#gondor does not have to be perfect

[aparticularbandit]

Also still mostly staying off of Tumblr. I let myself check roughly twice a day - yesterday I checked once (ish) more while doing the WIP requests (and may do so later today as I finish them up, if things go according to plan) - but if you're feeling a distinct lack of Bandit presence/interaction here....

That's why.

It's not y'all, btw!

I just. realized I have an unhealthy addiction and am trying to, ah, curb that.

(I've also found that when my mind wants something easy to do, I end up on my phone anyway. I'm trying to train myself not to immediately be on my phone when I'm bored or want something to do with my hands. This isn't going super great. But I'm not checking Tumblr every other minute or getting stuck in a cycle of checking over and over and over, so that's nice!)

[rivendell-poet]

*･༓˚✧❝𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬 (𝐋𝐨𝐭𝐑)❞‧͙⁺˚༓˚✧ « scenarios »

○ Aragorn ○ Legolas ○ Frodo ○ Sam ○ Merry ○ Pippin ○ Boromir ○ Faramir ○ Éowyn ○ Éomer ○ Bard ○ Thranduil ○ Tauriel ○ Lindir ○ Haldir ○ Elladan ○ Elrohir ○

GN!Reader | Wordcount : 3.7k (each individual around 220~ words) | Read on Ao3

TWS : Faramir's self esteem issues (Faramir)

Notice : This is a scenario set before they have confessed to you.

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𝐀𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐧

✧ Overall, Aragorn still thinks it’s a good idea not to tell anyone about his feelings for you - but that doesn’t stop him from getting irritated when others try to flirt with you.

✧ Especially when his older brother decides to flirt with you.

✧ Realistically, Aragorn knows the two of you are joking around - but the idea of you two smiling over something he cannot do (or at least does not come as naturally to him) is unnerving.

✧ Aragorn tries not to hover over you when this happens and instead focuses on something more productive, like trying to teach the hobbits how to spar.

✧ It isn’t until you and Elrohir come to the training ground, clearly looking to train together, that he finally does something about his jealousy.

✧ “Brother! I have sparred with the hobbits for so long I worry they are growing used to me, would you care to make sure they are prepared against more enemies than just the Dúnedain.”

✧ By the smile that suddenly shows on Elrohir’s face, his sibling can see through him, but the son of Elrond doesn’t complain as he goes to the hobbits. Instead he steps aside to allow you and Aragorn to spar.

✧ It’s only after the spar that Elrohir makes a comment. “Jealous of me, Estel? That really isn’t very noble of you.”

✧ (It’s also probably not noble when Aragorn kicks him in the shin after, although it is satisfying).

𝐋𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐬

✧ Realistically, Legolas knows that you don’t have any interest in Boromir. You’ve been around him long enough that the two of you would already have formed a romantic bond, and the two of you haven’t.

✧ But you also share bonds that he hasn’t got. The two of you are both from Gondor, and there’s a light in your eyes when you talk about your home that he will never fully get. And the two of you are both human.

✧ It never gets too bad, mostly manifesting in anxious looks between the two of you from far away and when no-one is watching.

✧ The only time it ever gets bad is when you and Boromir are both on the archery course together, attempting to outscore each other.

✧ Because that’s the thing that you two do together.

✧ He watches for a while, and eventually his feet take him to the archery course subconsciously. Announcing his presence by shooting an arrow from behind into your target, hitting a perfect bullseye.

✧ It’s petty, but he still lights up when you turn around and greet him - almost as if it’s just the two of you there.

✧ (Until you invite him to join yourself and Boromir.)

𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐨

✧ Frodo isn’t a very jealous person naturally, and it’s this lack of jealousy is only reinforced when he’s one of the only people you talk to in the Shire.

✧ As you visit more often you eventually interact more with other hobbits, even if it’s just a dipped head or a few words, but everyone knows you're just here for the Baggins' family.

✧ (Although Frodo is very happy when you immediately bond with Sam, and that Pippin and Merry can make you laugh easily.)

✧ The only issue arises when a fellow ranger greets you, showing up on one of your walks together and immediately trying to hijack the conversation.

✧ It’s a little intimidating, more because of the height than anything else, and Frodo is reduced to stewing in the corner of the Green Dragon as you two catch up.

✧ When you step away to get a new drink, it’s just Frodo and the ranger there as he tries to channel Bilbo’s inner pettiness.

✧ “I’m very sorry, but I fear I’ve forgotten your name. Hobbits meet so many people, you see, and I don’t think (y/n)’s ever mentioned you.”

✧ You come back before anything else is said, and this time Frodo launches into conversation with you. He feels a little bad about the incident afterwards, but not enough to try and apologise.

𝐒𝐚𝐦

✧ Sam also isn’t a very jealous person, at least not when it comes to the people that he’s close with and them being around you.

✧ He’s glad when you can smile and laugh with his friends or with yours, because it shows you have people who care about you - and that’s what he really wants for you. People who care (like him).

✧ What he takes issue with is flirting and messing around from strangers who neither of you know.

✧ Because they don’t have your best interests at heart.

✧ They’re looking at you and only seeing looks, they’re not seeing the smile you make when you see the first flowers bloom or Sam’s found a recipe for just the right amount of sweetness and you’re tasting it for the first time. They don’t actually like you.

✧ He’s still generally confined to glaring from across the room, but every now and then - when someone gets too rowdy - he’ll come over to you and place his arm around your shoulders.

✧ It’s more a show of protection to support you than it is being jealous, but a small part of his heart is happy when they stop trying to get with you because of him.

✧ Always apologises for it and asks if you’re ok after.

𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲

✧ Everyone in the Shire could tell that something was going on between the two of you - everyone.

✧ (In fact, it had been a lot of people’s rumour of choice yesterday. Which Pippin certainly made sure he heard about.)

✧ Which made it even more egregious when someone had started flirting with you the second Merry had gone to get you drinks.

✧ In about twenty seconds, someone had managed to weasel their way to your side and was very badly attempting to flirt with you.

✧ The second you saw Merry re-appear, you had looked from him to the random guy in an obvious ask for reinforcements.

✧ Coming over with a smile, Merry puts on his biggest grin and holds up the drink for you before taking a look at the person next to you.

✧ “I’m sorry, are you the one who’s been guiding them around all day and is paying for their drink?”

✧ He leaves it at that, although he could go on, and is quite satisfied to see them immediately go back to the corner of the bar.

✧ You thank him for helping you, and he only feels a little guilty about the selfish reasons he’s done it.

𝐏𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧

✧ Doesn’t get jealous about the Fellowship being around you. You’re all going on a quest to save Middle Earth together and it would be childish of him to be upset about you hanging out with the people you’re going to be travelling with for months.

✧ However, he does get a bit jealous when some of the elves of Rivendell speak to you, such as one of the tall dark haired ones whisking you away to discuss something.

✧ Not that he does anything or complains - because they’re all slightly terrifying. He just waits, patiently, then insists it was no bother to wait before cursing hobbit-politeness that doesn’t allow him to complain about his hosts.

✧ Merry notices his stewing, it’s very obvious when Pippin is just standing outside a doorway and impatiently tapping his foot.

✧ Pippin only actually stands up for himself once. The dark-haired approaches you two, twice in the same day, and this time he puts himself in front of you.

✧ “Actually, we were about to train together…. If you don’t mind of course, only this is a prior engagement and-”

✧ He ends up going on a bit of a tangent, unseeing of the fond smile on your face as you watch him, before he finishes awkwardly.

✧ Erestor lets you two go in peace, and the two of you quickly head out to train - you pretending not to notice Pippin’s blush.

𝐁𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐫

✧ As custom with the rangers first day back in Minas Tirith, the taverns are soon filled with soldier’s of the White Tower - swordsmen and bowmen alike.

✧ You and him both end up in the same one, along with recruits from both sides. It’s tradition for the captain to cover the first round, and Boromir has deep enough pockets to fund it, so he gladly puts the coin down and takes drinks out himself.

✧ Looking around, he tries to spot you as a second ranger suddenly comes out with two drinks, one for you and one for him.

✧ It’s a small gesture, but one that he wanted to make for you. A gesture that he wanted to make you smile with, not for a random soldier to brighten your day.

✧ Taking the drink you smile before seeing Boromir, raising your glass to him and mouthing he can’t quite make out.

✧ He gives the drinks away as quickly as possible, going up to you - his heart skipping a beat as you immediately move up for him, gesturing to a spot by your side.

✧ The gesture instantly warms his heart, almost enough for him to forget about the perceived slight, and the warm atmosphere that soon takes over everything is more than enough to keep the rest of the negativity at bay.

✧ (Him being close to you for the rest of the night certainly helps, too.)

𝐅𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐫

✧ In all honesty, there’s such a small period between you knowing each other and you starting to court that there really isn’t that much for him to be jealous over.

✧ Except when he learns of your potential betrothal to his brother.

✧ It’s never been a tradition his fond of, Gondor’s hopefuls giving away their children to the stewards, but it’s something he’s endured. Faramir knows his brother will never find someone this way.

✧ Until you are a candidate. Because who would not choose you, if they had a chance for your hand?

✧ He certainly would, and he expects Boromir too as well. He watches as, for another time in his life, he is forced to be on the sidelines even as his new love is a few feet from him.

✧ When Boromir greets you, it takes Faramir biting down on the inside of his cheek - only enough to distract - so that his disappointment and jealousy will not show.

✧ Faramir now envies little for his brother, but when your heart is involved it becomes fiercer than ever.

✧ (The insecurity of him being almost convinced that people will always choose Boromir over him does not help with these emotions either.)

𝐄𝐨𝐰𝐲𝐧

✧ As the dawn has finally risen on Helm’s Deep, and the noises of war no longer echo in the gorge, Éowyn is finally allowed to leave the cave and search for her loved ones. She is delighted to see all her loved ones alive, and Éomer’s return, and it is even better when the Golden Hall is decorated for celebration.

✧ When you all return from Isengard she is the first to greet you, and you gladly keep to her company once you dismount.

✧ It is not you leaving her that makes her jealous, but rather the large amount of Rohirrim who suddenly seem interested in one of the heroes of Helm’s Deep.

✧ She supposes a potential future ruler of Gondor must have good diplomacy, but she wishes you wouldn’t extend it to practically everyone in this hall who’s only looking for a quick flirt.

✧ Eventually, as yet another person fills the gap she takes their place, offering you a drink from the Cup of Kings. You take it, drinking a sip before meeting her eyes and whispering for her to not go and to protect you from yet another person.

✧ Éowyn gladly agrees, intervening when other people try to speak as soon as you glance her way, and the rest of the night is spent with you.

✧ (Also supports whatever decision you make when Éomer asks if you’ll join the drinking game. Either a loyal defender of your right not to drink, or the best support-woman you ask for.)

𝐄𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐫

✧ Even when pining for you, when in some ways it hurts him to be near you - reminding him of his love - he still goes to your training sessions, cheering just as loudly.

✧ He can more easily recognise the way his heart flutters in joy when you look for him in the corner of the room, and how quickly he smiles when all you do is acknowledge him.

✧ And then one day, he can feel your eyes on him, the smile you get when you notice him, before your eyes slip away and search for someone else.

✧ Éomer knows he should expect this, that there are other people you care for, but it’s like being plunged into cold water.

✧ Following your line of sight, he sees when your eyes light up again and immediately tries to determine who’s making you smile like that.

✧ It’s his sister, of course.

✧ The worry leaves him immediately, replaced by embarrassment. Even more so when Éowyn notices him staring before looking between you and him, a knowing smile on her face.

𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐝

✧ He understands it’s your job to be decently polite to people, when they aren’t actively breaking the law, so doesn’t mind when you're nice and friendly with people. In fact, he quite likes it and it helps reassure him you’re the right person for him.

✧ However, he’s been on one to many night shifts where some of the residents have gotten too drunk.

✧ Knows you can handle it, but doesn’t think that you should have to handle it.

✧ Tries to let you deal with them but is certainly hovering there ominously in the background, ready to be backup should you need any backup.

✧ However, as he can see a man try to approach you during the festival, Bard decides he’s finally had enough for tonight. Tonight was supposed to be the two of you.

✧ As he gets closer, Bard simply puts a hand on his shoulder - firm enough to stop him in his tracks.

✧ He can feel the man tense up but just speaks quietly to him, a tone of forced politeness.

✧ “I assure you, they're busy.”

✧ You turn in time to see the man take hasty steps backward while Bard looks a little too pleased to be innocent, but when you tilt your head in question he just grins.

✧ Deciding to run with the string of luck, you don’t chase him further; you simply accept what’s happened and spend practically the rest of the night with him.

𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐮𝐢𝐥

✧ Thranduil does not see it as jealousy, because jealousy implies that he is unstable. Jealousy implies he has a genuine belief that you would be interested in any of the elves that give a passing smile to you.

✧ If he had to pick a word, he would choose protective. In actuality it’s closer to ‘possessive’ but you aren’t his - not yet at least - and therefore he has nothing to possess.

✧ He does, however, have plenty to protect.

✧ Making sure never to abuse his powers, he understands that you make your own choices, he will occasionally keep an eye on things.

✧ It’s only ever subtle shifts, like the overly flirty elf you were complaining about in your talks being transferred from his doors and into a regular guard patrol. He sees your slightly lighter step, and hears no words of complaints from you.

✧ Is fine with you having relationships (such as friendships) that you’d appear to be closer to - simply because they are your friend and he is your king. Until he can truly bridge that gap, there will always be some level of formality between you two.

✧ (That doesn’t stop him from wishing you could be that comfortable around him, however. The fact he wishes for the friendly touch or wider grin you give to others.)

𝐓𝐚𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐥

✧ Becoming part of the royal guard is, for the most part, exactly what Tauriel had dreamed of for both herself and for you.

✧ There are a few things she would change, of course, like the two of you being able to spend more time together - but these are minor things.

✧ Then there’s the minor thing of Caraitur, an elf that you patrol with. Tauriel knows that he doesn’t actually mean anything with his flirting, but he still annoys her. The way he tries to hold the door open for you, or smiles at you.

✧ Doesn’t confront him but is actively petty. If she’s on any duty regarding taking care of helmets or weapons his are always not quite shiny. Perfectly functional, but something looks off about them.

✧ Always enjoys being very affectionate with you afterwards, hugs and lots of smiles. (Sitting right next to you while sending a smirk at him.)

✧ ✧ She’s careful to make sure none of what she does can be traced back to her, but that doesn’t mean she can’t still reap her reward.

✧ You’ll ask her why she’s smiling and she comes up with either the most nonsensical answers you’ve ever heard or just say ‘you’.

𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐫

✧ Lindir had always been very grateful for his elven qualities, and never considered the fact he was an elf to be anything less than a gift.

✧ Except for certain aspects when it comes to you. There are the more unpleasant aspects, of course, but also simpler ones that in some ways annoy him more.

✧ Like the fact he will never be able to bond with you over certain things that are small to some people (like the crunching of snow effortlessly beneath your feet), and deeper meanings.

✧ To him, you seem to light up more when around the race of men. Like how you are doing with Aragorn, the king’s heir, back to briefly visit Imladris.

✧ He’s not naturally a confrontational person, so prefers to try and ignore his envy while stealing glances from the two of you from afar. Trying to convince himself he isn’t seeing you laughing with so much mirth, or smiling so widely.

✧ Eventually, he can’t take it any more. Spying the two of you in the gardens, Lindir also moves to go there - running into the two of you with a deep bow.

✧ Careful not to stutter with his words, or allow his blush to show, he asks if he may walk with you soon as the two of you have been more distant lately.

✧ His heart is lifted almost immeasurably when he asks you to walk with him now, leaving the human behind to be with him. And seeing you smile and laugh with him, it alleviates his worries very well indeed.

𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐫

✧ To be entirely honest, there isn’t anyone he truly feels jealous of - at any point in time when you aren’t courting.

✧ He understands that you are travelling with the Fellowship because of your duty to protect Middle Earth, and he’s glad you get along well with your companions.

✧ When the two of you are out on patrol he gets to know you more as you speak of them to him, and tell him about your thoughts.

✧ That you speak fondly of the hobbits, but in a familial way - as though they were younger siblings, or at the least ones to be protected (and not romantically interested in).

✧ Although you are more tolerant of the dwarf than he may have liked, Haldir recognises the annoyed-but-affectionate tone you employ about him to be one of friendship.

✧ He fears not for either of the men, as one is in love with an elf already and one is in love with his city.

✧ Haldir is still protective of you, trying to spend as much time with you as he can while you are in his realm, but he is assured enough to never be jealous of anyone - only the time you spend with them.

✧ Even that he can understand, and he combats these feelings by simply asking you to join him on patrol.

𝐄𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐧

✧ Elladan knows he should not be jealous of his own brother, especially when his own brother is doing this very deliberately to make him jealous.

✧ But, now that Elladan has finally come to a realisation about his feelings, he knows that he wants to be the one with his arms around you.

✧ He knows that he wants to be the one to make you smile. He knows that he wants to be the one who makes you laugh. He knows that he wants to be the one for you.

✧ And he certainly does not need his brother to give him a ‘helpful nudge’, thank you very much.

✧ Elrohir gets slightly closer to you, and Elladan finally comes out of his hiding place and coughs to announce his presence.

✧ Trying not to smile too obviously when you brighten, he pretends to be entirely innocent before asking if he can join the two of you.

✧ You agree quickly, and Elrohir feigns annoyance before suddenly remembering something important to leave the two of you alone.

✧ As Elrohir leaves Elladan can see him mouth ‘good luck’ before winking.

✧ Unfortunately, you don’t see that part. You just see Elladan mouthing ‘bastard’ back. It still makes you laugh.

𝐄𝐥𝐫𝐨𝐡𝐢𝐫

✧ Of all the elven figures, Elrohir is by far the most jealous. And also the most irrational with his jealousy.

✧ For him, it isn’t about who or even what you’re spending your time with, just that it’s so much more than him. And that he wants you to look at him with love in your eyes, of any kind.

✧ As you pour over more paperwork regarding Gondor for the fifth hour that night, he lets out a despairing groan that matches the look in your eyes.

✧ “Oh come on darling, will Gondor truly collapse if you take a little break? I’m going to break if you keep ignoring me.”

✧ Looking up, you give him a small smile before going back to… Gondor’s agricultural imports regarding fruits of Rohan.

✧ With a grin, he makes sure to be gentle before whisking the paperwork away from you. “We can make someone else do it. Faramir would be happy to help his twin out, or we can bully my brother-”

✧ You make a swipe for the paperwork, but he can tell your heart isn’t in it which only increases his grin. Pulling you up, he instantly begins to get you out of the door and into your city.

✧ He reasons it might be nice to see what your city looks like again after only seeing it in official documents, but both of you know it’s simply a poor excuse to spend time with you.

A/N : Hope you enjoyed! Next update is the confessions, so we're finally getting completely romantic. Also, if the writing is different then it's because this was written at 8am, 2pm, and 9pm respectively... so. Also - I now have a taglist! (feel free to fill out the form if you want to be tagged)

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[himbosandhardwear]

Steddie I Different First Meeting I NSFW I Public Indecency I 2.8k words

He's planted. Call him The White Tree of Gondor, he's so planted. Nothing and no one could move him from this spot.

He's going to have perfect line of sight to center stage, as long as no one over 6’3” stands in front of him. He's got his good boots on, giving him a solid three inch lift.

Some people come and go, not as dedicated to keeping their spot. Not Eddie. He's planted.

“You think he moved back?” Some chick yells behind him.

“Doubt it,” her companion yells back, “the point was to get closer.”

“Well I don't know if I can deal with closer. It's only going to get worse when the band goes on, and I'm at my limit for men touching me today.”

“I'm pretty sure there's beer in my hair.”

“A fate worse than death,” she mocks him, making Eddie chuckle. “You wanna bail? He can come find us after.”

“I don't know, Rob, he's just a kid. What if he gets scared?”

“Oh my god, he's sixteen.”

“He's short!” The guy yells shrilly, practically in Eddie's ear. “No way he can see over top everyone's head.”

“Okay, then you stay, dingus. I'm going to go pay $12 for a bottle of water. Come find me after.”

“Rob! C'mon, don't- Rob! Ah shit.”

Eddie almost turns to give the guy some reassurance but he can't, making friends in the crowd is how you end up getting pulled into another direction. He can't chance it. He's planted.

Not to mention his friend was right, the more time that passes, the more packed in they become. Once or twice the guy behind him gets jostled into Eddie's back, mumbling apologies each time. Eddie doesn't bother to reply.

He's determined to ignore the guy until suddenly they're pressed front to back, shoulder to calf, the guys massive hands wrapping solidly around Eddie's waist so they don't fall down, and he's fucked. Suddenly the guy behind him is all he's thinking about.

Of course this turn of events sends the poor guy into apology overdrive, hands ripped back immediately as he stutters his excuses.

Eddie waves it off, still not turning away from the front, but the urge is strong. He kind of needs to see if the guy is as hot as that ten second press against him would suggest. Christ on a bike, he even smells good. At least Eddie is pretty sure that's him, the pine/sugar/sweat combo.

A glance at his watch tells him they've got maybe another ten minutes until the show starts. Five minutes ago that would've been all he would've cared about but now he's got Hot Boy Brain Rot and can't focus.

Which is why the next time they get pushed together, Eddie does absolutely nothing to help correct, he lets the guy pull him back and very nearly fall flat on their asses. The only reason they don't is because they fall into the people pressing forward.

“I swear to god, I'm not doing this on purpose,” the guy says with a chuckle that warms Eddie’s already sweaty skin. He hasn't let go yet, his enormous hands hold Eddie upright, skin on skin where his shirt has been cropped.

He's lost his mind completely, because he puts his own hands on the ones circling his waist and squeeze, a soft acceptance of their predicament. It could mean nothing if the guy is straight - maybe, probably, he's not good at judging that sort of thing - but if the hot guy standing behind him is in any way interested, he'll understand.

And praise Dale, raise hell, he does! Long fingers tighten, slide, tighten, before letting go again. He's pretty sure the guy just stuck his thumbs into the indents at the top of his ass too.

Which is when he realizes there's a not zero percent chance the guy thinks Eddie is a girl.

He forgot he's wearing a kilt, which idiots seem to think is a skirt 70% of the time he has it on. Combining that with his hair being down and the fact that he hasn't turned around at all… Fuck.

You're 6’2” right now. Maybe that's enough of a hint. Or your hairy legs? No, it's way too dark to see that far down, no way he-

Eddie squeaks as the guy runs a finger tip along the edge of the kilt. Luckily, it's too loud for the sound to travel, that would've been devastating.

The guy leans forward and whisper/yells, “Is this okay?” into his ear.

Eddie nods, takes a miniscule step back, bringing himself closer. He's gonna take this as far as he can before they either get kicked out for indecent acts or the guy realizes what he's doing and bashes Eddie for ‘tricking him.’ The smart thing to do would be to fucking turn around and confirm his stupid gender but… it's nice feeling wanted for a moment. Nice enough for whatever the consequences are.

An arm snakes around his middle, a fucking nice arm, all sinewy and freckled and brown, causing a surge of giddiness. They're pressed together again, this time on purpose. The guy seems to instinctively know Eddie has this spot picked out because he doesn't let anyone push them or get between. He does, however, laugh every time they get jostled closer together. It's infectious too, makes him smile along every time he hears that giggle. If the guy doesn't stop being adorable soon, Eddie is gonna fall in love.

Whoops. Too late. There's an enormous cock pressed up against his ass; any semblance of control or ability to play it cool goes right out the window.

He's never been more proud of himself for taking up street hockey with Jeff and his cousins than this moment. Some asshole had said to him, years ago now, ‘No one wants a bottom with a flat ass,’ and Eddie let that settle into a deep seated neurosis that pushed him into sports. Casual sports, that actually turned out to be pretty fun, but still…

Anyway, he's got an ass worth pushing against now, which is doing fantastic things for the whole ���accidently luring a stranger into simulating sex acts at a concert' thing he's got going on.

Good god are they playing with fire right now. Yeah everyone is distracted by the drum tech setting up but it's not like they're invisible here. The guy to Eddie's left is just as close as the one rubbing off against his ass, if he glances down he's gonna see what they're doing. That thought only brings Eddie closer to finishing, untouched, in his underwear. His own erection is being held down by his boxer briefs, which are always a good choice when wearing a kilt. Shit happens in the pit, he's never been keen on flashing his bare ass to everyone if he takes a header.

He's snaking a hand down, trying to be subtle, but he needs to squeeze his dick or he's going to start crying.

His new friend must catch the movement because his right hand follows the trajectory, sliding right along with Eddie’s, until they're both stalled out, cuping his hip instead of his erection. Eddie thinks about passing out, he's so turned on and terrified. Either the guy knows he's about to touch a human penis or he's about to get an unwelcome surprise.

Before Eddie's heart can explode and kill him, three things happen rapid fire:

The lights go completely dark, signifying the start of the show, which makes the already packed stadium lose its collective shit.

Then there's a call from behind, the dreaded, “Heads up!” Eddie only just manages not to burst into tears as his one true love has to let go to support the weight of the asshole crowd surfing above them. He makes sure to pinch the fucker as he takes the weight of his stupid leg as it goes by.

Then, immediately after, there's another crowd surge as the first lick of Blackened rings out around them. Adrenaline pumps through Eddie like a lava flow, two desires waring within him making it impossible to choose. Does he turn to find the man of his dreams or does he stay the course and watch the greatest metal show of all time?

Considering this is the third time he's seen Metallica live, he turns around.

He's gone. The only people behind him now are two chicks with their tits painted white and gold and a middle aged biker.

Awesome.

He keeps looking but no one near fits the right description, not even close. Why the fuck didn't he turn around and just look at the guy? At least then he'd know who to look for after the show.

It's not like his night is completely ruined or anything. He jumps in the closest pit and takes his disappointment on the poor bastards unlucky enough to crash into him, and he has a splendid time with that. It wasn't his original plan, he wanted to stay center stage and actually watch the show this time, but he's too keyed up to stand still now, better to shove his fellow man and get elbowed for his troubles.

By the time James is wailing out the final insane notes of Battery, Eddie is thoroughly beat. It's a slog getting to the back of the stadium but he's determined to beat the crowd to the pissers. The night was fun and all but he's ready to go. Ready to stick his hand down his pants(kilt), relive the oddest and hottest encounter he's ever experienced, and then forget it ever happened.

He's made it as far as the merch line when a familiar voice yells his name. He looks back and sure enough, Dustin Henderson is waving at him like a semaphore code operator. Goofy ass kid, Eddie loves him to death.

“What the hell are you doing here?” He asks after giving him a back slapping hug.

“Surprise early birthday gift, I didn't know until yesterday or I would've told you.” His whole body is thrumming with excitement. It must be his first metal show. You wouldn't know it to look at him, he's got a whole mini-Eddie thing happening, which is adorable.

“That's awesome, dude. You didn't want to stay till the end?”

“I already saw their setlist and calculated the timing just right to get in line before the crowd let out.” Of course he did. “What about you? Taking off?”

“Yeah, I've had…a weird night. Good but weird.”

“You wanna ditch in line? Looks like they still have plenty of T-shirts available.”

He laughs. “Nah, thanks though. I'm just gonna head home. I'll see you Saturday?”

“Totally, wouldn't miss it-”

“There you are! Jesus, Henderson, I thought I lost you. Your mom would kill me if something-”

The guy finally stops bitching but only because he's staring at Eddie like he's seen a ghost.

“Uhh,” Eddie drawls, confused.

“Steve! This is Eddie! You know, from Hellfire, at Tech.”

It would be appropriate for them to shake hands, he thinks, but the guy is just staring at him, going more and more red as the seconds pass. It's a good thing he's pretty because his social skills could use some work.

“Hey dingus, did the beer in your hair finally soak into your brain.” The woman standing to Steve's left knocks on his forehead with a knuckle, making him flinch.

“You guys okay?”

Eddie is too busy being strapped into a roller coaster of emotion to respond to Henderson’s quiry. It can't be this easy, fate has never been this kind or cruel to Eddie, not at the same time. His dream man can't be Dustin's babysitter/big brother Steve. That guy drives a BMW and listens to Supertramp, which he only knows because he followed Dustin out to the parking lot one night. Except, Steve is gorgeous and fun and a good dude who worries about his kids, and is smoking hot.

He knows Steve knows he knows now, his own face has gone beet red, and they're just staring at each other, like some kind of gorgon in a bathroom mirror situation.

“What is this? Why are you being weird?” Steve's girlfriend - Rob? - asks. “Wait, oh my god, is Dustin’s other dad, your imagined arch nemesis, the Guy in the Crowd? Holy shit, he totally is, what are the fucking odds!” She cackles.

Wait. He told her about that? And he knew I'm a guy? And he thought we were nemesis? That's so hot.

Dustin is going on about Steve's apparent low self esteem and how Steve needn't worry about his loyalty and how he loves them both equally, which is sweet, but he and Steve are still just staring at each other.

“I know a good diner around here,” he blurts out when Dustin finally shuts up. “They have all you can eat pancakes.”

Steve's eyes do something devastating, adjacent to cows touching grass for the first time. “I like pancakes.”

“Let's get pancakes.”

“Okay.”

They start walking away, dazed, until Dustin reminds them of his presence, loudly and with much insult. “Steve! You drove us here!”

“Shit.” He turns back. “Right. Sorry. C'mon, we're getting pancakes.”

Dustin looks to Rob, as if to say, ‘What the fuck is going on?’ She replies back with a sort of ‘I don't get paid enough to explain this to children’ and ‘I know, he's hopeless but we love him’ both kinda look.

“What?” Steve asks.

“I'm still in line, dude. I want a T-shirt.”

“But-”

“No buts!” Dustin screeches. “Pancakes can wait!”

Eddie wishes they would figure it out soon, he still has to piss.

Rob, bless her, she's Eddie's new best friend, takes Dustin under her arm and asks Eddie, “Where's the diner?”

“25th and Dudley Ave. Called Roxy's.”

“Got it. Go on, I'll bring your son after he's got his stupid shirt.”

Dustin is the epitome of disbelief. “What! No! Guys, don't leave me with Robin!” He yells, to which Robin responds by putting him in a headlock.

“Go! Run before he figures out what's going on.”

Steve doesn't need to be told twice, apparently, he grabs Eddie's wrist and yanks him toward the exit doors. It’s exciting, running away with Steve, even though they’re only running from Dustin. Still, it leaves them both breathless by the time they get to the end of the block, both laughing about how ridiculous it all is.

“God. Haven't run like that since…well the last time the cops were after me.”

Steve just grins, hands on his knees, looking like a former athlete, all deep breaths and physical therapy style stretching. Fucking hot jocks, ugh.

Eddie wants to mount him.

Which brings them up to the awkward part: acknowledging what happened.

Steve braves it first. “Hey, I, uh, I don't want you to think I go around doing shit like that.”

Eddie, ever the opportunistic asshole, says, “Shit like what?” When Steve's face falls to horror, perfectly timed, and Eddie loses it. “I'm kidding, sorry, I'm just fucking with you. It was definitely me.”

“Dick,” Steve says but he's laughing.

“Yeah, that's me.” They sort of instinctively move away from the street, closer to the less busy side storefronts. “In the interest of honesty, I should tell you, I wasn't entirely sure you knew I wasn't a girl, that's why I sort of hesitated right there at the end, before we got separated.”

Steve looks baffled. “Huh?”

“You know.” He waves at himself. “From the back I could be a tall chick. Cause of the kilt and the hair and everything.”

He shakes his head. “Dude, I saw you from like four rows back. Why do you think I stopped where I did?”

Fuck. Okay. That's…awesome. He jams a whole fistful of hair against his face.

“Also, even if you had turned out to be a tall chick, not a deal breaker. You're fucking hot either way.”

“Okay, Romeo, cool it with the compliments before I make you finish what you started right here.”

Jesus tap-dancing Christ, that smirk should be illegal.

“Right here against the jewelry shop window? I'm not opposed.” Eddie very seriously considers the pros and cons of that but before he finishes, Steve laughs. “Better not. I was promised pancakes. And Lord have mercy if Rob and Henderson get there before we do.”

He's right. God dammit.

“Fine but for the record, which I feel goes without saying, I do put out on the first date.”

Steve laughs. “Never would've guessed.”

By the time they get to Roxy's, Steve has his arm around Eddie's waist, pinkie tucked deep into his kilt.

[vampyreelf]

Daughter-In-Law

Summary: You are to marry Legolas, but when you spend time with his father, you have different thoughts.

Thranduil x Reader / Legolas x Reader

Warnings: Smut, a little bit of angst, cheating.

AO3 Link

GIF on @ladyalatariel

You were to marry the Prince of Mirkwood, Legolas and leave your family in Rivendell. You have seen Legolas many a time but never got the courage to speak with him, only admiring him from afar. After evil was defeated and the ring destroyed, Elrond alongside the King of Mirkwood thought it best to strengthen relations between the two kingdoms so a marriage pact was struck between you, Elrond’s niece, who he has been raising since your parents died in battle, and the Prince, Legolas.

Your uncle came to you with the proposal, late at night and it was something that gladdened your heart.

“If the arrangement does not please you, another elf, although not as beautiful, will take your place. But know that you are the one that pleases Legolas and Thranduil the most.” Elrond touched your face and that made you smile.

“Legolas is quite handsome.” You looked away and Elrond smiled, he was quite protective of you, since you were incredibly young, only 62 years old, you are but a baby in his eyes.

“So I have been told by many elves in our kingdom.” The two of you laughed.

“I accept it, but I would prefer to spend some time with Legolas in Rivendell before departing to Mirkwood.” Elrond hugs you and he leaves pleased with the result, he of course would never force you into marriage, especially so young but he also knows that the relations between Rivendell and Mirkwood would take a toll due to your refusal.

Meanwhile in Mirkwood, news of your acceptance has reached the King and the Prince, who could not be happier with the news.

“It seems that you have a bride to be, Legolas.” His father, Thranduil spoke in his regal tone, giving nothing away to his son, who was as giddy as a human child with a new trinket.

“That warms my heart, she is the most beautiful elf I have ever laid eyes upon, father.” Legolas was so excited, he never gave much thought about marriage, much less marrying for an alliance but you? He would do anything for you, for your affection.

“Very well, she requests your presence in Rivendell before she moves permanently to our kingdom.” Thranduil reads from the message sent by Elrond, that was non negotiable.

“Of course, I will go as soon as I am able.” If you asked for his heart on a silver platter, Legolas would give it to you. “Father, would you be inclined to come with me? Everyone would rejoice in seeing the King of Mirkwood supporting his son.” The Prince wanted to mend their fractured relationship, there has been some improvement but the road was still long.

“Yes, but I cannot stay for long. There are many matters that require my utmost attention.” Legolas was elated that his father was coming, and Thranduil couldn’t wait to see you.

“Perfect, I will prepare everything.” Legolas left the throne room and Thranduil smirked, things were going according to plan.

Everyone was in Rivendell, Arwen was helping getting you ready, you were so happy to share this moment with her.

“You look marvellous, your love story with Legolas starts now.” The two of you laughed together, and you got up, the dress was gifted by Arwen from Gondor and you loved the deep purple colour, you also had a headpiece from your mother, with diamonds and rubies.

“Arwen, I want the deep love you and Aragorn have, how I envy you, my dear cousin and friend.” Arwen smiled and hugged you deeply, like her father, she is also quite protective of you.

“And you shall have it, my love.” Your cousin touches your face and you smile, you can feel her love and it warms your heart. The two of you heard a knock at the door. “Come in.” The door was opened and it was Aragorn, and Arwen went to him with a smile on her face.

“Are the ladies ready?” The King of Gondor looks at his Queen and then you. “My dear cousin, you look marvellous, Legolas will surely have his heart out of his chest.” Aragorn kisses your cheek, he knew of Legolas’ feelings for you since the fellowship, he described your eyes for hours on end, and how lucky he would be if you gave him your favour.

“Thank you, Aragorn. Is Legolas here yet?” You were thrilled about the prospect of being Legolas’ wife and his future Queen, but for now, you were content in being in his presence.

“Yes, he and his father arrived a few hours ago and he cannot wait to see you.” Aragorn wanted nothing but happiness for the two of you, Legolas was his biggest friend and you were Arwen’s cousin, friend and confidant, this would have to work.

“His father? One would assume that the King of Mirkwood would stay in his beloved kingdom.” You have seen Legolas’ father only once, you were still a child and he came to negotiate with your uncle, and you were intimidated by him, one would say, scared.

“Legolas has informed me that it was at his behest, and to signal that he does indeed approve of the union.” You nodded at his declaration, one small glimpse when you were younger isn’t enough to form an opinion on someone, especially not your father-in-law and future king.

“Well, that settles it then. Shall we go to the banquet?” The couple nods at you and you smile, excited about seeing your future husband.

With Arwen on his right and you on his left, Aragorn guides the two of you to the banquet hall, one of the elves announces you and the King and Queen of Gondor, Legolas was the first one to stand up and come to you. 

“My lady, you are breathtaking.” Legolas kisses your hand, his piercing blue eyes never leaving yours, the irony of him saying that you are breathtaking when he was the one that took your breath away by kissing your hand.

“My Prince, you are too kind.” You smiled and Legolas felt the heat on his face, you were perfect for him, and there is nothing he wouldn’t do for you already.

“I only speak the truth that my eyes allow me to witness, my Lady.” The two of you were completely engrossed in each other’s presence that Arwen and Aragorn could slip away and leave the newest couple by themselves.

“To think that you were apprehensive about Legolas and my cousin, it seems that they were made for one another.” Arwen beamed while looking at the two of you, and Aragorn kissed his beloved’s hand.

“It seems that you are correct, which concerns me since you always seem to be.” Arwen laughed and the two of them sat down while you and Legolas were still talking.

“Would you mind telling stories about your time with the fellowship, if you don’t mind?” You have heard many stories with Aragorn and Arwen but he doesn’t go into many details, it seems to spare your ears of such death but you don’t mind at all.

“Of course, I would be delighted in sharing tales of courage, friendship and even death, my love.” You looked at him surprised and Legolas looked even more taken aback than you, but you smiled and he seemed to lighten. “Forgive me, but I was driven to express my feelings.” You kissed Legolas on the cheek and he beamed, his heart was singing.

“It would be wrong of me not to encourage such affections, my love.” The words felt like honey in your mouth and you had no idea how to refer to Legolas as anything but.

“The Valar themselves have blessed me with you, my love.” Legolas kissed your hand again, in the moonlight his skin was even more gorgeous, his flowing platinum blonde hair was a cascade of beauty. He touched your beautiful hair, only admiring your beauty, to him you were the only elf in this room.

Unbeknownst to either of you, Thranduil was watching you intently. How his son only has eyes for you and how it seems that you are the same, also how you didn't even kiss him on the lips, how sweet and innocent you were.

“I give you my word Lord Elrond, your dear niece will be well taken care of in Mirkwood, she shall want for nothing.” Thranduil bows his head, and Elrond is relieved, he wants nothing but the best for you and it seems that you will have that in your new home.

It was now the end of the banquet, and you were ready to retire for the evening. You had the best time with Legolas, who was the only person that had your attention all night. Well, that wasn’t entirely the case, there was one person that you had fleeting glances with, the King of Mirkwood, Thranduil. The elf looked positively regal this evening, you could see where Legolas got his handsome features from, he was still as intimidating as you remembered but it also came with a great curiosity, what was he like? Legolas hasn’t mentioned him all evening, so you decided not to pry, your relationship was still in its earliest infancy and you didn't want to ruin anything, you couldn’t, you were to spend the eternity with Legolas, whatever curiosity you had of his father, it can be answered in the next few centuries.

“Should I accompany you to your chambers, my love?” The prince couldn’t even contain his smile when it came to you, his happiness was indeed contagious, you quickly realised that you loved that about Legolas.

“Of course, my love.” With your agreement, Legolas accompanied you to your chambers. The silence between the two of you was comforting, his arms were around your waist, his soft touch was heartening.

Once arriving at your door, Legolas put his hand on your cheeks and softly kissed your lips and it felt incredibly soft, your first kiss and it was perfect. His right hand moved to your hair, and his left hand to your waist, he was respectful and proper but also it felt good, his kiss was amazing.

“I've wanted to do this since I first laid my eyes on your form tonight.” His sultry voice gave you goosebumps, and you smiled fondly at him, the confession made you warm.

“One wonders if you have done it, and scandalised all of Rivendell, and most of all my uncle.” The two of you laughed softly. “You shall have all eternity to kiss my lips, and I yours.” Those prompted Legolas to kiss you again, and he twirled you around afterwards.

“You are such a tease, my love.” Legolas put you down in front of your door again. “I hope you have a great night’s sleep.” The Mirkwood Prince kisses your hand.

“You as well, my love.” With that, Legolas left and you entered your chambers.

Gracefully you removed the headpiece off of your head, your mind filled with thoughts of Legolas, but at the back of your mind, his father, Thranduil was ever present. His regal and imposing figure was etched in your mind, you still had many questions about the King but you were too intimidated to ask Legolas, even less ask Thranduil himself. Now you were ready for some rest, and your dreams shall be of Legolas, your beloved and future husband.

“You are delicious, absolutely irresistible.” The elf kissed your neck again, your breath was shallow, biting your lips to stop the moans from escaping. But he suddenly stopped kissing you and looked at you with such intensity that you were taken aback. “Never deprive me of your lovely noises, they are mine only.” He kissed your collarbones, your moans now no longer trapped on your throat. Your hands went to his platinum blonde hair, and you pulled it, this time he was the one making him moan.

“I want to consume you fully, tell me you are mine.” He whispers in your ear, his big hand pulling up your dress, touching your thigh as well.

“I’m yours, all yours.” You chanted, as if you were possessed by pure lust, perhaps you were.

“Yes, all mine.” His hand touched your pussy and your mouth opened slightly, a moan escaping. “No one else will ever satisfy you, not even Legolas.” His finger expertly entered you making you gasp, his thumb making small circles on your engorged clit.

“Thranduil.” You kiss him again, pulling his hair.

You wake up feeling aroused, the dream threw you off slightly, for a moment it was as if it was Legolas, but that was not the case, it was his aloof father. It was a great dream you cannot lie, but this was all it was, a fantasy, a childish fantasy. You got ready for the day, you were used to waking up quite early, so you decided to take a walk alongside the river.

The sun was shining and everything looked perfect, it was extremely helpful to calm your troubling thoughts about your eventful dream about the King of Mirkwood, you wondered if he behaved that way in real life. You felt guilty, you knew that Legolas would never appreciate the troubling thoughts you were thinking, it made you feel dirty.

“My Lady.” The velvety voice of King Thranduil stopped you in your tracks, you looked behind you and he looked positively regal, his broad shoulders were imposing, and his handsome features gave nothing away.

“King Thranduil, forgive me for I assumed to be the only one here.” You curtsied the elf king and he bowed his head to acknowledge you.

“I am quite accustomed to being awake in the early hours, I wasn’t expecting you to be an early bird.” His lips curled in a hint of a smile and you smiled as well, your opinion of him being intimidating was slowly eroding with a small smile.

“Since early infancy I have been awakening in the early hours, it is simply how I was made.” How are you being more open to your father-in-law than your beloved?

“And how perfectly made you are.” He whispered, his face and voice gave nothing away, it was as if he didn't say anything at all, but he was truly awaiting your reaction.

“Thank you, my King.” You had nothing else to say, of course his words provoked a reaction that you weren’t expecting, a reaction that Legolas didn't give you, your lips parted slightly and your pupils dilated, and of course, Thranduil noticed, it was the reaction he was aiming for.

“One must speak the truth as one sees it, wouldn’t you agree?” You nodded, afraid of what else you might reveal to Thranduil, you felt as if you weren’t in your body, as if he was controlling it. “I am incredibly pleased that you are to marry my son, no other has a beauty such as yourself, my Lady.” You smiled at him again, not finding the correct words on how to express yourself, were you uncomfortable? No, you were in fact quite at ease with the Mirkwood King, you were…not accustomed to such compliments, Legolas was the first one to be so unabashedly forthcoming in his infatuations, now you know from whom he gets it from.

“You are far too kind, my King.” Those are the only words you allowed yourself to utter in front of him in this moment, anything else might betray the thoughts or even worse, the dream you had about the King.

“I have been accused of many things, but kind hasn’t been uttered for a millenia.” He jests and it makes you laugh, it disarms you completely and Thranduil gets closer to yourself without you noticing it. He admires your features, the same way Legolas was but his eyes carry something heavier, something that Legolas doesn’t possess in his blue orbs.

Thranduil decides to push your boundaries once again, he gently grabs your hand and kisses it, holding eye contact for a few minutes. You say nothing, you are lost in his deep blue eyes, the storm of emotions held in them overwhelm you, but you dare not to move away, you want his warmth, you want his skin connected to yours, you didn't want this moment to ever end.

“Will I see you at the banquet tonight, my Lady?” His voice was sultry, it suited him completely. It invaded your senses in a way you didn't think possible, you felt it deep inside you.

“Of course, my King.” You smile, feeling the effect of his voice on your cheeks, they are warm.

“Then I shall see you then, for now I must attend urgent matters with Lord Elrond.” And just like that, he left you. And you missed his warmth and imposing presence, but you took a deep breath and carried on walking but the thoughts about Thranduil were now in the forefront of your mind.

The banquet came rather quickly, and you were speaking to Legolas, Arwen and Aragorn, but your eyes were looking for Thranduil, and he was speaking with Elrond and not looking in your direction. You were confused, did you do anything to make the King angry at you? He seemed so at ease in your company, but now it seems that he has been personally offended by your presence. But you tried to take your mind off of it, and enjoy your beloved’s company the best you could. Now after a few hours, it was only you and Arwen and you still have Thranduil in your mind, so you decide to ask Arwen some questions.

“Dear cousin, when you first met Aragorn…” You whispered to her, afraid of anyone listening in your conversation. “How did you feel? Did you feel things deep in your being?” Arwen smirked at you, she knew exactly what you were talking about.

“My dearest cousin, you are full of surprises.” Of course she would tease you about this. “Of course, and I am sure he will be quite understanding, share with him your troubles.” Arwen leaves your presence and you ponder on her words, maybe you should talk to Thranduil about this.

It was now time for Legolas to accompany you to your chambers again, and you barely spoke with him but you still enjoyed his company, but Thranduil invaded all of your thoughts this evening.

“My love, have I done something to offend you?” Looking at him shocked you fervently shook your head.

“There is nothing that you could ever do to offend me, my love.” You kissed his cheek again and he smiled at you. “Sweet dreams, my love.” Legolas kissed your cheek and went back to his chambers. Once he left you took a deep breath, you needed to speak with Thranduil.

As if you had summoned him, Thranduil appeared behind you and he looked as handsome as this morning, his crown made him look even more regal, his outfit made of the finest fabrics in Middle Earth and he seems to know how handsome he looks.

“My King.” You curtsied and he bowed his head in acknowledgement again, just like this morning.

“Forgive me for being so forward but you look absolutely ravishing this evening.” Again with his sultry voice, and the deep feelings within you come alive again.

“My King.” You enter your chambers but you leave the door open, Thranduil enters your most intimate room, not even Legolas has laid eyes on it, and here he is, inside your chambers, and it’s overwhelming. He locks the door and comes closer to you, his scent is overwhelming, his presence covers you completely. “Thranduil.” You whisper and he takes a deep breath, closing his eyes.

“Yes, say my name again.” His arm goes around your waist and he pulls you closer to him, his strength was surprising when it shouldn’t be since you know he’s a formidable warrior.

“Thranduil.” You whisper again, you cannot help but to obey him. The King has an indescribable pull on you, almost as if you can’t help but be under his spell. “What have you done to me?” You look into his blue orbs, looking for an answer and he looks at you with nothing but desire.

He kissed you deeply and passionately, his other hand going to your hair to keep you in place, your hands placed on his broad shoulders. His tongue fighting for dominance with yours and without much of a fight he has it, his lips travel to your jaw, down to your neck, it reminds you of your dream. You moaned and Thranduil looked at you, he admires you with nothing but lust now.

 “You awakened something within me, things that I cannot describe.” Your fingers travel to his lips, they are perfect, incredibly soft.

“Desire, that is what I have awoken in you.” He kisses your neck, it seems that he can’t resist you, the same way you feel about him. “And you have done the same to myself, feelings that I thought were thoroughly killed within me.” Thranduil pulls you even closer, his warmth was all over your body and you couldn’t get enough of it.

“This is wrong, what about Legolas?” You are ashamed of your actions, thinking about your sweet Prince, and here you are entangled with the impetuous King.

“My son,” Thranduil raises your dress to your thigh. “Needs a wife, an heir,” Both of his hands put your dress around your waist, the cold air made you shiver, making you incredibly aware of how wet you were. “Which I do not, and I cannot justify a marriage to a lovely Lady,” He inserts a finger inside you, and you moan, he smirks. “Such as yourself.” His rhythm was slow, he was getting to your body, your sweet reactions.

“But I want you.” You whispered, eyes closed and lips parted. Thranduil had his gaze fixed upon you, you spoke your heart so freely, he envied that about you. “I need you.” With that, Thranduil inserted a second finger inside you, making you moan a bit louder, your hands holding his shoulders to stop you from losing your balance.

“You shall live in my kingdom, you will be mine.” He growled in your ear, already incredibly possessive of you, you might be his son’s bride, but in reality, you were his, fully.

“Thranduil.” He picked up his speed, the noises from your pussy were pornographic, he was making a mess between your legs. Thranduil felt your pussy contracting against his fingers.

“Let go, I want to own your sweet releases.” He whispers in your ear, his thumb goes to your clit, you scream and Thranduil puts his hand around your mouth. “We wouldn’t want us to be discovered, my Lady.” With your mouth covered, he picks up his pace and your breath gets shallow, your eyes roll to the back of your head, moans still escape but Thranduil looks at you with but lust. “Let go.” He whispers, and as if he had complete control over your body, you cum all over his fingers, Thranduil looks down, admiring your pussy and your juices. He helps you ride out your orgasm, he slowly removes his hand and kisses you more softly but still with the dominance expected from a King.

“What happened?” You asked after regaining your breath, even with Arwen being your best friend, you didn't have the courage to ask about more mature subjects such as this.

“When the pleasure I give you is too great, it releases in such a way, it is believed this is the biggest pleasure an elf can experience.” Thranduil removes his fingers and you immediately feel empty, but his fingers go to his mouth, tasting you in great delight. “And you are the sweetest of them all, my Lady.” He kisses you again and you also taste yourself in his tongue, you moan into his mouth.

“Is there more?” You genuinely wondered, which made the Mirkwood King laugh, a genuine and hearty laugh, something you never thought to hear from him.

“Of course there is, but this will be something you will experience in Mirkwood only.” Thranduil kisses your forehead, and looks at you with something that was hard for you to place. “Now, sleep.” He made sure that you were in bed, after sleep overtook you he watched you for a few minutes and left your chambers.

You woke up and somehow you felt different, you didn't remember seeing Thranduil leaving but you missed him, you missed his body close to yours, and especially his fingers inside you. He was the only thing in your mind, all consuming and the worst part of it was that he was leaving today for Mirkwood. You started to get ready for the day, and hopefully getting a glimpse of Thranduil.

Once you were ready, you went to the main hall and there it was Legolas saying his goodbyes to Thranduil. Both men stopped to look at you, Thranduil’s face gave nothing away, as usual and Legolas’ face lit up seeing you, his beloved.

“My love, my father is going back to our kingdom. But do not fret, we shall see him soon.” Legolas all but drags you to where his father is, and not for a second his eyes deviated from yourself.

“My King, I hope that your stay in Rivendell was satisfactory.” You curtsied him again, one thing that he loved seeing you do.

“It was, and I shall see you in Mirkwood, my Lady.” He bowed his head in acknowledgment, he knew that he couldn’t stay here for too long. Thranduil mounted his elk and looked at his son. “See you at your wedding, Legolas.” With that he left Rivendell and he didn't look back.

“My love, I want us to spend time together, as much as we can. I want to know everything about you.” Legolas kisses your hand and guides you away to the gardens, and your mind is still on Thranduil and when you would be able to see him again.

After a decade of you and Legolas staying in Rivendell, and often travelling to Gondor to meet with Arwen and Aragorn, it was time for your wedding. The worst part is that Thranduil didn't come to visit his son at all, all you had of him was in your memories. Your relationship with Legolas only grew stronger but you still had his father at the back of your mind, you felt guilty about the fact that when Legolas kissed you, you couldn’t help but compare it with the kiss you shared with Thranduil, and you felt even worse when Legolas’ kiss felt short as well.

All of your belongings were being carried to carriages, Legolas was getting his horse ready, he was so happy about finally taking you to Mirkwood but you were nervous, seeing Thranduil after all this time. After many dreams of him, after comparing father and son, you will see him again.

“My love, I received word from my father and he is overseeing every single detail about our ceremony, your dress is ready.” Legolas kisses you with great excitement, his happiness is contagious.

“Has your father chosen my dress?” This was odd but this fact made you warm inside.

“I hope that doesn’t displease you, my father thought of a worthy gift for our upcoming nuptials.” You smiled and kissed him, he was so considerate of your feelings, you couldn’t ask for a better husband, and yet, you wanted Thranduil to be your husband, instead of his son.

“I am most pleased with this arrangement, and our ceremony will be filled with laughter and love.” Legolas visibly relaxes and smiles again, his only goal in life is to make you happy.

“Well, we shall be in Mirkwood in no time.” Legolas helps you get on the horse, it will be a long journey but you love horseback riding.

Arwen and other elves are helping you get ready for your wedding, and Legolas gifted you a crown worthy of a Princess, it was sent to you by Legolas himself and Arwen is carefully placing it on your perfectly made hair. You look stunning but the feeling at the pit of your stomach, the feeling that you should be marrying a King, not a Prince.

“You look even more stunning than myself at my own wedding, dear cousin.” Arwen hugs you from behind, he couldn’t be happier for you, she thought that you and Legolas were perfect for each other.

“The Queen of Gondor tells deceitful lies.” The two of you laughed and you hugged her.

“Are you ready?” You nod at Arwen, and she takes you to the room where Elrond and Aragorn were waiting for the two of you.

“You are a vision, dear niece.” Elrond kisses you, he will be the one to take you to Legolas, he will give you away to Legolas, while Thranduil watches.

You are now a married woman, and you married Legolas. Thranduil didn't take his eyes off of you, he is discreet but you feel his blue orbs on you, the King of Mirkwood has an intense but discreet stare. You were speaking with Mirkwood Lords and Ladies, they were incredibly pleasant and already addressing you as a Princess of Mirkwood. Legolas is now drinking with the dwarf, Gimli, he is boisterous but a good dwarf at heart.

“Will you be a more involved Princess in Mirkwood matters, Princess?” You smiled at the elves, it was overwhelming to think that you were a representative of Mirkwood, in Rivendell you could just be you.

“Whatever the kingdom requires of me it shall be done.” They smiled at your graceful answer, and conversation went back to a more pleasant subject.

It was now late at night, and you were getting ready to go to bed. You went to Legolas who was still drinking with Gimli, who was encouraging Legolas to drink even more.

“Shall we retire for the evening, my love?” You enquire and Legolas looks at you with a smile.

“You will have the elf for yourself for the rest of the days, lassie…let him drink.” He puts yet another glass of alcohol on Legolas’ hands making the two of you laugh.

“Alright, dwarf.” You kissed Legolas. “You shall have him today, and only today.” Legolas kissed you again, with nothing but love in his eyes.

“I will come later, my love.” You nod your head and go back to the room where you got ready, for some reason it didn't feel right to be in Legolas’ room without him. 

You were removing your jewels, and your crown, the room wasn’t lit but somehow you enjoyed only the moonlight entering the room. You admired the crown, it looked so pretty, and it made it real that you were now a Princess, the Princess of Mirkwood. But you were still imagining if instead of the crown of a Princess it would be the crown of a Queen.

“Do you approve of the crown, Princess?” His voice startled you, he was in the dark corner of the room. He slowly raises and comes closer to you, his skin, hair and crown illuminated but the moonlight, he was utterly perfect.

“Of course, my King.” You curtsied him, and looked away, you were angry at him for ignoring you for a decade. “My apologies, I was not aware that you were in this room. I shall take my leave.” You turned around but he came closer to you, his broad chest against your back, his nose against the tip of your ear.

“Stay.” He whispers. “Please.” He begs, and you knew that he doesn’t do this lightly, a King never begs.

“Why should I? You haven’t spoken to me in a whole decade, you made your position as clear as a summer day.” His hand removes the laces of your wedding dress, the wedding dress that he chose especially for you.

“I wanted your relationship to flourish with my son, he deserves to be happy.” After undoing the knots of your dress, he removes it from your figure, it goes around your feet. “You deserve to be happy, I am being incredibly selfish by being here but I do not care, Legolas cares more about drinking with that dwarf than his precious wife.” Thranduil kisses your neck, his long fingers touching your collarbone, and his other hand around your waist. “Do not deny me, I will not bear it.” You turn around and kiss him, he quickly brought you closer to his chest.

“Never ignore me again, Thranduil.” The seriousness in your voice made him nod solemnly, he didn't want you to be disappointed, ever.

“I will never.” His hand went to your face and he kissed you again, he removes your smallclothes and you are now naked right in front of the King. He stops to admire your perfect body, your skin, committing to memory every single detail about yourself. “But I must let you know that you are mine, and I would never let my son have you first.” His words had such an effect on you, you were soaked.

“Why do you say such things?” Thranduil knew that those words affected you and he loved the fact that simply his words could make you like this, lips parted, and wet.

“Because it's the truth, Princess.” He looked at your nipples and they were hard, he grabbed one of your breasts and put your nipple in his mouth, you closed your eyes and put your hands on his luscious blonde hair, moaning. His skilled tongue swirled around your nipple and he was driving you crazy, you could only concentrate in the pleasure he was giving you. Thranduil lets go of your nipple with a pop and he looks at you. “Do you have any idea how much I had to restrain myself from claiming you that day in your chambers?” He guides you to the bed, he lays you and kisses your body, he starts with your collarbone.

“Thranduil, I want to feel you, you’re fully clothed.” You noted and he smirked, he removed his tunic first, then his boots, and later his shirt, followed by his trousers. You looked in awe at his perfect body lit by the moonlight.

“Is that enough?” He was enjoying the fact of how desperate you were for him, the level of desire was truly the same. “Open your legs for me.” You immediately obeyed and he was quickly between them, you looked at him and his cock, it was big and girthy, was that supposed to enter you? He must’ve seen the panic in your face because his eyes softened slightly. “You have nothing to fear, I will make sure that you are ready for me.” Thranduil kissed your breasts, then your abdomen, then your mound, he positioned your legs on your shoulders and then you felt it.

His tongue on your clit, you arched your back, you remember how good his fingers felt inside you but that was nothing compared to his tongue. He sucks on your clit and you moan, the pleasure radiating all over your body, it was such a different pleasure, totally foreign but as if you were made to be pleasured by Thranduil’s tongue.

“Oh, Thranduil.” You moaned and that encouraged him to pick up his pace, he was eating you out as if a man starved, all of your juices going to his chin, his tongue skilfully on your clit then to your entrance, he was fucking you with his tongue, your moans were a holy symphony for Thranduil’s ear, he would kill anything and everything to hear it the rest of eternity. 

He knew that you were close, despite spending so little time together he already knew your body more than you knew yourself. Thranduil picks up the pace and sucks on your clit again, you can feel your orgasm approaching. “Let go for me.” Again, your body obeyed his words and you came even harder than last time, you knew that it was different, it was more intense and you screamed. Thranduil helps you ride out your high, kissing your inner thigh, and admiring you falling apart. “You looked even more gorgeous falling apart.” Your breathing was still shallow, you were trying to catch your breath, and you felt the sheets being wet underneath you.

“What happened?” You look at your lover confused, and he smiles and kisses you.

“The humans named it ‘squirting’, it happens with a female when the pleasure is too great.” Thranduil kisses your abdomen and coming closer to you, he puts your nipple in his mouth, he sucks on them with fervour. Thranduil kissed you and you tasted yourself on his tongue, you felt the tip of your cock on your pussy.

“Once we are intimate this way, we cannot stop this.” You knew what he was doing, he was giving you a way out, but deep down the two of you knew that you cannot stop this even if you tried. To answer him, you kissed him and that way Thranduil had all the confirmation he needed.

Thranduil aligns himself and starts thrusting, he looks at you with so much lust and admiration, his face contorted in pleasure, the same as yours, his grunts and your moans making a pornographic symphony, your nails go to his back, you were trying to ground yourself due to the tsunami of pleasure invading all of your senses, you kissed Thranduil and he kissed your jaw and neck, he got his mouth close to your ear, his thrusts were slow and deep.

“You feel perfect around me.” He whispered and you clench around him, causing him to grunt. “You seem to respond well to praise, darling.” You felt your nipples against his chest, and the pleasure was coming to a breaking point again, his grunts and moans were like music to your ears. “I can feel that you are close, let go for me, darling.” He whispered again and you were clenching around his cock, you never felt so full as you are now, his cock is huge inside you and it’s bringing you even closer to the edge.

“Thranduil.” You moaned his name and you came around his cock, he grunted and you felt yourself spill inside you.

“You are perfect, darling.” Thranduil kissed you and he removed himself from you, and you felt empty. Thranduil laid down and put you on top of him, you could hear his heartbeat.

“What happens now, Thranduil?” You looked at him, you needed his reassurance since you wouldn’t let him go at all.

“I do not know but I will never let you go, darling.” He kissed your forehead and you fell into a peaceful sleep.

[maenefa]

“In contrast to the film, the book shows Faramir and Denethor’s handling of the battle as nothing short of a masterful execution of defense in depth. At each stage, the army of Mordor is forced to sustain casualties and disorder to surmount one set of defenses, only to be presented with fresh defenses and troops. At the end of it, Denethor’s sortie shatters Mordor’s vanguard and buys the escape of Faramir’s force.”

If you’re not aware of Bret Devereaux’s analysis of Tolkien’s battles through the eyes of a military historian, go read his stuff, it’s amazing!

One thing that drives me insane about Peter Jackson’s interpretation of Return of the King is his decision to film TWO battles for Osgiliath when there was only one in the book.

“They had to make changes because of time constraints.” NOPE. Not buying it.

In the book, Denethor sends Faramir to Osgiliath and there is a big, exciting battle. In the movie, Faramir fights a wimpier, less exciting version of this battle, retreats, and then gets sent BACK to Osgiliath on a completely pointless suicide mission.

These two scenes could have been consolidated into one big action sequence! It could have been really cool!

Again, here is what happens in the book:

Faramir and Denethor have their messy, emotional confrontation during a war council with all the captains watching.

Faramir goes to defend Osgiliath, which is still held by Gondor, and Mordor’s forces cross the river in boats. Faramir fights them and then retreats.

Faramir stops when he reaches the Ramas Echor (the huge outer defense wall) and fights AGAIN, using the wall as a defensible point.

The orcs use explosives to blast through the wall at multiple points. Faramir retreats again.

Faramir does a splendid job of holding his men together and keeping them from panicking. Most of them march on foot towards the city, while Faramir rides behind them with a small group of cavalry.

Enemy horsemen chase and attack them, aided by the Nazgûl. It looks like the Gondorians are going to get slaughtered.

But wait! Denethor FINALLY unleashes the rest of his cavalry from the city. The enemy has been lured into a trap. Gandalf and Imrahil lead the charge and CRUSH Mordor’s forces.

Faramir is fighting a mounted champion of Harad when he is hit by an arrow. Gondor’s cavalry arrives just in time to keep the Haradrim from killing him. Imrahil rescues Faramir and carries him back to the city.

So yeah, this is a dynamic battle with lots of movement and changes of fortune. It’s got explosions! and chase scenes! and Nazgûl! and cavalry charges! and a cool boss fight! Some might call it… cinematic. I will forever be pissed that I never got to see Faramir fall off his horse melodramatically in mid-combat with a badass Haradrim warrior.

Normally PJ jumps at the chance to do an over-the-top action sequence. So it’s quite egregious that he downgraded this battle so much. Was he starting to run out of time and money at this point? Or was it deliberately sacrificed, so that Denethor could be more stupid and evil?

Also, the EMOTIONS of this battle! Denethor’s anxiety as he waits for Faramir to return, bitterly regretting the last words he said to his son. The tension as he waits for the perfect moment to send in the cavalry, pitting military necessity against his son’s life. Faramir’s pain and exhaustion and bitter determination and the loyalty of his men! The way Denethor and Faramir pull off the battle but ruin their relationship forever! AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!

[hobbitwrangler]

B2MEM International Women's Day recs

I love the idea of spotlighting fics with female characters today, so here's my contribution to @spring-into-arda's Back to Middle Earth event!

she planted this garden by lonelyvisitor (G, Elros/Elros' wife, 0.8k) Beautifully written fic with such a fully realised main character that interrogates the alien-ness of the peredhil and how painful and strange it would be to be married to one of them.

A Thing Strange and Crooked by @emyn-arnens (T, Idril & Maeglin, 2.6k) An incredibly realistic depiction of Idril's isolation and sense of helplessness in the face of Maeglin's pursuit of her.

What Comes Naturally by @imakemywings (G, Indis & Míriel, 2.9k) The way this fic explores the aspects of motherhood that are painful and unglamourous and just plain sad ... I get emotional just thinking about this fic. And I live for this interpretation of Míriel.

Unwary by @from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras (T, Théodwyn, 3.1k) Wonderful Théodwyn characterisation, I love her anger and resentment and frustration and how it all tangles with her grief at Éomund's death.

Birthright by cuarthol (M, Findis/Gandalf, 3.5k) I am still absolutely in love with this characterisation of Findis and the way her grief affects her.

Sword-hearted by @emyn-arnens (G, Éowyn, 1.7k) An insight into Éowyn's childhood that also weaves in Helm Hammerhand's daughter and references to Éowyn's aunts.

a fish, floundering on dry land by ncfan (T, Finduilas of Dol Amroth, 4.1k) Not only does this capture Finduilas' waining in Minas Tirith, it also comes with a cameo from one of Denethor's sisters.

what the shadows hid by @swanmaids (T, Lúthien/Thuringwethil, 0.5k) Perfect horror piece that manages to be hot, intimate and creepy all at once.

plundered her and stripped what remained by @swanmaids (M, Aerin & OC, 2.2k) A heartbreaking look at what befalls Aerin and the women of her people, caught between the pain of what they have lost and the pain that is to come.

Askance by @from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras (G, Vidumavi, 5.3k) This fic perfectly portrays Vidumavi's sense of self and how she struggles with her feeling of otherness in Gondor.

Threads by Adlanth (G, Finduilas Faelivrin, Edhellos & Orodreth's wife, 1k) Gorgeously written conversation about foresight between three generations of elven women from three different backgrounds.

Beneath the Innumerable Stars by @emyn-arnens (G, Findis & Ilmarë, 0.9k) A conversation between Findis and Ilmarë about Findis' fears in the oncoming War of Wrath, with such vivid, magical imagery.

Queen Under the Mountain by @imakemywings (T, Dís, 2.9k) A look at Dís' grief and emptiness after the the Quest for Erebor, and her musings on how hollow her people's victory is for her.

Mutual In Divine Love by @elvain (G, Arwen/Éowyn, 4.1k) Love Arwen's rejection of fate in this fic, and her immediate appreciation for Éowyn is wonderful.

[thefallenangelsgang]

I'm losing my fucking mind

Or: I just saw Lord of the Rings the Musical at the Chicago Shakespeare Theater and my brain chemistry has irreversibly changed

I'm too genuinely scrambled at the moment from travel to make a solid post (I am multiple states away from Illinois and I hate city driving) but I cannot shake the life-changing experience that was.

SPOILERS AHEAD

(Spoiler free tldr: story is changed sometimes severely to make a sub-3hr runtime or to simplify, but the message doesn't get completely lost. Tolkien fan approved)

First issue I can see everyone having is how much the story changes because it does change a lot. Rohan and Gondor being merged is probably the most glaring. I think it works because the show is more focused on the Hobbits (specifically Frodo and Sam). Personally I can look past it. My one issue is the missing Sam monologues (mount doom is a rather swift sequence, I'd have liked to see Sam give his devotion speech and his speech about the shire while waiting to die) those would have made insane songs but alas. The ending still was a gut punch though so it's more a personal preference thing.

First thing that blew me away was the technical aspect. The lighting and set design was GORGEOUS and EVOCATIVE. There were multiple times lighting alone drew me to tears.

The puppetry is immaculate. The nazgul chase is singularly some of the most beautiful choreo I've seen and I'm a slut for puppetry

The cast play all of the instruments live on stage, sometimes while doing choreography (nothing will prepare you to see Legolas holding a fucking trumpet or Boromir strapped into a goddamn accordion)

The costuming is more accurate to the original editions' illustrations which I found endlessly charming. One difference is, for safety (probably OSHA), all the hobbits (and Gollum) wear Sandals. This is never discussed. I love that.

BOROMIR IS KILLED BY HIS OWN SWORD WHICH I CANNOT EXPRESS HOW PERFECT THAT IS NARRATIVELY

GOLLUM PLAYED BY TONY BOZZUTO IS NEARLY INDISTINGUISHABLE FROM ANDY SERKIS

(I am not joking about this. Somehow he has mastered Andy's physicality and voice work. It truly was a sight to behold.)

Saruman/Elrond's actor (dressed as a hobbit) was hanging out in our section during preshow and was having a grand old time.

Bilbo and Frodo were in the main audience bothering people. Frodo was playing a stick and ring game and got absolutely shown up by some 10 year old he invited to play.

The Entmoot took literally 2 minutes (the way I had to stop from HOWLING at that)

I was SOBBING at the end, like actually.

Somehow this production managed to keenly make me feel the ending of Frodo leaving for the Grey Havens more than the movies did. The Irony of Frodo leaving being both a hopeful prayer that there is a place where people bound with trauma and wounds too deep to heal can live in peace without pain and also a grim acceptance that sometimes people cannot recover was STARK

Frodo and Sam really push the narrative of this show up until the end and it hits HARD. God bless this cast with steady work, they all deserve it.

[beautifultypewriter]

I’m not gonna lie… things are not good over here, but also… I have so many feelings about this and it’s the only thing that is keeping me going. Boromir was born to be a girl dad and while the poll I did was for a different story where he doesn’t get to be a dad, I had to write a universe where he actually got to raise his daughter. Also I’m going to use my oc, but only her name, there’s no description and I’m going to write in 3rd person. I have so many thoughts about this. Keep your eyes peeled for some new Gondor Girl content. And quick timeline Boromir and Limmeth get married about 2 years before he leaves for Rivendell and their baby is born a month before he leaves. Also warning: brief mention of labor/childbirth, but nothing detailed or graphic. It's over 2k words, so it's under the read more. @streets-in-paradise Lu, sorry to bother you, but I need you to see this.

Boromir as a dad:

Boromir is ecstatic when Limmeth tells him that she’s with child. Like he is so beyond happy… for about 2 minutes and then the worry starts to settle in his chest, he keeps smiling though as she’s smiling up at him because the last thing he wants to do is worry his sweet wife.

But he can’t help it. There is a WAR going on and Mordor is RIGHT THERE and he already has so much on his shoulders, worrying about his people, his city, his father and brother, Limmeth herself, and now this? Man is stressed.

And although he tries to hide it, Limmeth sees right through him. She puts her hands on his cheeks and gently kisses his lips, “This is a good thing. Everything will be fine.”

He repeats those words to himself nearly everyday for the duration of the pregnancy. It helps keep him grounded and it helps the happiness shine through. He’s able to focus more on the pregnancy and the fact that soon there will be a little baby, that hopefully looks just like Limmeth, in the world. And a little baby that looks like his sweet, perfect Limmeth will certainly bring light to the darkness that they often find themselves in during these times. 

Then the day arrives. Boromir is with Faramir and few other men, making plans and going over resources when a maid scurries into the room and whispers in the captain’s ear.

Boromir doesn’t think twice before rushing from the room, with zero explanation to anyone else by the way, and making his way to where his wife has started her labor. He beats the healer to the room, and he rushes in, quickly grabbing Limmeth’s hand and placing a kiss to her forehead. 

Hours and hours later, Limmeth is propped up by some pillows with their baby girl in her arms as Boromir sits next to her on the bed, his own arms wrapped around her. He’s blinking back tears as he stares down at his little girl. 

Unfortunately the peace is interrupted as Denethor enters the room, Faramir trailing behind him. The steward is smiling as he approaches the couple, but that smile quickly drops as Boromir introduces him to his granddaughter. 

Denethor glares at Limmeth, blaming her for this in his twisted mind, before he storms out. Limmeth is on the verge of tears and Boromir is seething. 

Fortunately, Faramir is still there, and he steps up and gushes about how beautiful the baby is and how lucky they are that she looks more like Limmeth than she does Boromir, which makes his brother roll his eyes and his sister by law laugh. 

Then he asks what his niece is to be called and Boromir and Limmeth look at each other for a moment. Because they never really discussed names and now they have to navigate hazy thoughts of what their daughter will be called for her entire life. They both get what they believe to be a brilliant idea at the same time. 

An argument breaks out over whose mother they should name her after. Limmeth wants to name her after Boromir’s mother and Boromir wants to name her after Limmeth’s mother. Both of them refuse to back down. Faramir is rubbing his temples as the little baby snoozes through the argument. Finally, he steps up and suggests that they choose a new name, one not related to either of them. 

The idea is considered for a moment before they ultimately agree and then they start to brainstorm. It’s hours before they land on Amathael (Glimmering Shield. Glimmering for Limmeth and Shield for Boromir). 

When Boromir holds his daughter for the first time, he cries. He tries so hard not to, but not even Gondor’s mightiest warrior can hold back tears as he looks down at what he is positive is the most beautiful baby to ever be born. Limmeth watches him with a smile on her face, tears brimming in her own eyes as Boromir gently traces a finger over Amathael’s cheek.

Unbeknownst to them they only get a month together before Boromir is traveling to Rivendell and Limmeth is left to wonder if she will ever see her husband again and whether or not Amathael will have a father. 

At some point between these two events, Denethor goes on a verbal rampage about how Boromir’s wife is useless as she did not provide Boromir with an heir and that they would have to have another child as quickly as possible to ensure that their bloodline continues, and Boromir loses it. He is able to remain pretty calm which is surprising as he sets his father straight. “You will not speak of my wife and daughter in such a manner. If I hear it again…” his jaw tightens and his fist clenches and he turns and walks away. 

He goes to his and Limmeth’s room to see her cradling Amathael and quietly singing the same Dol Amroth lullaby that his own mother sang to him and Faramir. All the tension leaves his body as he stands in the doorway and watches his whole world. 

Boromir dreads having to tell Limmeth that he’s going to Rivendell. He knows that it’s unfair to her and Amathael, but he really has no other choice in this. He tells himself that this could be the key to finally defeating Sauron and creating a better world for his daughter to grow up in, a thought he repeats to Limmeth as she cries in his arms later.

He makes Faramir promise to look after and protect Limmeth and Amathael while he’s gone and of course his brother agrees. He was going to take care of them without having made the promise. Boromir hates having to leave his girls at all, but he especially hates having to leave them with his father when the man still has not gotten over the fact that Amathael is not a son.

Amathael is only a month old when Boromir leaves for Rivendell. She’s still so tiny as he cradles her to his chest in the early morning light. He’s humming quietly, soaking in these last moments with his little girl. He doesn’t know if this will be the last time he sees her. Limmeth wakes and quietly makes her way over to the pair, resting her head against Boromir’s arm.

It’s nearly nine months later when Limmeth is reunited with her husband. Battle worn and full of grief, Boromir stumbles into the Tower of Ecthelion. He has already been given the news of his brother and father and all he wants is to see his wife and daughter.

His wish is answered when he steps into the throne room, followed closely by Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, Gandalf, and Éomer, to see Limmeth standing in the middle of the room, Amathael in her arms. Boromir doesn’t think twice before rushing forward and wrapping Limmeth in his arms.

Amathael fusses a little bit, not used to having Boromir around (something that breaks his heart a little bit, but he’ll never admit) and he is struck by how big she’s gotten. Limmeth has tears in her eyes as she hands the baby over to Boromir before tucking herself into his side, staying close to keep things peaceful.

Boromir holds Amathael close, his eyes closing as he gently rests his forehead against his baby girl. She soon stops fussing as she stares at Boromir with big eyes that mirror his own.

Because while Amathael is Limmeth’s twin in every other sense, her eyes are her father’s. Something that Limmeth absolutely adores.

So Boromir gets a very short amount of time with his family before he’s marching away again and although she tries to hold onto hope, Limmeth feels almost sure that he’s marching away from her for good.

BUT because I have made everything beautiful and wonderful, Limmeth’s fears are never realized and Boromir rushes into her arms once again. Amathael fusses less and even reaches towards Boromir’s face as the three of them are pressed close together. His heart soars and he takes her from her mother’s arms.

Aragorn is crowned King and Boromir is made steward. There is a lot of work to be done in the aftermath of Saron’s defeat, but Boromir always makes time for his family. He’s already lost so much time with them, and he doesn’t want to miss another second of Amathael growing up.

Family walks through the markets of the lower city. Boromir carries Amathael, smiling and tickling her as her laughter rings out. Limmeth smiles as she watches the two most important people in her life.

Boromir 100% throws Amathael up into the air and catches her and she shrieks with laughter. As she gets bigger, it gets harder, but all she needs to do is pout for a second and he’s lifting her and tossing her as high as he can.

He would do anything for her, like seriously, she has him wrapped around her finger. It delights Limmeth to no end. And Boromir is completely oblivious to it too. Like he does not even realize that he is being unintentionally played by this little baby.

Once Amathael starts walking, she is following Boromir everywhere he goes. Her absolute favorite place to follow him to is the small meeting room where Aragorn holds council. She stands in the doorway and watches her Da and her two uncles settle themselves at the table, nodding to the few other men who come in. Aragorn notices the little girl in the doorway first and he smiles as he waves her over. She runs in and Aragorn scoops her up and sets her in his lap. She laughs as Boromir looks over with a fake look of hurt on his face. Amathael doesn’t last long before she’s scrambling off of Aragorn’s lap and running over to Boromir.

She’s grinning as she climbs into his lap and pressing her face against his chest. Boromir wraps his arms around her and chuckles quietly. Faramir and Aragorn are laughing along with him. Amathael stays in Boromir’s lap as the meeting begins. She falls asleep rather quickly and Boromir cradles her as he half pays attention. Limmeth comes to retrieve Amathael and her husband reluctantly lets the little girl go. Limmeth presses a kiss to his temple before she carries Amathael out of the room.

Boromir starts to bring Amathael to the training yard with him and she very quickly becomes interested in learning about fighting. She loves watching Boromir, Faramir, and Éowyn train together and she wants to be part of it.

Limmeth will come watch them all and Amathael is constantly stopping to call out to her mother, telling her to “watch me!” and to “look at this!” Limmeth is only too happy to watch everything and cheer as Boromir lets Amathael disarm him.

Limmeth teaches Amathael how to ride horses and the three of them go on family rides together. Before Amathael was old enough to ride, she would sit with Boromir on his horse and continually challenge Limmeth to races. Limmeth would laugh as Boromir would groan and then she would take off, forcing her husband to kick his own horse into gear to catch up to her. Amathael would laugh loudly as they rode and a grin would stretch over Boromir’s face.

Amathael loves to run around with her cousins and Aragorn and Arwen’s children. Boromir loves to see her having fun with and playing with the other children. It reminds him of his own childhood and he’s glad that Amathael has friends to play with.

Boromir loves to dance with her at any kind of feast or celebration that they have. When she was really little, they did the whole standing on his feet while they dance thing and it was the most precious thing in the world.

Boromir loves and hates watching his little girl grow up. He’s so proud of her and the person she is becoming, but he wishes she could stay his little girl forever. Limmeth needs to constantly comfort this man about this. One thing that never changes about Amathael though is how much she loves her parents.

I see her future playing out in one of two ways… she becomes the first female Captain of Gondor or she marries Eldarion, Arwen and Aragorn’s son, and becomes the next Queen of Gondor. Or maybe both?

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

Askance

We’re back in obscure territory with a fic about Vidumavi of the Northmen! Here’s a quick summary of Vidumavi and her family for those unfamiliar with that part of the appendices:

In T.A.1250, Valacar, the crown prince of Gondor, was sent to live in Rhovanion as an ambassador to the Northmen, who were allies to Gondor and direct ancestors of the Rohirrim. His task was to learn their language and customs, but, unexpectedly, he fell in love with the people, the culture and the king’s daughter, Vidumavi. They were married and had a son, Vinitharya (nearly everyone in this story has a “V” name, I’m sorry, it’s Tolkien’s fault!). 

When Valacar brought his young family back to Gondor, they were greeted with major trouble. Many Gondorians looked down on Vidumavi and Vinitharya because they weren’t so-called “high Men,” or full blooded descendants of Númenor. They were considered inferior and a lot of people didn’t want them in the royal family. By the time Vinitharya (who was then going by the Gondorian name Eldacar) took the throne, parts of Gondor were in open revolt and his own cousin overthrew him in a civil war known as the kinstrife. The war took many lives and Gondor suffered greatly under the 10 year rule of the rebels, but Vinitharya eventually won back the throne with the help of his Northmen kinsmen and loyalists from Gondor and Arnor. 

This part of Appendix A is wild to me. It’s got so much fascinating detail on Middle Earth politics, and it has big things to say about xenophobia, the question of inherent equality among humans, etc. But I wanted to focus on the woman at the center of the drama: Vidumavi, a proto-Rohirrim who started a civil war and almost ended an empire simply by existing and being loved. This story attempts to fill in some gaps about her life as she would have seen it. Read on AO3 or below.

For the high men of Gondor already looked askance at the Northmen among them; and it was a thing unheard of before that the heir to the crown, or any son of the King, should wed one of lesser and alien race. — Appendix A

Osgiliath, T.A. 1261

The circle of emptiness around Vidumavi is so neat that she can almost imagine a line has been drawn on the floor, a formal border laid down with precision and over which all the other women have agreed they will not tread. The room teems with people — high born ladies, giddy daughters, regal matriarchs, attendants and servants — so tightly packed that most attempts at movement require raised arms, sucked in bellies, quick turns of the hips. And yet there is still this single unfilled space, a perfect ring of enticing relief from the crush of other bodies but occupied by one alone. It is a moat of isolation, crossed only by the unsubtle stares of the curious and the disdainful, and Vidumavi is stranded at its center. 

That the existence of the moat is no longer surprising does not make the humiliation of it any less. This is a room where she is meant to hold power and preside in authority, but instead she is hemmed in, exposed like a hare that has been flushed from its burrow and stands paralyzed in the open, surrounded by the trappers and their snares. She is the daughter of Vidugavia, a princess of Rhovanion, leader of the hunt, master of the spear. Some day she will be the queen of Gondor. But at this moment, she is just a lonely, tired woman with no one to talk to and no idea what to do with her hands as she waits for the mercy of the bell that will bring this formal appearance to an end at last. 

She can feel the first damp hints of perspiration forming on her brow and neck as she stands, the heat of the small space wrapping its sweaty fingers around her throat, and she knows that whispers will soon follow. Yet another day when the queen-to-be shows herself to be coarse and undignified. Dark, wet swatches appear under the arms of her dress and the curls on her head turn slowly from carefully placed ringlets into a halo of golden chaos. But it cannot be helped, and to think about it, allowing the fiery burn of embarrassment to flood her cheeks, will only make it worse still.

She knows that she will never please these refined, elegant women who keep their careful distance. If she wore the light and airy dresses like those that help to cool them now, they would be scandalized by the sight of the delicate green patterns that wind their way up her bare arms like the fronds of a fern or the inky black horses that gallop just below her collarbone, racing from one shoulder to the other. But the price of avoiding that judgment is to invite a different form, to be cocooned in sweat-soaked fabric in the swelter of her second Gondorian summer, a season that chokes and oppresses like nothing she has ever known. She longs to tear at that fabric, to claw off the heavy silks and the high neck, and to run free again in the riding pants and tunic of her home, hair in a simple braid that serves its function without further expectation of style or grace. But that is not to be, and so she waits those final excruciating minutes bound in the restraints of disappointed expectations. 

When the bell sounds at last and the audience is over, the crowd parts ahead of her, clearing an open path to the door. Knees bend and heads bow as she passes, customs of deference in this land that have always made her uncomfortable. She sees little honor in respect that is mandated by law rather than earned through deeds, and she need not have fully mastered the language to know that any respect paid to her is of the most obligatory kind. It is obvious in the knowing smirks of contempt and the exasperated sighs of dismissal that she can feel like a shove in the back as she walks. She can sense it even in the eyes cast downward in shame by the few who know better but lack the courage to show it in a crowd where theirs is not the dominant opinion. 

*****

The hallways back to her private rooms are empty, the solitude of her echoing footsteps here a relief rather than a verdict. Freed from further commitments for the rest of the day, she will spend it gratefully with one who is always happy to see her. One whose guileless love and affection know no limitations and make no distinctions for status and standing, only for kindness and care. 

All of six years old, she finds him playing alone in his chamber under the watchful eye of both a governess and a guard. Blissfully unaware that others consider his very existence to be an offense to the glory of Gondor, right now her son is confidently commanding its army in miniature, positioning little carved soldiers on a map with care, the tip of his tongue protruding from the side of his mouth in concentration. She watches him silently from the doorway, the products of his bountiful imagination unspooling in expressive gestures and faces as his wooden army sweeps easily across the paper Anduin, before she is at last perceived.  

Eldacar, the governess says, look who has come. But he doesn’t look up, for he doesn’t yet recognize that name as his own. It’s not the name that has been whispered gently to him every morning since before he could make memories, or the name that was carried on the Northern winds to call him in from play each evening. It’s not the name he shares with his grandfather, in meaning if not in tongue, or the name that is etched upon his mother’s wrist, a rising sun and a sharpened spear that he likes to trace with his little fingers while she tells him tales of their people. Some day Eldacar will mean something to him, and he will know what it is to bear a name of the House of Isildur. Perhaps he will be proud. But he will never be Eldacar to his mother. Her happy, squirmy, mischievous, loving little boy only has one name that will ever sound natural in her ear or right in her heart.

Vinitharya. It’s barely more than a murmur, but it brings his head up with a joyful snap even as the governess frowns her disapproval. In an instant, he is on his feet, arms wrapped around his mother’s legs and a rush of giddy news pouring forth from his lips — one of his teeth has gone wiggly, he has grown a whole inch since the last time his height was marked, black cats have been prowling around in the courtyard outside his window. If she closes her eyes, the rolling cadence of her homeland in his high, clear voice sounds like the clamor of her brother’s children piled around the golden glow of the hearth on a winter’s night, and the memory both stings and soothes. She knows she should correct him, steer him to the Sindarin or Westron that he speaks with almost equal ease, but she decides to allow herself this one small comfort, for today at least. 

She dismisses the governess, though not the guard, and takes her little boy for a walk along the river, hoping a breeze from the water will bring a reprieve from the stifling heat. Scampering ahead of her, stopping often to point at a diving spoonbill or to wave at the sailors aboard the high-masted ships at anchor, he looks much like any other child of Osgiliath. Straight dark hair that already runs to his shoulders, light grey eyes, a lithe, tall frame even at his young age. This pleases her, despite Valacar’s wishes to see more of his wife’s features in the face of their son. There is safety in familiarity, she tells him. It is a lesson she has learned in a way that Valacar never can. She feels it in her bones any time the guards end up a few paces too far behind and the streets become unexpectedly full of jostling, unsmiling strangers, a faceless crowd where her flaxen head is knowable at the quickest of glances. 

But even his familiarity will not protect Vinitharya forever. He is marked as different, no matter the color of his hair or whether he, too, proves to be beardless like his father. Already he is called the eider princeling — after the ducks that come to Cair Andros and sneak their eggs into the nests of other birds, mimicking their appearance in an attempt to pass off their young as belonging to the flock — and those who wish him ill will make it their business to know exactly who he is, what he looks like and how to reach him. The very idea wrenches something deep inside her chest, the twisting of a knife that has been buried there since the first time she was forced to admit that her son had been born with enemies and that she couldn’t hope to shield him forever. All she can hope, as he clambers happily along in front of her, is that he will be ready when the moment inevitably comes. 

She keeps to the riverside quays where a few flowering trees grow, their branches dripping pink petals into the lazy current, and she drinks in the rare sight of the leaves and the bark and the blossoms, anything with color, softness, irregularity. It is a rare place in the city that gives a hint of home, the loveliness of the natural world as wrought by the gods. Elsewhere Osgiliath is a work entirely of Man’s design, tall walls of cold white stone reaching far overhead and rigid lines of neat black paving squares marching off into the distance underfoot. There is a stark formality that covers the city like armor, hard and unyielding. She longs instead for the rich golds of Rhovanion’s vales, the sun-dappled greens of its forests, the gentle ripple of grasses that bend and flow in the wind just as a cloud of starlings wheels back and forth across the sky. She longs for a place where she can breathe again, free of the capital’s thick, grey air that is too often choked with dirty haze that drifts from nearby Mordor. 

Valacar has tried and tried again to meet this need for her, promising the fragrant orchards of Lossarnach, the rocky riverbeds of Lebennin, the wooded valleys of Lamedon, but the time is never right. Things are still too tense in the south, their advisors say. The opposition will break like a fever, but until then you must be patient. He labors long into the night, consulting maps, writing letters, seeking support, calling on old friendships. But though he is a prince, with money and soldiers and law on his side, the minds of others are beyond his power. He cannot pry open those that are determined to remain shut. And so days become weeks, weeks become months, the fever still burns, and here she remains, encased in the city’s refuge of stone walls and looking to a few individual trees for the comfort of nature.

Just off the path ahead of her, a group of young mothers sit with infants in their laps, bread and fruit and bottles of rich red wine spread out around them. They laugh and smile at one another’s children, reaching with affectionate familiarity to squeeze a tiny foot or smooth a downy wisp of hair. Vinitharya’s gaze locks on to this little group, fascinated as he’s always been with babies, but she steers him aside, making a wide loop to stay well clear of eyes and ears and mouths that she does not know or trust. He obeys without complaint for now, but some day he will stop first to ask questions, to probe reasoning, to wonder why his mother’s instinct is always for distance and solitude. 

The trilling laughter of the other women fades behind her, sending a pang through her heart even as she strides purposefully away. It is the sound of afternoons gossiping with her brother’s wife as they cleaned the boar from that day’s hunt or mornings chatting with her aunts and cousins while braiding each other’s hair. Valacar is precious to her, but he cannot replace the companionship of other women, the easy comfort and intuitive understanding of someone else who has lived life as she has, shared her experiences, known her roles. The loss of that companionship is like the loss of a limb, a critical part of her that is now gone but whose absence she feels through the phantom pains that constantly remind her that it used to be there. 

*****

She had tried, on first arrival, to find those relationships again. She had met every eye with confidence, greeted every new face with warmth. Reserve was not in her nature, and she was quick to offer friendship to all those who seemed clever or interesting. But those offers were rarely reciprocated, if they were tolerated at all, and even the few who seemed willing to engage with her usually held back, reluctant to entangle themselves in the controversy around her or fearful of the air of danger that followed in that controversy’s wake. 

She wasn’t raised to easily accept defeat, and she changed her approach many times, hoping to find the one that might unlock the acceptance of her adopted people. She stopped embracing new acquaintances, having learned that the Gondorians frowned on casual touch from strangers. She no longer invited women to join her daily ride after discovering most of them had never even sat in a saddle and had no inclination to do so. She dulled the parts of herself that stood out the most — the parts that she liked best — and tried instead to mold herself in their image. She took up their pastimes, doted on their children, followed their manners, struggled through their stories and opinions in a language that was still foreign to her. But in exchange, she got thin smiles, rushed visits, whispered asides in long, formal words she didn’t yet understand. She always took note of those words to ask Valacar about them later, writing them down carefully in her hesitant, beginner’s script. He would look at her list — opportunist, unsophisticated, usurper  — and grimace, crumpling the paper in his fist and pulling her into his arms with a fierceness that told her all she needed to know.

Eventually, she stopped trying. A heart can only offer itself so many times before the ache of isolation becomes preferable to the sting of rejection. She withdrew, no longer looking for friendship and no longer surprised when it was withheld. When Valacar’s cousin avoided her eye in the feast hall, she avoided his, too. When the ladies of court cut off their lighthearted banter the moment she stepped into the room, she swallowed whatever greeting or kind word she might have offered. She nearly mastered the art of outward indifference, learning to take every feeling and thought off her face and replace them instead with studied neutrality, until the image she presented bore so little resemblance to her true self that she could at least find comfort in the idea that her enemies didn’t even know who they hated.

Still, even with enough experience to have accepted her situation, she has never been able to truly understand it. She cannot make sense of why others flee from her approach, scattering like deer in the forest that have caught an unsettling scent on the wind. Is her father not Gondor’s ally, fighting side by side in common cause against its enemies? How are her people good enough to protect Gondor, to suffer for it, to die in its name, but not to live in honor within it? If Gondor’s future king has chosen her to be his queen, how can that mean so little to those who are bound in allegiance to that king? 

She has heard the answers, Valacar’s stammering attempts to explain his countrymen, and at first she laughed, so absurd did they sound. Mixed blood, lesser Men, waning heritage. The idea that favor and worthiness cannot be earned by action and intention but are instead given for the achievement of having been born in the right land and to the right ancestor. But it took only one look at Valacar’s doleful eyes, his reddened cheeks, to see that it was no jest. She cannot win their trust because she is not meant to have it. To admit that she is good enough is to admit that they have equals. They will do whatever they must to cling to their old beliefs, he says. They will knock you down just so that they can complain that you are on your knees. Do not look for sense or logic in their thoughts, for there is none. It is some consolation to know that he is right, but being right does not feel less lonely. 

She can see that it pains Valacar both to watch his wife and son be shunned and to accept that his own people, even his own family, are responsible for it. He can remember clearly enough the enthusiastic embrace he received back in Rhovanion and the unrestrained joy of their wedding day. All of Bagmē Blōma joined in the celebration, and they had laughed and smiled til their faces ached. They danced and toasted and sang in a wide open field lit by a hundred burning lanterns and carpeted by a thousand fragrant wildflowers, and when it turned cold in the small hours, they bundled themselves in furs and sang and toasted all the louder. Valacar spent half the night wrapped in the arms of one drunk Northman or another, all pounding fists against his back and booming out oaths of unending friendship, and when he returned their oaths in the tongue of the North, heavily accented but clear, the echoing cheers might have shaken the moon from its perch. 

Talking of that night now always brings a smile to his face, but it’s a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. She can read the thought that he holds inside, the searing shame of the contrast to the lives they lead in his homeland, among those who made and raised him. She has no remedy for the pain this causes, the weight of which she can see on his creased brow and clenched jaw and in the way he plods slowly back and forth across the room at night when he thinks she is sleeping. And so his stolen joy becomes yet one more grievance that she would lay at the feet of Gondor. 

*****

Vinitharya pulls her hand as they walk, towing her along toward the bridge that leads to the Dome of Stars, his favorite place in the city. He could lay for hours on the hard granite floor, gazing up at the celestial splendor that spills across the brightly decorated ceiling. He rarely sees the beauty of the night sky above Osgiliath, where so much is drowned out by the glow of the watch-fires, but the delicately gilded gold and silver mosaics of the Dome feed his curiosity and his imagination. He delights in pointing out the shapes his father has taught him — Soronúmë the eagle, Menelmacar the swordsman, Wilwarin the butterfly — and sometimes she shows him a few of the Northmen’s star shapes as well. Even more, he loves to pick out new creatures and figures, neither of Gondor nor Rhovanion but of his own special making. She likes these best, the whimsical inventions of a young and unburdened mind, unafraid to follow its fanciful impulses even here in one of Gondor’s most sacred places.

The keeper at the door nods wordlessly as they enter, well used to their regular appearances. Any other mother with an eager child would be turned aside, left to find their own inspirations elsewhere, but the loremasters and scribes who work at the Dome always give way for her. She knows this is not a favor of affection. They may have been ordered by Valacar to accommodate his wife, or, perhaps, her guards have smoothed the way, finding their jobs easier when she and her son spend time in quiet, controlled spaces. 

It is only two months, after all, since a plot was exposed by a careless comment uttered in the wrong place, and the conspirators escaped to Pelargir, where they promptly vanished into the city’s anonymous sprawl of dockyards, markets and close, crowded homes. Without a guilty party in hand, the risk of violence still follows wherever they go, a nameless threat whose hot, humid breath is always on the back of her neck, and it is joined by the probing eyes of those tasked with holding that threat at bay. Valacar has asked the guards for subtlety, to be a tether and not a chain, and yet they are always there, lurking shadows in the margins of her vision, bearing down on her every move. Vinitharya believes them to be friends, the only constant presences in his life beyond his family and the governess. He greets them all by name, smiling and earnest and excited to see them each day, and she is too grateful for his confusion to correct it. He has many years ahead to live with the knowledge that others want him dead; she will not be the one to put that idea in his mind for the first time.

She joins him now on the floor, forgoing propriety to enjoy the coolness of the stone against her back, and looks up at the canopy of gem-studded stars overhead. While Vinitharya retells the story of the Valacirca, she allows her thoughts to wander to the stories of her own youth, sung in her mother’s warm, honeyed voice around a hearth or bonfire on special nights. Her favorites had always been the tales of the Great Hunter, a towering presence who galloped the land with his golden hooved steed, his ringing horn and his baying hounds to drive the evils of the world from the forests and plains and make them safe for their people. Some of that banished evil took up hiding in the minds of Men instead, her mother would warn. When you see selfishness or cruelty or spite in others, that is the evidence that the Hunter’s work is not yet done. But he will come for them in time. 

A pleasant hour drifts by, spent in memories and myths and imaginings, until they are roused by the sounding of a distant bell announcing the hour and the changing of a shift for the historians and archivists at work in the Dome’s libraries. It is time for her and Vinitharya to leave as well, for he has lessons yet to do today, reading and writing that he will master because she will never let it be said that her son lacked the aptitude for Gondor’s books and scrolls. She gathers him up, herds him back out into the blinding sun, and has him spell short, simple words for her as they retrace their steps home again.

When they arrive back at the royal house, Valacar is waiting at the door to the tutor’s room. He has ink on his cuffs, and when he takes her hand she can feel the roughness of calluses, evidence that his servants are kept largely idle. This is a habit he developed in Rhovanion, where even the richest of men grooms his own horse, repairs his own weapons, cleans and dresses his own game. Paying another person to attend to the menial tasks of life carries no currency for the Northmen, proving neither skill nor humility, and she has never reconciled herself to the Gondorians’ tendency to give the most esteem to those who can afford to do the least. That Valacar no longer shares this tendency is yet one more way in which he now resembles her people more than his own, and she is proud. He is someone who writes his own letters and polishes his own sword, someone who sees value in all kinds of labor. Some day he will be a king that does not hold himself above the work of a scribe or a groom, and she knows that Gondor will be the better for it, even if Gondor does not know this. 

He ruffles his free hand through the hair of his grinning son while raising her fingertips to touch them lightly to his temple, the side of his throat, and the center of his chest, the places where the pulsing of his veins and the beating of his heart are felt. This, too, is something he learned in Rhovanion, a silent greeting of lovers. My blood runs for you. She had taught him the greeting herself, a year after he had arrived in Bagmē Blōma and her father had left her in charge of the foreign prince’s welfare. With only a dozen words in common between them, their early conversations had been mostly shy smiles and awkward pantomimes, elbows caught to stop a misunderstanding and laughter when one happened nonetheless. He had needed her for everything then, a lifeline to teach him the language, the customs, how to ride in the Rhovanion style or to feed himself from the forest even in the dead of winter, but he proved an apt student, unafraid to make mistakes in front of her and quick to try again when he did. In time, he was able to make his way without her, but even then he still sought to be always at her side, no longer from need but from want instead. And when he finally knew enough to be able to speak the full desire of his heart in language that she recognized, she gave him the gesture to say it with no words at all. 

He is beaming now, a look of easy joy that she hasn’t seen in his eyes since the Pelargir plot came to light. I have brought you a surprise, he says. It is waiting just around that corner. He is always bringing surprises — exotic flowers to catch her fancy or imported mead when she has had enough of Gondorian wine — and his delight in revealing them is just as pleasing to her as the gifts themselves. Somehow now his smile manages to widen even further, and she leans forward into his embrace, about to ask what new indulgence he has acquired this time. But her next breath, full of the scent of pine resin, tanned leather and fresh hay that wafts up from his clothes, answers the question before it can pass her lips. It is a smell that she would recognize in her sleep, on the other side of the world, at the bottom of the ocean. He winks and waves her on, around the corner and straight into the waiting arms of her brother. 

It has been over a year now since she last saw Vidusunus, though it somehow feels like both much more and no time at all. Tall and broad, he picks her up with ease, spinning them both in little circles as they laugh, before setting her down for a proper greeting, the press of his forehead to hers. But even as she is still awash in elated surprise, he has gone suddenly rigid, startled into paralysis by the dullness of her eyes, the stoop of her shoulders, the starkness of the ribs in her back where his hands rest. There is a moment’s hesitation and then his grip tightens again, a low, urgent whisper in her ear even though they are alone and his words are in the language of the North. Do they treat you well here, sister?

She has never lied to Vidusunus or even kept a truth from him. They have shared a womb, a childhood, a coming of age, the griefs and joys and mundanities of life. He was the first one she told about Valacar, the first to say he had seen it all along, the first to wish her all of love’s happiness, the first to notice the small swell that would become Vinitharya. Before she left for Gondor, the ten minutes between their births was the longest they had ever been meaningfully separated. He has always seemed to know her thoughts, often before she knows them herself. But she cannot answer him truthfully now, for she knows his thoughts as well. 

Fast to fellowship, he is just as fast to anger. If he knew the truth, he would rage, and he would spare no target that he judged guilty in his own eyes. Commoners, nobles, the king himself, it would matter little to him who he insulted or what protocol he transgressed. He would curse and threaten and strike, if need be, and in the process he would become the very image of the Northmen, coarse and warlike, that has been laden around her neck since she first set foot in this land. For love of his sister and pride for his people, he would do the unthinkable and break an oath that had been made. He would not rest until she agreed to return to Rhovanion, with or without Valacar, and live without further thought of Gondor or Gondorians. And this she cannot allow. 

She has not given up so much for the love of her husband and the birthright of her son just to slink home in defeat to the glee of her enemies. They have tried to crush her, in body and spirit, but they have forgotten that not everything can be destroyed by pressure. She is no stone in the dusty quarries of Min-Rimmon. She is the glittering snow that blankets Bagmē Blōma each year, only packing stronger and tighter the more it is trod upon until, muddied and flattened, it outlasts the winter itself, lingering far into the warmth of spring. She has not suffered so long only to yield now. She will be Gondor’s queen, a Northman on their throne, and Northmen never yield. 

She looks directly into her brother’s eyes, mossy green flecked with gold and brown, and it is like looking into her own. For a moment, her resolve wavers, the leaden weight of lying to her twin nearly buckling her knees. He may be her last chance, the final outstretched hand that can pull her from the bottom of the avalanche and back into the open air, freed from the suffocating loneliness and fear and resentment. But it is not her fate, nor Vinitharya’s, to find rescue in retreat. It is their fate to stay, to fight, to claim and hold their rightful place even at the cost of contentment, ease or safety. She will not be bullied into relinquishing what is theirs. 

She carefully disentangles herself from the grasp of Vidusunus, stepping back to stand again on her own, and a lane of empty space opens between them.

Yes, brother, she says, willing the tremble out of her voice. I am very well, thank you.

Random notes/context/deep details from the appendix:

*The Northmen were direct ancestors of the people who would become the Éothéod and then move south as the Rohirrim. As such, I tried to give them a proto-Rohirrim feel. Relative to Gondor, they are a bit more “pagan” in vibe. Their homes and clothes are simpler, and they make free use of tattoos. They have a much more casual relationship to formal power structures and to things like wealth. Lacking Gondor’s thousands of years of history, they’re more inclined to prioritize things like what you’ve achieved over things like who your ancestors are. Like their Rohirrim descendants, they already have a deep love for horses and an affection for Oromë, who they call the Great Hunter.

*When they came to Gondor, Vidumavi and Vinitharya both had their names changed to something that would sound less foreign to the Gondorians. Vidumavi, whose name means “wood maiden” in the language of the Northmen, went by Galadwen, which means something similar in Sindarin. Vinitharya’s name meant “East Victor” (named after Valacar’s father, whose Quenya name means the same thing), but was changed to Eldacar, which is the name of one of Isildur’s grandsons.

*Yes, the black cats that roam Osgiliath are descendants of cats once belonging to Queen Berúthiel. 

*The references to things being tense in the south (and, later, to conspirators hiding in Pelargir) is because these regions were especially restive and unhappy about Vidumavi and Vinitharya being Gondorian royals. By the time Vinitharya took the throne, Appendix A says they were in open rebellion, and many people there ended up defecting to Umbar after the kinstrife. 

*Valacar’s family is described as being partly responsible for Vidumavi and Vinitharya’s predicament. That comes both from the fact that his father was notably unenthusiastic about the marriage (he wanted to prohibit it but felt he couldn’t without unacceptably angering Vidumavi’s father) and that members of Valacar’s extended family led the eventual coup against Vinitharya.

*Valacar’s cousin who refuses to meet Vidumavi’s eye in the feast hall? Canonically, his son Castamir will lead the kinstrife, seizing the throne from Vinitharya and ruling Gondor for ten painful and disastrous years before Vinitharya won back his kingship.

*There are no named Northmen places within Rhovanion in the texts, but we know their language was represented by Gothic (since Gothic is an ancestor to Old English, just as the language of the Northmen is an ancestor of Rohirric). So I named Vidumavi’s family stronghold in Rhovanion as Bagmē Blōma, which means “flowering tree” and is the title of a Gothic poem Tolkien once wrote.

*The Dome of Stars in Osgiliath was destroyed during the kinstrife. The palantír kept in the Dome was lost to the river in the process.

*Vidumavi had a sibling, though they are not named or described by Tolkien. I made him a twin brother and gave him a Gothic name that translates as “wood son” to correspond to her “wood maiden” name.

Eternal thanks to @emmanuellececchi for reading this in advance and especially for helping me try to figure out how much context would be needed for folks who don’t live for Appendix A. If I failed on that front, it’s 100% my fault because she gave me loads of good feedback to work with!

[frodothefair]

The "Greats" Weren't Perfect Either.

For today's episode of Nisilë's writing wisdom, we are fighting perfectionism by taking a look at some of the writing of famous authors, and the various ways in which it is imperfect, or breaks the "rules."

Let's start with Jane Austen. I won't quote anything directly because it's too long, but on multiple occasions while reading Emma, I had to go back several pages because there weren't enough attributions in dialogue, and I lost track of who was speaking.

Then there's F. Scott Fitzgerald. I absolutely love the man and his work, but he uses too many adverbs and seems allergic to a good old-fashioned "said" as an attribution. Sometimes its exquisite, at other times unnecessary. Personally, I prefer to allow dialogue to speak for itself, no pun intended, and so I find this aspect of his writing cluttered and distracting. A couple examples from The Great Gatsby:

"You did it, Tom," she said accusingly. "I know you didn't mean to but you DID do it. That's what I get for marrying a brute of a man, a great big hulking physical specimen of a----" "I hate that word hulking," objected Tom crossly, "even in kidding."

And a few lines down:

"Civilization's going to pieces," broke out Tom violently. "I've gotten to be a terrible pessimist about things. Have you read 'The Rise of the Coloured Empires' by this man Goddard?"

Let's move on to Hemingway, my problematic fave. He hardly ever sends a reader reaching for a dictionary, which is fine, but he also seems allergic to commas and conjunctions besides "and." And some of his sentences go on and on and could really stand to be broken up. Like this one from the short story "My Old Man":

So I went out of the Galleria and walked over to in front of the Scala and bought a paper, and came back and stood a little way away because I didn’t want to butt in and my old man was sitting back in his chair looking down at his coffee and fooling with a spoon and Holbrook and the big wop were standing and the big wop was wiping his face and shaking his head.

And finally, Tolkien. In the LOTR chapter "The Houses of Healing," he keeps starting paragraphs with "and" and "but." He does this a staggering number of times.

And one of the guards answered: "The Steward of Gondor is in the Houses of Healing."

But Éomer said: "Where is the Lady Éowyn, my sister; for surely she should be lying beside the king, and in less honour? Where have they bestowed her?"

And Imrahil said: "But the Lady Éowyn was yet living when they bore her hither. Did you not know?"

And it goes on like that! (Again, no pun intnded). Within the same page, we encounter a series of paragraphs that begin with "And Gandalf answered," "But Imrahil said," "And the cloaked man spoke," etc.

But see, in everything these authors do, there's a rhyme and reason, or at least an explanation. Jane Austen's dialogue is what truly shines about her writing, so maybe it's ok to go back a few pages to make sure you understand who is speaking -- perhaps her aim was to give her characters the spotlight and fade into the woodwork as the narrator. Tolkien was trying to emulate the style of epic poetry (I think? Correct me if I'm wrong). Fitzgerald's at times over-upholstered style is a mirror of the opulence of his age. And Hemingway was recreating the way people think and actually talk, which made him revolutionary for his time.

I suspect all of them were doing what they did with intention. And perhaps therein lays the rub. If you're doing something with intension and trying to convey something specific with your structure or choice of words, is it really a "flaw" or a "mistake"?

[live-laugh-legolas]

You know those paint-your-own-pottery shops? What do you think the members of the fellowship would pick out, and how would they decorate them? For some reason I have the mental image of Gimli painstakingly detailing kitchenware, while across the table Legolas is using Every Single Paint Color

(I know my experiences are not universal so here’s a link to some things they usually offer)

https://www.thepotterypiazza.net/shop-paint-at-home-pottery-selections

I love these places! Kids always had birthday parties at these and I still have all the things I painted. Btw I wanted to include pictures but I couldn’t find photos that matched what I imagined or that weren’t just professionally made

Pottery Painting

Aragorn:

-He finds it therapeutic

-But also a little silly

-That being said he’s annoyingly good despite being kinda nonchalant

-Doesn’t look professional or anything but it is very pretty

-Definitely would make something with Arwen

Legolas:

-He definitely has a lot of fun with it

-Chaotic energy

-Wants every color, glaze, and chooses the weirdest option to paint

-He isn’t messy though; doesn’t get a spot of paint on himself or on the table

-Would be the type to have had a birthday party there once

Gimli:

-You are totally right that he is very meticulous about it

-Very light handed

-The smallest details and it’s always so nice

-His pieces always turn out looking professionally made

-Will be there for hours perfecting his craft

-Very proud

Boromir:

-He tries

-It’s not the best but also it’s not horrific

-Probably does basically the same thing every time he goes

-Maybe paints the Gondor tree?

-Spends the time reminiscing about childhood

Frodo:

-He would rather be making the pot itself than painting it tbh

-But he does find it fun to paint them if the others are with him

-He always paints a mug

-He has so many mugs

-No glassware in his cabinet; just mugs

Sam:

-Always makes his things a gift

-So whatever design he does is catered to whoever it is for

-But flowers are his go to

-It looks kinda like a kid made it but that’s what makes it special

-He definitely overthinks it and spends so long fretting before even putting a brush to the pottery

Merry:

-Honestly I don’t know if he would be that into it

-I think he would either get bored or become super hyper focused and make very elaborate abstract patterns

-But probably likes to do techniques like dipping, splatter, or tape

-Always uses the most expensive quality paint and finish

Pippin:

-Very…artistic?

-Does “trick shots” with paint splatter; like over the head, spin jumping

-This gets very messy and possibly gets him kicked out

-He gets bored after a while though and just starts talking and forgets what he’s supposed to be doing

-Tries to “help” others

-No one likes his non consensual contributions; however Boromir and Frodo don’t really mind

Gandalf:

-Always picks the smallest thing to paint

-I imagine a tiny turtle or something

-It’s usually a trinket or statue of some sort

-He tries to get into painting it mainly to drown out the chaos of some of the others

[sesamenom]

opened my old art/comic ideas note for inspiration and wow there's so much in here

gil galad delayed his choice because he was already king when mandos asked (maybe dior did the same thing) so most people didnt even know he was peredhel until he died and his fea just completely vanished e&e, cirdan, galadriel, and tyelpe are the only ones who know, and none of them know what choice he made

peredhel galad!

just realized that bilbo's knowledge of 'how to talk to dragons' in conversation w smaug is probably bc of turin's famously disastrous conversation with a dragon

headcanon: TA galadriel actually doesn't like having particularly long hair but it would literally cause an entire International Diplomatic Conflict and probably start a minor war if she cut it. the moment she gets to valinor and is no longer a major world leader she immediately does a full Luthien Haircut.

celegorm reembodiment blood necklace

this is inspired by this one necklace i saw that looks like a stylistic blood slash

at this rate we're going to have more gils than oncelers

(from when we had about half as many gils as we do now)

between arwen's goth phase (why should I fear the gift of Death) and elrohir's feanorian phase (I will punch Death in the face and set myself on fire before I let Pauron walk free), plus elladan being dramatically along for the ride, 200-300SA was one of the most terrifying centuries of sauron's life

on finwean/house of elrond teenage dramatics (the P is because i didn't have a thorn on hand lol)

the Arm Cross and Disapproving Glare were miriel's originally feanor happened to have a lot more opportunities to use it though

elrond the common law maia

vigorous spring to fading autumn

this is a rare thranduil thought

guardians of the galaxy doors of night crew! arien, tilion, earendil, elwing, kuvion, eonwe

pdcc swap au

this is from the wwelves swap au that was going around a few months ago

melian is the maia of love / elrond is the newly declared baby maia of family

would you go to supermarket with arms. nothing else is wrong with it it just has little arms

'and not even the echo of your lamentations will pass over the mountains' cut to mandos glaring at maglor maglor: cat face :]

this is hilarious why did i not draw this already

sobbing into one of tyelkos 37 random fur pelt capes

who is doing the sobbing

maglor: you look like somethinc celegorm dragged in. after getting stepped on by a balrog. also is that nelyo??

no clue on the context here unfortunately, because this sounds very fun to draw

High King Lomion Irission of the Noldor King Tyelperinquar Curufinwe of Eregion / King Consort of the Noldor Crown Prince Ereinion Et Cetera

reverse gondolin au! i promise i am still working on it, i've just been fighting with one really stubborn piece for six months ;-;

maglor has all the sewing skills expected of any artistically inclined grandchild of miriel daeron is actually miriel-level particularly with weaving together they can probably make depression maglor a new wardrobe in like a week also maglor spent the past four-ish Ages (he got out of his depression hole somewhere close to the fall of rome)perfecting Every Craft

this is from maglorath i think

'red enough to start a war' as a common SA/early-mid TA saying sometimes used literally for hair color (particularly suspiciously copper brunettes) mostly used metaphorically re: feanorian actions (often regarding elrond, ie "nearly red enough to start a war, what with all the kinslayers he's been sheltering"

maglor: crying screaming throwing up (continuing to murder small children)

regarding maglor being the one to openly acknowledge the tragedies while continuing to perpetuate them

mirkwood party species swap murdoc elinyel bodyswap ??

for nelyo :)

maglor bonding w mongolian easterlings over horse

based on an old headcanon that bor's house is ancient mongolian

'where was gondor when the westfold fell' dying of plague, next question

annatar going around looking for people elrond: get thee gone- annatar: ?!?! faints from shock

mae beating up dracula his first solution is diplomacy and his second is violence and is overall far less inclined towards politeness than jonathan which happens to be an excellent choice against dracula

from the mae dracula au

the high king regent/noldolante era music must have been incredible (obviously the noldolante would naturally overshadow literally anything else) but like. his grandfather died, his parents divorced, his mom left, his family invented several new crimes, he swore the Oath, he possibly got divorced himself, his dad died, his brother (presumably) died, and he got stuck with the kingship all within like. ten years thats like an entire album worth of lament

please don't fistfight morgoth

i have no clue who this is about but this is incredible and probably applies to any of the finweans

elrond preferred nouns

regarding the nature of peredhel as their own secret third thing

legolas: AAAAAAA gimli: aaaaa aragorn: i'm gonna fight it!! boromir: ok i'll help! gandalf: youre all idiots :/

(gandalfs-eye-view of khazad dum)

so you know the whole numenorean law about only marrying in the line of elros (btw its super funny that the whole law was explicitly because of aldarion and erendis' disastrous marriage). did anyone then even consider the possibility of marrying in the line of elrond. are all the ancient numenorean politicians hanging around the Halls watching aragorn and arwens wedding like !!!!!

pippin's son Faramir I must have been so incredibly tall (for a hobbit) like. he's a took obviously, and also like 4'6"+ and then his wife Diamond is diamond of long cleeve aka at least some part north-took. which makes her a descendant of Bandobras

imagine ringbearer-bilbo going on the Quest. like for all that he complains he is actually very good at the whole adventuring thing. he literally killed/fought off the spiders descended from spawns of ungoliant, rescued thirteen dwarves from thranduil oropherion who has no doubt been dealing with political prisoners for actual milennia, and managed to escape fully intact and only mildly disturbed from a conversation with a dragon. he'd get to mordor and finrod his way to barad dur with the power of limericks and rock-throwing.

ringbearer-bilbo in mordor, holding the phial of galadriel: earendil was a mariner that tarried in arvenien! he built a boat of silver felled in nimbrethil to sail in! sounds of violence ringbearer-bilbo meeting shelob: insert the attercop song

because the thing is, bilbo spends a great deal of his adventure terrified. but he is also incredibly skilled at, despite the fear, walking up to gigantic evil creatures and subtly challenging their manners into letting him go. he also knows a lot of history to draw from, hence the whole smaug convo.

glorfindel, gil, and elrond all travel east. the fellowship goes unnoticed when sandwiched between the armies of Lindon and Imladris.

more reverse gondolin!

prince elrond @ ar-pharazon: If thou wouldst deny the Gift of Men that Eru has granted upon thee, if thou wouldst truly seek to dismantle all that your forefathers have built, then thou art no nephew of mine. Tar-Miriel shall be Queen as is her right, and thou traitorous creature of Morgoth, I bid thee find a new home, if a single city shall accept thee after thy reign of cruelty and tyranny. Depart now from the land of my brother!

prince elrond @ castamir : we are all hybrids. that's literally our thing. peredhel? remember?

Lomion was an elven-king of him the harpers sadly sing the last whose realm was fair and free between the Mountains and the Sea His bow was strong, his sword was keen his shining Ring afar was seen; the countless stars of heaven's skies were mirrored in his silver eyes.

shared injuries soulmate au finwe/miriel feanor is an orphan now whoops feanerdanel nerdanel in valinor: randomly combusts beren and luthien survived! (literally the only couple to survive) russingon fingon(on the ice): falls over dead turleg stabby stabby yeah. tying two peoples' deaths together when both of them are very death-prone is a Terrible Decision

regarding a post about how a shared injuries soulmate au doesn't really work in silm-context because everybody would just be dead

okay but like. what did celegorm think was going to happen when he kidnapped luthien. the options are either a) she beats them up and escapes by herself b) melian beats them up and rescues her or c) thingol declares war, beats them up, and rescues her like. given who she is and who her family is there is zero way celegorm is getting out of that intact.

these are all so good what

[tathrin]

So we talk about Third Wheel Aragorn a lot, and that’s good because he is one of the Classic Third Wheels Of All Time, and the period with the Three Hunters running around Middle-earth while two of them are falling head-over-heels for each other is just perfection. In fact, we should have more Third Wheel Aragorn stuff, because it’s frankly the best of his many (many) identities, imo.

But. We do not talk enough about Third Wheel Éomer and Faramir.

Because think about it! These two dudes were running Rohan and Ithilien when Gimli and Legolas were establishing their new dwarf and elf colonies. Which means that while Aragorn was busy being The Shiny New King Of Gondor, the Prince of Ithilien and King of Rohan (who yes was also busy being king, but surely had less Shit To Deal With because Rohan didn’t have a whole bunch of Huge Social And Practical Changes when Éomer got crowned like Gondor did, now did it?) took over management of his Two Idiot Friends In Love.

And depending on how long it took Legolas and Gimli to figure shit out...well. Just picture Éomer and Faramir meeting-up periodically to talk about political logistics and brother-in-law stuff...and eventually the conversation is going to turn to mutual friends, as it does. And one of them has this absurd poet dwarf running around waxing euphoric about pretty caves, and the other this weird half-feral tree-elf gremlin prancing around singing to the flowers. And both completely and absolutely obsessed with each other...and seemingly unaware of it. Would they commiserate? Absolutely. Would they try and wingman it? Ooh, probably. Would they somehow find a way to make things even more awkward, somehow? Almost definitely. And when Legolas and Gimli finally do get together, they can commiserate over that, too.

Just. You canNOT tell me that there isn’t bucket-loads of potential here for shenanigans and nonsense. And we need to see more of that, I think.

[aylen-san]

How do you like the functionality of the palantíri? Sauron shares his know-how...

My dear lovers of dark secrets and forbidden knowledge! Today, we will talk about how to use palantíri — these amazing ancient artifacts, created so you can spy, watch, and manipulate without leaving your fortress. And who better than me, Sauron, to tell you about them?

Once, the palantíri were simply communication devices for elves and Númenóreans. But as always, I saw more in them. After all, why just talk when you can control?

The Beginning: Comfortable Surveillance

So, when I began actively using the palantíri, I immediately understood their main advantage — you can see everything without leaving the gates of your fortress. Perfect for introverts and dark lords, right? It's like social media, but without cute cats and memes. Instead, on your screen, you have the entire world: kings in their throne rooms, generals plotting conspiracies, even your enemies discussing how to overthrow you. Isn’t that the best reality show?

For example, here's a little life hack: when I'm bored, I tune the palantír to Gondor to watch Denethor nervously pacing his hall, wondering when his end will come. Or I open a feed to Rohan, where Théoden sits on his old throne, thinking no one has noticed him. Watching their fear is pure pleasure. And let's not forget the inspiring evening news from Orthanc: Saruman, as always, inventing something utterly useless.

Creative Solutions Functionality

But what truly makes the palantíri useful is not just observation. No, my friends, their true power lies in manipulation. I quickly realized that I could not only see events but also influence the minds of those daring to peer into them. Humans, as it turns out, are quite suggestible. Their minds, terrified by visions, are filled with the images I choose. For instance, once I showed Gondor a bit more darkness than was needed. And what did they do? They went mad and burned their ruler! I can't say I planned it, but the outcome was quite satisfactory.

Here’s a small trick to scare or confuse your opponent: start by showing some kind of horror, like a ruined fortress, corpses of soldiers, anything that will make their heart race. Then, slowly ramp up the pressure, showing them their own fears — imagine them trembling in terror as they see their loved ones destroyed or consumed by shadows. Trust me, after a few such sessions, they become entirely different people.

My Personal Development: Palantíri as a Tool of Deception

Everyone knows that palantíri show the truth, but it doesn’t always have to be the whole truth, does it? I found several tricks that allow you to play with reality, showing only fragments of it. One of my favorite strategies is to display only what benefits me. People love to believe what they see, and if you show only part of the story, their minds will fill in the rest with the worst scenarios. Manipulating the truth is so easy, it's almost boring.

That’s how it was with Denethor. I showed him only one side of the war, only defeat and despair. Of course, he didn’t know what was happening on other fronts, didn’t know his son was still alive. He saw only what I wanted him to see. Call it fake news if you will, but hey, I didn’t coin the term.

Practicality and Innovation: Durability and Style

Now to more practical matters. As it turns out, the palantíri are extremely durable. Just think: over millennia, they haven’t gathered dust or lost their functionality. Fëanor did a fine job, and for that, he deserves my thanks. A true quality product. And although the fashion for stone spheres has long passed, they still look stylish and menacing in any interior — whether in the Tower of Barad-dûr or a cozy study in the fortress of Orthanc.

A small tip: place the palantír in the most visible spot. Let anyone who dares to enter your hall immediately feel under its gaze. No one should forget who sees and controls everything here. Remember, enemies love to spy on you through palantíri, but nothing prevents you from using that against them. Innocent glances into the magical sphere can easily turn into nightmares that will haunt them for the rest of their days.

And Finally: My Exclusive Mode of Working with Palantíri

As a parting gift, I’ll tell you about my favorite “exclusive mode.” If I need not just to frighten but to completely break someone’s will, I use the palantír for direct contact. I stand before it, rise to my full height, and begin speaking directly to the victim. Seeing my face on the other side of the sphere is a special experience. A few words, a couple of hints, a slight smile... and soon the person on the other side is trembling in fear and obeys without further questions. As they say, face-to-face communication is always a powerful tool.

So, my friends, don’t underestimate the palantíri. They’re more than just magical orbs. They are windows to the world that grant you power and control. The key is knowing how to use them. And who knows, maybe one day we’ll meet through one of these ancient spheres. But be careful: if you look too deeply, you may never be able to turn away. And as you understand, I am always watching.

Yours truly, Sauron, master of control and great manipulator of the palantíri.

[sniperct]

Okay so the really cool thing about setting a movie during the Helm Hammerhand saga is we know the broad strokes.

We know when it begins, we know the major players, we know when it ends, how it ends, and the ultimate fates of most of the people involved. Its roughly a five year period, though they might compress the timeline for the sake of a movie, which is fine.

We know there are epic battles. We know there's a long, epic siege. We know Gondor comes to Rohan's aid. These things are perfect to expand upon in visual story telling.

But we know precious few details, and that's where you can make a movie really shine. This is where Hera comes in; she's unnamed in the source material and nothing is known of her role. We know her brothers and what happens to them, but of her the only thing we know is that she does not succeed her father. There's a LOT they can do with her story - I would not be surprised if she's the one sent to get help from Gondor, for example. They may even change who ultimately kills Wulf to her instead of her cousin, which I'm totally cool with.

As long as they hit the major events (Helm killing the dude, the invasion of the dunlendings and their mordor aligned allies, the siege) almost anything else goes.

They could even have an epilogue involving Saruman and how he got Orthanc, come to think of it.

[annabthesolitarywriter]

Maiar in 'The Lady of Ithilien'

(to be updated with new information as the story progresses. As such, things may change)

Eönwë

Herald and banner-bearer of Manwë, the High King of Arda. He's among the most powerful Maiar in Valinor and the mightiest in arms. Military leader and High Commander of the Host of the Valar, he was one of the key fighters during the War of Wrath, which marked the end of the First Age of the Sun.

Birth: he entered Arda shortly after it was created.

Married to Elenna of the House of Húrin.

Fancast: Daniel Sharman

Ilmarë

Eönwë's younger sister and handmaiden of Varda, Queen of the Valar and Manwë's wife. Along with her brother, she's one of the chiefs of the Maiar.

Birth: she entered Arda shortly after it was created.

Eventually married to Eldarion, Crown Prince of Gondor and Arnor.

Fancast: Matilda Lutz

Olórin

Also known as Gandalf (one of his many aliases), he has served several Valar throughout the various ages of Arda. He's mainly associated with Manwë and Varda, but he also served Nienna, Valië of sorrow and compassion and Irmo, Vala of dreams and visions. (Olórin is a Quenya name and its meaning is something along the lines of "dream of mind")

Birth: he entered Arda shortly after it was created.

Fancast: Sir Ian McKellen (as Gandalf during the War of the Ring. He sticks to this form for a little while longer before switching back to his usual one); Bradley James (as Olórin)

(they give the same vibe tbh)

Wilwarin

Maia serving Irmo and occasionally Nienna. She's had a major crush on Olórin ever since she met him. She's not the sharpest tool in the box (sorry girl, I still love you), but she's kind-hearted and keeps to herself because no one wants to befriend her due to her perceived stupidity. SHE NEEDS LOVE AND AFFECTION, which no one has ever given her because most Maiar are stuck up and arrogant. Extremely naïve and completely clueless at times, she's been nicknamed "Wilya" (meaning airhead) by her fellow Maiar. She's obsessed with Olórin because he's the only one who's ever actually interacted with her.

Birth: She entered Arda at the beginning of the Second Age of the Sun, following the War of Wrath.

Fancast: Tuğba Melis Türk

Isilmë

Maia of Vayanna. Considered among the most beautiful Maiarin women to ever enter Arda, she has been obsessed with Eönwë ever since she first saw him. They had a brief fling following the War of Wrath, which, needless to say, ended very quickly (and badly). She's firmly convinced he's still in love with her and will do anything to get him back. Her name is Quenya for "moonlight".

Birth: she entered Arda following the War of Wrath (around the same time as Wilwarin)

Fancast: Beste Kökdemir

Isilya

Maia of Yavanna. She's Isilmë's close friend (or so she believes). She fails to realize Isilmë doesn't really love her or value their friendship, but simply uses her for her own purposes. She blindly follows her "friend" and indistinctly agrees with everything the latter says or does, as she's been brainwashed into thinking she's perfect. She doesn't seem to have a mind of her own, modeling her own behavior after Isilmë, as she's afraid to lose the connection they share. She's petty and very annoying, but not inherently evil and might even redeem herself eventually. Who knows. Her name is Quenya for "the third day of the week" according to the Númenórean calendar.

(It might sound odd, but I picked the name purely because it sounds similar to Isilmë and because I like the sound of it, not necessarily because I had a specific idea. I'm terrible at naming characters, I know. Please don't be mean)

Birth: she entered Arda following the War of Wrath.

Fancast: Dilara Aksüyek

Elenna's household

Four Maiarin ladies enter her service after her marriage to the Herald.

Handalimë

Originally a Maia of Vána, she is thoughtful, level-headed, smart and highly practical. Elenna is entrusted to her and she quickly grows fond of her new lady, becoming one of her most trusted servants and her main confidante. She's usually calm and collected and makes it her mission to protect her lady from anyone who might wish her harm—namely her sister Isilmë and a few of the Noldorin elves— and constantly worries about her. Her lady's well-being is her utmost priority.

Birth: she entered Arda sometime before the end of the First Age.

Fancast: Gülcan Arslan

Naráel

A Maia of Aulë, she's spunky and crafty but also naive and shy. She loves making rings and necklaces and will be gifting many jewels to her new lady. She can often be found chatting with Gimli, as she's never seen a dwarf before and wants to know all about dwarf customs and traditions (for fairly obvious reasons, I'd say). Kind-hearted and wiser than she lets on, she loves sitting by fireplaces (and lighting them).

Birth: she entered Arda at the beginning of the Third Age.

Fancast: Sophie Turner

Aranwen

A Maia of Nessa, she loves dancing, nature and poetry. She's not a great conversationalist, but when she does speak, one had better stop and listen. She loves reading and will spend many hours discussing books and history with her lady. She enjoys needlework and she's quite a good painter as well. She respects Elena greatly and often reassures her. Even though they get on each other's nerves quite often, she's great friends with Naráel. She too will spend a bit of time with Gimli, but only to try and convince him that ripping down trees is inherently bad. Nevertheless, she grows fond of the lord of the Glittering Caves- she and Legolas will try and teach him how to dance. Whether they will succeed is still unknown.

Birth: she entered Arda at the beginning of the Third Age.

Fancast: Rose Williams

Elenya

Maia of Varda (the name is kind of a giveaway).

She's sweet, kind and very protective of Elenna. She often likes to remark how similar their names are and loves to recount stories that most have forgotten (star-related, of course). She was lady-in-waiting to Ilmarë before she volunteered to join Elenna's household.

Birth: she entered Arda during the Years of the Trees.

Fancast: Yasemin Allen