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entishramblings · 11 months

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Watcher of Wanderers [Legolas/F!Reader]

A.N: this was intended just to be a mini one-shot to get back into writing. although, I will admit I got carried away. oops. heh.

Pairing: Legolas X F!Reader

Song Inspo: Mountain Meditation by Chantress Seba

🌬️ I highly recommend listening while reading

Summary: Legolas senses a presence following the fellowship on their journey and it seems to be particularly fond of him.

Disclaimer: all mythology related to the reader was made up for plot purposes lol. not canon.

Word count: 5.6k (once again, idk why I’m like this)

Warnings: comfort, fluff, loneliness, flirting, suggested sexual innuendos, stalking sort of (yes, again, I know. you’re just gonna have to read it I can’t explain it)

Additional Content: moodboard linked here

MASTERLIST | AO3 | WATTPAD

When you are nothing but a breeze that passes through the travelers’ bending hair. When you are nothing but a tickle that brushes upon the vagabonds’ breaking skin. When you are nothing but a whisper that hisses upon the wanders’ deaf ear. When you are nothing but alone, you too are a voyager.

That’s what (Y/N) was, wasn’t she?

She sailed through the years, watching every war and every battle. She observed every lover as she observed every enemy. She attended to them all, from their start and to their end. She perceived them hunt—first for food and drink, the simplest things, then for more. She witnessed them build—smaller creations in the beginning, then large structures that reached deep into her sky. She gazed at them as they grew, in mind and body. They began as little screaming balls of flesh, then sprouted into large beings that walked and talked. They produced more of themselves. They multiplied. Families, they had called it. She saw each one of them go by, twisting with desire as they did with age. Each was sneaking to find something—riches, power, hope, love, safety—but it didn’t really matter. She just bore witness. She bore witness to the happiness and to the dread. Yet, even when it was dark and desperate, she did nothing. She was silent—as she was meant to be.

Cursed to ride the winds for all of her immortal years.

Cursed to guide them and bend them.

Cursed to behold them.

Cursed to be them.

Alone.

A Watcher of Wanderers.

She was unescorted, unattended, and unchaperoned. She was unaccompanied as she wove through the desolate lands of Arda. Through the oceans, through the deserts, through the mountains, she bent and bellowed. But (Y/N) didn’t need anyone to accompany her, for she simply didn’t exist—at least not in the way one would think.

But after so long in solidarity, watching and observing, (Y/N) wondered what it would feel like to be more than what she was. She wondered what it was to taste and touch, to smell and see, to live and breath.

She thought how pain must feel. How did it bring red to the surface of their skin? How did it bring tears to their eyes? How did it bring screams to their throats?

Still, she wandered more.

She thought how laughter must feel. How did it bubble in their chests? How did it bring water to their faces? How did it bring glee from their mouths?

Still, she wandered more.

She thought about how love must feel. How did it soften their gazes? How did it bring drops upon their cheeks? How did it bring proclamations to their lips? How did it feel to welcome in another soul? Was it safe—not that she would know what safety felt like.

Still, she wandered more.

As each day passed and each traveler followed, she continued to question, guess, inquire.

Some of these creatures were more in tune with the natural currents of the word. It was the immortal beings, distinguished by the pointy ears that lent them an air of otherworldly grace and their lightning-quick reflexes. They were not just any immortals, but those whose lineages stretched back to ancestors who had walked among the Valar themselves. At times, (Y/N) entertained the fantasizing notion that they possessed the rare ability to hear her, though she recognized that this belief was nothing more than wishful thinking. As a watcher of wanderers, she liked these ones best.

Yet that did not mean that others did not catch her eye, for she was curious of anything unusual from the regular patterns of life. And when nine—born of various blood—walked together, her curiosity peaked.

So, she followed them.

One was a Maiar, but not like her. He shared the same celestial origin, shaped as one of the spirits meant to aid the Valar in their worldbuilding endeavors. However, his form differed greatly from hers—a form (Y/N) yearned for. She had seen him many times before, puffing his pipe. He had many names, but most knew him as Gandalf.

Two more figures accompanied him, mortal beings aging like the rolling seasons. Burling and tumbling they went, with their countless heavy weapons. One emanated kindness, his heart a wellspring of warmth. She had seen him before too. But the other, he was….troubled.

Another was one of the immortal, graceful, pointy-eared race—elves, she recalled. He was fluid and elegantant. He was observant and evaluating. He was tranquil yet vigorous. (Y/N) liked this one. She always had liked the elves.

From the mountainous regions of unyielding stone came another companion—a burly and gruff figure. His anger resonated in the sharpness of his words and the boastry of his laughter. (Y/N) could feel his temperament through the earth's vibrations. It wasn't always pleasant

Next, matched four more. They were stompers and stumblers, in a clumsy sort of way; yet, it was evident that they held no desire to ravage the earth. If anything, they seemed to harbor deep affection for it. The sad one broke her heart, the kind one warmed her soul, and the last two made her giggle….and sometimes she thought the elf could hear it.

See that was the thing.

Initially, her fascination led her to accompany them, drawn by their sheer otherness—such a strange assembly of beings walking in unison. But as she ventured alongside them, she felt connected to them. She got to know them, and one seemed to know her….sorta.

The first time she noticed such a thing was when a sound of joy escaped her being.

The two silly ones, which she found out to be named Merry and Pippin, were cracking jokes at one another and performing a game of riddles. As they did so, they ended up breaking into an argument. The most ridiculous words they called each other: mushroom murderer, squash squisher, beet beater…..

She couldn’t help but release a whisper of amusement, and when she did, the elf—Legolas—abruptly halted. His eyes brimmed with uncertainty, and he swiveled his head, as though searching for someone.

But he couldn’t….

No…

He couldn’t have heard her….could he?

Of course, occasionally, all could hear her. In moments of anger, she would unleash her fury with deafening howls and piercing screams, causing gusts to bellow and trees to tremble. Her yell created a hollow sound as it funneled through the rest of the world—echoing upon mountains, bouncing off houses, riding along hills, drifting through the farmer’s mills. It took much frustration to create such a ruckus of vibrations. However, just a faint breath of joy? There was no way the elf could hear that….right?

…..

The second time that a strange encounter occurred was when the group stopped by a deep river. Legolas had wandered a little way away from the group where the trees were denser and the light was less, and oh of course (Y/N) followed.

There, the elf stripped off his clothing, letting the moonlight bend and dip upon his muscled form. The cool night air played gently against his bare skin as he ventured into the water, welcoming the invigorating sensation. With his hands, he meticulously scrubbed away any lingering grime, running his palms across his arms and fingers through his damp hair until no trace of dirt remained.

Gently, he laid upon his back, floating at the surface of the smooth river.

(Y/N) watched as he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply and repeatedly. Meditation, she recalled the elvish creatures of the world calling it.

Eager to draw nearer, (Y/N) gracefully glided closer, brushing ever so lightly upon the surface of the ripples. She circled him, her gaze drinking in every detail of his form slightly obstructed by the water—his elegant facial features, his sleek hair, his sculpted biceps, his toned abs, the sharp v-line of his lower abdomen, and, she couldn't help but notice his rather large…

A soft giggle escaped her lips, her warm breath brushing against his cheek.

Instantly, Legolas sprang upright, his feet finding a place upon the rocks beneath the now turbulent ripples. He swiftly pivoted, calling out, “Who’s there?!”

(Y/N) was still, shock and uncertainty shrouding her.

Legolas' cerulean eyes darted anxiously from side to side, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He moved with haste, continually spinning around in search of…..something.

“You…you can hear me?” (Y/N) whispered.

He did not respond and his state did not change. There was not an ounce of any recognition across his features.

…..

The third time that Legolas was startled by the curious enigma that appeared to be haunting him was when the fellowship had set up camp for the night.

Gandalf and Legolas were on watch, their attentive gazes shifting from the crackling fire to the perimeters of their camp. Mithanduil contentedly puffed on his pipe, releasing wisps of smoke that ascended into the night sky. Legolas was methodically sharpening the tips of his arrows, preparing for the inevitable fight. The ambiance was strangely peaceful, with the imminent dangers appearing to be held at bay, at least for the moment, even in the face of the dread.

However, this serene atmosphere suffered a sudden intrusion, initiated by (Y/N)'s ever-present curiosity.

She loved watching the creatures of Arda. It was her favorite pastime over the eons. Well, her only pastime. After all, she was a watcher of wanderers. For, as her shapeless form, there was nothing more she could do with her existence.

Therefore, when the elf began to draw whetstone upon the tops of his arrows, (Y/N) wanted to observe. She crept closer to him, becoming entranced by the rhythmic and tranquil nature of his movements. Drawn into the spectacle, she leaned in further and further until, unintentionally, she brushed lightly against his form.

His hand instinctively reached for his shoulder as his wide cerulean blues initiated their frequent and fervent scanning of the dim surroundings—a routine that seemed to be occurring with increasing regularity nowadays.

Gandalf’s gray eyes drifted upon the elf curiously, his bushy brows lifting in questions.

“I swore…” Legolas began, still peering about the campsite. “I swore I felt…something.”

The wizard’s inquiring gaze only deepened, imploring the elf to add more to his rather empty statement.

Noticing Gandalf's unspoken request for more information, Legolas continued, "My apologies, Mithranduil. Lately, I've been sensing a presence. Yet, when I search for it, I'm met with nothing but emptiness and confusion."

Gandalf huffed before pressing his lips to his pipe again, his gaze drifting away in a dismissal of danger. “It is probably just (Y/N).”

“(Y/N)?” He questioned, still puzzled.

Gandalf glanced at Legolas, and with a nonchalant hum, he spoke again. “The spirit of the wind. A Maiar with a form that knows no shape.” He rolled his eyes as he gruffed out an additional mumbling sentence. “She has a particular fondness for elves.”

Legolas, still flushed with adrenaline, only stared at him. “I—I do not understand.”

The wizard’s gray gaze drifted back to the elf, who was clearly seeking answers. “(Y/N) is one of the Maiar, tasked many ages ago by Manwë to help shape Arda. She still lingers in this realm, often stirring up her usual mischief as she follows wanderers on their adventures."

Legolas frowned. “If she wanders this earth, why can I see her not?”

Gandalf drew another puff from his pipe before responding, "She was cursed to be without form, unlike myself."

“Cursed? But why?”

The wizard raised his bushy brows once more. “Her mischief irked many—especially Manwë.”

“What sorts of mischief do you speak of?”

Gandalf shrugged. “Inconsequential pranks and harmless tricks. Quite frankly, an annoyance to us all, but not dangerous.”

At that very moment, a gust of wind swept in rather forcefully, causing the wizard's beard to billow and lifting his hat into the air, sending it spiraling down to land by his feet.

Legolas's lips parted in surprise as the wind subsided, and Gandalf let out a string of curses and grumbles.

"I believe you might have offended her," Legolas remarked, amusement dancing in his eyes.

The wizard snorted, his irritation obvious, as he picked his hat up and placed it atop his head once more.

….

As the weeks continued on, Legolas took notice of (Y/N)’s subtle presence.

It seemed she was indeed traveling with them. On scorching hot days, a refreshing breeze would rise and caress them gently, offering some much-needed relief. As the autumn months settled in, that coolness transformed into a warm breath flowing through the air, comforting them. When they kindled fires, little gusts rushed forward, providing oxygen and nurturing the flames. If an item of clothing or a parcel were dropped, it would be delicately carried toward a hand ready to collect. It was as if the wind—(Y/N)—was assisting them along their quest.

It was particularly noticeable to Legolas that she often lingered in close proximity to him. Her presence seemed to envelop him frequently, becoming unmistakable and distinct.

When Legolas would be tasked to collect firewood, a gentle breeze would follow him. It would brush leaves out of the way to reveal dry wood and small sticks, perfect for kindling. The wind murmured songs among the soil, almost as if it were beckoning him to dance.

When Legolas would be hunting for food, a calm drift would search alongside him. It would twist through the brush, startling small prey to reveal them to him. The wind breathed wordless encouragement to him, as if challenging him to impress her.

When Legolas would be walking upon hard terrain, a playful gust would walk with him. It would blow his hair away from his face to reveal his features. The wind sent flirtatious laughter upon his elvish ear, chasing shivers along his nerves.

When Legolas would be changing out of mud or blood covered clothes, a devious wisk would linger behind him. It would push his tunic and undershirt upwards to reveal his muscled form then make his extra clothing scatter. The wind whispered sultry glee to him, teasing him in efforts to show more.

This mischievous presence that shrouded him seemed to flirt with him—challenge, play, and engage. Of course, Legolas recalled Gandalf's earlier assertion that the wind spirit held a particular fondness for elves, but the true depth of this fondness had only become apparent as her companionship persisted. He couldn't deny that their ongoing interaction held a certain allure, for he would be lying if he said their little game did not entertain him.

When the fellowship was in Moria, however, silence reigned. The usual gusts and breezes that had accompanied them were absent. It was as if the very air mourned with them. Yet, as soon as they exited, with grief heavy upon their soul, a quick adrenalized wind came to find them. It seemed to brush around the rocks, taking in the pain of the travelers and trying to process what it meant. Though, as the wind noticed one was no longer there, she took to sending warmth their way in hopes to soften the sorrow—shrouding Legolas for just a moment longer than the others.

When the fellowship was in Lothlorien, (Y/N) came too. Rustling up trouble among the elves with flirtatious gusts, lifting skirts and sweeping away cloaks, fostering much annoyance and embarrassment among the immortal elven folk. However, those brushes of wind often struck Legolas more than any other.

When the fellowship—or rather the three that remained—took to sprinting across Arda, the wind ran alongside them. It pushed them forward with encouragement, almost too eagerly and too persistent. It was as if she was whispering ‘hurry hurry’ in their ears—as if she possessed knowledge they did not. Though Legolas suspected neither Gimli nor Aragorn noticed the subtle guidance of the wind.

A watcher of wanderers indeed.

As the group arrived in Rohan, their hearts brimmed with renewed hope, for they had gained the knowledge of Merry and Pippin’s life and the presence of Gandalf.

Following Mithranduil's expulsion of the sorcery that had ensnared King Théoden, the weary travelers were ushered to various chambers where they could refresh themselves and find much-needed rest.

Legolas opted to bathe immediately, determined to liberate himself from the accumulated dirt and grime that had clung to his body through the arduous months of travel. He eased into the in-ground basin, the soothing warmth and enveloping steam creating a cocoon of comfort. He tended to his skin and hair with meticulous care until he finally felt rejuvenated. Elves did not like to linger in grime.

Emerging from the bath, he stepped into the adjacent bedroom, where his gaze was drawn to the open windows, allowing the cool breeze to waft in. The wind seemed to recognize him instantly, rushing forth with an almost mischievous enthusiasm. It nearly yanked his towel from his waist! It was only through his quick reflexes that he narrowly avoided a less than modest reveal.

Legolas ground his teeth. “(Y/N),” he mumbled in a chastising tone.

In response, the wind seemed to giggle, as if playfully toying with him.

He rewrapped the towel and hastened to close the windows, yearning for a night of undisturbed peace. Normally, he would tolerate (Y/N)'s whimsical outbursts, but on this night, his weary body and mind craved respite and tranquility.

Legolas changed into more comfortable attire and settled into his bed. He allowed his heavy eyelids to drift shut, for he craved sleep. But after a brief moment, they snapped open.

He watched as the curtains shifted ever so slightly, followed by the tapestry on the wall and the drapes above his bed. The blanket beside him rustled gently, and then, there was no movement in the room.

She hadn't left when he closed the windows.

She was still here.

Though he couldn't see her, he was acutely aware of her presence…right beside him.

The elf couldn't help but blush, a warm crimson hue creeping up upon his ears and cheeks. Oh, if his Ada knew he was flirting with the wind….

In an effort to divert his thoughts from such matters and avoid giving (Y/N) any indication that he was dwelling on them, the elf shifted onto his side, turning away from the playful Spirit whose home was the sky.

…..

Legolas took notice of (Y/N)’s presence among the battles at Helms Deep and the Fields of Pelennor; although it wasn't until the latter that he knew for sure she was actively fighting alongside him.

Amidst the relentless chaos, the elf wielded his two silver blades, using them with deadly precision to cut the throat of one orc and immediately behead another. He swiftly pressed on, eliminating as many of the enemy forces as he could.

The men around him were growing weary, their energy dwindling, but Legolas continued to stand firm, even though he too felt the drain on his strength.It seemed the dark forces had taken notice of the relentless devastation he was causing among their ranks, as they began to single him out. Hordes of orcs began converging on him, and Sauron's archers took aim. However, the arrows meant for him didn't find their mark. They veered off course, curving with an unexpected gust of wind, plunging directly into three orcs nearby.

Legolas whipped his head around in astonishment, but it took only a moment for him to grasp the source of this unexpected intervention: (Y/N).

As he continued to take down orc after orc, she remained by his side, using her ethereal presence to force the creatures back into one another, granting Legolas a distinct advantage and a brief moment to catch his breath. She deflected arrows aimed at him and extended her helping hand when he faced the Oliphaunt. She even lifted him up with a gentle drift when his footing faltered. (Y/N) followed Legolas throughout the battlefield, her commitment unwavering, even after the war had drawn to a close.

Exhausted and burdened by grief and relief, the mortal, battle-weary soldiers sought solace and took to rest, heal, and eat.

Legolas volunteered to wander the battlefield in search of any survivors.

He tread carefully, his feet moving softly over the blood-soaked and red-stained earth. The ground seemed to bear witness to the agony, uncertainty, and hope that had marked their strenuous journey. Legolas had never anticipated surviving the trials that had befallen him, yet here he stood, alive and persevering against all odds.

With a heavy heart and the absence of survivors to be found, Legolas, fatigued and drained, decided to make his way back to his comrades who were attending to the wounded and offering peace to those in need.

In a sudden fierce gust of wind, Legolas found himself surrounded by an unexpected swirl. Swiftly, he whirled around, his keen elven senses alert, just in time to witness an orc raising an axe menacingly above his head, poised to strike.

However, Legolas was not met with such a gruesome fate. The wind seemed to rise against the approaching beast, as though an invisible force hindered its advance. However, that force began to no longer be invisible. A strange, translucent figure began to materialize into the opaque form of a woman. She stood, her back pressed against his chest and her front pushing firmly against the would-be assailant. With her arms raised high, she held the axe at bay, preventing the deadly blow from falling upon the elf.

Legolas' lips parted in astonishment, his eyes widening as he struggled to comprehend the event unfolding before him. But everything transpired too swiftly for him to intervene. The figure solidified, to the point that he could feel her against him, and the axe came down at an unusual angle, slicing into the woman's side.

A cry escaped her throat, and she collapsed to the ground, her pain echoing through the air.

Suddenly thrust back into the harsh reality of battle, Legolas swiftly grasped the knife strapped to his belt. In one fluid motion, he drove the blade into the orc's heart. The creature gurgled for a moment, blood pooling from its mouth, before finally collapsing lifeless.

Without hesitation, Legolas fell to the unconscious woman crumpled at his feet. His heart clenched with dread as he noticed the crimson stains spreading across the delicate, iridescent fabric that cloaked his form.

"No, no, no," he murmured, his hands pressing against the wound in a frantic attempt to stop the bleeding. Panic tinged his voice as he glanced at her face, his voice rising in desperation, " (Y/N), you foolish Maiar. Why did you intervene? Why did you put yourself in harm's way?" His bloodied hand gently cupped her cheek. "Wake up. Come on, wake up!"

She remained unresponsive.

Swiftly, Legolas gathered her into his arms, keeping one hand pressed against the bleeding wound, and hurried towards the makeshift infirmary.

Pushing the doors open, he called out in a voice laced with fear, "Aragorn!"

Immediately, the urgent tone drew the attention of those nearby, even in the midst of the ongoing chaos of the healing ward. The Ranger, alerted by the distress in his friend's voice, swiftly moved past the curious onlookers, with Gimli at his side and Gandalf following not too far behind.

“A-an ax to the side. She’s bleeding heavily,” he sputtered out. “Please.”

Pointing to a makeshift bed, Aragorn commanded. ‘Get her on that cot! Quickly now.”

Gimili, entirely bewildered by the unfolding events and his friend’s frantic behavior, called out, “Laddie, who is that?!”

Legolas, gently placing her form on the cot, didn't even bother to look at his dwarf companion as he replied. “(Y/N).”

The dwarf shook his head and raised his hands in confusion. “Who the fuck is (Y/N)?!”

The elf sent Gimli a quick, almost exasperated glance. "The wind!" he snapped back, a bit too sharply.

Gimli’s eyes drifted around the room, his confusion turning into concern for his friend’s well being. “The wind?” he questioned. “Did ya happen to get knocked in the head, tree boy?”

It was Gandalf that chimed in. “(Y/N), a Maiar, the spirit of the wind. She has been with us throughout our journey.”

Aragorn shot the wizard a brief look as he swiftly cut away the mysterious, translucent fabric cloaking the woman and began tending to the deep, bleeding wound.

“With us the entire time?!” Gimli bellowed. “Then why haven't I seen her once?"

Gandalf peered over Aragorn’s shoulder. “She doesn't have a corporal form. At least, she didn’t. I’m afraid this is the first time any of us are seeing her.”

Legolas ran his bloodied hands through his hair, his fingers trembling with anxiety as he stepped back. His chest felt constricted with worry while his eyes remained fixated on the woman as Aragorn worked. “Can you do it, Aragorn? Can you save her?” he implored, his voice quivering with a mixture of desperation and hope.

The man met Legolas' gaze. His determination to save her was unwavering, even in the face of this strange reveal of a profound connection between a force he didn't know existed and his dear friend. Seeing Legolas’ pain, he responded firmly, "I will try."

Gimli, moving to stand beside the wizard, watched the scene with a mixture of concern and curiosity. He couldn't help but murmur, "I've never seen him so frazzled before." His words were filled with a deep sense of empathy for his elven friend, for this had clearly shaken Legolas to his core.

Gandalf let his gaze shift from the elf to Gimli, offering the dwarf a knowing look in response.

The watcher of wanderers had now become a wonder to the wanderers themselves.

……

Legolas sat in a chair beside (Y/N). He was quiet and still as he watched her chest rise and fall steadily. Aragorn had successfully treated her wound, preventing infection, though she remained unconscious. She rested soundlessly, her expression peaceful—despite Legolas’ bloody handprint, now brown, dried, and cracking, that lingered upon her cheek. Her features were graceful and elegant. Each curve and bend of her face accentuated her beauty. He wasn't sure what he had expected her to look like, though how she appeared made sense with her temperament. He could see her flirtatious streak, her mischievous tone, and her protective aurora. She was exactly what wind would be: strong yet gentle, fierce yet calm, emotional yet stern.

He watched over her, just as she had watched over him. So intently, that he didn't notice one behind him until a hand pressed firmly upon his shoulder.

"Legolas," Aragorn began, his expression filled with gentle concern as he inquired, "How do you know this woman?"

Legolas sighed, keeping his gaze on her. "She has been traveling with us," he explained.

The sound of wood scraping against stone told the elf that the Ranger pulled a nearby chair over to sit next to him.

“So Gandalf said. Though I do not understand,” Aragorn admitted.

Legolas shifted. “I started to notice strange occurrences—unexplained events.”

Aragorn raised a brow, “Strange occurrences?”

Legolas felt his cheeks heat as he cleared his throat. “Yes, yes, but more importantly, I noticed something helping us. Consistently.” He paused, “I asked Mithranduil about it and he told me of her.” He shook his head. “He said she was cursed to watch us—us inhabitants of Arda—and not be able to walk among us.”

“Then how is she here now before us, like this.”

Legolas glanced at his hands, a hint of nervousness in his expression. “I asked Mithranduil that too,” he admitted. “He said her sacrifice must have ended her limbo.” He then let his eyes land on his friend and he spoke once more, his tone almost fearful and definitely shy—something Aragorn had never seen from the elf. “If she doesn't survive, because of me, will Arda have wind no longer? I haven't felt a single breeze since she fell.”

Aragorn sighed. “I do not know, my friend. I do not know.” He reached forward and placed his hand upon his shoulder. “Please go clean up and rest. You are no good to her like this. I will take care of her, I promise.”

Legolas hesitated, “But what if she wakes?”

The Ranger sighed again, “If she wakes, I will send someone to—”

He was interrupted by a soft groan escaping from the lips of the Wind Spirit.

Instantly, both Legolas and Aragorn turned to look at the woman.

Her eyelids lazily blinked open, and she gradually became aware of her surroundings. A frown creased her face as she emitted another groan. Her hand moved slowly, making its way down to her bandaged side.

"What... what is this feeling?" she murmured to herself, puzzled by the sensations.

To her astonishment, Legolas responded, “Pain.”

She scrambled to sit upright in bed, the pain surging through her body but the sheer force of adrenaline propelled her actions. “You–you can hear me?” she whispered, eyes wide.

Legolas moved closer, taking a seat on the edge of the cot. In a gentle tone, he answered, "I can hear you. I can see you." He tenderly raised his hand to her cheek, resting it on the dried bloody mark already there. "And I can feel you."

A hushed gasp escaped her lips as she reached up to touch his hand. "It's... it's warm," she remarked, her voice filled with surprise. "I didn't expect it to be warm."

The elf smiled gently in response.

A mischievous smirk then graced her lips, and her gaze, rather unmistakably, wandered down his figure and briefly settled upon his pants. “Is everything this warm?” she inquired with a teasing tone.

Taken aback by her words and her brazen gaze, he cleared his throat. A noticeable flush crept across his cheeks and ears as he broke eye contact. With that, Legolas turned to face Aragorn, who stood behind him with raised eyebrows and a playful grin forming at the corner of his mouth. “My apologies, Aragorn.” He glanced back at the Wind Spirit. “(Y/N), this is—”

She interrupted him, her eyes on the other man. “I know who he is,” she said with confidence. “Aragorn, son of Arathorn the second, also called Strider or Wingfoot, Chieftain of the Dúnedain, and the Uncrowned King of Gondor.”

The expressions on both men's faces contorted, morphing to sheer astonishment—how did she know all that?

(Y/N) grinned sheepishly. "I am the wind," she confessed. "I see and hear a great deal."

…..

The Minas Tirith Castle was cloaked in the deep shroud of a late moonlit night as Legolas walked through its ancient halls. The soft flickering of torchlight painted wavering shadows on the weathered stone walls, lending an atmosphere that resonated with the weight of its history. His footsteps were silent as he moved, and his thoughts followed suit, meandering through the corridors of his mind.

However, up ahead, a figure bathed in a gentle glow caused Legolas to abruptly halt in his tracks, his thoughts instantly converging on the woman.

“(Y/N),” he called out, approaching her. “What are you doing away from the House of Healing? You shouldn't be out of bed. You should be resting!”

She let out an exasperated sigh, not appreciating his chastising tone. "I am a watcher of wanderers, Legolas. Therefore, I too am a voyager. It is not in my nature to stay still."

Legolas released a heated breath through his nose. “That may be true, but you now have a corporal form. No longer are you just a breeze.”

She rolled her eyes, shifting her feet to hide the persistent pain emanating from her side. “I may not be a breeze any longer, but I still control all the winds of Arda. I could knock you on your ass in seconds, injured or not.”

Legolas chuckled lightly. “I never would have gotten involved with the wind if I knew she was so temperamental,” he teased.

(Y/N), suppressing a grin, responded with a snarky retort. “Oh, so we are involved, are we?”

The elf sent her a look, trying to hide his expression of amusement. “I would be naive to think that all the times the wind flirted with me, it was just a ploy.”

“Maybe I enjoy a ploy from century to century, Legolas,” she replied.

He laughed lightly at her jest, then took a step closer, his demeanor shifting to one of seriousness. Gently, he pressed his hand to her bandaged side. “(Y/N),” he began softly. “Why did you do it? Why did you get in between that orc and I?”

She looked up at him, her eyes gleaming with sincerity. “You know why.”

“Say it,” he commanded.

“Because,” she began, her tone becoming shy and soft. “Because, I—I love you.”

Instantly, Legolas wrapped his arm around her back, pulling her close to him. He pressed his lips fervently against hers. As their mouths met with equal intensity, he tasted the essence of the wind. And oh, it tasted of adventure, suffering, and joy. It tasted of warm bread from the north, bitter nuts from the east, clear water from the south, and fresh fruit from the west. It tasted of eons and eons of wandering, yet still, she tasted of home. Her hands found their way into his golden locks of hair, twisting and tugging it lightly. He allowed her to siphon off his heat, for the wind was often cold and bellowing. Though, he could tell she was taking more than just his warmth—she was taking his love; and oh, he gladly gave it to her.

…..

Everything Taglist: @lea----b @aredhel-of-gondolin @princecami @the-fandoms-georgie @jazziwritestolkienprimary @swimming-in-stardust @elvish-sky @red-riding @brun-lieve @hey-its-nonny @mirclealignr @sydney-1209 @laneynoir @straysugzhpe @runningfeather @finallyforgotten @kaiawrites @commanderawkward @xxbluestrifexx @slytherinambitious @redbirdbluebird333-blog @desert-fern @skairipakomtrikru @genderfluid-anime-goth @skairipakomtrikru @hemera1227 @sotwk @sirenofavalon @hobbitsesoftheshire @asianbutnotjapanese @mgchaser @heavenshumour @mgchaser @heavenshumour @casuallyeating-blog @cheari

Everything But Spice Tag: @goldfearless @cauliflowertree @heranintomyknife23times @mxmia @unethicallypleistocene @amessofmultifandom

Legolas tag: @dark-angel-is-back @mylittle-escapingdreams @abandoncloud9 @aphroditesmoon @carojasmin2204 @high-sea-husbands @aheadfullofsteverogers

add yourself to my taglist

#vayawrites #lotr #lord of the rings #the hobbit #legolas #legolas x reader #legolas/reader #legolas fic #legolas fanfic #legolas fanfiction #LOTR fic #LOTR fanfic #legolas one shot #legolas drabble #legolas love story #LOTR writer #LOTR writing

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live-laugh-legolas · 2 months

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can you do headcanons for when they're sick?

preferably the fellowship+faramir

Absolutely!

When the fellowship members are sick (+Faramir)

Aragorn:

-Insists he’s fine

-If the tables were turned he would go all doctor like on you and tell you how rest will help

-But he’s built different so it doesn’t apply to him apparently

-Knows all the remedies but refuses to use them because he wants to “build up his immune system”

-You have to be pretty firm with him

-But after being his friend for so long you know this already

-Possibly threaten him

Legolas:

-Can elves even get sick?

-I imagine he would be confused in the same way he was when the alcohol was “effecting him”

-“My nose…It’s leaking”

-He’s probably a bit stressed but outwardly he seems pretty normal

-Will do whatever you tell him to do

-One of the easiest to take care of, plus he gets better after a day or so

Gimli:

-Grumpy and in denial

-Seriously, dwarves are so stubborn

-“dwarves don’t get sick!” Then proceeds to lose his lunch

-Tbh you probably have to drug him

-I read this fic by CheveronChick last year at some point and I did a deep dive to find it again because it’s a perfect example of how I think Gimli acts when sick

-I recommend giving it a read

Boromir:

-Tries to act tough and pretend nothings wrong

-But ends up being very dramatic

-Convinced he’s dying

-“you will die one day Boromir but not from this cold”

-He is used to being the one to take care of others, so when you force him to rest and let you take care of him he feels special

-I’ve mentioned before that I think despite his outgoing nature he doesn’t have many close friends

-So he genuinely loves having you to be there for him

-Side note, he may pretend to still be sick so you dote more but you know what he’s doing and he gets a pillow to the face

Frodo:

-Just sleeps it off

-Seriously doesn’t even act that sick

-You just don’t see much of him because he is asleep

-He could be dead…you honestly aren’t sure

-Would probably show up a few days later totally fine and just be like “sorry I had pneumonia” “Thats serious Frodo wtf”

Sam:

-Knows he needs to rest, but he doesn’t like to sit around doing nothing

-Actually one of the hardest to take care of

-Feels bad when he needs to be taken care of

-Also worried he will get you sick

-“Stay away y/n, I’m contaminated”

Merry:

-Very nonchalant and responsible

-Drinks so much tea and takes all the drugs

-Maybe I should take back the responsible part

-He seems like the type to genuinely like the taste of pepto and will chug it

-Takes shots of whatever the ME equivalent of night-quill is

Pippin:

-Standing in the doorway in the middle of the night; “I threw up”

-Cries when he gets sick, but me too Pippin I get it

-You will get sick too because he insists that you stay with him because he’s dying

-You would never forgive yourself if he died and you weren’t there (That’s what he tells you)

-But to be fair, I feel like he doesn’t get sick much but when he does it tends to be worse than a normal cold

Gandalf:

-I have no idea if he can get sick

-But don’t you dare suggest he might be

-You may lose your head

-No he’s not sick

*Bonus Faramir:

-I feel like he has two reactions and it depends on who he is with

-To most people he will refuse to seem weak, you probably wouldn’t even guess it

-Just maybe a bit sluggish

-However with people he trusts, mainly you and Boromir, he will happily let you take care of him

-Won’t verbally admit that he enjoys the attention, but you know he does

-So kind about it and appreciative

-Although he would feel bad, he would be secretly a little pleased if you got sick too because he could return the care you gave him

#lord of the rings #lotr #lotr preferences #boromir #lotr headcanons #aragorn #frodo baggins #legolas #lotr fellowship #meriadoc brandybuck #peregrine took #samwise gamgee #faramir #gandalf the grey #gimli son of gloin #the lord of the rings #lotr fanfic

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charlidos · 4 months

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THE CHRONICLES OF THE CUNTYBAGO

I love the lore of the Fellowship, I can't get enough of it. And it's really turned into a kind of myth, hasn't it? The stories have been established, from being told again and again. Regardless if it's not the whole truth, or even not true at all. The lore has a life of its own. And it changes, depedning on who's talking, and over time.

The lore of the (inappropriately named) Cuntybago is a favourite; that famed make-up trailer bus where Orlando spent so much time with Viggo (hours and hours for years and years if you listen to Orlando) absorbing everything Viggo did.

So here's the Ultimate (very long) Cuntybago Post.

The Cuntybago is apparently where all the after-work parties happened. Most of what actually happened on it is still secret, private events not to be shared; after hours, after some wine/whisky drinking. What kind of special stuff was in the drawers? What did they really smoke? And, most intriguingly, who exactly was left onboard when everyone were ordered to get out... (Erm, V&O, perhaps?)I'm sure there are many more photos from the bus. Like a photo of Viggo & Orlando - which has yet to be seen. Oh, to have been a fly on that wall!

(A clip from the last day of the reshoots, in 2003. Because it's the time the bus has been talked about the most. Even if I'm unsure if this is the actual Cuntybago or not. Since it doesn't look green...)

Mortensen and Orlando Bloom spent much of their off-time on a green bus they named the "Cunty-Bago." Instead of the standard luxury lodging demanded by most stars on set, Viggo and co-star Orlando Bloom shared a converted bus while filming Rings. Viggo stocked the bus with a wine cellar and wallpapered the inside with candid behind-the-scenes photos. A source on the set said the bus was the site of frequent cast parties, with the motto, "Everyone is welcome, but when it's time to go, get out!" Indeed, they formed a club — The Cunty-Bago Club. [Viggo, Sean and Orlando] shared a make-up Winnebago, and through hours of beard and pointy-ear application formulated the rules of their society — most of which boil down to getting gossip and posting it on. [on what? I think the text is cut?]

There are very few quotes from Viggo. If you read his old interviews about life on set it sounds like he mostly worked 6 days a week, 14 hours a day. And in his free time, he went camping and fishing by himself and just drove around to get some me-time. That's it. It all sounds like mostly work and no play for Viggo. Cementing this image of him being ever serene, wise and a hard working method actor who never stopped being Aragorn. But then, we have the stories of this bus, which shows his wilder side...

(Viggo in ponytails, with a glass of wine and banana, in front of that mirror covered in photographs. They both took a lot of photos on set, so I guess a bunch of those photos are Orlando's.)

All Viggo's said is this:

"It was a crazy small bus." "Everything had cunt. It was 'cunt this' and 'cunt that'. We had a cuntmas tree, and we had cuntmas angels."

(Orlando on the makeup bus. )

Orlando has mostly mentioned the bus in passing, as he loves on Viggo, his great hero. And in his words, it always sounds like it was just the two of them... (when in fact it was from time to time also shared with Sean B, Bernard and Liv - but only Viggo & Orlando were there the whole time).

[Me and Viggo would] sit next to each other for a couple or hours each morning in a make-up truck. You get to know someone that way, more than by being in scenes with them. I used to sit next to him on the make-up bus, and find myself just staring at him while he was having his make-up done and drawing in his book or writing his notes. I would find myself fascinated. When I went back for re-shoots, I was on my own and he wasn't sitting there, and I suddenly was sitting in the makeup bus that we'd been driving around in for 18 months in New Zealand and got really emotional and felt that it was kind of weird to be there without him there and sort of reflected on all of the happy conversations and chats and glasses of wine and talks that we would have at the end of the day or whatever. He really had a huge impact on my life as an actor.

But he did say a few specific things too:

"Ahhh yes, the bus. It was mine, all mine. It was my precious." Bloom christened the bus the "C-word" when the makeup artist was fuming about someone and asked Bloom's advice. "You should kick him in the cunt and tell him to fuck off!" Viggo just lost it for half an hour. He kept saying, 'What did you say?' [The bus] became all about "the word. We took that word and took all of its power away. We made it the most loving word in the world. If you were a true cunt, you were the most amazing person in the world. It was a very free-spirited bus. It came about because me and Viggo kept being moved around, and we ended up on this bus one day. And the actors were fed up and we said, "This is it. This is our home and we are not moving. If they come, tell them to go away."

And finally from Orlando's IG in 2019 (obviously, to this day, a very important part of his life):

Our fondly named makeup bus, christened by Noreen my makeup artist and Viggo Mortensen, was, and remains in my heart and memory the most female and male empowered, joyful, disreputable and yet totally respectful place of work and creativity ever. Hours spent in the the makeup chair to apply ear’s and wigs and contacts." (They can't even agree who named it, Noreen never got any credit back then...)

(From the reshoots in 2003, Viggo gives Orlando some love and points out the photo message from Orlando on the mirror. But I want to know, who put up the pic of O with Brad Pitt? From this clip.)

The comments from everyone else in the cast about life on the Cuntybago are actually more enlightening. The rowdy gang reveal another side of life on set and of Viggo: as a drinking, partying prankster who loves crude language. It's definitely part of the fascination with Viggo. He's never one to talk about these things himself.

(I think they're wearing the special cuntebago t-shirts here. No idea from whence.)

Bernard Hill:

You are not supposed to know about it!" "There were five or six of us - Viggo, Orlando and Sean [Bean]. Liv came in and out [of the group]. Viggo has this special kind of crudeness that he is capable of. We were in the same make up bus [along with Bloom]. When I came back [from a break] it was called the Cuntybago. It was our private club. We had wine tasting sessions and had lots of parties. We also kept lots of food in there. Anything that was out [on the table], you could have. You could drink it, eat it, borrow it, smoke it… but don´t go looking in any drawers. That´s where we kept our 'special stuff'! [The Cuntybago bar would on occasion open very early] like 6:30am. There were days that we needed it. [I've made life-long friends with] everybody who was in the Cuntybago. Leaving the first time was such a huge wrench. Especially because of the Cuntybago, it was like our club. Fortunately we managed to get it back for Return of the king reshoots, so ROTK was the Return of the Cuntybago. We actually drove it out onto the streets for Viggo’s farewell. Viggo didn’t know we were going to do it, and when it started moving, you should have seen his face. I kept shouting, “Cunty libre! Cunty libre!” And the bus start leaving—we were breaking free. For propriety’s sake it was called the C-Bago Club, because you couldn’t put Cunty on the call sheet. Sean Bean came in, Liv was also a part of it. As soon as I get back to England I’m going to start the C-Bago web site: Orlando will do fashion and Viggo will do current affairs. I’ll probably do gossip — you know, the social calendar. Liv will do Hollywood and Sean Bean will do the art of war. It’ll be our little corner of the world.

youtube

(Bernard & Orlando Bloom getting make-up done. Here's the green bus again.)

Elijah:

Cuntybago is an amalgamation of 'Winnebago' and Viggo Mortensen´s cuss word of choice. I've gained an appreciation of the word cunt. Negative words - the best thing is to diffuse them by using and taking the meaning away. Cunt! Cunt! It's a great, great word. Very forceful. [Viggo] became utterly fascinated with it and it became the word of the film. Their Winnebago for makeup was called the Cuntybago. I was not a part of the Cuntybago unfortunately - it was the makeup room of Orlando, Viggo and Sean Bean - but it was a lovely place to visit. Cuntybago T-shirts were made up. There was a Cunty Christmas and we had a Cunty Christmas tree, all this stuff. Cate Blanchett [who plays the elf queen Galadriel] was deemed Her Cuntliness. I think we were all secretly jealous of the Cuntybago. I was anyway. I loved the atmosphere. Any place that had Viggo in the centre was always an interesting place to be… And that was where all the alcohol was. It was just spending all of that time with brits and Aussies. The word ‘Cunt’ came up quite a lot. I was fascinated by that and how it could become not so dirty. It’s one of the few swear words that still shock people." Is that why you called Cate Blanchett “Her Cuntliness? “Not my creation. She was called that by Viggo Mortensen. I put the blame on him. It was used during the making of the movie and seems a bit silly now. Wood says that his Cuntybago T-shirt is home in a drawer. "It's too big for me. I'm a small guy."

(A few photos up on the mirror in front of Viggo. I'm guessing it's Henry on the toilet (aww!), and Viggo and Orlando doing something something... Sharing a cigarette? Extinguishing a cigarette on Viggo's tongue? It looks kind of erotic. And who's the other dude?)

Billy:

"On Lord of the rings we'd go to Viggo and Orlando's trailer which was called The Cuntybago. Viggo was good for getting Irish whiskey, which was great but I keep trying to educate him on malt whisky. (To Billy it was just V&O's trailer. Like it's where they lived together...) Hobbits, an elf, a King of Men, maybe a dwarf. And quite a few times a wizard, sometimes a princess. Ha ha! That's enough to make anyone feel pissed. We had some good times on that one, some great times."

Peter Jackson:

"The actors had a spiritual connection to it. I liked the way they had photographs [Mortensen and Bloom] taken behind-the-scenes, plastered all over the walls."

(From the reshoots, I think. Beautifully blurry.)

Liv Tyler:

I can't believe he [Mortensen] talked about that. That was our private world. There was a lot of liquor on that bus. But the funniest thing about this bus is that this thing was a beast. It was so tiny; nothing worked. If they ever washed our hair it would go from scalding hot to freezing cold. There was no heat. Our makeup trailer became the center of things. It was given a really bad name that I cannot repeat. There were pranks, most of them also too dirty to tell. I love them all, all my costars. We would hang out mostly in the hair-and-makeup trailer, and after work at dinner. We would eat all the time and drink wine and laugh. I think that a lot of that was the friendships that we made with each other and the fact that we all needed each other. It was vital that we all had each other to survive and to be able to laugh. Everybody had a really good sense of humor, thank God. We'd be constantly making jokes and decorating the trailer with ridiculous things and being rude and that was our sort of little bubble of escape in our makeup trailer.

(Photo by Liv, in the bus. You can see all the polaroids and stuff behind the unicorn elf.)

Cate Blanchett:

Viggo is the funkiest person I've ever met. I am far too polite to . . . he had this thing he called "the cunty-bago" . . . no, I guess I shouldn't go into that. So, yeah, he's incredible, very funny.

So, I can't quite figure out which bus The Cuntybago actually is: the green one Orlando is seen exiting? Or the yellow-ish one seen in the vids from the reshoots? Because they aren't the same. And in the vid from the final day, Bernard says the bus he drove on that last day was the same they'd had "for years" and which never moved before. While Orlando said they drove The Cuntybago around "for 18 months". So which bus was it? And did they drive the bus around or not? Or was it stationary? It's a mystery.

(This is the green bus - but is it the make-up trailer? Same as in the vid with Bernard.)

(Here in the reshoots, the bus is yellow-ish? And completely different. Looks more like a Winnebago than the green one really... So which one is The Cuntybago?)

ETA: it's the green striped one! Here's it's on the Cuntybago shirt:

That's all I have found about this infamous, mythical place, where all the magic happened, as they say. If anyone has info to add, please do! I want this post to be comprehensive!

#viggo mortensen #orlando bloom #lord of the rings #viggorli #the lore of the rings #elijah wood #bernard hill #billy boyd #liv tyler #The Cuntybago #lotr cast #lotrips

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buffyfan145 · 9 months

Text

Thanks to the Rings of Power Updates Twitter/X they posted past of an interview with Charlie Vickers that a lot of us including me don't remember seeing from October of 2022 after the season 1 finale previewing his role as Sauron in the upcoming 2nd season. Here's the full thing since the preview image cut it off:

"I mean, to be honest, it hasn't changed my approach to the character that much compared to season one at this date, because I knew for most of season one, really. It's just that now it's out in the open. I guess that's where the difference is. And it's in the writing mainly. We get to see Sauron openly doing his thing, at least from the audience's perspective. The other characters don't know, but I think for me, it's quite interesting to be able to play things a bit more with the knowledge that the audience is in on it with me now. It informs some of the decisions I make. That's the main difference, I would guess."

Now for those of us like myself who been keeping up with the various scoops we've been getting from Fellowship of Fans and other interviews/sources this goes along with what they've been saying but also adds to it too. Putting that behind a cut as it contains likely major spoilers.

From FOF and others we know the show is doing some sort of Annatar storyline with another actor playing this "original form" but it's only in the last couple of episodes. However, we'll see Charlie shapeshift into this other form in a fight with Adar early in season 2 as it is the form Adar knew. Now reading Charlie's comments this makes me think again that even with them still doing the Annatar storyline that we'll actually still get Charlie with the most screen-time and doesn't change his status as the main Sauron actor going forward, and there's already spoilers backing that up as Charlie's filmed a lot as Halbrand with Adar, Amelia Kenworthy's character, the men, and the dwarves at least. Possibly in scenes with Galadriel too as a lot of us speculate they'll still have that connection to see each other in dreams. But Charlie's words also seem to confirm that Galadriel either doesn't tell the others that Halbrand is Sauron or only a select few know, so I'm curious how that is going to happen especially with Celebrimbor. But they can easily do this Annatar storyline line similar to how Tom Hiddleston shapeshifts as Loki and we/the audience knows it's him and then he shapeshifts back to his Halbrand form in the finale or we also see Charlie on-screen but the characters see this other form. Plus, I doubt this original form/Annatar actor is staying past this season as most of us think Charlie will still play Sauron till the show ends, especially for when he goes back to Numenor as he already was there as Halbrand, so seeing this statement from Charlie just helps to confirm that for me and I'm really excited we'll finally be getting season 2 next fall.

#the lord of the rings #the rings of power #charlie vickers #spoilers #halbrand #sauron #annatar #galadriel #haladriel #galadriel x halbrand #adar #celebrimbor

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foundtherightwords · 10 months

Text

Headlights on Dark Roads - Chapter 1

Pairing: Eddie x Chrissy (No Vecna/No Upside Down AU)

Summary: Eddie and Chrissy are in a relationship, having reconnected after they both moved back to Hawkins. However, Laura's disapproval still looms over them, and when Eddie has an opportunity to reunite and revive Corroded Coffin, Chrissy has to make a difficult choice between going with him to LA and staying in Hawkins to take care of her ailing mother.

A/N: So this is a soft continuation of my one-shot "Same Streets, New Memories". I tried to make it possible to read this as a standalone, but it would probably help with understanding some of the context if you read "SSNM" first. Also, be warned: this doesn't have a happy ending. I'm so sorry :((

Warnings: angst (oh so much angst), abuse (Laura Cunningham is her own warning), implied/mentions of ED, implied/mentions of homophobia, some smut (non-explicit)

Chapter word count: 4.7k

Chapter 1

"Eddie, wake up," Chrissy whispered, her lips brushing Eddie's ear as she leaned closer to him. In response, Eddie groaned and buried his head deeper into the pillow. Chrissy smiled. Eddie always reverted to being a kid when it came to waking up. "I brought breakfast," she said. "Or lunch." She still wasn't quite sure what to call it. It was usually Eddie's first meal of the day after he got off his shift at the Hideout, which made it breakfast, but it was also eaten around one or two in the afternoon, which made it lunch.

"I don't want breakfast. Or lunch," Eddie grumbled. He grabbed her waist and pulled her down on the bed, before rolling on top and planning a sleepy kiss on her lips. "I want this."

"Come on, let's get up and eat. I have practice this afternoon."

"Call in sick." The kiss was getting decidedly less sleepy now.

Chrissy laughed in mock outrage. "I can't, I'm the coach!"

"All right then, Coach Cunningham." Eddie lifted his head, his eyes twinkling. "What time's practice?"

"3:15."

He glanced at the alarm clock by the bedside table and grinned, the playful Munson grin that never failed to melt Chrissy's heart. "Plenty of time," he said, and kissed her again. This time, she kissed him back, luxuriating in the feel of his mouth against hers, of her hands in his hair.

When they finally sat down to the burrito wraps that had gone cold, Eddie said, "I have the day off. Do you want to grab dinner later and come back here to watch Fellowship?"

"Again?" Chrissy had enjoyed the movie when Eddie first showed it to her, though she didn't find the prospect of sitting on her butt for nearly three hours that appealing. From then on, whenever Eddie wanted to rewatch it, which was constantly, her stipulation was that they added at least one bathroom break.

"I'm going to watch it once a week until Two Towers comes out."

Chrissy shook her head affectionately. "I do believe you're going to break that tape."

"No, it's the extended version! Come on, I won't even be mad if you fall asleep—again."

It was hard to escape his enthusiasm.

"OK, but I can't stay. I have to drive my mom to physical therapy tomorrow," she said. Ever since Eddie moved into this apartment, she'd only stayed overnight a handful of times, always arriving after putting her mother to bed and coming back before she woke. After her stroke, Laura could still move about with the use of a walker and a wheelchair, but she would know if Chrissy wasn't there and would complain about being left on her own.

Eddie's face fell, but quickly brightened up again. "Guess who I ran into at Guitar Center the other day?"

When Eddie took that second job teaching guitar at the music store in Bloomington, he'd joked "Those that can't do, teach." He was so cheerful these days that he often made jokes like that, and Chrissy's heart swelled again when she remembered how he had been when they first ran into each other—so beaten-down and bitter, compared to how he was now.

"Who?" she asked, nibbling on a tortilla chip.

"Gareth, looking for a hi-hat! He said I've inspired him to get back into drumming. Can't imagine why, after all the horrible stories I told him about our gigs back West." Eddie was being flippant, but Chrissy could see from his sparkling eyes that he was happy for his friend.

"I bet his wife loves that," she said with a grin.

"She does, that's the thing! Their kid loves it too! So every weekend, Gareth would just take the kid into the garage and bang away on the drums while Nicole has time to herself. Win-win."

"That's great."

"I was telling him, if we can get Jeff and Grant to come home for Christmas, maybe we'll have a Corroded Coffin reunion show at the Hideout."

"Oh, could you?" Chrissy squealed. "That means I'll finally be able to see you guys live!"

"And that'll be incentive enough for me," Eddie said, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand.

He finished his wrap and pushed the other one toward her. Chrissy's stomach flipped on reflex, the old queasiness whenever someone asked her to eat rearing its head again.

"Oh, I'm already full from the chips and salsa," she said automatically.

A crease of worry appeared between Eddie's eyes, but it only lasted for an instant. "I can't possibly eat all of that though," he said, pulling the burrito back. "Half?"

"...OK."

Chrissy took her half of the wrap. Eddie scarfed his half down, confirming her guess that he'd lied about not being able to eat the whole thing. But this was the one lie from him that she would always forgive. She and Eddie had never discussed her problem with eating, though she suspected he had already guessed from the way she pushed her food around the plate whenever they dined out together, from the way she was always bringing food to his place but never seemed to want to eat any of it herself. He never pressed her about it, but would always say he wanted to try this or that dish and ask her to share with him. She knew it was his subtle way of getting her to eat a little bit more, and was grateful for it. For him.

Once done, Eddie cleaned up the wrappers from the kitchen table, went to the couch, and picked up his guitar.

"Is that a new song?" Chrissy asked between bites, as he strummed through the first few chords.

"Not really. I started it a while ago. The day we ran into each other in the woods, remember?"

How could she forget?

"I can't figure it part out." He played some more, humming along, and shook his head irritably.

"I think it sounds great."

"You think all of my songs sound great," Eddie said, but he looked pleased.

Chrissy finished her burrito and got up to wash her hands. "By the way, what are you and Wayne doing for Thanksgiving?" Eddie's comment about Christmas had reminded her.

"I'm not sure," he replied, jotting down some notes. "Usually one of his buddies from the plant would invite us to their house, or we'll just have a symbolic turkey sandwich."

"Turkey sandwich?!" Chrissy exclaimed. "That's a crime!"

Eddie laughed. "It doesn't make sense to have a big feast with just the two of us," he said, and proceeded to tell her about the year when, determined to give Eddie a proper Thanksgiving, Wayne had bought a turkey, attempted to deep-fry it, and almost burned their trailer down.

After Chrissy had wiped the tears of laughter from her eyes and gotten her breath back, she said, "Would you two like to come to dinner with me and my mom then?"

She tried to say it lightly, but apparently, she'd failed, because Eddie stopped strumming the guitar and looked up at her. "Are we at the meet-the-parent stage already?" His eyes were laughing, but there was a breathless quality to his voice that matched how she was feeling.

They had been together for nearly eight months, eight wonderful, glorious months, since that day they ran into each other in the woods behind Hawkins High, of all places. If Chrissy had been superstitious, she would've said it felt like fate.

She hadn't even meant to ask Eddie out. She'd invited him to a basketball game only to catch up but hadn't expected him to actually show. But he had, and when she saw him lingering at the gym's entrance, looking out of place amongst the suburban parents with his long hair and leather jacket, a bubble of warmth had burst in her chest. After the game, they'd gone to the Hideout, where they'd just talked and talked and talked, about everything and nothing, and when she dropped him off at his trailer later that night, she'd leaned over to finish the kiss she'd started way back in '86, and that had cinched it.

Even now, eight months later, that warm bubble still expanded through her whenever she looked at him. Sometimes, she would be kicking herself for running from him all those years ago. But then again, Chrissy was a firm believer in timing. If they had gotten together back then, back when they were too young and fragile to handle this, it would've ended in disaster, or worse, they would have drifted apart and become strangers, just another face in the crowd.

Still, it would have been nice if they could have met a little sooner.

"I've met Wayne," she reminded Eddie.

"Yeah, but—that's different. He's known about us from the beginning." The easy way he said us set her heart fluttering. "Your mom, on the other hand—"

He was right to worry. Chrissy knew her mom suspected she was seeing someone, and she was thankful that since the stroke, Laura hadn't gone out much and therefore was no longer familiar with the rumor mill of Hawkins, or else she would have found out the truth and thrown a fit. The only boyfriend of Chrissy's that Laura had ever approved of was Jason, and she still nagged Chrissy about breaking up with him, although it had been nearly seventeen years and Jason was now happily married.

"Look, if your mom doesn't want me and Wayne there, you don't have to invite us."

"She just has to accept that I'm a grown-up now and can be with whoever I want," Chrissy said, sounding more confident than she felt. "She's lucky I'm bringing you home at all."

"Wow, I'm honored." Eddie was still teasing, but his eyes were soft.

"I'm serious. I've never—"

She trailed off. What she'd wanted to say was, I've never been so sure of anything in my life. Or anyone. But she was afraid of coming on too strongly.

She hadn't been sure of any of her exes. Jason... they'd gone out because she'd felt it was expected of her, the head cheerleader and the captain of the basketball team. God, could I be any more superficial? Her exes in college and after were the same, people she dated because she thought she was supposed to be dating, or because she wanted to defy her mother. She hadn't even been sure of her ex-husband. She'd married him only to get away from Hawkins, away from her mother.

But Eddie, Eddie was different. Even back in high school, when she had been on the verge of shattering under a thousand different pressures—pressure from her mom, from Jason, from school, from college, from her friends, pressure to be perfect, to maintain the façade of the Queen of Hawkins High—within five minutes, Eddie had managed to put her back together without even knowing what was bothering her. He'd only seen that she was bothered and had done everything he could to cheer her up.

Yes, even back then, Chrissy had known she would be safe with Eddie, and she knew it even more strongly now. She could see his affection in everything he did, from little things like sharing his food or calling her in the morning even though he just got off work and should be in bed (though, to be fair, she'd had to pester him to get a cell phone), to big things like moving into this apartment.

When he first got the apartment, Eddie had insisted that he didn't want to mooch off Wayne any longer ("Plus, have you seen his cooking? I got a heart murmur just looking at it!"), and that they needed a place for themselves. It was true that, after a month or so into their relationship—Chrissy had never considered that they were simply "dating"; from the first moment, it had felt like a serious relationship—things had gotten rather awkward after several heavy make-out sessions in her car, when both had bumped their heads on the ceiling and against the window.

"We can't go back to my trailer, Wayne's home," Eddie had said, burying his face in her bare shoulder.

"And my mom's home too."

They had giggled together then, feeling ridiculous that they were forced to sneak around like two teenagers. Despite the illicit thrill of it all, it had become apparent that they needed some privacy. So Eddie had found a cheap studio apartment in town. Chrissy had helped him move in and bought all the little things to make it homey, like the throw blanket on the couch to the little potted plants on the window sills that Eddie had promised to keep alive but was likely to forget, so she made sure to water them whenever she stopped by. And one day, when she'd come to him sobbing from a particularly bad fight with her mother, he'd given her the spare key. Just like with everything, Eddie saw what she needed without having to ask.

Now he was looking at her with those knowing, loving eyes, and Chrissy realized she didn't have to say anything at all.

"We can always have Thanksgiving here, or at the trailer," he said. "Just the three of us."

"I can't leave my mom alone on Thanksgiving!" Chrissy protested. "Look, if you don't want to come—"

Eddie watched her fidget with her fingers, and an impish smile peeped out at the corner of his lips. "OK, we'll be there," he said, "if your mom promises not to call a priest to have the house blessed."

"Only if Wayne promises not to organize an exorcism for her," she shot back with a smile of her own. He laughed and pulled her into his lap.

"I meant it about having Thanksgiving with me and Wayne though," he said, more gently. "If you feel like getting out of the house."

"I know." Chrissy leaned in to meet his lips, her worries vanishing in the warmth of his kiss.

***

Only with Eddie's assurance like a talisman in her heart that Chrissy felt she had the strength to breach the subject of Thanksgiving to her mother.

"I'm inviting some people over for Thanksgiving, is that OK?" she asked the next day, while they were on their way to the physical therapy center.

"Who?" Laura asked suspiciously. "Not Ryan and that—that—"

"Nate, mom, his name's Nate," Chrissy said.

"I don't want to hear his name!" Laura screeched.

Ten years ago, her younger brother, Ryan, had come out to their parents before he'd left for college. They'd cut him off immediately. Ryan had confided in Chrissy before that, but as she was in Chicago at the time, struggling to find a job after dropping out of nursing school, she couldn't do much to help. She'd only learned of the falling-out much later, when Ryan called to let her know he'd moved to Toronto with his boyfriend, Nate. Ryan hadn't even come home for their father's funeral. She still kept in touch with him with the occasional emails and phone calls, but to Laura, he might as well be dead.

"No, it's not Ryan," Chrissy continued, ignoring Laura's hysterics. "This is—someone from high school."

"Not Jason?!" Laura immediately forgot her erstwhile prodigal son and looked so excited that Chrissy felt the usual hot burst of annoyance in her belly. Always Jason.

"No. His name's Eddie." Chrissy prayed that her mom didn't notice she had deliberately left out the last name. She quickly added, "I don't think you know him. We didn't exactly move in the same circles back in high school. He's been living in California, but he just moved home to—to take care of his uncle. It's just the two of them." This was what she and Eddie had agreed to tell her mother, and Eddie would make sure Wayne followed the same script. It sounded better than saying he moved home because his band failed.

Laura narrowed her eyes at Chrissy. "If you weren't friends in school, why would you invite him?"

"Oh, I ran into him in town and just felt sorry for them, I guess," Chrissy said in what she hoped was an offhanded way. "If you'd rather not have guests—"

"Invite who you want, I don't care." Laura turned to the window with a look that said she did care, a lot, and was hoping Chrissy would feel bad and back down. But Chrissy knew her mother too well to fall for her passive-aggressiveness. She took Laura's statement at face value.

***

As she put the finishing touch to the Thanksgiving dinner, Chrissy wondered if this was a mistake.

She wasn't worried about Eddie and Wayne. They would be able to take whatever Laura threw at them, she was sure. The only thing was... sometimes she felt like keeping Eddie as her own little secret, her safe place, her sanctuary away from her mother's constant demands and criticism. Introducing him to Laura would threaten that. But she couldn't keep sneaking around forever. She couldn't do what Ryan did and simply turn her back on their mother the moment she showed her disapproval. Chrissy wanted her mother to accept Eddie, or at least accept the fact that she was seeing him.

It started well enough. Eddie and Wayne came right on time, bringing a pumpkin pie, a bottle of wine, and some cider. Chrissy almost laughed when she saw the effort Eddie had made with his appearance—he was clean-shaven, he had left off his rings and wore a long-sleeve shirt to cover up his tattoos, and he had even tied his hair back, making him look like one of those hipsters, whose pretentious looks had started to spread even to Hawkins. Laura pressed her lips together and eyed him up and down but said nothing. Wayne's eyes twinkled as he looked over the house—so big and yet so cold and impersonal, compared to the cozy little trailer he and Eddie had shared—but he was perfectly polite and amiable. It was true that he slipped up and introduced himself with his last name when he shook Laura's hand, but thankfully, she didn't seem to register the last name "Munson". He even had the genius idea of inquiring Laura after her health, which was her absolute favorite subject, and kept her engaged until it was time to eat.

Things started getting a little tense when they sat down at the table and Chrissy carved the turkey. "Stick to the white meat, Chrissy, it's better for you," Laura said, watching Chrissy load up her own plate. "And that's too much stuffing."

Her cheeks burning, Chrissy spooned some of the stuffing back. She saw something flash across Eddie's face—annoyance, anger, or perhaps sympathy—but it was gone in an instant, and he squeezed her hand under the table as she sat down. She squeezed back with a grateful smile.

"Well, this all looks amazing," Wayne said, rubbing his hands together. "My compliments to the cook." Chrissy gave him a grateful smile as well.

Wayne more or less singlehandedly kept conversation around the table going, asking Laura about her physical therapy, talking about his own back problem, drawing Chrissy and Eddie into the discussion whenever the uncomfortable silence threatened to descend again. Laura, however, seemed preoccupied. She kept looking from Wayne to Eddie as if trying to place them. It had been over twenty years since Eddie's dad, Al, left Hawkins, but the name Munson still had a certain ominous ring to it. Chrissy could only pray that Laura wouldn't remember.

Then, when Chrissy brought out the pie, Laura stopped pretending to be polite and began the interrogation.

"What did you do in Los Angles?" Laura asked.

"I'm a musician," replied Eddie. They had agreed not to mention his job at the Hideout, only saying he was teaching music in Bloomington. Laura gave one of her eloquent sniffs to show mild disapproval, but made no further remark.

"Where do you live?"

Chrissy remembered, with a start, that they'd forgotten to discuss this beforehand.

"On Mulberry," she chimed in before either Wayne could answer, using Eddie's current address. "In one of those new buildings they just put up by Melvald's, you know?"

But Laura wasn't listening. Her eyes widened, then narrowed again, and Chrissy recognized, with dismay, all the signs of her mother's temper rising.

"Munson! You're related to that criminal Al Munson, aren't you?" Laura said, all but pointing an accusing finger at Wayne and Eddie.

Chrissy felt her knees go weak. Under the table, Eddie's fingers crushed her hand. Only Wayne remained calm.

"Yep, my no-good brother," he said with a shrug. "Have to say, leaving Hawkins was the best thing he ever did. Otherwise, Eddie might not have turned out so well. Is that right, Ed?" He laughed and gave Eddie a hearty slap on the shoulder.

Chrissy glanced at her mother. Her face was thunderous, but Chrissy knew Laura's vanity would prevent her from kicking invited guests out of the house, even if those guests were related to criminals.

"Excuse me, I have a headache," Laura said, making a show of closing her eyes and rubbing her temples. "Chrissy, could you help me get to bed, please?" Ever since her stroke, Laura had moved from the big master bedroom to the guestroom on the ground floor so she didn't have to climb the stairs, but she still insisted on Chrissy's assistance.

Chrissy allowed herself to breathe out. She knew that once Wayne and Eddie left, Laura's wrath would come down on her full-force, but at least her mother didn't make a scene. "Sure, mom."

Upon returning to the dining room, Chrissy found Wayne and Eddie had already started to clear up the table for her. She tried to take the plates out of Eddie's hands, but he persisted.

"Let me help," he said. Then, dropping his voice, he asked, "Do you want me to stay?" Even safely hidden her room, Laura's anger still radiated all through the house like a thundercloud.

"No, I'll be fine. Take Wayne home. I'm sorry. I knew this was a bad idea—"

Eddie shook his head. "It's not your fault."

"I'll call you later, OK?"

She gave him a quick kiss and went to thank Wayne for coming. "No, thank you for inviting us," he said, shaking her hand warmly. "You'll be alright." It wasn't a question, and as Chrissy took the old man's callused palm in hers, she wished she could believe the same.

Chrissy could have sworn her mother was listening behind the door, because the moment Wayne and Eddie left, Laura appeared in the foyer, looking just like she had the day Chrissy broke her ankle during cheer practice, or the day Chrissy came home after dropping out of nursing school, or the day Chrissy told her she'd filed for divorce. It didn't matter that Chrissy was in pain, scared, and lost, it was her fault. Her fault for not sticking to her diet and gaining weight. Her fault for not working hard enough and staying in school. Her fault for not working hard enough at her marriage. Always her fault.

"How could you—" Laura began.

Chrissy held up a hand. "Mom, I don't want to talk right now, OK? Go back to bed." She walked toward the kitchen.

"Don't mollycoddle me!" Laura screamed. "I am your mother!"

Though she knew she would regret it, Chrissy turned around to face her. "You told me I could invite whoever I want—"

"Yes, within reason! Not those thieves and drug dealers—"

"They're not thieves—"

"Are you sure? Count the silver again."

"Shut up!"

Laura's slap cracked like a whip in the foyer. Chrissy reeled back, clutching at her cheek, more from shock rather than pain.

"Just because you're a grown woman, doesn't mean you're allowed to speak to me like that, you little—" Laura snarled, but Chrissy didn't stop to hear the rest. Grabbing her phone and her keys from the side table, she ran out, slamming the door behind her.

***

Later, when she was curled up safely on Eddie's couch, in Eddie's arms, Chrissy's tears finally dried.

"You can't go on living with her," Eddie said.

"She needs my help."

"She hurts you!"

"It was my mistake, I shouldn't have—"

"Don't say that." Eddie sat up to look at her. "I told you, none of this is your fault."

Chrissy put her head on his shoulder, resolutely putting all thoughts of her mother out of her mind. "Can we not talk about this anymore? I just want to stay the rest of the night with you like this, not saying anything, not doing anything."

Eddie wrapped his arms around her again, and she felt his lips on her hair. "Move in with me," he said.

Now it was Chrissy's turn to sit up. "Do you really mean that?"

"Yes," he replied, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I've been meaning to ask. You'll still be close enough to take care of your mom, if you want, without having to put up with her—bullshit."

The familiar warm feeling bubbled up in her chest again. She caught his hand, which was still stroking her hair, pressed the open palm to her mouth and kissed it. Then she leaned forward to kiss his mouth as well. "I'd love to," she said, smiling against his lips. Eddie smiled back and was pulling her closer to return the kiss, when his phone rang shrilly.

"Shit," he mumbled. "I know I shouldn't have bought the fucking thing."

But a phone call this late on Thanksgiving could mean something important, so Chrissy reluctantly let him go and pressed the phone into his hand. He glanced at the number and flipped the phone open.

"Hey Jeff, what's up man? No, no, it's OK... yeah, happy Thanksgiving. How are things in LA?" On the other end of the line, Jeff said something. Eddie's eyes widened, and he slowly sat up, leaning forward. "You serious? ...When? Before Christmas? Shit... No, I can make it. Of course I'll make it! What about Grant? Great. Yeah, yeah, I'll let you know ASAP." Another pause, then Eddie said, more quietly, "Jeff, this is awesome. Thank you. Talk to you soon, OK?"

He hung up but remained seated in the same position, looking straight ahead, his eyes dazed.

"Eddie?" Chrissy said, putting a hand on his arm.

At her touch, Eddie seemed to come back to his senses. He turned to her. "Jeff just ran into an A&R rep from Metal Blade," he said. "They want to meet with us in LA. As soon as possible."

The name of the record label meant little to Chrissy, but she knew how big this was for Eddie, for Corroded Coffin. After getting dropped by their label a year ago, this was all they had been hoping for. She tightened her hold on his arm, and he put his own hand on top of hers, grasping it as if to anchor himself.

"I'm a little scared, to be honest," he said with an embarrassed smile. "What if it doesn't amount to anything?"

"It's not going to amount to anything if you don't go," Chrissy said. "You'll be great. I know it."

"Grant's on board. We're only a drummer short—"

"Why don't you ask Gareth?"

Eddie stared at her. "I don't know about that—he's got a job—family—"

"Just ask him. The worst he can do is say no."

Eddie's eyes got brighter and brighter with excitement as he contemplated the idea. "Yeah, why not? Shit!" He laughed and pulled Chrissy in for a tight embrace. "You may be getting that reunion show earlier than expected, sweetheart. Corroded Coffin's getting back together, with the original lineup!"

Chapter 2

#hellcheer #eddissy #hellcheersource #hellcheer fic #eddie munson #chrissy cunningham #eddie x chrissy #chrissy x eddie #joseph quinn #joseph quinn fic #two shot

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checkoutmybookshelf · 4 months

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Rereading The Fellowship of the Ring for the First Time in Fifteen Years

Holy Foreshadowing, Batman! Gandalf is SUPER psyched to get his ass under a mountain, but literally Gimli and Aragorn are like, "Nah, bro, we are worried about YOU SPECIFICALLY if we do that." And this is after Mom and Dad fought about going up Caradhras and after literally everyone is like, "We are getting super bad vibes from Moria."

But they can't go over the mountains, they can't go around the mountains, and the Gap of Rohan is too close to Isengard, so fuck it, we ball in Moria, I guess. Let's talk chapter 4, "A Journey in the Dark."

Ok, so this is a relatively long chapter (30-odd pages by my math), but wow is it mostly vibes. We start off very defeated by the anti-wizard-and-elf mountain, which makes sense because if you lose the ring bearer to exposure in the first month of travel, you're going down in history as the dingus who lost the last great conflict with Sauron. Again, Boromir is DEEPLY underappreciated as the reason our hobbits survived Caradhras.

After a few pages of back-and-forthing about where to go next, Gandalf is over here pushing Moria HARD, and literally everyone is like, "This does not pass the vibe check, wizard boy." Although Gimli is like, "I could find out what happened to Balin" and Aragorn literally says THIS:

"You followed my lead almost to disaster in the snow and have said no word of blame. I will follow your lead now..."

Because apparently Fellowship leadership operates on phlebotomist rules. If you miss the vein, you let someone else take a shot.

Ultimately, the decision is made because there are goddamn WARGS after the group, and even Boromir accedes that wolves literally on your tail are worse than hypothetical wolves up the road, so we stop arguing about it and hunker down. This gives us time to have a nice little moment with Sam and Pippin though. Poor Pippin is over here like, "I wish I had taken Elrond's advice [...], I am no good after all. [...] I don't remember ever feeling so wretched, " but Sam is coming in clutch with "Honestly same, but Gandalf isn't going to let us get eaten by wolves." Which like...yeah, I accept that, and it's way more comforting than a generic "there, there." I also appreciate that Sam admits he's scared too. It's like how hearing, "Oh god, I haven't started that either" is so comforting for stressed-out students.

What neither I nor the fellowship love though, is the wolves literally sniffing around their campfire that night. There are literally glowing eyes in the dark, howls on the wind, and a goddamn warg silhouette in the gap between stones. And an arrow through the throat of one warg buys the group some measure of peace until the moon sets. Once the moon sets though, we get a pre-dawn warg attack:

In the leaping light as the fresh wood blazed up, Frodo saw many grey shapes spring over the ring of stones. More and more followed. Through the throat of one huge leader Aragorn passed his sword with a thrust; with a great sweep Boromir hewed the head off another. Gimli stood with his stout legs apart, wielding his dwarf-axe. The bow of Legolas was singing.

The battle scenes in these books read SUPER Beowulf, but are somehow briefer. Tolkien was super not here for contemporary battle scene writing; it's very much painting with watercolors. He gives you the odd detail or two and you pretty much get to fill in the rest yourself. Which is fine, and holy cow can I see where that would inspire Robert Jordan's manner of naming sword forms rather than describing an actual duel (which is not shade, I think Jordan does that really damn well and to excellent effect). But then we get Gandalf doing wizardy things in a really...unusual way?

In the wavering firelight Gandalf seemed suddenly to grow: he rose up, a great menacing shape like the monument of some ancient king of stone set upon a hill. Stooping like a cloud, he lifted a burning branch and strode to meet the wolves. They gave back before him. High in the air he tossed the burning brand, It flared with a sudden white radiance like lightning; and his voice rolled like thunder.

This hearkens back both to "Gandalf the fireworks wizard" who we meet in the Shire, but also to the little moment in Bag End where Gandalf goes wizard on Bilbo to snap him out of his Ring moment. It also is not like...wildly dissimilar to how they teach you to scare bears off in the wild: Get big and loud and look intimidating. We were not supposed to then set a goddamn forest fire--that's a little scorched earth for Alaskan survival techniques--but it was one of those moments where the familiar was made pointedly exotic, and I actually thought it was quiet effective. You take the foundation of something real and then you add a bit of wizard to it. Then things feel sufficiently grounded, but also with just that extra bit of wizard to heighten EVERYTHING. The subtlety (and yeah, I know, forest fire and lightning isn't subtle, but the way this is written is and how it functions is) is really quite impressive. That said...Gandalf, honey. Maybe not with the ecological disasters???

At the very least, the wargs were polite enough to evaporate so they didn't have to deal with any of the bodies when the sun came up.

After that, we haul ass off to the Doors of Durin. It's not a good journey though. Right from the start, the Sirannon wasn't where it was supposed to be, the landscape is lifeless and desolate, and when we do finally find the stream, it's a freaking trickle. If the IDEA of Moria didn't pass the vibe check, then the landscape on the trip in is a parade of red flags. And again, Boromir is SUPER ON POINT with not wanting to get caught between a stone wall and a bunch of wolves. This place is all quiet unease and red flags. Even the freaking WATER is gloomy and unwholesome-looking.

And then we get a WEIRD FLEX moment for Gandalf:

"I am sorry," said Gandalf. "Poor Bill has been a useful companion, and it goes to my heart to turn him adrift now. I would have travelled lighter and brought no animal, least of all this one that Sam is fond of, if I had had my way. I feared all along that we should be obliged to take this road."

Like, I believe he's genuinely sorry to have to hurt Sam and to turn the goodest pony loose. But it's the "if I had had my way" and the last sentence where I'm just like...Gandalf. Sir. Why are you bitching to Frodo that you have to share leadership on this mission? And why are you flexing an "I told you so" on Frodo instead of, IDK, Aragorn??? Is it because Aragorn would kick your wizened wizard ass for it? Because I'd watch that.

Also, again with Gandalf being weirdly open with, aware of, and as solicitous as possible to Sam. He has zero problems kicking Pippin when he's down (as we'll see in a bit in this very goddamn chapter), but he's always been very straight yet compassionate with Sam in a way that doesn't even match how this wizard treats Frodo. Like, we are almost getting to a point where I need to go see what the Tolkien scholars have written about the Sam-Gandalf relationship, because it's getting NOTICEABLY unique and it has gotten a fair number of little moments at this point. Like...what is this relationship and why is this the dynamic? I demand to know.

I also just want to take a second to highlight something DEEPLY inequitable as they round the lake to the door:

When they came to the northernmost corner of the lake they found a narrow creek that barred their way. It was green and stagnant, thrust out like a slimy arm toward the enclosing hills. Gimli strode forward undeterred, and found that the water was shallow, no more than ankle-deep at the edge. Behind him they walked in fie, threading their way with care, for under the weedy pools were sliding and greasy stones, and footing was treacherous. Frodo shuddered with disgust at the touch of the dark unclean water on his feet.

THE HOBBITS DONT WEAR SHOES. Everyone else has boots to act as something of a barrier to this gross-ass water, but the hobbits have to tromp through it BAREFOOT. Did NOBODY think, "oh shit, this will be super unpleasant for the hobbits, maybe we should yeet or carry them?" Apparently not, and honestly now they're just gonna have gross feet as they tromp through Moria and I hate that for their poor hobbit toesies. And as a WWI soldier, TOLKIEN SHOULD KNOW THE DANGERS OF WET, MUCKETY FEET.

But then we actually get to the doors--finally--and Sam has a deeply understandable moment when Gandalf tells him they have to cut Bill loose, and Gimli and Legolas try to start world war 2.5 over Elf-Dwarf relations before Gandalf tells them to knock that shit off.

Everyone is super over everything at this point, and I cannot blame them.

But where Gandalf has zero time for Legolas and Gimli sniping at each other, he takes the time to speak over Bill and give him his best shot at getting home safely. Again, I do not get the relationship between Gandalf and Sam. I appreciate the care for the pony, but whatever the Gandalf-Sam thing is, it's more than just trolling Pippin or ensuring that Frodo makes it to the volcano or ignoring Merry's existence for the most part.

Literally, Pippin gets a "Knock on the door with your head" from Gandalf, and once the damn thing IS open, Merry just gets a casual, "Merry, of all people, was on the right track" before Gandalf pulls ANOTHER weird flex and says "Too simple for a learned lore-master in these suspicious days." Like...ok, sure, Gandalf. You were TOO SMART to get the riddle.

But we get the doors open just in time for Frodo to get nabbed by a metric frick-ton of tentacles. Sam yoinks him back and they haul ass through the door, which get slammed behind them and the tentacle monster bolts it behind them with boulders and trees. After which we get THIS little gem from Gandalf:

"I fear from the sounds that boulders have been piled up and trees uprooted and thrown across the gate. I am sorry; for the trees were beautiful, and had stood so long."

SIR. I was THERE when you burned a flaming doughnut into the land to get rid of the wargs. You are a walking ecological disaster and do not get to high ground the tentacle monster ripping up a few trees by the roots. You probably burned more LAST NIGHT. I know it's unfair to expect characters to know the genre of the book they're in, and by extension its equally unfair to expect them to know the themes of the book they're in. That said though...I WATCHED YOU START A FOREST FIRE, GANDALF. This is not the moment to suddenly discover ecocriticism.

At any rate, we have FINALLY made it inside Moria. Boromir is (rightfully) quite pissed off an apprehensive about this, but Gandalf is like, "Gimli and I will lead the way!" before they manage to get the party fucking lost and Sam is bitching about not having rope. Because oh my god there is SO MUCH atmospheric walking in this book. And most of the time the atmosphere is "vaguely evil with a healthy helping of depression." Which...yeah, that's what we get here.

So it makes sense that Gandalf is SUPER FUCKING OVER IT when Pippin yeets a rock down a well and they hear hammer blows from the deeps. And it makes even more sense when Gandalf realizes he's apparently also experiencing withdrawal symptoms because he hasn't had a smoke since before they started climbing Caradhras. So he non-apologizes to Pippin, lights up, and everything looks better in the morning...sort of. At least the wizard is less grumpy, and he has now firmly established himself as that member of the party who needs to be properly self-cared or he will make it EVERYONE ELSE'S PROBLEM. Seriously, what a goddamn diva.

But getting himself a wee bit of a smoke made it so he could make a decision and they headed up to where the air smelled good. So fair enough.

Then we have EVEN MORE atmospheric walking, and Sam picks up some dwarven lore via Gimli singing a song all about Moria and Khazad-dum, and I swear, the hobbit is going to be a lore-master himself by the end of this journey.

This chapter is also where we get a bit of a mithril infodump, which is pretty cool just in general. We also get Frodo having delayed sticker-shock because he's just casually waltzing around with a whole-ass shirt of mithril on. That's also a nice little reminder to all the readers that hey, remember that Frodo has this thing? I betcha it's going to be important soon.

We end the chapter on the SUPER downer note of finding Balin's tomb, and the dwarves now have their (not unexpected) answer to what happened to the party from thirty-odd years ago. Which is really sad, frankly.

That's also about where we're going to leave this chapter, because I am...exhausted by all the atmospheric walking. We will pick up next time with a relatively short chapter, and hopefully there is more to it than infodumping and atmospheric walking.

#reread #the fellowship of the ring #the lord of the rings #lotr #a journey in the dark #books and reading #books #books and novels #fantasy books

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frodo-with-glasses · 2 years

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