#he would see this person boromir loved so much and worried for so deeply as something he was responsible for now too | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lillianofliterature · 4 years

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LOTR preferences || 2/?

main masterlist | imagines/preferences masterlist

DO NOT REPOST.

if gifs not sourced, they were found on google, lmk if they’re yours! I couldn’t make out the url on the elrond one or I would have linked it!

I wrote these sort of in an imagine style to make it more immersive since the prompt for this one is dialogue based.

some are longer than others (by a lot, oops) and some phrases or descriptors may have been repeated a few times, but there’s so many characters and I only have one brain and I didn’t feel like reading through all of them again to make them all perfectly unique. it’s been a long road writing these xD

elvish translations: melamin = my beloved/my love, melda = beloved/dear/sweet

tw: slight gore mentioned in aragorn’s

(more below the cut-off)

their first ‘i love you’ (confession)

aragorn | word count: 647

Aragorn was always quiet about his feelings and often times reserved, being an introverted person. Those three words came when he could no longer withstand the pressure of not telling you how he truly felt. The risk of your eyes wandering to find another had crossed his mind more than once and the possibility of something happening before he had had the chance to overcome his nerves was overwhelming. And one day, as he was in the midst of this inner turmoil, you slit your hand open while sharpening the blade of your sword against a whirling grindstone.

He had been nearby, working with the string of his bow, when your cry of pain pierced the air. The sword rattled to the ground as you stood and pressed your hand against the palm of the other in your best effort to quench the rush of blood. Without a second’s hesitation, he came to your aid and whisked you into the smithy shop where there was a store of medical supplies for such an incident.

In his panic, he chastised you.

“Why aren’t you wearing the guard I gave you? I explicitly told you not to use the grindstone without it!”

Tears burned in your eyes as he poured a stout smelling liquid over the wound. “I took it off because it was chafing my wrist when I pushed against the blade,” you said.

“It would have prevented this, (Y/n). Look at what you’ve done to yourself!”

“Aragorn, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean for it to happen!”

“You must obey my instruction when I give it to you. I do not speak just to hear my own voice.”

There was a tense pause in your urgent conversation as he rinsed your hand in a basin of cool water and examined the wound up close with gentleness. His relief was audible as he realized the cut was much smaller than the loss of blood had let on. With a slower pace, he began bandaging your hand with linens.

His voice softer, he spoke again. “I tell you these things to protect you, (Y/n), not to patronize you.”

“I know,” you sniffled.

He could see that his chastisement had startled you as much as the wound itself. He hadn’t meant to make you uncomfortable, but he needed you to know how serious this could have been, how badly you could have injured yourself.

“I apologize for my harshness,” - he caught your gaze with his own as he continued - “But I need you to take care of yourself. Especially when I offer you the means to do so.”

He knotted the linen and tugged at the cloth with his teeth before snipping it short with a pair of shears lying nearby. The heat of his breath against your fingers sent a wave of chills across your skin. When he glanced up at you, he saw a twinge of embarrassment in your expression.

“I always end up doing something reckless or clumsy, no matter how much I try to better myself,” you muttered. Avoiding his gaze, you stared at your wrapped hand as he released it from his grasp.

The next words that left your mouth caught him off guard.

“Why do you bother with me, Aragorn?”

He swallowed.

His eyes drifted downward to your bandaged hand. Carefully, he took it in both of his and cradled it between his palms. Your breath caught in your throat, searching his face for any hint of insincerity. Of course, there was none. When his eyes flickered up to meet yours, there was something glimmering in his eyes. Something quiet and untamed. Tender.

“I care for you, (Y/n). I care for you very deeply. So deeply, in fact, that I think there is no better word for it than love,” he confessed, gently tracing his thumb over your knuckles. “I love you, melamin.”

boromir | word count: 952

Boromir had never been one to display much emotion. He had been taught from a young age that a man was not a creature of sentiment or expressive feeling, so he was not well versed in the commitment of making himself vulnerable. It wasn‘t until he began to see how this pattern of detachment and stalwart solemnness began to affect your relationship that he worked harder to make larger strides in undoing the toxic misogyny his father had engrained in him since boyhood.

You of course knew that Boromir had an emotional side; a softer, sweeter disposition he bore around his younger brother and even around you on occasion – before he subconsciously corrected himself. He had begun to notice that whenever he puffed his chest or resumed that “manly” behavior, you pulled away from him. You grew quieter, you sought solitude, you became annoyed more easily. His arrogance, you knew, often acted as a wall of self-preservation. But you were tired of being on the other side of that wall, waiting to be let in.

It was after an argument between the two of you that he realized this wall of his was going to have to come down. Even though he had been defensive at first, he soon realized his refusal to be wrong, his hesitance at expressing emotion, his worry about becoming vulnerable – it wasn’t worth the risk of losing you.

You had since shown him that emotion wasn’t a weakness, it was a strength. He knew you understood where his hesitance and his way of thinking brimmed from, you always made the effort to understand. You weren’t asking him to change – you were asking him to grow.

To allow himself to be Boromir. Fully, completely, without restraint.

This was his moment, so to speak, in which he knew he was ready to give you everything. His pride had been holding him back for so long under his father’s approval – it was finally time for him to trust you and allow himself the comforts of self-expression.

He was ready to say it first. He was ready to be the one to get vulnerable first.

On the evening he decided to take his first big step into that growth, Minas Tirith basked in the white hue of moonlight. He sat beside you quietly, allowing himself a moment to gather his thoughts. Twirling in between your fingers was a pale blossom from the White Tree that he had plucked for you. Patiently, you waited. You could tell by his calm demeanor and open countenance that something had shifted within him since your last talk – his shoulders were relaxed as he walked, he had let himself stroll along slowly beside you instead of marching quickly like a soldier. He seemed relieved. At peace.

“I have something I must ask of you, my dear,” he began.

Your attentive gaze gave him permittance to continue.

“Your forgiveness,” – his hand covered yours as his voice softened – “I want to apologize for my arrogance throughout our courtship thus far. It was not my intention to hurt you with my attachment to my own pride.”

You leaned forward to interrupt him, but he held up his hand to stop you. You hadn’t wanted him to apologize – you didn’t blame him for a learned behavior he had had no choice in being raised into. But evidently, Boromir felt in necessary to express his remorse. Shutting him down was the last thing you wanted to do, especially if this was what he felt was right. You decided to listen.

“I never knew that I would find someone who would open me up like you have. I never even knew there was such a possibility for me to learn to allow myself to feel as you have. You know I was never allowed to show weakness as a child, or what my father perceived as weakness,” he glanced down at your intertwined hands as he swallowed over his next words, “I was not even allowed to cry. It was not the way of a soldier, or a steward’s son.”

When his eyes lifted to meet yours again, you could see the glistening of his tears in the moonlight. You tightened your grip on his hand, covering it with your other.

He seemed comforted by this as he continued. “But I am able to do so now, to allow myself to feel and become vulnerable. I owe you my thanks for that, (Y/n). If it weren't for you, I fear I never would have allowed myself to grow, to become a better man. A stronger man.”

He leaned forward suddenly, his peaceful expression shifting into excitement. “I love you, (Y/n), with a passion that even the fires of Mordor could not compare. And I thought that I would have to swallow my emotions to be the man you wanted, but instead you had given me freedom I have never been offered before.”

“Oh, Boromir,” you murmured. The image of his smiling face blurred as your own tears gathered and spilled over your cheeks. Your eyes fell to the blossom in your hands and the promise it held of everything to come – of what you already had, here, in his company.

His thumb gently tugged at your cheek as he wiped your tears. When you softened to his touch, he cradled the curve of your jaw in his hand. You leaned into him, covering his hand with your own.

This is all you had ever wanted.

For Boromir to be free, for his heart to be opened, for him to accept your love.

“I love you, too,” you whispered, pressing your lips to the palm of his hand that caressed your face.

faramir | word count: 522

The complete opposite of his brother, Faramir had little to no trouble in connecting to his more emotional side. In fact, he was always eager to shower others in kindness and compassion. It had long been the thing his father hated most about him – Faramir was weak in Denethor’s eyes. Luckily, Faramir’s gift for sentiment could not be so easily squelched. It was what you loved most about him.

Faramir adored you all the more for your acceptance of his openness and empathetic abilities. He never had to filter himself around you or attempt to not be “too much”. He was expressive, kind, and vulnerable. He wasn’t afraid to cry, he wasn’t hesitant in displaying his softer side. He was just Faramir, the way Faramir was supposed to be. And in your eyes, he was perfect.

Those words of declaration, those three tender notes of sweet promise, when they finally came, did not necessarily come as a surprise. He had always been upfront with his feelings towards you – and respectful - with his affection and doting words of affirmation. Shy, but honest. But that did not mean they meant any less when you heard them spoken for the first time.

Faramir, though he had long known that he loved you, had not planned the moment he would confess to you. He knew the right moment would happen along, and happen along it did.

One fine afternoon in the sunlit halls of the library halls, your laughter echoed with an unkempt ferocity that made his heart melt. Evidently, the way he had attempted in retelling his brother’s joke was far funnier than the actual content of it. You had laid your hand upon his shoulder as you doubled over in a chortling fever of amusement. In seconds, his embarrassment had been assuaged your beautifully wild laugh that in turn encouraged his own to spill forth.

There you both stood under the setting beams of the warm sun that filtered into the halls, leaning into each other for support as you felt your sides begin to ache. His gentle hands gripped your forearms as you gasped for breath between cheerful bouts of laughter. He had been able to calm his jovial fit much sooner as his admiring gaze fell almost blissfully solemn.

He couldn’t look away from your lips that were split into a wide smile, unconcerned whether your laugh was ladylike or if your posture was stiff. Those little crinkles in the corners of your glimmering (e/c) eyes were like the fine details of a painting. Oh, how deeply he had fallen for you.

When you finally began to catch your breath and your laughter had quieted enough for a lower octave to be heard, the words slipped effortlessly between his smiling lips with a soft chuckle. “I love you.”

Your boisterous laughter faded into breathy vowels as you asked, “What did you say?”

“I love you,” he repeated.

His smile didn’t waver. He was so sure, so sincere.

You could only smile up at him graciously, a light laugh of merriness flowing through you.

How perfect this moment was, how blissfully perfect.

eomer | word count: 413

It happened one the eve before a long patrol - that could result in battle - that he and his men were preparing for. Eomer, knowing he could promise himself a certain outcome, did not want to leave you waiting until he returned to say all that he needed to. He wanted to be sure he left no loose ends fraying in his absence. He wasn’t one to leave things to chance.

As he walked out to the stables to prepare his supplies and brush out his steed, you followed along with him, eager to spend every minute you had left together before his departure. There were inquiries and concerns exchanged while he filled Firefoot’s bale with oats and cleaned his shoes of any muck. When he was reassured that you and Eowyn would care for each other in his absence, he felt one last thing needed to be said.

His hands wove through Firefoot’s mane as he considered his next words, soothing the horse’s nervous anticipation. The lull in conversation reminded of you how close dawn truly was. He would be gone soon and you would be left to worry and pray for his safe return. Busying yourself with tasks that would seem miniscule in comparison.

He patted the broad neck of his steed before wiping his hands clean and stepping nearer to you. “There’s something I think you should be aware of before I go,” he began.

His tone made you worry.

“I think we are both aware of our feelings for each other since our courtship began,” he took your hands in his as he paused for breath, “It’s no surprise to you that I feel passionately for you. I don’t think it would be news for you to hear these words, but I would feel better having spoken them before I take my leave.”

You waited on baited breath. Was he truly going to say it after all this time?

“I love you, (Y/n), with every inch of my being, and I plan to act on that knowledge when I return.”

Yes, you already knew he loved you, and he knew you loved him. But to hear those words spoken aloud after the years you had pined for each other and in the months you had courted, it was the last bit of resolve you needed to face the world while he was away. And evidently it was the last bit of peace he needed to carry himself forward.

eowyn | word count: 312

Eowyn had long been sure of her love for you, but had lacked the courage to admit it. of course, she had no qualms with being the first to say it – of course a woman could say it first just as easily as a man and with just as much meaning. But when would the right time occur? How could she be sure you felt the same? That she would not be left with a gaping pang of regret?

But Eowyn, against all of her worries, knew the moment when it came.

And of course, her bravery shown through.

Her confession did not happen under the moonlit stars or in the halls of her uncle, nor even in the walls of her homeland. It happened in the uncomfortable, sweaty musk of battle as arrows pierced hide and swords battered shields. It happened as an enemy blade came bearing down on your armor as you lie defenseless in the wreckage, your weapon thrown own of reach.

You had accepted your death just as the thudding of boots came nearer and the Uruk’s bloodthirsty gaze drifted upwards, its blade halted. The beast stepped over your impaired body and poised the tip of its blade toward the approaching figure with a twisted smirk – and it was then that the sharp twang of her blade meeting the Uruk’s pierced the air. She parried quickly, shoving the beast back into a stumble. She stood over you, wielding her shield and blade with grace and courage enough for a hundred men – or perhaps a thousand.

“You will not harm the one I love!” she shouted.

Your heart raced in the frenzy chaos of the moment – both from adrenaline and from the realization that Eowyn, the great lady warrior, the bravest heart you had ever met, had confessed her love for you while protecting you with her own life.

elrond | word count: 928

Elrond was extremely mindful of his feelings and how he attached himself to others. He was quiet, reserved, and did not care for taking unwise chances – especially when it came to feelings such a love. He had given much thought to the subject and took his time in considering what his feelings might be – if it was simply the fleeting sensation of infatuation, a connected sensation of friendship, or truly the sensation of love itself.

When he found his every thought resolved itself back to you and nearly everything he saw or read prompted him to share it with you, he knew that he had fallen in love. And thus, it soon came time to be honest with you about his earnest feelings for you. It was time to finally say it.

During a private dinner with him, Elrond had prepared his words carefully. As he dotted the corners of his mouth with a red satin cloth, he cleared his throat. But before he could speak, your voice incidentally interrupted him.

“Elrond, do you think I’m a witless human?”

The words he had almost spoken caught in his throat. He lifted his gaze to yours across the table, studying the remorseful expression that had overcome the smile you had worn only minutes ago. He had felt that something about you was off that evening; your spirit seemed dampened like the fallen leaves of autumn when drenched with the harvest’s cool rain.

“Of course not. Why would you ever think that?”

He watched as you toyed with a piece of warm pastry, poking at the flakey crust distractedly. “I suppose I- I…I worry that I am unworthy of your company. You are a great lord and I am nothing but a wanderer who happened upon your halls years ago. There are many who are still uncertain of me, many who would rather I leave your courts and make my home elsewhere.”

“Anyone who say such things about you must be the witless creature, (Y/n), not you,” he reassured.

Your eyes met his. There was an urgency to your tone, an urgency that taunted him unintentionally. “I am dull and plain, milord. I do not belong in your world of elegance and majesty. I am like the dust of the earth and you- you are like stardust.”

Still silence fell as Elrond processed your words. You had returned to formalities, which you seldom did unless the situation called for it. This time, in the comfort of your shared solitude, it was not expected of you. Where had this all come from? Had someone chastised you? Spoken ill of your character?

He rose slowly from his chair and made his way to you. You kept your eyes on your plate, suddenly overwhelmed by a bashful sense of embarrassment. Every step he drew nearer, your pulse quickened.

The warmth of his hand stilled the nervous fidgeting of yours.

As near as he was to you now, knelt by your chair, you wondered if he could see the tears burning in your eyes. You blinked, dissolving the blurry liquid from your vision. You held your breath very still, only taking shallow breaths –you feared anything deeper would encourage more emotions to present themselves.

When his other hand swept your hair from your face, your breath caught in your throat. “You are the furthest thing from dull, melda. Do not compare yourself to the dust that is trampled by the feet of beasts – you are far more precious than even the light of the stars. You are worth far more than you give yourself credit for.”

The soft touch of his finger pulled your chin towards him, warranting your gaze to meet his. “I have spent these last two months considering how I might tell you this, and I find that is more perfect a time than ever,” he paused only to admire your eyes and the loveliness that reflected in them, “I am in love with you, (Y/n), and I fall more in love with you each day that passes.”

Your (e/c) widened and you felt your chest tighten – how could this be possible? How could he, the great elven lord of Rivendell, think of you as anything more than a wanderer? No matter how much you doubted yourself, you knew you could trust his words, despite the shock they invoked. He was never one to speak with haste or make himself vulnerable to anyone apart from his children. You were stunned to silence, waiting for him to take it back. But he never did.

In fact, his brows drew together in an expression of absoluteness and he spoke again in a calmer, more pronounced tone. He took one of your hands in his and pressed it to his heart. “You are the most marvelous creature that has ever walked into my life. I am the one who has been graced by your presence. You have enriched my life when before it was simple and lonely…you are stardust, melamin, not me.”

Your sorrowful tears turned to joy as they poured from your eyes and spilled over your flushed cheeks. When you leaned forward to embrace him, he opened his arms to accept your human display of affection. A little too enthusiastic, it might have been – you wrapped your arms over his shoulders, pulling yourself to the ground where he knelt.

His chuckle reverberated against your body and you found yourself wondering how you had ever doubted your belonging here with him – there was no other place in Middle-Earth that could hold your heart.

arwen | word count: 420

Arwen had known from the moment she had met you that something was meant to last between the two of you. Call it instinct, desire, or elven wisdom – whatever it might’ve been, she felt it clearly much like her father’s visions. Although she hadn’t been sure if it was the bonds of friendship or kindred spirits for some time, until her connection to you was proven by your shared desire to be near each other whenever you could.

She confessed to you on the morning of your departure with part of her father’s guard to oversee the treaties between your peoples. There was much riding upon the success of your deliverance and the treaties themselves – there was much hanging in the air, stiffening the backs of many anxious elves that mounted their steeds alongside you. Just as you finished loading your saddle, her voice carried across the yard of the stables and met your ears, drawing your attention towards you.

“I thought you were supposed to be with the farewell party at the gates?” You inquired. The smile her presence brought onto your lips warmed her heart.

“I am,” she drew near until she was within arm’s reach of you, “I came to say goodbye personally. I have something to tell you before you go.”

“Oh? What is it, my lady?”

“I want to offer you this,” – she took your hand in hers and discreetly place something within the grasp of your fingers, folding them back over it – “If you would but promise to take great care of it.”

Opening the palm of your hand, you found the cool glint of the Evenstar glistening back at you. To say that you were stunned was an understatement – surely this was not what it seemed to be. Was she offering her heart to you?

“Arwen, are- are you asking…?”

“I am offering you my heart with this jewel, that you may carry me with you while we are parted.”

You searched her eyes for any hint of uncertainty, but you found none. She knew what she was doing, placing this jewel in your care. She was offering you her love, her fidelity, her loyalty. Herself.

“But this must mean that-“

“That I love you,” she murmured, taking a step closer. She curled your fingers around the Evenstar again, this time enclosing her hands around yours. Her eyes flickered down as she placed a soft kiss to your knuckles, sealing her promise. “And I will be waiting for you when you return home.”

legolas | word count: 259

It came in during one of the many nights that you sat close by him during the Feast of Starlight in his father’s halls. When he had seen your ceremonial gown laced with silver ribbon and your hair flowing free of any braids or decorum, he felt as though every thought and feeling he had harbored for you in his heart had been sealed by that moment. The need to confess his feelings came on so strongly that he could hardly speak throughout the feast, knowing the next words that passed through his lips would be ones of affirmation and promise.

It happened in the basking glow of moonlight, just after you pointed out the constellations that glimmered brightly above you. He had placed his hand over yours gently, his fingers trembling slightly with anticipation.

You glanced at him as his fingers enclosed around yours. His glimmering blue eyes narrowed down at your delicate hand, not yet meeting your inquiring gaze. His brows dipped together as though he were working very hard at thinking of what to say.

“Legolas?”

He swallowed back his nerves before looking up to say, “(Y/n), you have been like my very own star, illuminating every part of my being with your passion. I think it must be time that I tell you just how much I care for you,” - his other hand came to cup the hand he held, encasing it in the warmth of his touch - “I love you, (Y/n), with a fire that burns brighter than the sun itself.”

galadriel | word count: 207

The lady Galadriel, even in her vast grace and eloquence, could not find the words to say all that she felt for you. In the dusk of a summer evening over a private supper, she handed you a carefully folded letter that had been sealed with silver thread. You took it gingerly, looking up at her with curious eyes before unfolding its contents and delving into her written speech.

In it she had poured everything - from the moment she had met you to the very minute she had realized how her heart was binding itself to yours with the slow cadence of the changing seasons. She expressed that though her life had spanned a great millennium, you had brought a youthful curve to her smile, a liveliness she had not known for some time. At the very end of her confession that had been penned with her delicate penmanship were the concluding words of affection. She was in love with you.

When you looked up at her, the letter quivering in your hands, she glanced away momentarily before saying, “Every word I wrote is but the truth I feel in my heart,” her smile was as dignified as ever, “and I cannot deny it any longer.”

haldir | word count: 365

He will have thought about it for a very long time and have every word prepared to the syllable. The setting was carefully planned, the way he spoke and carried himself was rehearsed - for declaring your lifelong love for someone was no lighthearted matter. It could determine the course of his existence, as well as yours. Haldir wanted nothing less of himself than utter perfection, knowing well that you were worth every bit of his effort (and so much more).

So there he waited in the beauty of the Lothlorien moon glow for your arrival. He had your favorite delicacies made in the kitchens by the skilled elves in the upper palace. There were pastries filled with tart berries and lathered with warm crème, a centuries-aged mulled wine, and votives shimmering in the grass. All to tell you that he loved you - to declare his heart as yours.

But all of that changed when you arrived suddenly and rushed up the slope to meet him. Unexpectedly, you took him in your arms and held him there without warning. There was a quiver to your body that he felt against his skin. He returned the gesture without hesitation.

“Melda, what is it that troubles you?”

You spouted off about how horrible your day had been and how glad you were to have had this meeting with him, how it had kept you going throughout the gradual disappointments that had taken place since that morning. You went on to tell him how much he meant to you - all without explicitly saying ‘i love you’, but somehow he knew that had been what you meant.

Without thinking, he said it over you shoulder in a whisper just loud enough to be heard by your human ears. It hadn’t been the way he had carefully planned out, but somehow it had been sweeter this way than any other way he could have imagined. It was natural, pure, and made his heart full.

“I love you too, Haldir,” you murmured in return. He permitted himself to succumb to your human expression of affection completely as he tightened his embrace and gently nestled his chin over your shoulder.

gimli | word count: 346

The saying “the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach” must have applied to dwarves as well. For one night as you and the other members of your Fellowship bedded down for a meal and a few hours’ rest, the savory flavor you managed to infuse in the meager ingredients you rationed had done just that to Gimli, son of Gloin. It had been only a brief moment between handing him his own helping and sitting down next to him with your own that the words of adoration escaped his mouth.

“My love be yours, lass! This brew is delicious!” He had proclaimed, his voice rising higher above the hushed sounds of delight as the others enjoyed your cooking. Then his own words registered in his hungry mind - as they did to the rest of the group.

The spoon halted in his mouth as he froze stiff under the several inquiring looks from around the fire. Legolas’ expression was contorted in such a confused way, Gimli would have make a jab at the elf had he not been the object of attention himself. He hadn’t thought it possible for the dwarf to harbor feelings - well, positive ones, at least.

Your smile drove the dwarf’s cheeks into a reddening fit. “Your what be mine?”

“Uh, ah,” he swallowed quickly and slurped in another mouthful of broth, “I dedn’t say anythin’.”

“Oh, I think you did, Gimli,” Aragorn chimed in with a wide grin on his face.

“I think he might ‘a said he loved her!” One of the hobbits proclaimed, encouraging a roar of laughter around the fire.

Gimli muttered something over his bowl of stew that he cradled close to his beard. You smiled at him, knowing he was too embarrassed to even offer a rebuttal. It may not have been outright or plainly spoken, but you could see through the hard-pressed and unfeeling exterior he always wore that there was something soft not too far below the surface. You were happy to hold the affections of a certain red-haired, axe-wielding dwarf.

frodo baggins | word count: 612

Frodo loved nothing more than a peaceful day spent in the flickering shade of the forests and crossing through little creeks and rivers - especially if you were with him. He often invited you to tag along with him on his adventures to find a good reading spot or explore some hidden oasis of the Shire he had yet to discover. He always wanted to be with you.

On one such day, Frodo couldn’t stop thinking about you. Every thought turned and found its way back to you. Each time he tried to concentrate on the book he cradled in his hands, his eyes wandered readily to find your peaceful face indulged in your own little world, just content to have his company without the need for conversation.

He adjusted himself where he sat in the forked trunk of a comfortable tree and tried one last time to immerse himself in the paragraphs printed on the yellowed pages of his book. It was no use.

Minutes passed and Frodo couldn’t try any longer. His eyes settled on the texture of your (h/c) hair that you had left down that day with no braids or ribbons tying portions of it back. The midday sun that filtered through the canopy of trees sent waves of gold across those soft tendrils he loved tucking behind your ear. You sat primly at the base of the tree, weaving the stems of flowers together.

Quietly, he admired the contour of your nose, the curve of your cheeks, the delicate shape of your lips and the pink tongue that poked out every now and then as you tried to concentrate on your pleats. A dreamy smile took over his quaint expression. The contented sigh that passed between his lips pulled your gaze up to meet his.

His sweet smile encouraged your own to make an appearance. Both of your hearts fluttered. “What’s that look for?”

“I was just admiring how beautiful you are with sunlight in your hair,” he said. His voice was sugary and tender. It reminded you of the rich pastries his uncle offered you each time you came for a meal. So delicately ruch with sweetness that it sat in your belly and warmed, mixing perfectly with the twang of a hot berry tea. Frodo was like that - the perfect mix of everything natural and sweet. Pure.

Your blush overtook your expression and your averted your gaze bashfully. As your thoughts rushed with anticipation, wondering what was to come next, if anything. Perhaps he would say something else or return to his book, you couldn’t be sure.

There was the definitive sound his book snapping shut and the scuffle of his feet as he hopped down from the tree. You teased him with a glance when he sat next to you and tucked his legs underneath him, turning your fingers around the stems of budding dandelions. His eyes studied your face for a moment longer before he wandered down to follow the steady work of your hands.

“What are you making?”

“I’m weaving a bookmark for you,” you answered. “After it dries, you can take it out and use it for other books.”

There was that fluttering in his heart again.

“You’re marvelous,” he whispered.

A short chuckle escaped you and your eyes widened with a mix of shock and curiosity. “I’m just weaving flowers, Frodo. It’s nothing special.”

His hand covered yours. Your fingers stilled.

“Of course it is. Anything you do becomes special.”

“Frodo, I-...”

“I love you, (Y/n).”

“You- you what?”

He traced his finger along your cheek, tucking your hair behind your ear like he always did. “I love you.”

samwise gamgee | word count: 1,084

Sam had planned every minute of his confession. He would invite you to supper, cook every bit of it himself, and put it all in a picnic basket to be eaten in the quaint garden of his home. He had rehearsed his words over and over again, both to Frodo and the looking glass that hung by the front door.

When you arrived that evening, it was obvious that something was turning in that head of his (he was never any good at being discrete), but you didn’t let on as if you suspected anything. You figured that if Sam had planned something special, he would enjoy the surprise on your face better than the curious questions that would deflate his excitement. With a basket in tow, he led you back out the front door and onto the stone steps of his beautifully gardened walkway.

You paused to admire the lilies and tall-reaching sunflowers as he bickered with the key in the lock. Unfortunately, both of you were too distracted to notice the picnic basket slipping from his grasp. Before either of you could react, the beautifully packed picnic had tumbled out onto the dusty stones around your feet.

A loaf of bread that had been carefully wrapped in parchment seemed unscathed, as did the little pot of warm stew that had been tied shut with a thick ribbon over the lid. The jars of honey and jam clinked as they rolled into each other, a packed cheese board tumbled out and into the grass, and a lovely golden pie feel top-first onto the porch step with a splat.

Your first instinct was to clasp your hands over your mouth and stare idly at the unfortunate mess. Your eyes flicked to Sam, who stood with his back to you and his hand still on the key that stuck out of the door. His shoulders sank and an audible sigh of remorse left his lips.

“Oh, blast it!” he exclaimed under his breath, bending over to turn the basket right-side up.

Poor Sam.

“Oh, Sam! I’m so sorry!” You stepped forward out of your daze and tucked the jars in your arms. You picked up the stew that had only barely spilled a few drops when it tipped, careful not to knock the lid off anymore. When you set them down by the basket, you noticed the pie that had been smashed had splattered onto Sam’s feet and trousers. Helplessly, he tried to shake the gooey tart off, but to no avail.

“Let me go inside and get some towels,” you offered. Scooting between him and the doorpost – and narrowly avoiding the pie yourself – you took the key from his fingers and twisted it back, opening his front door wide open and quickly heading for the bathroom.

When you came back, damp towel in hand, Sam was slumped by the grass, picking up the cheese and berries that had hopped out like little frogs. You sighed at the sight of it, knowing he had most likely prepared and cooked every bit of this meal himself. You couldn’t help but notice that he looked rather defeated.

Approaching him, you could hear him muttering under breath, things like, “Samwise, you blundering fool” and “now the night’s all ruined because of your clumsiness”. Gently, you placed your hand on his shoulder and bent over to capture his attention. He stood and looked at you, a frown drooping his eyebrows together. It was enough to make your heart break right then and there.

“Here, leave that to me and let’s get you cleaned up.”

Taking his hand, you led him to the little bench by the potted tomatoes and gestured for him to sit. He sat down with a groan and reached for the towel, which you pulled out of reach. “It’s alright, Sam, I can clean it off.”

“You don’t have to do that, (Y/n),” he interjected. There was an embarrassed twinge in his tone.

“I know I don’t, but I want to help. You went to all this trouble to give me a lovely evening out and I want to do what I can to help make it happen still,” you reassured. You knelt by his feet and began wiping the crème and berries from his trousers, letting the water soak in and draw the hue out.

“Oh,” he sighed, rubbing his face tiredly with his hand, “This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.”

You glanced up at him curiously, quirking a brow. “Sam, it’s alright. It’s just one date – we can always try again and next time I’ll lock the door for you. Or I can carry the basket, although I can’t promise I won’t be the one to drop it.” Your snickering didn’t seem to assuage his deflated excitement.

“No, tonight was-…I was going to- to-...”

You leaned back on your haunches, your hands still. He was going to what?

“Sam?”

His silent anxiousness worried you. Tenderly, you placed a hand on his knee and bent forward to try and catch his gaze again. Bashfully, his eyes darted up, but they did not meet yours. Instead he focused on your hand that settled on his knee and found himself smiling softly, despite the tears that had welled in his eyes.

Following his gaze, you realized what you had done – the heat rose in your cheeks and you began to pull away, but his hand stopped you. With a sweet touch, he wove his together with yours and looked up at you. Your pulse quickened - you had never seen that look before, in his eyes. The one where they shimmered almost like stars and his smile tipped to the side. He looked almost blissful.

“I had planned on telling you I love you. I had everything planned, including baking your favorite pie with little hearts woven into the crust. I wanted tonight to be special, so you would remember it when we’re old and grey and start forgetting what we ate for second breakfast.”

Sam watched as your smile grew, shrank into shock, and then grew again. When you sprang forward and enveloped him, it took a moment for him to register your sudden warmth pressed against him. But when he did, he happily returned the gesture and wrapped his arms under yours, tucking his chin over your shoulder. He could smell the sweet scent of lavender wafting from your beautiful hair.

“Sam, I’ll never forget this night for as long as I live.”

merry brandybuck | word count: 409

With Meriadoc Brandybuck, nothing was ever subtle. The young hobbit had planned his confession like he might any other adventure or trip across the country. From morning until night, Merry had something in store for you to slowly build to the moment he was prepared to confess his truest feelings.

It started with pulling you out your door at the crack of dawn to watch the sunrise over Bywater Pool with a quaint breakfast in the square (which you forgave him for when he presented those deliciously warm muffins) and was then followed by a light frenzy of morning shopping from the markets that were selling sweet-tasting goods and homemade wares. He had seen the way you had eyed that little locket with the (f/c) jewel dangling from it and bought it when you weren’t looking, slipping it into his vest pocket.

Not long after you had visited your friends in the Green Dragon Inn, there had been a lovely wagon-ride through the rich Green Hill countryside to reach the borders of the Shire, followed by a lunch under the trees of the forest in the curve of the hillside shadows. He watched fondly as you went about collecting flowers to braid into a crown for the two of you. After your meal had been finished (along with a day full of snacks and goodies he had brought along), he had led you on a hike the rest of the way to Tuckborough where the Great Willow sat patiently waiting for dusk.

There, underneath the swaying loveliness of the weeping branches, he turned out his pocket and clasped the necklace around you from behind.

A gasp escaped your surprised smile, “What is this?!”

“I saw you eyeing it this morning when we were in the square,” he planted himself beside you, tucking your hair behind your shoulder, “And I thought you should have it.”

“Oh, Merry,” you looked down and marveled at its glimmering beauty, pressing your fingers to the chain, “You really shouldn’t have! This cost a few good silver pieces!”

There was pure adoration in his eyes when you looked at him, a look you hadn’t seen so fully expressed before. It was then, in the pause between phrases, that he said it all with just a look. You had never felt such butterflies before.

“No price could ever compare to the amount of my love for you, (Y/n).”

Oh, he was smooth. He was very smooth.

pippin took | word count: 430

Pippin mightn’t have been the most creative when it came to planning elaborate dates or settings in which to confess his innermost feelings with, but he was no less sincere. When the quick knock had come at your door one morning before you had even had the chance to devour your first meal of the day, you hadn’t expected to find him standing anxiously on the other side.

He wore that same crooked smile that alighted his whole face and held tightly in his hands was a bouquet of wildflowers. By the looks of them, he must has run up the lane carrying them - some daisies had lost a few petals and you spotted the dirt-knotted roots hanging from his hands from where he had pulled them from the earth. It was messy and imperfect, but it was Pippin.

There was something so endearing about his childlike naivety when it came to the “proper” way of presenting things, such as the mop of unkempt curls on his head, the bruised flowers in his clenched hands, and the wide-eyed energy he never went without. You loved every bit of it.

You certainly hadn’t expected him to suddenly become shy when he began to explain the bouquet he placed in your hands, his fingers lingering over yours a little longer than necessary. He was never one to be slow to speak.

“I-I, uh, I thought you might like these pretty flowers, y’know, because pretty things like other pretty things,” he smiled for a moment and bounced on his feet, until he seemed to register his own words and how they might be taken, “Uh, not- not that I see you as a ‘thing’ or...anything.”

“I know what you mean, Pip,” you smiled at him through the blossoms as you pressed them to your nose, inhaling their sweet scent.

“I also came to- uh- to tell you about my feelings.”

“Your feelings?”

“Ah, those,” he giggled and spared a glance at his feet, “I just meant that I have feelings for someone. For you, that is. I mean. And, uh, I wanted to come out and say it. Like that.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Oh, Pippin, that’s wonderful becau-”

“I love you, that is,” he concluded before adding a rushed, “You don’t have to say the same, of course. I was just putting it out there.”

You tucked in your widening smile and concealed your blush behind your daisies. “I do feel the same way. Would you like to come in for breakfast?”

You knew he never turned down a meal.

tags: @moony-artnstuff @wellfuckmyexistence

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miriel-therindes · 3 years

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Hi, I absolutely love your various Tolkien-related OCs (and your lovely moodboards), and I would LOVE to know more about them, if it isn't an intrusion! They all seem so interesting 🥺

Thank you so much Merilles!!! 😭❤️ I'm always delighted for the chance to ramble about my OCs, they're my babies, of course it isn't an intrusion!

Turunís (Wife of Curufin) is one of my most developed ones, I rambled a bit about her in this post a little bit ago.

You asked about Faenel, so here's some about her:

-Faenel is a woman of Minas Tirith. Her parents both died when she was very young, and she and her younger sister Miri were sent to live with their aunt and uncle. -Their aunt and uncle were not deliberately cruel, but they were harsh people, and Faenel waited to reach adulthood so she could leave and take Miri with her. -As a child she often was sent to run errands through the city by her uncle, and one day she stumbled upon Boromir when he was taking a rest from his duties. He was then a young adult, but he had known her father (a soldier) and they became quick friends. He was kind and patient and gentle to her when no one else was, and she was took his mind off his worries and told him about everything. She was as a little sister to him. -(And to be clear, their relationship was nothing anything like romantic, it is a purely platonic friendship as if older brother and younger sister) -When she reached the age of 16, old enough in Gondor to go off on her own path, she managed to find a job doing basic work at a seamstress’ shop. With the few coins that she earned, she scraped by enough to rent a small room for her and Miri. -Gradually she became more skilled and moved on to better jobs. By the time she was 21 she was designing new clothes to sell, and later opened her own shop. -Faenel is on the short side and has medium brown skin, dark brown eyes, and waist-length black hair. -She loves designing and sewing clothing so much, and her mind is always filled with new ideas. -Miri is the person she cares most about in the world, and she’s very protective of her. Miri’s about six years younger than Faenel, so by the time they left their aunt and uncle she was ten. She’s very small for her age, but bubbly and cheerful and loud. -”Wren” is the nickname given for Faenel by Boromir, and it’s used by all her friends fondly. -She often sings while she works, she’s not particularly good but she loves singing the songs she hears around the city, and it keeps her mind focused when she’s doing dull work. -Her favourite colours are teal/turquoises, and she often uses them when designing clothes for herself or Miri. -When she has her own proper house instead of just a rented room, she has a soft grey pet cat named Lhoss (Whisper) -She’s ace, and demiromantic -As her life goes on, the war gets harder and harder. She sees Boromir less as he is so often busy or at battle, he is Captain of Gondor, after all. -She keeps working hard in her shop, she eventually has several hired assistants and Miri helps customers and runs errands. -Miri gets married shortly after her 18th birthday to her best friend Lothion, but continues working with Faenel. -Faenel never weds, she’s happy enough with her sewing and Lhoss and Miri and her friends, despite her worries. -She loves flowers and always has several vases of them around her home. -Her favourite place in the city is a tucked-away corner on one of the upper levels that she goes to when she needs peace, it overlooks the land beyond the city and is a good quiet place to rest. -She was deeply grieved when the news of Boromir’s death reached her during the war of the ring. He was the best person she knew, the one who had comforted her with stories of epic battles and brave warriors when she was a sad child and played child’s games with her when he had a rest from his work. -She’s a staunch stewardist and has a vague dislike of Aragorn

Here’s a quick picrew of her:

#*yeets block of text into the void*#sorry mirelle this isn't very good #i just scribbled down a bunch of things about her #my oc #faenel #thank you so much for the ask!!!#<3 #i'm always up for rambling about my OCs or canon characters so feel free to send me asks for anything any time!#tolkien #lotr #gondor #oc faenel

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lesbiansforboromir · 4 years

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HC - Boromir and Theodred’s outing and Boromir’s road to ceding the Steward’s Sceptre

I’ll detail Theodred’s general progress and journey as King later but in brief! Grima’s efforts to smear his name and reputation persisted beyond Grima’s death. Theodred found that, even if many believed in him and knew him as an incredibly dedicated man, deeply caring and responsible for Rohan as a whole, many more had heard too many lies from too many different sources to trust him. And so, despite persisting for a few years in trying to rule well, he found most of his time was taken up in defending himself and his intentions. He decided it a lost cause in the end, and ceded the crown to Eomer a year later. With that done, he found it hard to remain in Rohan, a land he had sacrificed so much for and yet a land that now seemed to have no need or love for him. So he took Boromir’s offer and came to reside in Minas Tirith within Merethond as the Rohir liason to Gondor.

From an outsider’s perspective, or even initially the perspectives of their own families, Theodred and Boromir had been simply living in the same city for three years until, suddenly, rumours about them began to stir. Of course with Theodred’s ceding of his crown unmarried, there had been some manner of ‘ill-fated’ rumours following him already. But he had always dismissed them and Boromir had refused to discuss the topic when asked about it, something that most people judged in good taste.

However the point when they simply stopped hiding their relationship was confusing for all. They are both naturally withdrawn people, so even as a few began to see them together about the place more intimately, they were not many and their testimony was often disregarded or changed in the telling. Boromir and Theodred did, belatedly, send short letters simply informing their various extended family members of the situation. But, what with the delay, it’s likely those family members had at least heard some version of the rumour before receiving those letters.

After that, it became more and more public and the discussion changed from ‘is this true?’ to ‘what should be done about it’. Majority of public opinion tended towards worry, pity, a concern for the state of the Stewards line as a whole, a concern for the office itself, a concern about the King and his family and Boromir’s acquaintances and a concern for Boromir and his mental state. Opinion turned quite quickly against Theodred, labelling him as the mastermind for this situation, some wishing him expelled from the city. A not insignificant minority of people quickly began calling for Boromir’s removal from his station and that end goal became more and more widely accepted.

However, it also sparked the beginning of a general upsurge in the queer Gondorian communities becoming more vocal. And Boromir was clear in his support of their voices, though he also urged caution and not to take risks with their safety or anonymity. He submitted himself to various discussions both in chambers and out in society, as did Theodred though he was not called as much after his manner was found to be a great deal more blunt than most Gondorians could weather. But whilst some people began to make progress, others could not.

A great deal of Boromir’s friends and family found it hard to take, hard to marry Boromir with this new aspect of him. Elphir and Erchirion became distant for a long time, even Imrahil had some reservations, though they were mostly political and simply required some time to plan. In Lossarnach, his aunt Vanyalos had good intentions but was too steeped in Imloth Melui’s medicalised academic culture to offer positive help, as did many of her surviving daughters. However Boromir still found support in his aunt Terenis and many of his more distant family within Pelargir.

And yet! It was not a rift in the eyes of the public that could be mended well enough and quickly enough to allow Boromir to continue his duties without significant hampering. This was something Boromir had expected, but it was still a shock for many when Boromir ceded the Steward’s sceptre to Faramir a year later. It was something that a Steward had never done in recorded memory and created a strange ripple of feeling amongst Gondor at large, not least because Boromir had been so loved before all of this. He remained present and active within politics, his and Theodred’s home on Cair Andros a very comfortable distance from Minas Tirith.

Aragorn was essentially unwilling to add his voice in support or criticism on the subject. Personally, he felt himself so above the topic as to not need an opinion, though he leaned into the idea that this could be changed whilst the discussion raged. He was reluctant to allow Boromir to cede the Stewardship simply due to tradition and principle, encouraging him to ‘seek help’ and ‘return when you are well again’. This, obviously, was not taken well and Aragorn did eventually allow Boromir to set aside the sceptre once it was made clear to him that Boromir would not be distancing himself from Theodred again.

#soap operas in mannish sindarin #tolkien #gondor #boromir #theodred #borodred #text post #erran vs tolkien #MORE QUEER GONDORIAN POLITICS

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anghraine · 4 years

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if you dont mind me asking, how would you handle faramir and eowyn in this au? i'd love to hear your take on it :)

I don’t mind at all, though my answer is going to be all over the place.

I still haven’t decided if it’s Faramir/Éowyn, with their relationship intensifying each time their paths cross, until they get together at end of the war (I love them!), or slowburn Faramir/Aragorn (my I-know-almost-nobody-ships-it-but-I-DO pairing). But, assuming Faramir/Éowyn:

- Operating on the assumption that the circumstances are part of the reason that Faramir and Éowyn fall so fast in canon, it takes more time in the AU. They’re intrigued by each other when Faramir passes through on his way to Rivendell, and he’s sorry for her insofar as he understands her circumstances, but that understanding is limited by how fleeting the encounter is. He doesn’t leave as powerful an impression as Aragorn sometimes does (as when A meets Éowyn in the book), so while they’re impressed on both sides, it’s not infatuation.

- Assuming Faramir joins Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas in the hunt for Merry and Pippin (I can go either way on whether he would), they have more protracted encounters in Rohan. I can see Aragorn overshadowing Faramir, and Éowyn’s infatuation proceeding per canon, but I can also see it being weakened or eliminated by forming a real friendship-with-undercurrents with Faramir at that point.

I think Faramir falls for her then, regardless, but he a) doesn’t have much to offer her in pragmatic terms, esp as he’s probably come around to accepting Aragorn’s claim at this point, and b) he’s deeply worried about what’s happening in Gondor and restless about having been away so long, so he follows Aragorn’s party on the Paths of the Dead. Éowyn either makes her canonical appeal to Aragorn, or instead makes it to Faramir, which is much more wrenching for him than for Aragorn.

His sense of duty and principle demands that he return to Gondor, while she’s slated to stay in Rohan, but also, he’s deeply in love with her. Tentatively, I’m imagining that he confesses his love to her and insists he’ll return for her if he survives, they swear their troth, and he heads off. Éowyn’s misery is slightly scaled down from canon, but only slightly; in some ways, having someone she loves for real leave for almost certain death is even worse than when it’s desperate infatuation, though I think her investment in glory and deeds is somewhat lessened.

- Regardless, her devotion to Théoden and general frustration are still fully at play, and she has little hope for herself. She joins the Rohirrim. It’s possible that her relationship with Faramir also feeds a desire to go to Gondor herself and help save it, though it’s not her main motivation.

She’s in a pretty bad place by the time that she kills the Witch-king if that still happens the same way, which it might not; it’s possible that Boromir, a superior warrior, doesn’t fall in battle, Denethor is not driven to despair (esp with another son still alive), there’s no pyre to pull Gandalf off the battlefield, and things generally go differently. Even in that case, though, things are looking pretty dark for her when she ends up in Minas Tirith.

And then the army out of the south shows up, and Aragorn, Faramir, etc are fine! Instrumental in victory, even. What happens then depends on a lot of factors—if Denethor is alive, the journey to/fight at the Morannon could go really differently. If Éowyn isn’t injured, it’s even possible that she joins the army and she and Faramir battle couple it up. If they’re both injured or Faramir is prevented from going to the Morannon, the Houses of Healing scenes are going to happen differently—maybe they deal with their different perspectives on war head-on, say. If we’re going with the swore-their-troth version, it’s especially different.

In that version, they become formally betrothed at this point, with Denethor’s and (if he’s alive) Théoden’s approval (this might be reluctant on either or both sides, or not). But there are a lot of ways things could go here, depending on factors outside their relationship—like, if Denethor is alive, it’s really, really difficult to see him (or Boromir, if he’s alive) accepting Aragorn’s claim, and he is legally the person who gets to make that call. He could live decades more. And then there’s Boromir to inherit ... it’s pretty much inevitable that Faramir will eventually become Steward (and presumably accept Aragorn’s claim), but it wouldn’t be the case for most of Faramir’s and Éowyn’s lives together, so they’d have a somewhat amorphous place in the workings of government.

But they’re happy, I think.

#this is definitely not the only route in my mind #but i think one of the more probable #anon replies #respuestas #faramir goes to rivendell au #otp: and the sun shone #faramir #éowyn #legendarium blogging #fic talk #plotbunnies!

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bitter-sweet-farmgirl · 4 years

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Starlit Curses

OC is affected with a blood curse that worsens the closer she is to evil. They confront the Balrog in Moria, and her condition deteriorates rapidly. Aragorn and Legolas try all they know, but nothing is working. It appears that OC will slip away from them, until she thinks of starlight.

Link to original version.

MASTERLIST

OC(s) Used: Anólindë

Word Count: 1,797

Translations at the bottom

~~~~

We stumbled out of the Mines of Moria, glad to be alive, although saddened by the loss of Gandalf.

Frodo had forcibly been carried out, and he was inconsolable on the ground, Sam sitting beside him. Pippin wept on the rocks, his shoulder's shaking violently as Merry tried to console him. There was a definite feel of melancholy in the air, and I leaned against my husband, Legolas as I wiped at the tears streaming down my face.

Stripes of razor sharp pain cut across my legs, and I knew in my soul, time was running out. But Caras Galadhon was so close, perhaps we could make it.

Legolas' arms came around my shuddering form, and he held me close, tucking my head underneath his chin. "It'll be alright, melleth nin. It'll be alright." He whispered gently.

Aragorn soon told us that we were moving on since we had a lot of ground to cover. But Boromir looked up, dumbfounded. "Can't you see they are grieving? Let them rest!" He said, his voice cracking slightly.

"I agree with Aragorn. We must keep moving." I said, pulling away from Legolas, and looking around. Aragorn looked at me in quiet curiosity, his eyebrows rising. Even though Aragorn was the closest friend of my husband, I rarely agreed with him.

Legolas walked around to look at me, his gaze concerned as he stared into my eyes. "Anólindë, what is wrong? Are you alright?" He asked quietly, his finger lifting my chin so I looked at him. My lips parted slightly as I felt my muscles seize and tightened painfully.

Legolas' gaze become more concerned, and he moved to gently grasp my shoulders. "Were you injured?" He asked sternly, but I shook my head. It was mostly truth. I was not injured, just plagued by illness. The others looked on at this whispered exchange they couldn't hear.

Aragorn stood, brown eyes sweeping my body, checking for injuries. I knew that he had extremely sensitive hearing, which was helpful sometimes, but other times it made for not-so-private conversations.

Ignoring him, I looked sadly at Legolas. "No, Melleth nin, the curse." I whispered softly, and his

eyes widened. I could hear Aragorn's almost silent intake of breath as he heard my words. "That is why I wanted to hurry to Lothlorien, Legolas." I continued, and he nodded.

"I understand." He said, turning to see Aragorn standing behind him, worry etched onto his features.

"Aragorn, her condition worsens the closer we are to evil. She wishes to go to Lothlorien." He said, and Aragorn nodded.

"So I heard. If we move quickly we could reach it by nightfall. Do you think you can travel?" Aragorn asked, and I had to think.

"Yes, I feel fine..." I said, then shuddered as I felt the gnawing onset of pain. I doubled over, fingers digging into my burning legs as I gritted my teeth, fighting against the scream welling in my throat.

But it was futile to try and resist; the pain would only spread as time went on.

Gentle hands guided me to lean back on a rock, Legolas kneeling beside me. He gently rubbed his thumbs over the tops of my hands. "You are in no shape to travel." He said, blue eyes worried.

I could vaguely hear Aragorn telling everyone to get comfortable, since we were staying here for the night. Boromir asked why, and Aragorn turned him to the side, speaking in low tones.

Legolas saw my questioning gaze, and he answered my unspoken question. "Aragorn does not wish the hobbits or the dwarf to worry. They will only get in the way." He murmured gently, smiling.

"Lady 'Linde, are you alright?" A small voice piped, causing me to look and see the little curly-haired hobbit standing beside me. I forced a sad smile, gritting my teeth as I felt pain ignite within my chest, beside my heart.

"Pippin! Yes, I'm feeling fine, albeit a bit tired." I said quietly, wishing he would just leave me alone. My body trembled slightly with the force of the pain, and I breathed deeply, closing my eyes as the hobbit meandered away, my head falling sideways onto Legolas' shoulder.

A soft sigh escaped my lips, and I tightened my grasp on Legolas' hand. "It pains me..." I whispered, and Legolas gently kissed my forehead.

"I know, Melamin, just breathe. Aragorn is readying a place for you, just hold on." He murmured, pulling me closer against him. "I do not like to see you in pain, Beautiful one. I wish I could experience it for you." He hummed against my hair.

"Do not wish that. Just be thankful for the time you have with me, for I fear it grows too short." I said softly, making Legolas shake his head.

"No, you will be fine. You will not be the second in our group to be lost to the darkness." He said, prompting a sad smile from me.

"Legolas, you are such an optimist. But some things cannot be changed." I said, making Legolas frown. He started to reply but was interrupted by Aragorn.

"Legolas, bring Anólindë over here." Aragorn called, and I was lifted up in Legolas' strong arms. I could see the hobbits watching curiously, whispering among themselves.

Then Legolas ducked down, entering a makeshift tent Aragorn had produced from blankets. He set me down gently on my bedroll, which was a nice change from the rocky ground. I lay back, breathing heavily as pain washed over me. I could feel my consciousness ebb, the words around me becoming slurred as I hovered at the brink of unconsciousness.

"Aragorn, I do not know what to do in this situation." Legolas whispered, his voice panicked. Aragorn answered, his voice soft and soothing.

"You are an Elf, mellon. Your race is skilled in the art of healing." He said, but Legolas still continued.

"You know more about healing than I." He said, and I felt like the decision was up to me. Raising myself from my stupor, albeit with much difficulty, I sat up slowly, I looking at the pair of them. I meant to sound confident, but the pain from the rapidly spreading neurotoxin caught me off guard.

"Aragorn, please..." I whimpered, clutching at the fabric of my clothes, tears squeezing from my eyes.

Legolas was there in an instant, holding me against his chest, and nuzzling my hair as he soothed me. "You're alright, Mela, just take a deep breath." He murmured.

I could hear Aragorn preparing what little supplies he had on hand, while I attempted to stay conscious. Everything had progressed so quickly. It must have been the great evil within Moria that brought it on.

The curse was brought on by the presence of evil; the touch of it upon my skin. The goodness within me reacted against it like a virus, and each time I was left weaker than before. The Healers had said it was only a matter of time before my body gave up completely.

Aragorn's hands on my knees brought me back to the present. "Anólindë, I know nothing of

Elvish curses, so I will tell you to trust your instincts." He said softly, and I nodded.

"Then shall we proceed with the herbs?" He asked, prompting me to grimace and nod. In short order my trouser legs had been rolled up, and outer tunic removed. I'd insisted on the outer tunic going as I felt so hot. My face was flushed and beaded with sweat, and I didn't want the layer on anymore.

Aragorn lept into action, wrapping my legs with rags to hold off the swelling that came along with the pain and applying a poultice to my reddened skin. The hobbits had become concerned, asking loud questions up until the time Boromir told them to be quiet since I didn't feel well.

But after a time I became deaf to any voices besides mine, Aragorn's and Legolas'. The swelling had stopped, but I had entered the second stage, which was unbearable pain. Legolas was doing his best to be comforting, but I could sense that he was scared. I had never had an episode this bad before.

Soon, their voices ceased to faraway murmurs, rumbling softly. I felt like I was living in a world of my own; a trance. Hearing nothing, just feeling the never-ceasing waves of pain wash over me. Until I emerged, opening my eyes and locking onto Aragorn's dark brown orbs, a startling idea present in my mind.

"Gilith." I said softly, slipping into my native Elvish as I rose from my inner self. Bracing myself as another cramp tightened my muscles, my head fell back onto Legolas' chest as I groaned, tears pricking my eyes at the excruciating feeling.

The next thing I knew, my skin was chilled by a cool night breeze. I understood why no one had thought of starlight as a cure. The darkness held evil, and could easily make my condition worse just by the night air touching my skin. But the stars were also healing. Their rays cleansing.

I lay underneath their softly shining rays, my body quivering with the spasms my malfunctioning nerves created. It seemed like an eternity passed before everything ceased; the pain, Legolas' murmurs, and Aragorn's soft rumble.

I felt, whole. Long-forgotten energy returned to my limbs, and I raised my head, opening weary silver eyes to see Aragorn and Legolas watching me, unsure of the results of my delirious idea.

"I'm healed." I whispered, shocked. I felt like a new person. Legolas' worried face broke into a smile, his body shaking as the tears fell from his eyes.

"Thank the Stars," Aragorn said, his grin just as wide as Legolas' as he nodded to the two of us. "I will leave you in peace." He smiled, and left us be, to rejoice in my new-found life.

I pulled Legolas close, shushing him. "Just let it out, My Love. These are happy tears." I whispered, allowing my own tears to fall. We sat together for awhile, letting everything sink in.

"You should rest, 'Ahna. We must journey tomorrow." Legolas said suddenly, picking me up to return to the tent.

At his words, I felt exhaustion flood me, as if my body had just realized the extent it had performed today, defeating a cave troll, and running from a Balrog. Then on top of that, surviving one of the oldest curses known to Elves.

Finding it impossible to keep my eyes open, I was lulled to sleep before we even reached the tent, the sound of Legolas' gently thumping heart echoing in my ears.

Melleth nin: My love

Melamin: My love

Mela: Love

Gilith: Starlight

#Legolas #aragorn #platonic aragorn #legolas x oc #lotr #the fellowship #blood curse #starlight #elves #lothlorien #the fall of gandalf #fanfic #fanfiction

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acelucky · 5 years

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Sailing into the Past

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, that is what I can live for.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello my dear boys.”

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

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

“Yes?” Bilbo sounded frail as he spoke.

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

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

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

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

“And did you?” Merry asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bilbo?”

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

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

“We’re sorry Bilbo.”

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

“How do you deal with it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bilbo nodded, “It’s true you know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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deadmomjokes · 7 years

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So I finally got to watch the Extended Edition Lord of the Rings

And I have SO MANY THOUGHTS

First of all, I had no idea how rushed the theatricals felt until I saw what the Extendeds did for pacing and development. They felt like completely different films, and looking back on the theatricals (which I love/loved) I’m surprised things made sense given what the extendeds added.

(tons more under the cut, I have Too Many Thoughts and Feelings rn)

Second, there were some things I could have lived without:

-The Entwine scene was cute, I suppose, as was the food/pipeweed-finding scene, but I felt personally that it didn’t add too much in terms of development and narrative. Sure, it shows Merry and Pippin being funloving cousins together. But it just felt a bit off in terms of pacing and feel in the surrounding scenes.

-I was ambivalent on the extra scenes inside the Paths of the Dead. The skull avalanche was just... Ok? (I enjoyed the part immediately after they got out and saw the ships, that was fine.)

-I really didn’t appreciate or enjoy the scene of the Witchking shattering Gandalf’s staff, either; I get they were trying to give Gandalf reason to doubt himself and his judgement, but really? It makes ZERO sense for the Witchking to be stronger than Gandalf the White. They don’t bring it up later at all, or say why it’s so significant, and it throws off the timing. The Witchking flies off from Gandalf because he see’s Rohan’s approach; but then it takes another 10 minutes for him to show up at the battle and get Theoden? Did he take a Starbucks break? Who could have possibly delayed him, if he was so much stronger than Gandalf? Altogether a bad scene (and makes no sense because Gandalf is a reincarnated Angel at this point so... Yeah, not happy).

-The discussion with Saruman at Isengard was great, but the utter overkill of him impaling on the wheel was just bizarre. It was almost comical, and not in a way it should have been. Also, way, WAY overkill. Too much. In a film full of death, that was excessive. I loved having the talk with him, and him dying was fine, but the spiky wheel and subsequent drowning just seemed out of place.

-I also didn’t care for the additions to the battle action scenes (not the aftermath parts, those were stunning). For the most part, they felt a bit superfluous. The one exception to that was the battle of Pelennor, and all they added with Eowyn and Merry. Those were great!

Third, and more importantly, there were TONS of scenes I adored, aka everything else. And I am SO angry they took it all out. I would give up whole battles if they had left in these scenes. I mean REALLY, who decided which ones to cut, because they clearly didn’t see the same film I did. They cut all the best parts, all the best acting, things that made everything come together, and most importantly, scenes of massively important character building. Here are some of the ones I loved most, and why I’m angry they cut them:

-The one I’m most angry about, all the Faramir scenes. They chopped the one scene that explained literally EVERYTHING he did and why. That family scene not only developed Boromir posthumously, it showed why Faramir acted like such a jerk, and why he ultimately turned. That was not at all explained in the theatricals. In the theatricals, he’s a random, shallow jerk who turns for no reason. With just the 5 minutes that scene took, he is shown to be complex and a deeply damaged child of abuse who lost the one person who believed in him. And it also explains the “A chance for Faramir, Captain of Gondor, to show is quality” line. Which was odd without context. Also, the end scene of TT where Faramir talks to the hobbits and Gollum about their next steps. Dang that was good. I’m just angry that literally every good, important Faramir scene got cut.

-All the scenes in early Fellowship they cut. The bits showing Bilbo was acting out-of-character. Frodo is worried, Gandalf is worried, Bilbo has a panic attack over the ring. All great stuff that made things make more sense (if you aren’t going into it with background knowledge).

-The scenes they cut of Boromir acting like a normal person, making his betrayal more upsetting. In the theatricals, he is reduced to an annoying, prideful jerk who is taken by the Ring from day one. With the new scenes, he is shown to be a truly complex character who is really trying to do the right thing, but is just misguided and scared. Especially the scenes of him talking with Aragorn. I love the argument they have for another reason, too, which ties in with this next one

-Just that little bit of Galadriel showing Nenya to Frodo. It shows that she knows what it’s like being a Ringbearer. So Frodo is more likely to take her advice, and think she knows what’s best. She tells him he has to be alone, and that his presence will break the Fellowship and ruin the people he cares about. And then we see that stuff happening. Frodo tries to shut himself off from the others, but he can tell Sam is hurt by it. And then he hears Aragorn and Boromir arguing and the Fellowship starting to break. That cements his decision to go alone, especially after the previously kind Boromir attacks him and is clearly under the Ring’s influence.

-All the extra scenes of Frodo. It rounds him out even more, and shows how the Ring affects him emotionally as well as physically. Also all the early scenes make Frodo into a strong, caring, perceptive character; in the theatricals, he goes from happy party boy to depressed child in 3 scenes flat. All the new extended and added scenes show a more complex person, and smooth the transition in a way that makes it feel more organic. Also it showcases some of Elijah Wood’s best acting. I’m salty at how many truly great scenes they cut.

-The scenes that show more of how Aragorn is afraid to accept his destiny. The bit with his mom’s grave was especially powerful. It’s a beautiful arc, and it’s just not utilized that well (really at all) in the theatricals.

-The scene of Frodo and Sam in Mordor. Even while the Ring is actively trying to get found, and is doing everything it can to break Frodo, Frodo still has enough presence of mind to think his way out of the situation. It just underscores how dangerous the Ring is, and how truly strong Frodo is, making it all the more shocking and upsetting and heartbreaking when he ultimately gets taken by it. A lot of scenes showed how strong, smart, and deeply emotional Frodo was, but this one in particular just clinches it for me. I’m so mad they took it out.

-Eomer finding Eowyn. DANG talk about acting. Good grief that about killed me. Eomer doesn’t get much in the way of development (not everyone can), but that was next-level, and gave a lot to him in terms of rounding. Especially after that scene where he’s talking to Eowyn about Merry, but really meaning it for her because he knows her.

The more I think about everything I just witnessed, the harder it is getting to pick out exactly which scenes were most important and impactful for me, because they really make it a completely different experience. Certain arcs and themes are more fully developed (Aragorn becoming who he was born to be, Faramir escaping the toxic cycle that ultimately killed Boromir, Pippin finding his courage, Frodo clinging to hope with Gollum as his own sanity and health start slipping, Sam’s important position as an anchor for Frodo, Eowyn clinging to Aragorn and learning to pull herself away from her past fantasies and ideas of valor, Frodo remaining as strong as humanly/hobbitly possible even far into Mordor... All the things). There were very, VERY few scenes comparatively speaking that I wasn’t angry as heck about their removal. Every single scene with the exception of the few I mentioned at the beginning was, in my opinion, necessary for the full, complete story and experience. I am shocked at how I went this long without having the whole picture. I honestly don’t plan on watching the theatricals anymore. They’re just not complete to me now that I’ve seen everything else.

Also, a few highlights from this binge watch with the husband:

-Lots of pausing at every new scene and hollering about how mad we are that it was cut.

-Too many jokes about Weed.

-Smacking each other in the leg every time an extended or added scene comes on and going “OOH, NEW!!!”

-Choking on a croissant when Frodo asked Gandalf which direction Mordor was I DIE it was so cute!

-Being personally offended that they took out Boromir’s Lorien scenes.

-Having to get up and walk away when we heard the “show his quality” line in the TT scene with Faramir and Denathor. I literally went into the kitchen to scream into a dish towel.

-“Well Frodo just basically spends the whole third movie in a state of dissociation, and this is where it starts.” -My husband’s very astute analysis when they get to Osgiliath. Have dissociated, can confirm.

-Huddled together on the couch screeching loudly at Sam’s line to Faramir about showing his quality (we had Too Many Faramir Feels, y’all).

-Gasping so hard at Sam pulling Frodo out of a #Moment where he realizes he’s probably going to die that I gave myself an asthma attack

-Staying up til midnight last night griping over and over again at how they DARED TAKE THESE SCENES OUT I know I keep saying it but I am never going to be over it

-My husband recoiling in shock and both of us scooby-doo-style-clinging to each other when Eomer screams upon finding Eowyn.

-Going full-scale football-fan cheering and hollering when Aragorn goes to face down the Palantir and taunt Sauron. Followed quickly by panicked shrieking when the necklace shatters.

-Legit gagging at the Mouth of Sauron scene. Homeboy need some Ultrabrite and about 12 gallons of Listerine. I swear I could smell it. I see why they took it out, no theater worker deserves to clean up pools of patron vomit.

-Totally lost it at “Smeagol Lied.”

-I have not cried at these films in 15 years but dang if it didn’t get me this time around hoo boy

#long post #lotr #thoughts

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