · 6 years

Note

Harry Potter AU lothiriel x Eomer. It can be a day in Hogwarts as teens or post Hogwarts working in their respective fields. Slytherin! Lothiriel and Hufflepuff! Eomer

These aren’t the Houses I usually put them in, but this! A good prompt, 10/10 would write again.

In the end, Voldemort was nothing more than a man. A man whose body hit the floor of the Great Hall with a dry-sounding thud. And in the wake of that thud, there had been moments of long and disbelieving silence. But now it seemed the world was waking up again, waking up to death and destruction and injury, but to hope as well. The kind of hope the Wizarding World had not tasted since the night that Voldemort had tried (and failed) to kill the Potter boy.

Lothiriel had Apparated into Hogsmeade with the other Mediwizards who had left Mungo’s at the first notice of trouble, had cast her share of defensive spells and curses at masked Death Eaters. Each time, she felt an unpleasant twinge in her stomach: had she walked to class with that one, once? Had she shared a cauldron in Potions Class? Were these the siblings or parents or children of people she had known?

But the guilt had worn out quickly: there were too many injured, too many children injured, and indignant, righteous anger soon replaced every ounce.

She had done what she could in the field, had seen the end of the battle, and now she stood in the rubble-strewn hall and wiped sweat and dust from her forehead. Her job wasn’t done, not yet.

The worst injuries had been treated as well as they could be, then sent on to St. Mungo’s. The injuries now were smaller: minor spell-damage, cuts, other injuries that could be cured with simple wand-work and vials of potions. And all the time, she had been keeping up an awful kind of mathematics, trying to keep track of the people most dear to her: her brothers (Amrothos, pale but grinning, sent back to St. Mungo’s an hour ago. Elphir giving her a hug before heading home to check on his wife and his son. Erchirion…so far, unaccounted for) her father (last seen directing the clearing of people and rubble). Faramir and Boromir, both injured, had been sent off to St. Mungo’s among the first wave of patients.

It’s in the middle of this mental accounting that a familiar face - - tired, bloodied, but blessedly living - - appears in front of her, knocking one more number into place. A face she knew she might see, had been both hoping for and dreading their meeting.

It knocks the air from her like a blow.

But it is her job to attend to injuries, not to dwell upon the past or on faces that still make her heart race, so she makes him sit down and clears the blood from his face with a spell, attends to the cuts and scrapes and burns on his face, his neck, his hands, with salves and poultices and potions. And though they do not speak, his eyes follow her as she works, with the same sort of softness she’d only ever seen directed at her.

Oh, she had missed him! Missed the weight of his hands in or over hers, the way her own seemed so small in comparison.

“They took my sister to St. Mungo’s,” he tells her as she bandages his hands. “They wouldn’t let me go with her.”

“I know,” she murmurs, though she doesn’t look up from her task, wonders who possibly could have stopped him: Gandalf, perhaps, or her father. Aragorn. “They won’t let anyone follow ‘til things settle down. Not even my father. My cousins are there, too. And my brother. ”

“Erchirion.”

“No,” she says, and she does look up, then, catches his eye and has to look away. “Amrothos. I haven’t…I haven’t seen Erchirion.”

“I have,” he says. “They took him to St. Mungo’s. He wasn’t conscious, but he was breathing.”

It makes her pause a moment, makes her catch her breath. All three brothers living and accounted for. Everyone she had been looking out for at least alive, if not undamaged: her father, her brothers, her cousins, Eowyn, Eomer. Her eyes flutter closed to hide the tears she’s been suppressing.

She hears rather than sees him stand, feels strong arms wrap around her shoulders, pulling her close to a warm, broad chest. Her ear rests over a beating heart whose rhythm soothes her shaking breath, but he kisses her hair and it nearly starts the tears flowing.

“I’m taking you home,” he tells her, his voice half words she can hear and understand, half a low rumble underneath her ear. “You’ve been here for hours. You need to rest.”

“You’ve been watching me?”

“Of course. Since you got here. I couldn’t let anything happen to you.”

She thinks of the Death Eaters who had stumbled away from her by some well-timed spell, realizes they hadn’t been coincidences at all, and shivers against the warmth of him. His arms only wrap more tightly around her.

“I already spoke to Aragorn,” he says. “They have enough mediwizards to be getting on with. Let me take you home.”

She nods against his chest, unsure what “home” means, but following him anyway, exhaustion she hadn’t known she was carrying bearing down on her.

Almost a year ago they had gone their separate ways, a war and sheer uncertainty between them. And now the war was gone, and they were here, and before she knew it she was standing in the bedroom of the house they had once shared. The one she had left, along with her engagement ring, when she had fled to her father’s house.

She didn’t mean to snoop. She had meant to crawl into the bed and sleep for days, but in her fatigue she’d bumped against the dresser, knocked scattered items to the floor. It was in setting them to rights that she saw it: the seashell-shaped dish, so obviously hers. The sapphire ring the only thing inside of it.

He’s sitting on the couch with his head in his hands when she emerges, wearing one of his old shirts and cradling the engagement ring in her palm like some delicate and injured thing.

“You kept it.”

She perches beside him, watches as he lifts his head to look at her, the sweep of his eyes taking in her loose hair, the shirt, the ring cupped in her palm, and he nods.

“Yeah,” he says, in a voice gone low and rough. “I kept it.” His eyes haven’t left the ring in her hands.

“Why?”

He shrugs, lifting just one broad shoulder, then reaches out to touch the ring’s white-gold band.

“Fool’s hope, I guess.”

Before he can pull his hand away, she closes her fingers, feels the sharp intake of breath.

“Lothiriel…” She’s been looking at him all this time, and so she meets his gaze as soon as it turns to her. And his eyes are so wary and yearning and hopeful that she can feel her heart breaking all over again. Don’t give me false hope, that gaze seems to plead, and she has no intention of it. The fingers of her free hand alight gently on his lips to quiet him, and her grey eyes are solemn.

“I’m the only fool here,” she assures him, gently threading their fingers together, trapping the ring between his rough, bandaged palm and her smooth one. “I’m sorry, Eomer. I shouldn’t have left, I didn’t want to, but I was…I was so scared.” He had been throwing himself into the fray with so little fear, so little self-preservation. The fear and the uncertainty, the dread and the grief of war had slipped into her brain and whispered it would hurt less to leave, now.

Listening to that whisper had been the greatest regret of her life, the howling pain and fear that had followed her through every Daily Prophet list of the dead, every dark Ministry announcement, every moment of every day.

“Can you forgive me?”

Without a word he surges forward to capture her lips in a searing, desperate kiss that she returns with all fervor and a little gasp. She lets him pull her into his lap, whimpers as his kisses move to her neck.

She doesn’t feel him slip the ring from her hand with deft fingers until he pulls away, until they’re both breathless, until he takes her hand in his and kisses her palm before holding it still, the other hand holding the ring up for her to see.

He doesn’t speak the question, but it’s one he has already asked. She can see it in his eyes, can feel her own tears hot on her cheeks as she nods.

The ring fits just as perfectly as it did the day he had proposed, but she barely notices: the hand that wears it is buried deep in his hair moments later, as he pulls her back for another kiss. It takes every ounce of her strength of will to pull away, to rise from his lap and stand before him. And for a moment he looks so confused, so bereft, that she almost slips back into his arms again. But she holds out her hands instead, tugs him to his feet and backs her way toward the stairs.

Tomorrow, they’ll have to go to St. Mungo’s. Tomorrow, they’ll have to face the injuries and scars and memories. But that’s tomorrow, and they’ll face it together, and she knows that the sight of the ring back on her hand will make Eowyn smile. But that’s tomorrow, and they’ll face it together, and there’s no way on earth she’s letting him sleep on the couch.

“It’s been a long day,” she says. “You should come to bed.”

Understanding sweeps across his face in one brief, happy moment. He doesn’t let her walk there, scoops her up in his arms despite her laughing protests, and carries her to bed.

#eothiriel #prompt requests #my writing #eomer x lothiriel #jay345sal28 #i went with after-hogwarts so their house designations aren't actually really obvious but #i tried to make them influences on the way they behaved/handled things

5 notes · View notes

quicksiluers · 7 years

Note

ok ali you've probably been asked this before but i'm curious so here goes. why is boromir your fave? everyone has different lotr faves but i don't hear about boromir being someone's fave all that often!! so why is he such a fave for you?

asdfghjklkjhgf OH TAYLOR, asking the good questions as always!! :))

Well it’s funny, so my girl visnja aka @karlmordo got me to watch LOTR for the first time back in…2015 I think it was? Anyway, so I was set. I had a feeling of who my favs would be (aragorn, legolas, you know the usual). And then I watched fellowship of the ring (my fav of the 3, all extended editions by the way!) and I found myself gravitating to boromir. and by the end, his death scene really wrecked me. I was extremely upset, even tho I knew it would happen!

But why is that? To me, boromir is a layered character. He’s extremely proud of where he is from, he would do anything to see gondor be brought back to glory. He’d even die for it. But at the same time, beyond the bravado and how proud he is, he cares so much. He cares for the people close to him, faramir being the biggest example. It would be stereotypical for boromir to have been the big bro who didin’t care about his little bro because he was seen as the best in his dad’s eyes. But that wasn’t the case. Boromir loves faramir so much, he stands up for faramir. He loves to see him succeed and to be with him. That scene in the two towers of them is the only scene we get of them together but you can just TELL how much these brother love each other.

He cares for the fellowship. His development with aragorn through fellowship, to me, is fantastic, and it really hits home when he calls him “my king” as his final words to aragorn. And you can see how moved by that aragorn is and he takes boromir’s vambraces as a sign on that friendship, of that vow to not let the white city fall. When he comforts gimli in moria, when he cares for the hobbits, boromir has a big heart. He’s hot headed, proud, yes. But he cares so deeply and has so much on his shoulders. Almost too much and he worries that his father can’t take that burden anymore so it’s all on HIM. People are looking up to him and he can’t fail, cause if he fails then the realm of men fails. He’s so desperate for a way to protect his land from the evil of Mordor. It drives him, but that always lends a hand to his temptation from the ring.

it all comes to ahead when he tries to take the ring. He’s been fighting this thing the whole movie and in one moment, it takes him and he goes after frodo. And the moment he’s snapped out of it, and sean bean plays this SO WELL, he’s devastated. He broke his vow to protect frodo, he cries to him that he’s sorry. And he admits this to aragorn, that he was blinded by the ring. That he tried to take it. He didn’t hide his mistake, he thought he had failed them all by one moment. I could go on about him running to merry and pippin to protect them but then I’d start to cry because honestly that scene makes me tear up every time??

Anyway, wow this is long but I juST!!! LOVE HIM SO MUCH, he’s complex. He has layers and he’s not perfect. He wants to protect as many people as he can and in the end, that need to protect (to me) allowed the ring to cloud his judgement. But once he see’s the mistake he’s made, he tries to rectrify it, and in the end dies trying to protect merry and pippin.

so yeah….i love boromir way too much asdfghjk

#replies #ali talks #asdfghjkl TAYLOR THIS TURNED OUT TO BE SO LONG BUT HE'S JUST SO...I LOVE HIM #beardyfrankcastle #boromir

50 notes · View notes

cool-danielramos · 5 years

Text

Architectural Suspense In The Two Systems

One writing axiom is "keep your characters in trouble." Still another is "keep your audience guessing." Aspiring illusion writers -- and, indeed, suspense writers -- can understand a thing or two from The Two Systems, the center element of J.R.R. Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings.

The activity accumulates with the Company of the Band in disarray, seeking the Ringbearer, Frodo, because they are ambushed by orcs. 新宿　賃貸 (If you haven't read Lord of the Bands, end now; if you've just seen the films, that debate could make no feeling -- the film and the guide designs of The Two Systems have completely different structures, among different differences.)

Most of the audience understands from The Fellowship of the Band is that Frodo has decided to go to Mordor alone, and Sam has gone with him; Aragorn, Gimli and Legolas know actually less, as they variously struggle the orcs and ultimately discover Boromir succumbing to his accidents, having failed to avoid the orcs from abducting Happy and Pippin (which he does not get an opportunity to tell them).

Two main characters, Gandalf and Boromir, have now died; so in terms of the viewers know, anybody is good game.

Moreover, four of the lowest, least experienced people of the organization have headed into certain threat or have been abducted by their enemies, and the surviving characters have to decide what things to do. After the winding, peaceful start to The Fellowship of the Band, The Two Systems begins with the stress previously at the boiling place, and never enables up. Tolkien's conclusions about design just improve it.

For the very first section of Book III (The Two Systems includes Publications III and IV of Lord of the Rings), the audience is pushed to see just what Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli see, as they fall farther and farther behind the orcs getting Happy and Pippin to Isengard. (Aragorn deduces early in the day that Sam and Frodo have headed to Mordor and decides to regard Frodo's decision to go alone.) Their area stops with a confrontation using what they believe is certainly one of their worst predators, Saruman, but turns out to be Gandalf, back from the dead. It's a brief time of comfort before Tolkien goes into what happened to the hobbits.

We then uncover what has happened to Happy and Pippin -- who barely control to escape the orcs within a brutal raid by the Competitors of Rohan. They match a possible ally in Treebeard, but actually what he and the Ents will do about what the hobbits let them know is uncertain, and whether they will do it easily enough to greatly help Rohan survive Saruman's barrage from Isengard is remaining hanging.

Of course, Tolien then sets the residual characters he is ready to share with us about -- Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli and Gandalf -- proper in the center of the war between Isengard and Rohan. Just Gandalf is not stuck at the Struggle of Helm's Heavy, a harsh siege by which Rohan is badly outnumbered.

With every part, Tolkien sets his characters in new and usually worse peril -- and never allows a trace what is occurring to Frodo and Sam. He makes the audience watch for the entirety of Book III -- that is 1 / 2 of The Two Systems -- before switching back again to Sam and Frodo. And that is just after having a brutal, if brief, struggle, that leaves Rohan tired, Saruman's forces destroyed, and the worrying threat of the true foe -- Sauron of Mordor -- emerging, particularly since so far he is missing little he can not replace.

Following switching back again to Sam and Frodo, Tolkien just allows us their history, which movements beyond the events in Book III, therefore the audience shortly leaves behind any feeling of certainty what is occurring to the other hobbits, Gimli, Leglolas, Aragorn and the others. After the war unleashed in Book III, Tolkien has a various method of maintaining viewers on the edge of these seats in Book IV: Gollum.

We already know just Gollum lusts for the Band; believes it was stolen from him by Bilbo, Frodo's dad; and initially, killed his pal for it. Gollum is also alone capable of featuring Frodo and Sam the way into Mordor, and Frodo exacts an pledge from Gollum for his help. For the others of Book IV, the audience (and Sam) wonders whether they can trust him never to eliminate or betray them. In the end, obviously, as his two warring edges (desire for Frodo's trust and agreement versus his using need for the Ring) battle, he reveals he is capable of both.

By the conclusion of Book IV, Frodo is diseased by Shelob and grabbed by orcs in Mordor; Sam is alone, bearing the Band; and Gollum, having betrayed them equally, remains on the loose.

Quite independent of the outside forces threatening the characters (Saruman and the Uruk-hai of Isengard; Gollum; Shelob; the orcs of Mordor; and for Sam and Frodo, basic hunger, since Tolkien ensures early on the two hobbits have just enough food to carry them to Mount Doom, and maybe not to make their escape), the audience is remaining in the dark all the time about what is occurring to anybody maybe not present, since the account remains with one class for such extended stretches.

The characters are even worse off. Aragorn, Gimli and Leglolas do not actually uncover what has happened to Happy and Pippin till almost the conclusion of Book III; and as for Sam and Frodo, they get absolutely no good media about any of their buddies -- in fact, the only tidings they get are from Faramir, surprising them with media of Boromir's death.

Tolkien, obviously, develops on this method, switching back again to the other characters at the start of Book V in The Get back of the Master, and exploiting the reader's ignorance of what happened to Sam and Frodo, when at the end of Book V, the Mouth of Sauron taunts the residual characters in the Company of the Band using what seems certain proof Frodo's death.

Is design the only method to create tension? No. But when employed in this manner, by maintaining the concentration tight on certain characters for extended stretches, it not merely invests the audience deeper in these characters'problems and risks, additionally it makes the audience more worried about what could be occurring to the others. I discover actually on rereading it, when I understand what's coming, I can not put The Two Systems down.

0 notes