#ESPECIALLY thinking Lothlórien does | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

roselightfairy · 3 years

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After watching a bunch of ROTK behind-the-scenes with @daisyfornost this weekend, I’ve decided it’s time for Part II of my writing-things-actors-did-as-though-they-happened-to-the-characters: AKA that really sweet moment with Orlando Bloom giving his horse a sweet little nose-smooch. Except I was also reflecting on how there’s not enough Gimli hurt/comfort (especially re: Paths of the Dead), so it turned into something... kind of different. But here it is anyway, for your enjoyment. Legolas and Gimli, gen but very possibly heading towards something more...

It’s slapped-together and unedited, so maybe someday I’ll clean it up, but don’t hold your breath.

...

Stabling a horse should not take so long.

Gimli shifted from one foot to the other in the doorway of the small inn room he would be sharing with Legolas, fighting the urge to glance behind him as though to ensure that the room was truly empty. After days of long hard travel, he still felt the chill of the Dead at his back, the stir of displaced air from the shapeless ripple of their presence. They were gone now, or had seemed to disperse – but how could something without form be trusted to truly vanish?

He shivered, rubbing at his arms, the chill swarming like ants over the skin of his back. He must trust their absence, must he not? After all, their presence had been real enough.

Aye, real indeed – he shuddered again at the memory of that shapeless mass exploding at last into form behind him, beside him, spears and swords flashing into being in the gleam of sunlight, fighting with the ferocity of ten men each – but it was not the fighting that stayed with him. The source of that fear was not their blades, but something deeper – something that clawed at his gut in that primal birthplace of screams: the horror of something that was and was not: something without stable form, that left impression without taking space –

Even in his thoughts, he could not put words to it, and that elusiveness of description only added to the distrust.

Around him, Aragorn’s Ranger companions made their way down the halls, returned from stabling their horses to find their own rooms. They were finished, it seemed, worn from fighting and the long ride preceding it and ready to snatch the first night of rest any of them had had in days at this small inn in Pelargir – and yet still Legolas did not return.

I will just see our friend settled, he had said to Gimli, with a hand on Arod’s nose. Go find us a room, will you not? I will join you soon.

Soon, he had said, and yet the last of the Dunedain trickled in and still there was no sign of him, and Gimli found he could not bear to settle in alone.

How long had it been since he had been alone? Months since Rivendell and the privacy of his own room there, certainly. There had been Lothlórien, of course, but that had only been perhaps a fortnight ago, for all that it felt like so much less – and even then, he had rarely been alone, for Legolas had always accompanied him.

The question was not, perhaps, how long it had been since he had last been alone – but how long since he had not had Legolas at his back, at his side. A few short weeks only since Lothlórien, and already he felt as though he had known the elf all his life. His steady presence, his soothing words – they were the only thing that had kept Gimli with the Company through that long, hard, freezing ride with the Dead at his back –

Gimli closed the door behind him, tucking the key away in his breast pocket, and set off for the stables.

Ah, but his muscles ached with every step – the twinge in his hips and chafing burn between his thighs from days on horseback, a position he had never intended to know so intimately; the stretched-out ache between his shoulder blades from swing after swing of his axe. He had not felt these aches in days, too busy accumulating new ones by curling up so tightly in his bedroll at night that he could not feel the chill of the Dead, by clinging to Legolas’s waist during the day, his face buried against the elf’s back. But they were present now, making themselves known on their first – and only – night of real rest before they must make their way forth again tomorrow, sailing to Gondor.

At least these boats would be larger than the tiny leaflike canoes they had paddled down the Anduin. And at least he might have a rest from the horse’s back.

A few words from the innkeeper set him on the path to the stables, though he could have found his own way from smell alone. He had grown accustomed to the scent of horse in the last few days, but the scent was intensified in the stables, with all the horses gathered together: hay and dust and dung and sweat. Most of the beasts seemed sleepy as well, he noticed as he passed, and it was no wonder – for all that he felt the ride of the last few days, he had at least not been the beast of burden!

Legolas had settled Arod in a stall at the far end of the stable. The horse seemed well groomed, at least to Gimli’s untrained eye, but Legolas stood still beside him, passing a brush over his back in slow, almost dreamlike circles.

Gimli stood still for a moment, watching the almost hypnotic motion of the brush. It was strangely peaceful; he could be almost lulled to sleep – and for a moment he wondered if Legolas was asleep, in that strange way of elves. But no – after a moment, Legolas sighed deeply and turned to face him, his face drawn as Gimli had rarely seen it, eyes and mouth folded in tired lines.

For a moment, there was no sound but the quiet shuffling and snorting of horses, and Gimli forgot why he had come to seek Legolas as the silence stretched between them. But at last he found his voice again and took a few steps forward. “Not settled yet, hm?”

“Not - ? Oh.” Legolas looked at the brush in his hand and then gestured with it in a half-shrug that sagged as quickly as his attempt of a smile. “I was merely . . .” He trailed off.

Gimli waited for him to finish, but Legolas only gazed at him – no, through him, his eyes vacant as sleep again. As though he had forgotten he was speaking.

Gimli cleared his throat, and Legolas started as if out of a dream, his eyes focusing again, but did not speak – so Gimli took it upon himself. “You said you meant to settle our friend,” he said. “He seems well settled, unless I miss my guess.”

“Yes,” murmured Legolas. “He is . . . I was only – thinking.”

“Thinking?” Gimli prodded. For the first time in days, some emotion other than his own misery was returning to him – concern for whatever this strange mood might mean. “Will you share your thoughts with a friend?”

Legolas let the hand holding the brush fall to his side and took a few steps, but stopped at Arod’s head and began to stroke his nose instead. “Perhaps . . .” he said. Arod whuffed and nuzzled his head into Legolas’s hand, and Legolas gave the smallest of smiles and murmured something in elvish.

Gimli hid his fond smile behind a snort. “I meant myself, not the horse, Master Legolas,” he said. “Come, now, what troubles you? There is a hard road ahead, but the Dead have left us, at least.”

“The Dead do not trouble me,” Legolas said vaguely, and then as though he had heard his own words, his head snapped up. “Oh! But” – And then he was turning to face Gimli in full at last, his eyes clear as though he finally saw him. “Yes, they have left us. And how do you fare now, Gimli?”

Gimli’s cheeks heated under the warmth of his regard. He had not meant – but then, at least Legolas seemed present in the moment at last. “I am well enough,” he mumbled. “But if it is not the Dead, it seems something is amiss with you. Will you not come back to our room and unburden yourself to me?”

Legolas let out a long, sad sigh. “I think not,” he said, “not yet. It is still too near, and I do not know what it means – but yes, I will come back with you. Thank you for coming to fetch me; I do not know how long I would have stayed here.”

“Too long, doubtless,” said Gimli. “Our friend deserves his rest as well as we do; he has run hard these last days and endured more than any horse of Rohan ever ought.” For Arod too had loathed the ride with the Dead. Gimli approached him cautiously – he did not feel as at ease with the horse as Legolas did, but he thought they had reached an understanding in the last two days. And sure enough, Arod whuffed gently, a gust of warm air over Gimli’s outstretched palm, and let Gimli pat him cautiously on the nose as well.

“He does, and he has,” Legolas said softly. He took in a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh, his shoulders slumping. “Very well; you are right. I will leave him in peace and come with you. Good night, my friend,” he said to Arod, and leaned in to press his lips to the horse’s long flat nose.

The sight made something in Gimli go soft and loose, but he forced himself to hide it behind a laugh. “Such a farewell!” he made himself say. “You will see him in the morning!”

Legolas shrugged and laughed a little. “He deserves it,” he said, and then he was eyeing Gimli speculatively.

The gleam in his eye made something in Gimli’s belly clench, but before he could speak, Legolas was coming toward him, stopping only to drop the brush into a bucket of grooming tools, and taking his face between both hands. Gimli had no time to react before Legolas had leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead as well, directly between his brows.

His lips were there and away in a moment, but Gimli swore he could still feel them tingling, a print against his face. “What was that for?” he managed to splutter, pretending amusement even as his bones threatened to melt and leave him a puddle on the straw floor.

Legolas looked at him for a moment longer, some strange combination of melancholy and tenderness in his eyes, and then shook his head. “Everything,” he said simply, and slung an arm around Gimli’s shoulders, turning them both towards the entrance to the stable and letting it rest there as they made their way together back towards the room.

Only moments before, he had wondered if the chill of the Dead would ever be banished – but now, Gimli thought he had never felt so warm.

#my fic #legolas x gimli #legolas and gimli #arod #lotr #paths of the dead #nerdfriending

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bonjour-rainycity · 3 years

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Double Heart | Chapter Eleven ~ Cosima

|previous part|

Pairing: Haldir x OFC

Rating: PG-13

Word count: 4471

Warnings: None

**Read on Ao3 under the user “bonjour_rainycity” if you prefer!**

A/n Hello hello, happy Easter! Tomorrow (Monday) is a little bit hectic for me so I’m getting this one out tonight (Sunday) instead. Thanks for reading :)

After a quick breakfast with Haldir and Glorfindel, they set off and I spend the day exploring Imladris. I do not stray far from the main household, yet all that I discover does not cease to amaze me. Elrond’s home is beautiful. If it weren’t for all the horrible, sudden drop-offs, I would consider it a perfectly wonderful place to live.

I spend the first part of my day in the garden. Behind the stone of the estate is a sprawling field filled with an impossibly wide variety of flora. I pass time exploring each bush, tree, and sprout, every one somehow more beautiful than the last. A few of the more sweet-smelling blossoms make me sneeze, so after a while, I head back inside to explore Elrond’s extensive library. But when the sun begins to sink below the horizon, I know I shouldn’t put it off any longer — I have ignored him since our arrival. I need to go see Alex. We haven’t talked in private ever, really, but I feel like we need to touch base. Though we may be slightly at odds, we owe it to each other to work through it.

I remember an attendant leading him down the hallway below mine as I ascended the stairs last night, and from there, it’s not hard for me to figure out which room is his. All the other doors are open, indicating that the inhabitants are out for the day. Already in my short stay here, I realize the elves are much more trusting than humans — while private, they must rely on each other to respect that privacy, because they don’t attempt to bar others from entering their spaces by closing their doors when they are not home. One door at the very end of the hall is closed shut. It is undoubtedly Alex’s.

I knock once.

He opens the door and I try to disguise my shock at the dark circles under his eyes and his disheveled hair. In all my memories of him, he is so put together, and this is completely at odds with the man I think I know. He ushers me in and shuts the door quickly behind me. The slam echoes through the stone room. He turns to me, wringing his hands together almost nervously. Unease grows in my stomach.

“Are you okay?”

He shakes his head violently and begins to pace the length of the small bedroom. “Of course I’m not okay. We’ve been wrenched from all that we know and dropped in this ridiculous place—” He cuts off his words and stares at the ground, shaking his head. “Look, I’ve decided that there’s no way around it. We are in some sort of other world — there’s no way this is some place back where we’re from. But if we did arrive here somehow, that means there has to be a way back. So we need to find it.”

I sit on the edge of his bed, watching him warily. I, too, have recently accepted the reality of this new world, but I hadn’t expected Alex to come around so easily — especially after our conversations on the way here. But getting home…if it’s a real possibility…”Do you think we could do that?”

His eyes snap to mine, desperation causing them to blow wide. “I think Elrond could. The people here hold him in such high esteem—I believe he’s very powerful. We need to talk to him, plead our case. If anyone could send us back, it’s probably him.” He notices my silence and turns on me with an accusatory stare. “You do want to go home, right?”

I swallow. “I…I think so. I mean, it is really dangerous here….But Elrond had a good point when I talked to him earlier. He said it’s probably just as dangerous in our homeworld.”

He groans almost animalistically. “I cannot keep having this fight with you! We don’t belong here. The dangers of our world are ours and the dangers of this world are theirs. And just because we agree that this is a different world doesn’t mean that anything’s changed. We still have people back home who miss us.”

But after my conversation with Haldir, I’m not so sure that’s the case. Yes, there are probably people who miss us in the usual sense, but the crushing grief that must come from being separated from someone you really, truly care for…I’m not sure I have that. I think I would know if I did.

I try to redirect the subject, not wanting to get into it with Alex. “How do you think it would work? Getting home. Do you think we would get our memories back?”

He stops pacing, excitement entering his eyes now that I’m seemingly more agreeable to his position. “Yeah, I think we would. Now, does that mean we would lose the memories we’ve made here? Maybe. Probably. Again, I think Elrond has the answers.”

I let my eyes fall to my fingers. The thought of forgetting…of basically erasing my time here, the friendships I’ve made…it makes me feel horribly sad. I drop my head into my hands. Oh, I just don’t know what to do!

“Let’s go talk to Elrond,” Alex urges. “See what he has to say.”

“Okay,” I agree, trudging to the door. At the very least, it will provide a distraction from the grief that has hit me so unexpectedly. “He’s probably in his study—follow me.”

I lead Alex along the same route I took this morning. Only, then, Haldir was at my side. I feel a pang of loneliness. Huh. After two weeks in constant company, I guess it is a little strange to be separated from him and the others.

As this morning, Elrond is in his study, surrounded by books and stacks of parchment. Stress tugs at the edges of his eyes but when he raises his head to greet us, it fades into a look of knowing. He was expecting us.

“Ah,” he stands, beckoning for us to enter. “I was wondering when I would be seeing you. Please, come in. I believe we have much to discuss.”

Alex strides forward, a stubborn set to his shoulders. He wastes no time. “How do we get back home?”

Elrond raises a thoughtful eyebrow, leading us to an auxiliary room with plushy chairs and couches. I sit on an unoccupied cushion. “What makes you so sure you can?”

Alex huffs. “If we got here, we can get back. Somehow, there’s a link between the worlds. We just need to find it and use it to get home.”

Elrond nods, appraising my friend. Unexpectedly, he turns his head to me. “And you, Cosima? Do you think there is a way home?”

I open my mouth, but no words come out. I close it, looking at the ground to buy myself some time. What are the possibilities? What are the chances? … And what am I hoping for? “I…I think Alex is probably right. Doors open both ways, right? If it opened to send us here, it can open to send us back. But we don’t know how easy it is to open that door.”

A sparkle enters Elrond’s eye. “Humans often do not get enough credit for their intelligence, nor their tenacity. Yes, I agree that there should be a way for the two of you to return to your homeworld. Power in Arda is changing. Forces of evil grow and the wisdom of the elves must adapt to overcome it. There is a finite amount of power in this world, and with it being pulled in so many different directions, it is possible it has grown thin in its blanket over our universe. The two of you could have fallen between the cracks.”

I look at the wall, not able to withstand Elrond’s piercing gaze or Alex’s frenzied one. If there is a real possibility of going home…isn’t it my duty to try?

Something in Elrond’s words catches my attention. “If the dispersion of that finite amount of power is constantly changing…is it possible that the ‘crack’ that let us in has already closed? Or moved somewhere else? If we tried to go back, isn’t there a chance we would end up in some other world?”

Elrond’s mouth sets into a grave line. “Precisely. There is a great deal of risk involved in your endeavor to return to your world.”

“But you can help us?” Alex speaks in a rough, desperate voice.

Elrond shakes his head, expression regretful. “I have power, yes, but not in the way you seek. If someone were able to help you—and bear in mind, it is a strong ‘if’—it would be Lady Galadriel. I believe you have heard of her through your companions?”

Alex grits his teeth, standing and beginning to pace a furious line. “Are you positive there is nothing you can do? It took two weeks to get here and that wasn’t even the whole journey. We do not have time to wait for them to decide to return to Lothlórien and then make the trip there. That could set us back months.”

“With regret, I am unable to help. My skill lies in healing and languages—academia, really. My power cannot compare to that of the Lady. I am sorry.”

I hate myself a little for it, but I feel relieved. The choice is taken from me. For the time being, all I can do is wait. Lady Galadriel might be able to help us, yes, but it will be at least two months before I have to make the choice to attempt to return home or not.

Alex evidently doesn’t feel the same way, and I don’t like the way he’s glaring at Elrond. I try to smooth things over. “Thank you for speaking with us and trying to help. We’ll let you get back to your work.” I stand, bowing my head in farewell as I’ve seen the elves here do. Alex makes no move to follow me. I prompt him with his name. He keeps his jaw tightly clenched but does incline his head towards Elrond before stalking from the room.

I have to jog to catch up. “Alex—“

“Entertain yourself, Cosima. I want to be alone.”

I take a step back. It’s not his words that stun me, it’s the grief in them. He sounds like he’s being torn apart.

Whereas I feel relief and, if I’m being honest with myself, no small amount of happiness.

I think I’m a bad person.

But I can do one good thing, and that’s grant Alex his wish to handle his feelings in private. I step forward, give him a quick, awkward hug, and let him walk away.

{***}

After lunchtime, there’s a knock on my door. I open it to the grinning faces of Rumil, Orophin, and Lavandil.

Laughing at their enthusiasm, I wave them in, grateful for the seating area in my bedroom — it makes hosting quite convenient.

Rumil whistles lowly, taking a look around. “Look at how they’ve set you up! I’ve got to share with Haldir which is just as terrible as it sounds. He says I snore! I do not snore.” He looks so offended, I don’t have the heart to tell him that he occasionally does.

Lavandil runs her hand over one of the gossamer curtains, eyeing the view. “I love these falls. You don’t seem them as well back where I grew up—that’s partly why I moved to the main city. They’re wonderful, no?”

Even though I’m not a fan of their height, I can definitely agree to their splendor. “Oh, absolutely. After days of the plains and rocks, it’s so nice to have a change of scenery.”

Rumil pours himself a glass of water and reclines on the chaise. “So, where have you been off to today? Baranor and I came looking for you this morning but you weren’t here.”

I blink. I figured Rumil would know, given he shares a room with the brother who collected me. “Haldir took me this morning to see Elrond about my arm. See?” I hold it up to present the thin, raised scar. “All healed. It’s miraculous, really, how it healed within minutes. And then Glorfindel, Haldir, and I had breakfast in the kitchens because I guess we missed the main meal, and then the two of them took off for the borders. I explored for a bit and then—” I falter. Should I tell them about my meeting with Alex and Elrond? Silly, I admonish myself. You didn’t do anything wrong. Still, it feels strange to admit to them that I had been seeking a way home—a way to leave them, essentially. But there’s no good reason to keep it hidden, so I brush aside my hesitation. “I talked to Alex, and then he and I went to visit Elrond.”

“About your home,” Orophin guesses, gravity in his voice.

“Yes,” I admit.

Rumil gapes, evidently caught off-guard, and I shoot him an apologetic look. Yeah, that hurts.

“We wanted to know if getting home is even a possibility. And, well, jury’s still out. But Elrond thinks if someone can help us, it will be Lady Galadriel. So…” I shrug.

A twinkle enters Rumil’s eye and he sits forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “So you’re returning to Lothlórien with us?” All traces of hurt have disappeared from his features.

I can’t help but grin at his excitement. “Yes—if you’ll have us.”

“Of course we will!” He beams, sitting back into the chaise with a new air of relaxation. “I mean, Haldir has the final say of course, but he’ll say yes. He might not like Alex, but he has grown quite fond of you.”

Each ellyn suddenly seems very interested in scrutinizing my face. I feel my cheeks heat under the weight of their stares and try to disguise it by standing and filling a glass of water. “I’ve grown fond of all of you, too.”

Rumil presses further. “Yes, but if you had to pick one—someone you’re the most fond of—who would that be?”

Orophin chuckles and Lavandil bites her lower lip, looking up at me with interest. I take a sip of the water, trying to buy myself time. This feels like a trap. I get around it as best I can. “Roch, of course. I miss him already.”

This sends them into fits of laughter and evidently puts their curiosity to rest — for the time being. I return to my seat, lounging along with them. When the sky begins to darken, Orophin requests dinner to be brought to us and we talk into the late hours of the night enjoying good food and even better company. And, though I am sure to feel guilty about it later, I do not miss Alex or my home at all.

{***}

Despite my full belly and long day, sleep eludes me. Part of that is my fault—I hold myself back from drifting off, not wanting to have another nightmare. When it must be at least midnight, I give up tossing and turning and change back into my day clothes. I didn’t spend near enough time wandering the garden or the library — perhaps I can tire myself with some exploring. As silently as possible, I push open the creaking door and step into the hallway.

It’s surprisingly bright — I’ve caught the moon when it’s high in the sky, and tonight it is full and robust in its shine. Light dances atop the ever-flowing water, creating a sparkling effect that leaves me breathless. Once again, I find myself glad that I have more time here. Though part of me feels like I should want to return home, another part of me isn’t near ready to leave. There’s so much more to see and learn and…well, I’m not ready to give up my new friends.

I go slowly down the open-air corridor, trying to keep my noise to a minimum. The household is asleep, for the most part. I see the odd attendant bustling around finishing duties, but the night is quiet and peaceful. It’s too beautiful to pass time away inside, so I elect to go back to the gardens and just avoid the blossoms that sent me into a sneezing fit earlier today.

The gardens are at the back of the estate and I do my best to remember the path I took this morning. With so many pavilions and archways and hallways and staircases, it’s easy to get lost. But all hallways—sooner or later—lead outside. So, after minutes of unsuccessfully trying to retrace my path, I choose a hallway at random, deciding to follow it to its end.

Further down, warm light flickers and ebbs—candlelight. As I get closer, I catch a voice I know well. He speaks in hurried, hushed tones in the Elvish language—arguing, maybe? Or just having a rushed discussion? A vaguely familiar voice responds in the same manor. Abruptly, the sounds cut off.

I take a few steps forward, the two figures becoming visible in the limited light.

“Haldir?” Squinting, I realize why I sort-of recognized the other voice—it belongs to Glorfindel. The two turn to me, each dipping their head in welcome.

Glorfindel looks perplexed. “Hello, Cosima. Do humans not require much sleep?”

I laugh guiltily. “No, they do — probably more than elves if we’re basing it on my traveling companions. I just couldn’t sleep so I was trying to find the gardens.”

Haldir steps out of the doorway and turns to Glorfindel. “Ah, I should be letting you get to bed, mellon.” He gives a nod of farewell to his elven friend. “We will continue our discussion tomorrow?”

“Yes, yes.” Glorfindel waves off Haldir’s stern look and moves to shut his door. “Goodnight.”

Haldir and I are alone in the hallway.

He clears his throat. “Would you like company?”

I smile, gesturing in the direction of what I hope is the outdoors. “Sure. You’re not tired after being gone all day?”

He shrugs, clasping his hands behind his back as he walks. “Tired, yes. Though my mind is not yet ready for sleep.”

“Was it a long day, then?”

Haldir sighs, and the sound is so weighed down with exhaustion and sadness that I nearly stop and insist we both go to bed. Sleep might make him feel better. But he is an adult and so am I, and neither of us really wants to sleep. So I say nothing and wait for him to explain.

“Much of Elrond’s border patrol is young. I worry they are unprepared for the increase in attacks. The conversation you heard—Glorfindel and I were disagreeing. I think it is worth advising Elrond to send his more experienced fighters to the borders and allow the newer ones to use this time to train. Glorfindel thinks calling the entire army is an overreaction and that I am overstepping my bounds. And he is right. I am captain of the Lady’s guard, not Lord Elrond’s. Still, I cannot help but believe it is worth interfering in this way — I think it could save lives, help Imladris be more prepared.” He looks at the ground, shaking his head. “I am sorry. I don’t need to be bothering you with this.”

“No, it’s alright.” I chuckle ruefully. “You’ve seen me cry so many times, you’ve earned the right to talk about whatever you want.”

He smiles and gives me a side-eye. “I’ll admit, while your tears used to perplex me, I think I am more accustomed to them by now.”

I roll my eyes and make a conscious effort not to be offended. “Great.”

He gives me an apologetic look, but mirth dances in his eyes. I turn the conversation back on him. “So what are you going to do?”

He sighs slowly, turning the corner into an adjacent hallway. “I will continue discussing it with Glorfindel tomorrow — it would be ideal to have him on my side. But if not, I plan to go to Elrond. I’d rather cause offense than withhold strategies that could save lives.”

I nod, agreeing. “Hopefully Glorfindel will see your side, and if he doesn’t, at least Elrond. I can’t imagine he would disagree — Elrond doesn’t seem like the type of man to choose pride over lives.”

“Ellon,” Haldir corrects gently.

I turn over my shoulder so he can see the begrudging look I give him. “Ellon.”

Haldir smiles almost smugly and we step from stone to lush grass. We’ve come out on the side of the estate — the garden is in the back. Thankfully, Haldir seems to know where to go. We curve our path left.

It’s a bit humid and I can feel my hair already reacting. I bring a hand to the back of my head, attempting to smooth the frizz. “Speaking of Elrond, Alex and I went to see him today — Did Rumil tell you?”

Haldir shakes his head but gives me a look that shows he’s not surprised — he guessed Alex and I would ask Elrond about getting home.

I continue, feeling a tad nervous. Rumil said Haldir wouldn’t object to our returning with him, and I don’t think he would…but what if he does? I don’t think I’d be able to keep myself from taking it personally.

I twist the fingers of my right hand into the fabric of my dress. “Um, Elrond mentioned that if anyone can help us get home, it would be Lady Galadriel. So—if it’s alright with you, of course—I—we—would like to return home with you. To Lothlórien.” I add, perhaps unnecessarily.

Haldir stops walking and turns to me, blinking once. Dread seizes in my chest. Oh no.

But his lips twitch and I realize he’s fighting a smile. “Lothlórien would be happy to host you, and I would be honored to escort you back.”

I beam, feeling nearly giddy with relief. Haldir relaxes and a hesitant smile brightens his face. The movement causes moonlight to reflect in his eyes. It sets them alight. I can’t believe I used to think them cold towards me — they are anything but. Guarded and suspicious at times, yes, but never cold. Not now that he’s gotten to know me, anyway. Instead, they are soft, gentle. And, exactly as Rumil had said, fond.

“Thank you.”

He inclines his head in that formal way of his, and the softness never leaves his eyes. He resumes his steps, leading us around the corner and into the labyrinthine garden.

I sneeze.

And again.

Haldir sputters out a ridiculous laugh, the sound so carefree and wild that I almost don’t mind having to sneeze to hear it.

“You’re allergic,” he accuses, gesturing to the flowers to our right.

I shrug, trying to ignore the tickling in my nose. “Just to some of them. Come on, I found an area earlier that’s not so bad.”

Haldir chuckles and shakes his head but follows me through the gardens. “Why did you want to come here if it just makes you sneeze?”

“Because it’s beautiful,” I answer simply. Because sometimes, that’s enough.

I find the alcove I discovered this morning and sit on the stone bench there, scooting over to make room for Haldir. He sits next to me, stretching out his long legs. Looking up at the sky, I can see stars through the wooden, flower-filled lattice that hangs above us. I sigh, finding the sight of the sky sobering. “Do you know how I finally realized I was in another world?”

Haldir shakes his head, waiting for me to continue.

“The stars,” I murmur. “In almost every memory I have, I’m looking at the stars. I know their patterns, how they move with the seasons, the names of each constellation. I watched them my whole life. But that night in the plains—when you came looking for me by the river—I looked up and realized that I don’t know these stars. They’re not in the right order or in the proper places. And I knew, even if I wasn’t ready to accept it, that these aren’t the stars of my world.”

Haldir tilts his head to the side, watching me in silence. He twitches as if to move and then tenses, looking uncertain. But after a moment he sets his jaw and, in one fluid motion, stands and removes his cloak, laying it on the ground. He offers me a hesitant smile as he sits—the expression so at odds with his usual confidence that I half-gape at him in disbelief. He reclines slowly, leaving room for me to do the same.

I press my lips against a smile even though I can feel that I’m losing the battle. Okay. I rise from the bench and, taking great care not to step on Haldir’s fingers, lay down next to him.

The thick fabric of his cloak mitigates the coolness of the ground and I stretch out, feeling my back resting on the firm surface of the earth. Though we slept near each other outside every night for two weeks, there were more people, then. We were farther apart. Now, we are alone and, due to the width of the cloak, there is only a sliver of space between us. If I moved my arm even slightly to the right, it would touch his.

When he finally speaks, his voice is quiet, gentle, and rumbles deep in his chest. “I have been watching these stars for centuries. They will become familiar to you, too. You only have to spend time with them.”

So I do.

Haldir and I lay on his cloak staring at the stars for hours. We don’t say much, only periodically mentioning something about our days or asking the other if they’re comfortable or cold. The newness of our proximity never fades, and I find myself hyper-aware of the warmth on the side of my body that nearly touches his. There’s a desire in me—something new and strange—to close that space between us, to rest my head on his chest and feel his arms hold me. I fight it, attempting to focus on what’s above me instead. He doesn’t seem to be struggling like I am.

At some point, I must slip into sleep. When Haldir gently nudges my shoulder, there’s a touch of early light in the sky. He smiles softly, offers me a hand up, and walks me to my room in silence. My efforts and sleep deprivation have left me exhausted. I barely remember climbing into bed and immediately fall back into a deep, dreamless sleep.

A/n Thanks for reading! Likes, comments, and reblogs make me smile <3 Let me know if you’d like a tag!

|next part|

|masterlist|

Tolkien tag list: @anangelwhodidntfall @eru-vande

Haldir tag list: @tolkien-apologist

Double Heart Tag list: @lainphotography @themerriweathermage @thophil2941btw @kenobiguacamole @wishingtobeinadifferentuniverse @from-patroclus-with-love @boywivlove @ordinarymom1 @my-darling-haldir @sweet-bea-blossom @moony-artnstuff

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idjitlili · 3 years

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Oh no, all the hobbits Aragorn.

Aragorn x reader.

Request for Thatfoolishhuman 'I would love an Aragorn imagine! Could you do one where the Mc is a healer (like, she can make wounds disappear with her hands.) and she patches Aragorn up after a battle and he falls in love with how gentle she is.'

Summary: Imagine being apart of the fellowship, being Gandalf's niece , you learn some stuff from him whether he liked it or not. Basically following the fellowship in secret from Rivendell, until you slipped up.

A/n: Arwen and Aragorn aren't together in this imagine, he still grew up with Elrond. A pitch is a piggyback ride it's the original name for it. Totally didn’t make a meme for this

Word count:2253

Warnings: I'm British, so spelling for certain words differs, such as grey, colour, among other words, don't be mad please.

Growing up around a wizard, especially Gandalf the grey, you learnt a lot. He just left books laying around, books full of spells. Of course Gandalf wasn't really related to you, but he might as well have been. Your parents travelled a lot, so you ended up being around Gandalf most of your childhood.

Gandalf had taught you some basic spells, nothing major, healing spells mostly, children are clumsy. It was no secret your parents didn't like you running through the forests, saying it was too dangerous , general protectiveness, you guess. Many times they proved that they were right, many times you had fallen into traps left for animals. You would've probably bled out, if it wasn't for Gandalf.

Still living with your parents, no longer a child, not knowing what you wanted to do, you parents wanted you to go work in the local bakery, not wanting you to travel around like they did, dangerous times with black riders frequently on the road and such. But of course you didn't want a simple life.

Again your parents had left on business, this time you didn't go to Gandalf's house, you had maybe listened in, when going to visit Frodo , only to see Samwise Gamgee listening under the window. You know how it goes, Gandalf caught him, not you.

You ended up following Frodo, Sam , Merry and Pippin. Life is boring, might as well take a risk, you longed for adventure, like the mister Bilbo.

Surprisingly the elves had not even noticed you at Rivendell, actually not surprising Gandalf had brought you there many times, so they probably thought you were with him. You had waited in the trees outside Rivendell's gates, for them.

You hadn't know what was actually going on , or whether there would actually be a quest, but to your lucky there was. Not really lucky for Boromir though... soon enough Frodo and Gandalf had emerged along with 7 others.

You weren't noticed for a long time considering, Frodo's fault completely, when Frodo had fallen down the mountain in the snow, you had been hiding not so great in the snow, and of course Frodo landed facing you. While Aragorn had rushed back to Frodo, Frodo's face was laced with confusion as he stared at you.

"Y/n...?" Frodo had stood up, not realising he had dropped the ring, you rising with your backpack and coat one, with the snow littering your hair. Aragorn had just stared too moving towards Frodo, carefully, the others travelling down to see what was going on.

"Oh, Frodo! What are you doing here? I was just out to get some milk for my dinner." Standing calf deep in snow, freezing, yet your facing burning with embarrassment.

"I was wondering when you'd reveal yourself." Gandalf chuckling , of course he knew you were there, but what you didn't know was that Gollum had been not even three feet away from you.. Gandalf had turned back grabbing the ring from Boromir and launching it at Frodo, like he was Michael Jordan.

"Gandalf who is this?" Gimli of all of the fellowship had questioned you, he wasn't afraid to speak his mind.

"Y/n is my niece , now come along we don't have all day."

Thus, you were no longer a stalker , but part of the fellowship. Time had passed and you had lost your uncle, but it didn't feel right, you couldn't process his death, so you pretended he just slipped on some bread and was at home resting.

Soon enough you were all heading for Lothlórien, without realising it, you had stayed close to Legolas at this moment, mostly to bug him.

"If elves are so great, then how didn't you notice me? For all you know I could've been watching you pee, I wasn't but I could've been. While you was sleeping I could've chopped your hair off and made a wig. Why do you look like your are apart of a dance routine? Why do you float? How does it feel to have a dick for a father?" Rambling on , you are surprised that Legolas doesn't whoop you, he could've, you wouldn't have been able to do much, you aren't the best person at defence.

You couldn't tell if you was annoying Legolas or not, but Gimli had kept smirking your way, as he stomped through the forest.

"Hey, Legolas? "

"Yes, y/n?" Legolas had sighed , he much preferred Gimli antics.

"Can I have a pitch?" But he had just stared at you, frowning, huffing you had walking around Legolas so you was next to Aragorn. Only for your ankle to roll, making you fall into Aragorn, it didn't necessarily hurt but. Aragorn had grabbed you and placed you back onto your feet.

"Um, Aragorn? You know you much better that Legolas..? Can I have a pitch?" You were undoubtedly attracted Aragorn, come on, he looks like a God. Fuck Thor. He didn't even answer just knelt down, allowing you to grip around his neck, and grab your calf's. Carrying on walking with ease.

Raising your eyebrows and smirking at Legolas behind you, he just never showed any emotion, except in that scene with Haldir , where he just smirks creepily in the background.

You weren't particularly close to anyone in the fellowship other than Frodo and Sam. But when Boromir died, yes it was sad, but where did the hobbits go? You had stayed close to Aragorn as he fought down the Uruk-hai as you hid in a tree. Before lifting you down, rushing to dying Boromir.

"They took the little ones,"

"Be still."

"Frodo! Where is Frodo?"

"I let Frodo go."

"Then you did what I could not. I tried to take the Ring from him."

Kneeling next to Boromir, "The hobbits Aragorn, but we shall get them back." Boromir was too far gone to be saved, the wrong brother died sadly. Boromir eyes had met yours once more , as he smiled , before he finished his speech to his king.

After Boromir was sent home, the fellowship was down to just four, rushing after Merry and Pippin. "We must hurry! The hobbits Aragorn!" Five minutes of running , and you were already getting a stitch. This was no time for jokes.

Soon enough Gandalf was alive, and Aragorn was dead, as Théoden had lead you all to helms deep. You had seen Eowyn, oh how heartbroken she was after she found out Aragorn was dead, that bitch knew him for what five minutes, she was already grinding up on him.

You were witch, she was a princess, obviously Aragorn was going to prefer her. Soon enough Aragorn practically marching into helms deep, injured but alive , what's with all the faked deaths.

After Aragorn had done his big speech and everyone had left to get ready for war, you had stayed behind obviously, you didn't want to confront him in front of everyone. "Uh, Aragorn?" You were unsure of yourself, honestly, you can't have a crush on a king. You swear kings have bad hair, lucky Aragorn didn't , look at the British royal family.. now that's embarrassing.

Aragorn had turned Aragorn to face you, waiting for you to speak, he definitely didn't fall from heaven, the Valar decided to test him by shoving him off a cliff.

"Um, I was wondering if I c-could help with those wounds, um, I didn't know if you needed help?" You were sure that your face was probably flushed red, it would be surprising if he could even understand you , as you stumbled over your own words.

Aragorn had nodded , before sitting down near by. Grabbing the king foil out of your bag , along with other healing herbs, Aragorn had removed his jacket and undone some of the buttons on his tunic. Bringing a stool in front of Aragorn for you to sit. You weren't about to chew up the kings foil, tearing it up before trying to gently apply it to the huge gash across his chest.

A small groan had emerged from his lips as you had placed a piece kings foil to the gash too harshly. "Sorry." Looking into Aragorn's bright eyes , for a spilt second before going back to gently placing the kings foil. Aragorn stops you , by grabbing your wrist , not with force, making you look back up at him.

"Do not be sorry, I just fell off a cliff, I've been through worse." A smile reassuring smile plant on his face, but you can only think what is worse than falling off a cliff.

"Okay, sorry, I mean I'm not sorry, you are very intelligent or a king, there's warg! Let's go fight our enemy on the edge of a cliff. Um, actually that's embarrassing because I fell down a well because a owl scared me, I was stuck down there for hours, and then Gandalf found me and used a bucket to get me out. I had to sit in the bucket while he pulled it up."

Aragorn had let go of your wrist , allowing you to continue as you spoke, "you have not changed."

"Pardon?" Aragorn was smiling down at you as your eyebrows scrunched together.

" Last week I saw leaf , hit you in the back of your neck, you jumped three feet in the air." Your face flushed again, as you tried to contain a smile, as Aragorn laughed at you.

"I did not, that was not a leaf, it was a snake!"

"A green round snake, I believe you , y/n" you had stopped applying the kings foil, to put your head between your nerves , to hide your face in embarrassment . "It was a deformed snake."

"Last month, you skidded in mud and fell flat on your back, when Legolas put his hand on your shoulder briefly. Or when you kicked Boromir's cock when he was try-" sitting back up to look at Aragorn.

"You are right, next time it will be you that I will kick." Aragorn could not have shut his legs quicker, making you laugh at him, "I'll have to start wearing a shield."

"Never know when I'll strike, your balls are going to be deformed." Aragorn had gasped at you, as you brought your hand other his wound beginning to heal him as you chanted quietly.

"Such foul language, Gandalf would not approve." Looking up to Aragorn with a small smile, placing your other hand on his shoulder softly, to stop him from moving. Really the healing didn't take very long, the cut left a blood stain though. "Stay there," (or you get unprofessional neutering.) Grabbing the water pouch from your bag, and piece of cloth.

Before returning to sit in front of Aragorn with the damp cloth, wiping off the dried blood gently. You couldn't help but feel like you had done something good today, you got to heal ,clean an very attractive man stopping his wound from getting infected and him dying.

Plus,he's Aragorn, who wouldn't want to touch his chest. As you finished, you had look down for your pouch, only to see how blood his hands were. Lifting his hand up to examine it, no way you were a doctor. " How have you not gotten infection? All that Orc blood going into your open wounds." Again having to heal all the little cuts and slices on his hands.

It was no secret to Aragorn that he had developed a like for you, from the moment Frodo saw you sticking out in the snow like a mole heap.

“Tis the best you are going to be, after this battle you will covered again. Legolas probably glide through here, any minute asking where his beloved is.” Both of you standing up, grabbing your bag, you had leant up to press a kiss to Aragorns cheek, before turning away to head to where the woman and children were, Gandalf’s orders.

Aragorn had stopped you again, by the shoulder, causing you to turn back around. “Y/n, thank you. May I ask for something else?” Aragorns eyes looking into your e/c ones

softly, you had nodded. “Would you accept me courtship?” You had just pressed your lips slow onto his before pulling away.

The door was quickly opened “ARAGORN!” Legolas glided into the room, rushing towards you and Aragorn. Sighing “your beloved is here,” Legolas was stood between both of you, you had to walk around him, to wrap your arms around Aragorn,briefly embracing, before pulling away.

Legolas just stared, “I’m not hugging you too, leg a less, that’s what your name would be if you had no legs, because your legs aragorn”

#lord of the rings x reader #lord of the rings oneshot #lord of the rings imagine #lord of the rings imagines #lotr x you #lotr x reader #lotr x #lotr oneshot #lotr imagines #lotr imagine #aragorn x y/n #aragorn x you #aragorn imagines #aragorn imagine #aragorn x reader #aragorn

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arrantsnowdrop · 4 years

Text

It’s You I Want - Haldir x. Elf Reader (fluff)

Request: "The reader is maybe a child of Galadriel, and Haldir is quietly trying to pretend he isn't interested in courting them because of their status differences?"

Tags: @headless-twink

Warnings: 3,283 words (I kinda popped off), but other than that nothing

A/N: I gave the reader a brother because I thought being a single child of Galadriel and Celeborn would be lonely as heck, and I didn't wanna subject poor (y/n) to that. This was really fun to write, I do love Haldir a whole lot. Hope y'all enjoy! :D

It was midday in Lothlórien. Lady Galadriel had summoned the High Council to discuss the growing threat to border security posed by the goblins of Moria. The lesser lords and ladies of the forest and the most skilled members of the elven guard had been invited to the Chamber of Celeborn to determine how best to handle the situation.

You, being the eldest of Lady Galadriel’s children, had also been invited to attend. Though you were still quite young for an elf, you were destined to assume leadership of one of Lórien’s sectors when you were older. There was also always the possibility something could happen to either of your parents and you would take their place. Your mother saw these meetings as a way to introduce to you the responsibilities of leadership.

And that is how you found yourself stuck inside a rather dark, somber looking hall in the middle of the most sunny day Lothlórien had seen in quite some time. You almost wished you hadn’t agreed to attend, but you did recognize it was a privilege to be allowed to listen to the conversations of the High Council. You were sitting around a large wooden table in a chair next to Galadriel’s. The members of the elven guard had been sharing their experiences with the goblins thus far.

“What I am gathering,” Lord Celeborn said thoughtfully, “is that the curiosity of these orcs is growing every day.”

“Every night my patrol watches them grow closer to our borders, my Lord,” one elf added. Lord Celeborn nodded.

“We seem to have two main options, if I may detail them further,” Iachion, one of the senior marchwardens, said tentatively. Galadriel nodded for him to continue.

“Thank you, my Lady. We can either send troops out of Lothlórien to meet the orcs now, or wait until they cross our borders to attack,” he said.

“If I may, Iachion, those options seem to be on very opposite ends of the same spectrum,” you observed. “I’m sure there is some action we can take that will ensure our safety for the time being without risking so many lives.” You looked to your mother for approval on your comment, who gave you a small smile.

“I agree with (Y/n),” came a familiar voice at the opposite end of the table. There sat Haldir, head of the northern patrol. He too was a younger elf, one who had earned his place in the High Council through his much admired leadership in the elven guard.

“My patrol has discussed the actions of the orcs several times these past weeks, perhaps I could share our consensus on the situation,” he offered.

“Go on, Haldir,” your mother said.

“We believe it would be wise to increase the patrol groups in the northern and western woods, especially at night, so that the orcs do not go unmonitored,” he began.

“Yes , but monitoring the orcs will not deter them,” Iachion interrupted. You grinned as Haldir rolled his eyes slightly.

“As of now, the orcs are still quite a distance from our borders. They seem accustomed to the dark, and only travel so far from the mines that they can still return during the night,” Haldir added.

“How many nights then would it take for them to reach our borders?” Lord Celeborn asked.

“At least two, they do not travel lightly,” one elf said.

“I feel it would be unwise to take action with violent intent when the orcs do not seem keen on coming closer. As (Y/n) put it, we would be risking the lives of our own in a confrontation that might not even come to fruition otherwise,” Haldir stated.

“I agree with Haldir, mother,” you said, looking at Galadriel.

“As do I, it is always important to maintain nonviolence unless it is unavoidable,” she said thoughtfully. “The council will vote on the plan Haldir proposed, unless there is a desire for further discussion.”

You met Haldir’s gaze from across the table and offered him a small smile, brows furrowing when he looked away quickly.

“The decision carries, we will increase border patrols to monitor the orcs, but take no further action unless they grow closer,” Galadriel said, standing up to dismiss the meeting.

You got up quickly, intending to go over and compliment Haldir on his strategy, but by the time you reached the other end of the table he was nowhere to be seen.

~~~~~

By the end of the week, you found yourself practically living in the seemingly endless library of Lothlórien. Your mother has asked you and your younger brother Lodatôr to research the historical differences between the different branches of elves (“Just because you were not there to experience it does not mean it is not important to know,” your mother had said). Though you’d found the assignment rather trivial to begin with, you’d quickly become fascinated with the subject.

Your most recent read was a first-hand account by a Teleri elf who traveled to Aman, and the emotional struggle he went through after his sister abandoned the march. The work was fueled with passion and sorrow, and you understood why so many of the book’s pages were littered with tear stains.

Luckily, you had reached the end without crying too much (as your brother had poked fun at you everytime you began to tear up). You stood up from your chair to put the book back on its shelf.

“Did he make it to Aman?” Lodatôr asked from across the small table you were sharing. He too has been intrigued by the subject and was reading a book about the elves who refused to embark on the Great Journey.

“Yes, thank goodness, I was beginning to think he would turn back to try and find his sister,” you said shakily. The last few pages of the book had been quite emotional.

“Good for him,” your brother said matter-of-factly, returning his attention to the book in front of him. You chuckled softly.

Lórien’s library had been built around one of the many great trees in Caras Galadhon. The library was only slightly younger than Galadriel herself, and the further down the tree you went, the older the books got. Your particular autobiography was from the Years of the Trees, which preceded the First Age of Middle Earth. In any regard, you had a long journey down.

The particular shelf you were looking for was nearly at the bottom of the tree, which was always rather quiet - not many elves spent their free time reading about Middle Earth before the time of the Ring, especially since half of them had lived through it themselves. Others, like yourself, were not bestowed with the memory of such times. You almost laughed remembering one specific instance when Lodatôr argued with your parents over deciding to have children after the beginning of the First Age.

You turned into the area your book was from, jumping back in surprise at the sight of another elf perusing the shelves. He looked up in surprise, you grinning at the sight of the familiar blonde elf.

“Hello, Haldir, I’m sorry for startling you,” you said softly. “I wasn’t expecting to see anyone else this low in the library.”

He stared at you for a moment before nodding and looking back at the books in front of him.

You slid past him, placing the book back into its designated space. Your gaze trailed to the novel next to it, gasping with delight when you saw it had been written by the sister of the aforementioned Teleri elf.

“Are you alright, (Y/n)?” Haldir asked with mild concern. You grinned at him and nodded.

“I hadn’t realized my book had a sequel of sorts, just got a little excited is all,” you said bashfully. He nodded again and looked away. You paused, biting your lip at the awkward pause in conversation.

“It’s about one of the Teleri elves,” you finally said, feeling the need to break the silence. His gaze met yours for a third time. You looked down at the new book in your hand.

“He was making the Great Journey with his family but his sister abandoned the trail in the Misty Mountains. And this book is written by said sister,” you added.

“Sounds...interesting,” Haldir stated. He was definitely uninterested, and you felt quite embarrassed for intruding upon his free time.

You nodded curtly before rushing past him and up the stairs, cursing yourself for being so talkative. What you failed to see was Haldir watching you longingly as you left, before turning his gaze to the book you had just returned and picking it up himself.

~~~~~

By the time the next High Council meeting came to pass, you had become thoroughly confused by the blonde marchwarden.

After your encounter in the library, you had tried to provoke conversation with him several times. All had been failures in your opinion.

You’d concluded that Haldir must have been introverted, or uninterested in socializing. This made sense, of course - his thoughts were likely preoccupied with the many important tasks he was charged with and he probably didn’t want to spend time distracting himself from them.

And yet, there he was, standing across the room, freely conversing with several other elves about those trivial affairs you had thought bored him. Or that seemed to bore him whenever you tried to talk to him.

You turned to your brother, who had also been invited to this particular meeting.

“Have you ever had a conversation with Haldir?” you asked quietly.

“Hmm?” Lodatôr asked, not quite paying attention. He was always bored at these meetings, constantly zoning out in the middle of discussions.

“I said have you ever talked with Haldir, the marchwarden of the north,” you insisted.

“Oh yes, many times,” he said thoughtfully. “Just last week I caught him leaving the library and we had a pleasant conversation about the eastward expansion of the city.”

“Oh,” you said softly, stomach sinking.

“Why?” he asked curiously.

“I’m just curious, I’ve seen him at a few of these meetings and I was considering introducing myself,” you lied.

“You should! He’s quite fun to be around,” your brother noted. You nodded, watching Haldir laugh at something one of the young ladies of the court had said. You despised the feeling of jealousy that stirred within you.

You couldn’t focus the entire meeting. It was obvious Haldir didn’t like you for some reason; he was clearly a social elf and yet he avoided talking to you at all costs.

Had you done something to offend him in some way? Or said something that upset him? While you’d never been close to him, he was at nearly all the meetings you were asked to attend. Perhaps he had assumed you were entitled and spoiled, like so many of the younger elves in Lothlórien did.

“(Y/n)?”

Your head snapped up, wide eyes meeting those of your mother.

“Yes?” you asked bashfully.

“I asked, are you feeling alright? You look more pale than usual,” she said jokingly, with underlying concern. You looked around the table to see the elves of the court watching you intensely, Haldir included. You gulped, suddenly feeling quite small.

“May I be excused?”

At the nod of your mother you stood up abruptly, rushing out of the room before anyone could say anything.

You felt quite overwhelmed as you walked back up to your family’s flet, high up in the trees of Lórien. You also felt stupid, which was uncommon for any elf. You had been trying to socialize with Haldir for several weeks, and yet it had taken you this long to realize he did not enjoy your company.

You sat on your bed for several hours, watching as the sun sank below the treetops and trying to pinpoint what you had done to lose Haldir’s favor.

It was dark outside when Lodatôr walked into your room.

“How are you doing?” he asked softly, sitting down next to you. “You rushed out awfully fast.”

“I’m fine now,” you said, not completely a lie this time. You were feeling better, finally coming to terms with the fact Haldir probably hated you for whatever reason.

“Haldir wanted me to tell you to feel better soon,” he said. You glared at him sternly.

“Don’t joke with me, Lodatôr.”

“I’m not joking,” he said slowly, looking at you with furrowed eyebrows. “He came up to me after the meeting was dismissed asking if you were sick, and when I said I didn’t know he asked me to tell you to feel better.”

You were at a complete loss for words, mouth hanging slightly agape.

“(Y/n)-”

“Are you kidding me?” you said loudly, standing up from your bed and beginning to pace around the room.

“What is going on with you?” Lodatôr asked, also standing up, now extremely concerned about your mental wellbeing.

“All month I’ve been trying to talk to Haldir,” you seethed, “and I had finally concluded that he must just be socially reserved, but clearly that isn’t the case!”

“Well then, what is the case?” your brother inquired.

“I had just decided that he must despise me but now apparently he’s concerned about me, and I don’t know what that means!” you shouted, slamming your hand against the wall for emphatic effect.

“Oh my gosh,” Lodatôr grinned.

“Oh my gosh what?” you grumbled.

“I think he likes you.”

You gasped and whipped around, looking at your brother incredulously.

“That is most certainly not the case!” you retorted. His eyes widened and he began to laugh.

“Oh my gosh, I think you like him, too!” he exclaimed, doubling over laughing.

“Get out! Right now!” you roared, lunging at him as he scrambled out the door.

“Just talk to him!” he called as he sprinted down the hallway. You slammed the door shut and flopped onto your bed, groaning into your pillow.

Lodatôr was right, you definitely liked Haldir. There were plenty of elves who didn’t like you and you had never cared about them, and yet the mere possibility that Haldir might not like you was crushing.

Also, he was stunningly attractive. That was indisputable.

What Lodatôr said had confused you, though; he was rarely wrong when it came to understanding people (a gift you clearly did not possess), but was it possible Haldir liked you?

Before falling asleep you came to the conclusion that you needed to confront Haldir, because at least then you would know for sure - if he truly despised you, you could always ask your parents to send you off to Rivendell and study with Elrond for the next century or two.

~~~~~

The next morning you felt both determined and nervous, but you had already begun your trek down into the center of Caras Galadhon. You were walking quite fast, so it would look odd if you turned back now.

You knew Haldir was not scheduled to leave the city until noon, so it was just a matter of finding him.

“Excuse me,” you said, interrupting two young elves who you recognized from Haldir’s patrol, “have you seen Haldir this morning?”

“Yes, your grace,” one of them replied. “He said he was heading to the library to return a book.”

“Thank you!” you replied, bidding them both a good day before turning in the direction of the library.

The elf at the front desk had seen Haldir go down the building’s spiral steps, and thus down you went, nerves rapidly increasing every floor you passed.

You were beginning to think you might not even see him, that you were probably wasting your time, when you accidentally skipped a step and collided with another elf on the stairs.

You let out a small shriek, body crashing into a rather broad chest, their hands gripping your shoulders to catch you.

“I am so sorry,” you began to apologize, looking up into Haldir’s bright blue eyes. Your eyes widened.

“Are you hurt, (Y/n)?” he asked, his rather large hands still on your shoulders.

You were both panting slightly - the stairs of the library were not easy on the lungs.

You blinked once, twice, trying to come up with something to say, before deciding to throw caution to the wind.

“Do you dislike me?” you asked genuinely, almost cringing at how pathetic you sounded.

“Excuse me?” he asked, looking more concerned if that was possible.

“You just, you seem to be a fairly social elf, but you always avoid talking to me,” you rambled, “and it’s not like you’re obliged to like me but it’s starting to hurt my feelings-”

Haldir pulled you into one of the shelves swiftly as another elf made his way down the stairs. You gulped, looking up at him in the confined space.

“I just wanted to know if I had said or done something to make you upset, and to apologize if that’s the case,” you said softly, looking down at your shoes. “I've come to like you a lot, and I don’t want you to be upset with me.”

A pause. You felt like you might implode because of your nervous energy.

“I don’t dislike you,” he replied genuinely, tenderly brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear. You looked back up at him in surprise.

“Really?” you asked hopefully. He chuckled a bit.

“Yes, (Y/n), you’re joyful and witty and ridiculously clever, I’m rather fond of you honestly,” he admitted. Now he was the one looking at the ground.

“Haldir, are you blushing?” you teased.

“Stop it,” he grinned, looking back up at you, a light pink spreading across his cheeks.

“I’m sorry if I made you think I disliked you, that was never my intention,” he apologized, looking at you like you were the most important thing in the world. “I was afraid of growing attached, which sounds selfish now that I’m saying it out loud,” he said, making a disgusted face. You laughed lightly.

“But that doesn’t matter now because I grew attached anyways,” he said, not meeting your gaze.

"Why would that be a problem?” you asked seriously.

“Because you are the child of two of the most powerful and respected elves in Middle Earth,” he said bluntly, “and I am a member of the elven guard.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“I’m not good enough for you,” he clarified, “and every time I think about you, about how much I want to court you, I realize any lord could provide you with a much better life than I ever could.”

“Haldir,” you whispered, reaching up and cupping his face softly, “It’s you I want, not some prissy member of the court.”

“Your parents-”

“My parents won’t care,” you interrupted. “They are wise, and my mother taught me to love people for who they are, not what they have.”

“(Y/n),” Haldir whispered softly.

“Yes?”

“May I kiss you?”

You smiled and nodded, eyes closing softly as Haldir leaned down, bringing his lips to yours and pulling you into him.

“You are the most beautiful and intense being I have ever met,” he mumbled against your lips. You laughed and buried your face into the crook of his neck, trying to pull him as close to you as possible.

“I read your book,” he said softly. You pulled away and looked at him quizzically.

“The one about the Teleri elf?” you inquired.

“Yes, that one,” he nodded, smiling.

“Oh my gosh, you read my book!” you squealed, beaming with excitement.

“Tonight, after my patrol ends, would you like to come over and discuss it?” he asked, gazing at you adoringly.

“I would love that, Haldir.”

#haldir x reader #haldir #lord of the rings #lothlorien #lorien #fluff #oneshot #fanfic

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rohirric-hunter · 3 years

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Hathellang of Bree-Land (Léonys of Rohan Pt. 4)

Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 5 | Part 10

I was originally going to have the whole story from Léonys’ point of view, with no other POV characters, but I figured that A) I needed to explain how this story diverges from canon within the story and the original part 4 doesn’t really have room for that and B) I needed to explore Hathellang and his relationship to Léonys a bit more. He turned out to be a bigger motivating force for her than originally intended.

Drof is another of my alts. Most of my alts exist in the same “universe” if you will.

***

This is how it is to be Hathellang of Bree-Land:

Drof idly stirs the bean-and-bacon mess in her tin plate as she glares at you over the cooking fire, one of several puddles of light fending off the cold dark of the Mines of Moria. There are safe passages through now, from one end to the other, but evil still lurks in the shadows, and everyone resting at the Dolven-View huddles close around the fires that shelter them from it.

“You’re telling me you can’t cook? At all?” she demands.

“I can,” you say. “But you probably wouldn’t want to risk eating the results.”

“And this Léonys you’re always on about. Can she?”

“Not exactly.” In truth, Léonys cannot cook any more than you can. It was Lady Hackberry and a hobbit-lad named Gareth who did the cooking at home. You take a bite of your meal. It’s not especially tasty, but Drof has shown her usual cunning with spices and an uncanny knowledge of just how long to simmer something and it’s far from bland. If she were to add some young leeks, perhaps a couple of small potatoes, it would almost be the first meal you ever ate at Lady Hackberry’s, after you were unceremoniously herded there with Léonys one night by two hunters who drunkenly mistook you for one of the good lady’s wards and a town guard who absolutely had not, but thought it might be a convenient way to curb some of your more criminal habits without filling out any paperwork.

“Then what do you want to marry her for, then?” Drof asks, horrified, “If neither of you can cook?”

Goat-hooves clop against stone as a fairly large group of the beasts arrive, bringing an additional pool of light with them in the form of gleaming lanterns that cast long shadows across the floor. The Dolven-View is one of the central waystations that the Iron Garrison has set up, and people are always coming and going on their way to somewhere or other. There is no consistent day-cycle this far beneath the earth; people sleep when they are tired, and wake when wakefulness finds them.

“Well, there is this thing she does sometimes with bear intestines,” you say teasingly. “I haven’t tried it myself. Haven’t been desperate enough yet, but she says it’s decent.” She does not, in point of fact, say any such thing. On your journeys as you stood against Angmar, Léonys provided a great deal of sustenance for the pair of you through talented foraging, informed by a childhood love of gardening that she rarely pursues these days. But raw carrots and plain boiled potatoes irk after a time, and eventually the harsh ground in the north defeated her ability to collect anything she could identify as edible beyond doubt. Some of the hunters who congregate in the Prancing Pony speak of bear intestines and worse things, but Léonys does not, and you suspect that they are merely lying to goad a reaction from their audience -- much as you are. The lie is worth it for the look of disgust and disbelief that flits across Drof’s face before she cottons on to the fact that you are joking.

“I’m sure you’ll be very happy eating slop together,” she says very seriously, the words not so much directed at you as grumbled into her beard.

You laugh. “We’ll learn,” you say. “We have time.” Neither of you know your exact ages, but you are both young, twenty-five at the most, and have many years before you. You do not speak, or allow yourself to think too hard, of the darkness of Dol Guldur, or the webs of the Scuttledells, or the evil yet slipping through cracks in the stone not too far from where you sit now, or any of the close brushes with death or worse that you and Léonys have survived over the past several months.

“Hathellang?” a new voice says.

You turn to see the owner of the voice is not a dwarf, but a human woman, sun-reddened skin offsetting deep blue tattoos snaking over her limbs and face, matching her shirt and some of the threads in a thick plaid cloth belted about her waist. She wears a long sword at her side that seems different in make from the trinkets braided into her armbands, or the brass hoop earrings, or any of her other metal adornments. You encountered a few Dunlendings in the south of Eregion, before you joined with the dwarves on their quest into Moria. She bears some similarity to these, though you mark that her manner of dress is distinct from theirs. She steps toward you, eyes combing across you consideringly.

“That’s me,” you say, standing to face her.

She nods, apparently having satisfied some silent question. “I have been seeking you,” she says. “Léonys suggested that I might find you in Eregion, and the elves there said you had entered this mine.”

“You have seen Léonys?” you ask. “Where?” The last you had heard of her she had been in Rivendell, and while Lord Elrond’s borders lay open to all free people, you do not recognize the woman before you.

“In Dunland,” she says. “She travels with a band of North-men, the Grey Company, they call themselves.” The name means nothing to you, and you comb through your knowledge of the Men of Eriador in an effort to place the group. “I thought it strange; the other horse-lords do not seem to trust them, but she rides as one of them.”

“What is she doing in Dunland?” you ask, and then years of Lady Hackberry correcting you on your manners constrain you to quickly speak again before she can reply. “My apologies. I am Hathellang. But you knew that. This is Drof of the Stout-Axe Dwarves.” Drof stands and offers a nod of greeting.

The woman stands straighter. “I am Nona of the Uch-Lûth. I am short on time. I have found Hathellang, and now I seek the Golden Wood, and an Elf-queen who lives there. The dwarves tell me it lies beyond these caves.”

“It does,” you say. “What is your business there?”

Dark eyes narrow in thought. “I do not know,” she says. She accepts a plate of stew from Drof and settles down across from the two of you. “I know that I must go there, and that you must come with me.”

You shift uncomfortably. You’ve never quite outgrown your mistrust of strangers who want you to come with them; a street urchin in Bree-town is an easy target for certain individuals, and you had to learn early how to evade such dangers. Still, she aims for Lothlórien, and there are few safer places you could travel to with any companion. “Why me?” you ask, fighting to keep the suspicion out of your voice.

Her eyes narrow as she spoons some beans and bacon into her mouth, chews, and swallows. “Léonys said you would say that,” she says. “She gave me a token to bring to you.” She sets her plate aside and draws from somewhere about her waist an arrow, which she hands to you.

You take it and examine it by the light of the fire. It is Léonys’ craftsmanship, that much is clear, a straight shaft of black ash wood fletched with crow feathers. In Bree she tipped all of her arrows with iron tips provided by Helena Twobarrow, but this one sports only a sharpened fire-hardened point, and you can make out scores along its length and faint bloodstains, and one spot where it has splintered and the wood shifts minutely in your hands. This arrow has seen battle already.

A scrap of light grey fabric is wrapped around it just below the fletching, and your hands tremble as you undo the thin string that keeps it there. The handwriting is messy and difficult to make out in places, ink bleeding across the fine linen threads, but clearly Léonys’.

Hathellang,

You can trust Nona. (The name is crossed out several times, with variations in spelling, and in parenthesis another hand has added a word spelled out in letters you do not recognize.) I am travelling south with our unlikely friends, to meet Strider in my country and offer him aid. Nona (she has settled upon the second spelling) has a different mission, one I do not completely understand. She will tell you of a dream she had. She dreamed of you. I believe her, for she described you to me with great accuracy, and others. I fear Strider and his companions face some unlooked-for danger. Aid her (here there is a large inkstain, nearly engulfing the last word, and the message begins again after it in a different ink) if you can. I am needed here, and dare not write of the nature of my mission, for fear this message should fall into evil hands. I hope it finds you safe.

Léonys

It hits you harder than you expected, to, after everything, hold in your hands something that she made, and a hastily scribbled note on what looks for all the world like the ripped edge of a cloak. She has not written Léonys of Rohan, which is how she has insisted upon signing letters since you have known her, but it is easy to see why; such a signature would give away her destination, which she clearly hopes to keep secret for a while yet. Still, the oddity stands out to you and you slowly crumple the note in a fist.

“I will take you to the Golden Wood,” you say, quietly. “You wouldn’t get in alone, anyway. The elves don’t like strangers.”

There is a pause. Nona looks at you with sharp, understanding eyes. “Then they are not unlike my people, Hathellang of Bree-land,” she says. “But we have welcomed many duvodiad into our midst in these evil times, and if these elves are wise they will do likewise.”

Drof snorts, and you roll your eyes as you pocket Léonys’ note. “Well, Drof?” you ask. “Do you want to --”

“No!” she cuts you off. “I’m quite content with what I’ve seen of it.”

“You’ve seen the fringes,” you accuse, frowning.

“And that’s more than enough.” Her demeanor softens. “I must stay with my people. Mazog’s death is a blow to the orcs of Moria, but there is much to be done here still. I wish you luck on your journey, wherever it takes you.”

You look to Nona and she spreads her hands. “To the Golden Wood,” she says. “My dream meant little to me. Perhaps once we arrive there we will know more.”

“Perhaps,” you say, and you hold up the arrow, black against the firelight, and turn it in your fingers. The light gleams around it, red and gold against black and grey. Then you look up, and despite yourself you grin. You are excited for this new adventure, there is no lie there. “Whatever it is, we will find it together, Nona of the Uch-Lûth.”

Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 5 | Part 10

#lotr #lotro #lord of the rings #lord of the rings online #lord of the rings online fanfiction #lotr oc #leonys of rohan

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meteor752 · 4 years

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Tilda in the fellowship AU

After finishing my Tilda Deep Dive I started thinking about how it would have gone if she did follow her brother to the council of Elrond, and if it would have affected anything. Enjoy

***

So the beginning is simple, when she is offered to go to Rivendell she agrees because yay adventure.

But she goes all princessy, like with a circlet on her head, make-up, some long elven robe all that jazz.

And before the actual council she mostly wanders around trying to make it look like she fits in, before she sees Aragorn where she just squeals and hugs him tight because she’s a hugger.

So at the actual council, the moment the ring is brought forth, she’s just immediately going hell yes I’m doing this, while Legolas is viciously glaring at her because you’re not doing this.

She tries to argue back at him when everyone is arguing with each other, because one, the ring needs to be destroyed and she’s willing to do it and two, it’s a chance to get out of her family shadow.

But alas, a fucking Hobbit offers to do it, and she’s just making the most annoyed face in existence.

Until Aragorn offers to come along, and then Legolas, and Gimli, and she’s just over here like “Yeah I don’t have a unique weapon but if Princess here is going then I am as well.”

And then there’s also three more hobbits, two of which she grows fond of immediately.

When she went to get prepared and to get out of the elven robe, she was basically bouncing with excitement. Legolas tried his best to talk her out of it, but Tilda could be more stubborn than a dwarf if she desired to.

He told her to send a message to their da and ada to ask for permission to do this, She agreed, while in her head she was just saying fuck that, and did not do it.

Tilda had a spring to her step when the journey started, chatting happily with two of the hobbits, watching her brother talk quietly with Aragorn, grinning widely cause she knows what’s up.

It took her about a day, a day and a half, before she stopped walking and started climbing stuff, much to almost everyone’s confusion.

She said that it was to challenge herself and to get a better look at the surrounding terrain, but in reality she just wanted to feel tall as she was the shortest out of the “Tall Folk” as Merry and Pippin so nicely put it.

And it took maybe a week for her to make the connection that the Baggins she was traveling with and protecting was related to the Baggins that changed her and her people’s lives, so that was something.

But Tilda took quite the delight in the fact that both The Hobbits and Gimli had heard many stories of the reclaiming of Erebor, but she had actually been there unlike them.

(Well, if going by film canon then Legolas was there as well, which we are going to do mostly because then the Legolas Tilda first met was the dramatic edgy one with eyeliner, which she would just love to tell the others about).

When it came to Moria, Tilda was a little less smiling and bouncy, and more jumpy and uncomfortable. She’d after all known some of the dwarves whose corpses were scattered across the mine, and she’d never been one for darkness.

It was even worse when they came to Balin’s grave with Ori’s corpse just beside it, as she’d definitely known those two.

Now, before we continue, I just need y’all to know this; Tilda does not like Gandalf. She thinks he’s a bad person, she does not understand the obsession that so many elves have with him, and she thinks he should mind his own damn business. So she was just ready kick his ass when he started yelling at Pippin, like this bitch was ready. But she never got the chance, because they have a cave troll!

Tilda was out of her environment, she was in a too small of a space, and she had to make sure that the pretty incompetent hobbits were alright during the whole thing, so everything that was going through her mind in that fight was just a string of panicked curse words.

Glorofindel had told Tilda about Balrogs once in her youth during a visit to Rivendell, so she kinda knew what was up when a fire demon came out of nowhere, and she was a tiny bit excited.

Mostly because again, she likes fire.

But that does NOT MEAN, that she liked that Gandalf fucking died, because despite the fact that she dislikes him a lot he was honestly one of the few things holding the Fellowship together.

They still managed to keep going for a while, and Tilda managed to befriend Boromir out of all people during that period, and they bonded over their willingness to protect their people, and Tilda loved hearing Boromir talk proudly of his brother (While she talked shit about her own siblings).

At the arrival of Lothlórien, Tilda was just ready to lay down on something soft and take a fucking nap because she earned it god damnit. She did have time to say hi to her Gram Gram Galadriel though, who’s been her favorite babysitter as a child (And adult time some extent) and basically her grandma.

When it came to the little gift giving thingy, she was just happy with a new quiver of arrows, because she’d started to run out. They tried to offer her a new bow, but she’s very attached to her own and ain’t giving it up anytime soon.

While riding the boats, she was dramatically posing at the front the entire time, except for when it got too hot and she just jumped into the water and swam for a while, because when you spend your first years in a place called lake town you basically learn how to swim before you learn how to walk.

If you would ask Tilda what happened next, she would just shrug because she literally has no idea.

All she knew was that Boromir went to collect fire wood and that Frodo wandered off (Which he does like all the time, like Tilda wouldn’t be able to count on her fingers the amount of times someone had to go find him),and then suddenly Orcs attacked, Merry and Pippin were taken and Boromir was bleeding out in front of the remaining four.

And as the sister of the best healer in Middle Earth, Tilda did not hesitate to push Aragorn aside and start screaming out instructions, because this man is not dying on her watch.

It took her a few hours to stabilize the wound, and she had Legolas, Gimli, and Aragorn running back and forth, giving her stuff like water and herbs, while she made Boromir talk the entire time just to make sure he wouldn’t pass out and possibly die.

But as soon as Boromir could stand on his feet without falling again, they took off to find Merry and Pippin, while Tilda was praying that Boromir’s wounds wouldn’t open before they got to a real healer.

Tilda was more than okay about running for three days straight, but she did made sure they took a few breaks for the sake of Boromir, and she hated it every time because it made her feel a lot like Sigrid.

Tilda got an uneasy feeling the moment they entered Rohan, especially when they ran into fucking Éomer, who she was just glaring daggers at, and it only got worse when he informed them that he’d fucking slaughtered the hobbits, like both Tilda and Boromir had to be held back.

But the news of their possible survival made Tilda go yay, especially when they got to enter Fangor forest, which was just a delight, and she basically prayed to herself that she would got to meet an Ent.

Instead, she met Gandalf, who’s back now.

She doesn’t really know how to feel about that, because on one hand it’s Gandalf who’s really powerful and is a great deal of help, and on the other hand it’s Gandalf who’s just the fucking worst.

And then he takes them to meet King Théoden, and Tilda just keeps thinking that that day really can’t get any worse.

While Tilda only dislikes Gandalf, she fucking hates Théoden. She met him earlier in her life when he was still young, and he immediately gave her a bad vibe. So Tilda was salty towards him, and he was rude back, and this gal is petty so she still hates him, and his whole family.

Actually scratch that, his niece is both pretty and powerful, she respects her.

As soon as Sauroman is banished from the king’s mind, Tilda drags Bormir to a healer before anything else so his wounds could be properly cared for, just to get that off her mind.

She sent a whistle to Aloe, mostly because she missed him and they weren’t moving around all the time anymore, before joining Legolas and the rest in the throne room with Théoden.

Until the escape to Helm’s deep, Tilda is just kinda vibing. She avoids Théoden the best that she can, she chills with her brother and Gimli, Aloe arrived just barely a day after so that was nice.

It’s mostly when it’s announced that they will escape that she starts to get engaged again, because just call for help for Valars sake it isn’t that hard, stop letting your pride get in your way.

And then Aragorn fucking dies on the way, and Legolas is over there getting depressed while Boromir is having a bit of a panic attack, so everything is just a mess, and she wasn’t okay either because that was her ‘We we’re both raised as humans in an elven society also we like hugs’ buddy.

But she had to be the stable one for once, mostly because she had two people falling apart on her and Gimli was not the best when it came to feelings. Actually, she wasn’t either, so everyone was just stressing out.

Until Aragon arrived not too soon after, in which she first gave him a real fucking punch because how dare you, and then she hugged him because she’s just glad that he’s back.

So is Legolas.

And Èowyn, because she ain’t slick Tilda saw the looks she were giving her, and she laid it all out in front of her because those two had been giving each other “The Look” for all of the sixty years she’d known them, and it was better to just rip the band aid off.

Èowyn took it pretty okay.

Tilda was even more heated with Théoden when they’d arrived, because fucking damnit just call for aid, to you want me to message my ada? He’d surely help!

When Èowyn told her that she was not allowed to fight, she just said fuck that and encouraged her to do it anyways, because males are idiots sometimes.

So she did.

And while Legolas and Gimli had their little competition, Tilda, Èowyn, and Boromir were on the other side of the battle just kicking ass.

The scream of joy that escaped Èowyn’s mouth when she saw her brother almost made Tilda go deaf (That’s what happened if you ask her anyway), while she only smiled a little to herself because enforcements, yay, but by Éomer and Gandalf, fuck no.

After the battle was over, Tilda had a real talk with Aragorn about her brother, because Legolas literally fell apart when he thought that he’d died, and they both nearly died once more, so please just get it on already.

Tilda was really proud of Èowyn when she stood her ground against her uncles anger for participating in the battle, and yes they did fuck when they got back to Rohan.

Tilda had a great time just vibing with a pint of ale and watching the hobbits dance around, but she was pretty much immune to normal human ale at this point after growing up with the The Wine King, and also because she was no lightweight.

And then she fucked Èowyn again.

Until she felt a deep darkness around from somewhere, and she just rushed to get her clothes on to check it out.

What she found was Pippin getting yelled at by Gandalf while Aragorn was quite weakened and had to lean on Legolas for support.

So once again something big happened but Tilda had no idea what it was.

And then suddenly Gandalf was leaving with Pippin for Minas Tirith and Boromir is arguing about him coming with despite Gandalf’s refusal, and Merry was just sad and stuff and once again, Tilda had no idea what was going on.

Except that Gondor was in danger and Théoden refused to help, so yeah she was all about arguing with him because of that, and with arguing I mean she yelled at him for a bit, walked away to cool off before coming back just to start yelling again.

Aloe was basically the only thing keeping her sane because she was really fed up with everyone else, so she just spent a lot of time in the stable with her elk.

The moment that “Gondor called for aid”, Tilda just threw her arms up in the air all “FINALLY”, while also trying to calm Boromir down who was worried about his land and his brother.

She sent Aloe off with a message for her sister, and then rode on a normal horse with a fucking saddle which was uncomfortable as hell.

When they stopped at the mountain pass, Tilda was delighted when Aloe find his way to her, but less delighted when she heard her full name screamed across the camp from a very familiar and annoying voice.

Sigrid yelled at her for almost twenty minutes of how ‘irresponsible it was’, and how ‘She risked her life for the sake of adventure’ and how ‘Da and Thranduil are so worried about you’, which also angers Legolas a bit since she lied to him, and it’s all a mess.

But it’s nice to meet Bain again, whom she introduces to Boromir and Aragorn and the three get talking on sword stuff, she doesn’t really care.

And she gets a chance of talking with Sigrid, and apologizes for worrying her while she apologizes for yelling, and they both are cool.

Overall Tilda has it pretty chill that night, mostly just checking over all of her arrows while humming on a tune, until Legolas notices that Aragorn is packing up his stuff and all four of them are just welp I guess we’re doing this now.

Tilda just hates the feeling of the mountain, and she has an insanely tight grip on the fur of Aloe while just trying to calm the uneasy feeling, while listening to the other’s talking about its history. Still, she can’t help but read out the best climbing routes of the place.

Aloe is the only one of the riding animals that doesn’t run away at the entrance to the path of the dead, which she was rather smug about, and with him by her side she was a bit more comfortable with entering.

She was not alright with the fucking ghosts however, like fuck that what the fuck take me the fuck out of here hell nah bro.

It was fun entering the battle of the Pelennor fields riding her trusted elk surrounded by her friends and an army of spirits, like that was dope.

They were all alright after the battle, Tilda met Pippin again after being away from him for a few days, and Tilda reassured him that Merry would be alright, that she’d seen so much weaker people battle so much worse pain.

She briefly got to meet Boromir’s little brother Faramir that she’d heard so much about, and got to know that their father had tried to burn him alive and were corrently locked in the dungeon, and a pretty angry Tilda had to calm down a down right furious Boromir.

She learned of Théoden’s death, and was pretty satisfied by it, though in private as both Èowyn and Èomer were devestated.

The battle of the black gate is just filled with happy tears and cheers as its over, because the war is over, the ring is destroyed, they had won.

Tilda finds all three of her siblings after it and hug them all tightly, because they all are okay and all made it out, and she was just so gosh darn happy.

When Frodo and Sam are brought to Minas Tirith, bruised, bleeding, and so skinny, Tilda almost cries. Almost. Because such pure creatures should not have to go through what those two did, and she knows that permanent scars will be left of the journey.

Aragorn is crowned king, and Tilda smiled so brightly as she could, proud of what the boy she fell on after jumping on the wrong branch had become.

He finds Legolas in the crowd, and they smile softly at each other before kissing each other, and no one can ignore the shout of “FINALLY” that escaped Tilda’s mouth, because she’d been waiting for that for almost sisxty years god dammnit.

Before leaving Gondor for Mirkwood, she showers the hobbits with as much affection and hugs that she can, because all four of them deserve it.

She says goodbye to the fellowship, to the friends that she would never forget and the people she would visit so often, and leaves on Aloe with Legolas, to return home.

Both Bard and Thranduil are both happy and very angry when she returns, and she argues back boldly against them, because they can’t expect her to stay in Mirkwood after being away for thirteen months.

So instead of sneaking off, she is let go and leaves with Aloe, a bright smile on her face.

She still has nightmares of the journey. Of Boromir dying in her hands, of seeing Merry and Pippin’s burnt bodies in the pile of orc, of Aragorn never returning from the fall and Legolas’ light fading away, of Frodo and Sam being brought back by the eagles, so scarred and broken, an image she never gets out of her head.

She cuts her hair into a single braid going down her back, she gets tattoos dedicated to the fellowship, she finds happiness in travelling peacefully across middle earth.

She gets an invitation to her brother’s wedding, and she arrives in Gondor with the biggest smile on her face, embracing the fellowship.

Tilda gets put in charge of the music of the wedding, and as she plays softly on her lute with her voice calmly echoing throughout the room as Legolas and Aragorn dances, she can’t help but she’d a few tears as she’s been waiting on this for so long and she’s just so happy for them.

It’s a lot less tears and a lot more laughter at Frodo and Sam’s wedding, as hobbits really do know how to party and she’s just having a blast being one of the tallest.

But then the request to kill that god forsaken Forest Dragon comes along, and she just can’t say no.

***

So apparently if Tilda joined the fellowship Boromir would have survived?? 😅

I just thought about this whole thing, and I knew that she would not have someone bleed out when she could’ve done something.

The reason Denethor is alive and not burned is because since Boromir survived, he wouldn’t go full on crazy, and also I want him to face his actions.

This last part just became a bunch of fluff, but my last post was just consisting of mentally torturing this gal, so I wanted to give her a break.

AU Masterpost

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anghraine · 3 years

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Still thinking about the AU, and:

I think the Moria section would wind out in basically the same way, though Gandalf’s death would hit Faramir harder than Boromir.

Faramir has reservations about Lothlórien and Galadriel, so how does that go down? Especially the mental examination bit, which I think would be quite odd for him as someone who is more accustomed to being the person who sees part of what’s going on in the hearts and thoughts of others and less often the person who is seen. (Though he would certainly have some experience of the latter w/ Denethor.)

What about, you know, the Ring? IIRC it gets stronger the closer it gets to Mount Doom, so the temptation he faced in canon would actually be considerably stronger than what he faces here, but a one-time experience where this is an ongoing grinding thing. I’ve seen it suggested that he’d still be the weakest link, but I think he could resist it as much as any of the non-hobbits, but that’s still only so far and his response in TTT suggests that he’d understand that.

What ultimately separates the Fellowship? Faramir wouldn’t be going off to take the Ring, so that whole set piece would work differently. I don’t think there’s reason to assume he’d die; him going would make very little overall difference in that case, except to possibly make things worse, and part of the point of him being meant to go is that it does make a significant difference, for the better. I think my idea in the original Faramir-goes-to-Rivendell fic I wrote as a teenager was that he perceives that the Fellowship can’t hold out indefinitely and privately tells Frodo so; Frodo then decides to go alone. These days ... hmm.

Does Faramir join the hunt for Merry and Pippin, assuming that that pretty much follows canon? He’d want to get back to Gondor, but I think he’d always do what he considers the ethical thing, so it’s not hard to imagine him joining them. He’s also a Ranger and very tall; I don’t think he’d hold them back speed-wise. So that would go pretty similarly.

And then, Rohan!

#anghraine babbles #legendarium blogging #fic talk #faramir goes to rivendell au #/#//#///#////#/////#faramir #jewel of the seashore #galadriel #frodo baggins #et al #plotbunnies!

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terresdebrume · 4 years

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Witcher of the rings - Snippet 4

Previous snippets: In the tag

Note: I mean, I don’t know that I could write a canon-adjacent fic that doesn’t deal with Caingorn in some way, so. There’s the beginning of something I guess, before they get to the Golden Woods :P

(I don’t know why I decided to go with book!LOTR instead of making it easy on myself and going with my admittedly pretty decent memory of the movies, but now I’m checking things in my ebook of LOTR so I guess I’m comitted. RIP, future self who might have to pull that into a coherent thing someday.)

Ping list: @formerlyknownas-delight @theheirofashandfire @somedrunkpirate

“Oh no, we’re not doing this again!” Jaskier cuts in with an angry wave of his hand. “You don’t get to blame me for that one, Geralt!”

He’s vaguely aware of the rest of the Fellowship around them, looking up from their shock and grief to stare at him, but fuck the lot of them. Jaskier just lost Gandalf too, and he’s got a whole lot of other baggage to deal with too—too much of it to let Geralt pile another helping of shit on his back.

“I don’t give a shit how bad you feel—I didn’t have anything to do with the portal, I didn’t even want to come on this quest in the first place and,” he continues, raising his voice to a shout when it looks like Geralt is going to try and speak, “I have no control over whatever that thing was! So, if your plan is to, I don’t know, yell at me for nearly dying when a million feet-high flight of stairs crumbled under me, you can shove it far enough up your ass to play drums with your teeth!”

Jaskier breathes, harsh and shallow in the resounding silence that follow his words, painfully aware of the nine pairs of eyes on him but too worked up to really do anything about it. He’s just standing there, face boiling with residual fright and anger, when a broad hand settles on his shoulder with something almost like hesitation.

“Come, Jaskier,” Boromir says, low and soft like Jaskier is some kind of angry horse. “We must not linger here.”

“Boromir is right,” Legolas says from where he’s stood himself on a tall rock above the crumpled, crying forms of Merry and Pippin. “The orcs of Moria will be eager to find us come nightfall.”

“They and every evil creature this side of the world,” Aragorn agrees. “Come! Let us gird ourselves and weep no more! We have a long road, and much to do.”

Jaskier’s lute weighs a solid ton against his back, his legs feel like cotton, and his arms are worse, but he doesn’t fancy getting eaten after that kind of miraculous escape from the clutches of death. He gently pulls Boromir’s hand off his shoulder and, forcing himself not to look back at Geralt, starts walking down the ruins of a long-abandoned road.

They turn South after a while, Aragorn explaining the way Gandalf chose for their company and prompting Legolas to say something about a place called Lothlórien, but Jaskier doesn’t listen: he keeps going even when they stop to rejoice at the thought of entering the golden woods. At any other time, Jaskier himself would be marveling at the sight, too—they are very exceptional looking, and nothing like what the Continent has to offer—but his thoughts keep circling back to Geralt, to the hurt and betrayal of Caingorn, to the slap of harsh words in his face when he’d expected…maybe not comfort, but no hostility, at least. He wonders if the ring is responsible for it. He wonders if he’d feel the same without it around. He wonders if Geralt is affected or not, which one of them struggle the hardest against it.

No one ever talks about the thing—probably scared to open themselves to it, or something. Jaskier can certainly sympathize with that. Still, spilling his dark thoughts somewhere—paper or a willing ear—always makes him feel better and, lacking the time to sit down and write, he wishes he could sit down with Boromir or—well, Geralt probably would refuse, but he’d be a good choice too, in different circumstances. Just…talk about what’s gnawing at their minds for a while. Maybe help each other fight it.

Jaskier keeps quiet, eyes on his feet until Legolas calls out for Aragorn: Frodo and Sam have drifted far behind them, and the other hobbits aren’t looking too sprightly either. They make camp shortly after that, in a dell near a river called the Silverlode. Jaskier helps with the building of fire and the gathering of water, studiously avoiding Geralt until, at last, there’s nothing to do but watch Aragorn coax Frodo into revealing a gleaming shirt of mails that has the rest of the company wondering.

Jaskier manages, somehow, not to startle when Geralt sits down next to him, but it’s a near thing. Geralt putters about for a moment—Jaskier is fairly sure he sees him looking at Legolas, and he’s about to say he’s not moving away from the group when the sun is already sinking down, when Boromir rises from his seat to the left and, in a slightly louder voice than necessary, engages the elf about the sort of edible plants they can hope to find around these parts.

“You were right,” Geralt says, almost too low to hear, eyes still on Boromir. “I was unfair. I—I’m sorry.”

“Don’t hurt your mouth,” Jaskier teases, bumping their shoulders together with a smile he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to. “We’re all quite high strung, I think. Especially with….”

Jaskier nods in Frodo’s direction, and thinks he sees Aragorn glance at him for the briefest moment, but he’s too exhausted to care. They’re not going to stay here much longer—Frodo is already redressing—he’s not about to waste the precious few minutes he has left with speculation about what Aragorn thinks or doesn’t think.

“And about Caingorn,” Jaskier continues, having to put a little more effort into getting the words out this time, “I should probably have known better than to try and make light of things. At least so soon after it.”

Geralt grunts, which Jaskier decides to interpret as “you were trying to help”. He snorts.

“Yeah, well. Ill-applied help can be just as harmful as someone actively trying to hurt you. Worse, even. So. I’m sorry, too. And I promise I’ll think twice before joking next time, if you’ll promise to think twice before you yell.”

Aragorn signals for their departure before Geralt can answer, but he does bump his shoulder against Jaskier’s as he gets to his feet. Jaskier takes it and, with a heavy sigh, starts walking again.

#Lord of the Rings #The Witcher #Jaskier #Geralt of Rivia #Post Rare Species #Witcher of the Rings #Matt writes #10n

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warrioreowynofrohan · 3 years

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On Gondor and Nationalism

Gondor, and particularly Denethor and Boromir, is characterized more than any other realm in The Lord of the Rings by nationalism, and there is a sharp contrast between its actual role in the war and the way Denethor and Boromir percieve its role. Two quotes in The Return of the King form the core of Tolkien’s discussion of nationalism, and both are conversations between Denethor and Gandalf.

The first:

Denethor: Yet the Lord of Gondor is not to be made the tool of other men’s purposes, however worthy. And to him there is no purpose higher in the world as it now stands than the good of Gondor; and the rule of Gondor, my lord, is mine and no other man’s, unless the king should come again.

Gandalf: ...I will say this: the rule of no realm is mine, neither of Gondor nor any other, great or small. But all worthy things that are in peril as the world now stands, those are my care. And for my part, I should not wholly fail of my task, though Gondor should perish, if anything passes through this night that can still grow fair or bear fruit or flower again in days to come. For I also am a steward. Did you not know?

And the second, discussing Denethor’s views on what should have been done with the Ring:

Denethor: It should have been kept, hidden, hidden dark and deep. Not used, I say, unless at the uttermost end of need, but set beyond his grasp, save by a victory so final that what then befell would not trouble us, being dead.

Gandalf: You think, as is your wont, my lord, of Gondor only. Yet there are other men and other lives, and time still to be. And for me, I pity even his slaves.

Denethor: And where will other men look for help if Gondor falls?

Both of these conversations point to the fundamental flaw in Denethor’s worldview, and it is a nuanced one. He is not the weak, selfish old man presented in the films; he is intelligent, pragmatic, and realistic, and his strategy and tactics are thoughtful. Again unlike the movies, the mission he sends Faramir on - to prevent the armies of Mordor from crossing Anduin, and cause them heavy losses if they do cross - is not a pointless suicide mission but a crucial and tactically necessary battle. He is wrong in his attitude towards and treatment of Faramir, not in sending him into danger.

Denethor represents (as, in another way, does Saruman) the wisdom of the world. His statement that, as the steward of Gondor, his highest purpose must be the good of Gondor, would be approved by many political theorists. But in the wider vision of the story of The Lord of the Rings, expressed by Gandalf, it is critically flawed in its narrowness and arrogance. The war against Sauron is not about the victory or preservation of one realm alone; it is about saving anything and everything good in Middle-earth, in the present or the future. This is the moment when Gandalf comes closest, of any point in the story, to stating outright who he is and what his purpose is; he doesn’t say outright that he was sent by the Valar to preserve the world against Sauron, but he comes near enough to it that Denethor, an intelligent and learned man, could pick up on it if he wanted to. It is important to Gandalf to at least try to get Denethor to understand the importance of what he’s saying.

In the second conversation, though, Denethor has fallen still farther from the truth. In the first one, he only said that Gondor’s good had to be his highest priority, as its ruler; now he says that if Minas Tirith falls, Sauron’s conquered the world anyway and it doesn’t matter if he gets the Ring. In his eyes, Minas Tirith is the only thing standing against Sauron, and the only thing that matters; its defeat is to him synonymous with the destruction of the world. People across Middle-earth are fighting against Sauron: on the very day of the Battle of the Pelennor Fields, the elves of Lothlórien are fighting off an assault by Sauron’s forces, as are the wood-elves in Mirkwood; the Battle of Dale in which the kings of both Dale and the Lonely Mountain fall will be two days later. Gondor is not alone in this war; it is not the only realm fighting and not the only one whose battles matter. It is not the bulwark sheltering the peaceful rest of the world from war; the rest of the world is fighting. But Denethor chooses to regard it as the only place of importance.

These are perspectives that he passed on, in part, to his eldest son, as seen in some of Boromir’s deeds at the Council of Elrond as well as in his later temptation by the Ring. At the Council, he takes the tone that Gondor is unacknowledged and unappreciated and is doing all the work of fighting Sauron: “Few, I deem, know of our deeds, and therefore guess little of their peril, if we should fail at last...By our valour the wild folk of the East are still restrained, and the terror of Morgul kept at bay; and thus alone are peace and freedom maintained in the lands behind us, bulwark of the West...those who shelter behind us give us praise, if ever they hear our name: much praise but little help.” He also - very importantly - instantly conflates “Doom” in the prophecy he hears with “the Doom of Minas Tirith”: the same thing Denethor is doing when he says that, if Minas Tirith falls, the world has already fallen and there’s no point in keeping the Ring away from Sauron. When he is told that the Ring cannot be wielded to defeat Sauron by force of arms, he acts as though the other members of the Council are abandoning Gondor. And so the Ring tempts him with the power to save Minas Tirith, because that’s the only way he can concieve of for the world to be saved.

Aragorn’s response to Boromir, in speaking of the Rangers, is not a counter-boast but an attempt (like Gandalf’s with Denethor) to give Boromir a broader perspective: many people are fighting and resisting Sauron and other evil things, in their own ways (“the servants of the Enemy...are found in many places, not in Mordor only”). Gondor is not alone; it is playing one particular role, while others play other roles.

This attitude, that its battles are the only ones that matter, is quite unique to Gondor. Legolas and Gimli, fighting in the wars of Rohan and Gondor, recognize that their kin cannot come to them: “They have no need to march to war...war already marches on their own lands”. The hobbits continually think little of themselves and their actions, even while achieving great things. (One example that amuses me is the contrast at the Council of Elrond between Boromir, who thinks his comparatively uneventful journey quite heroic - “since the way was full of doubt and danger, I took the journey upon myself” - and Frodo, who regards his achievement of escaping to Rivendell while pursued by all nine of the Nazgûl, and surviving a wound that would have been worse-than-fatal to most other mortals, with an attitude of ‘well, I rather muffed that up’.) The Ents very much have their own priorites - Treebeard says “I am not really on anyone’s side, as no one is really on my side - no one cares for the woods these days” - but they involve themselves in the war beyond merely defending Fangorn, by destroying the orcs who invade Rohan from the north. Théoden likewise keeps the big picture, not just the narrow ‘good of Rohan’ in mind, continuing with his army to the relief of Gondor even as news comes of Rohan being invaded from the north and east (the aforementioned orcs whom the Ents deal with).

Frodo comes closest to understanding what Gandalf is saying in the first-quoted conversation with Denethor. After seeing the Witch-king’s army march out from Minas Morgul, Frodo is tempted to despair: “Even if my errand is performed, no one will ever know. There will be no one I can tell. It will be in vain.” But he resists this: what he had to do, he had to do, if he could, and whether Faramir or Aragorn or Elrond or Gandalf or Galadriel or anyone else ever knew about it was beside the purpose. Aragorn, too, understands it: the march on the Black Gate is the antithesis of Denethor’s perspective: sacrifice of the armies of Gondor and Rohan without even knowing what may happen after they are defeated, in the hope that they may enable someone else to win the victory. They have no way of guessing that Frodo and Sam will reach Mount Doom at the same time as the armies clash at the Black Gate; their hope is founded on the idea of distracting Sauron long enough that Frodo and Sam can destroy the Ring days later, after the armies are all dead.

And Denethor and Boromir’s attitudes are all the more ironic because, in the end, Gondor doesn’t hold up very well. They fall apart and stop even trying to man the walls of Minas Tirith after a mere two days of siege, when food supplies haven’t even begun to be an issue. For a fortified city, especially one as well-designed for defense as Minas Tirith, that’s a very short amount of time to hold out against a siege! During the march on the Black Gate, even the sight of the Plains of Gorgoroth is too much for some of the men of Gondor and Rohan, and they can’t keep going. Yes, they’re just regular people and have never seen anything this horrible before, but Frodo and Sam and now Pippin are also just regular people used to peaceful lives, and they keep going. The purpose of this comparison isn’t to run down the Men of Gondor, but to point out how deeply wrong the idea is of them being the only ones whose fight matters, the only ones with the nerve and determination to protect the rest of the world. The hobbits, who don’t think of themselves as anything special or important or strong, are the ones who save the world, and they do it through hope, endurance, self-sacrifice, love, and compassion, not through military might.

#tolkien #the lord of the rings #denethor #boromir #gondor #aragorn #frodo baggins #gandalf #politics

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beautymarred · 4 years

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This visual essay series by dionetaofavalon.tumblr.com [ this post in particular ] made me think.

I know it was supposed to be all secret and everything… but let’s play devil’s advocate––or Morgoth’s advocate, if you would prefer––for a moment and work under the theory: what if Thranduil did know that Galadriel had a ring of power…

And, likewise, he knew that Elrond had one…

Would that not explain some of the tension between Thranduil and the other realms?

Out of wariness and general distrust, he isolates his own realm, aside from a few correspondences/agreements with Laketown. And he’s (whether deliberately or not) excluded from the White Council, though he also likely lived at least at the end of the First Age and was old enough by the Second Age to have fought at the Dagorlad against Sauron, et cetera. WHERE ELROND ALSO WAS. Would that not lend some level of respect to him that he might be included, if only via letters as I doubt he would willingly/without great reluctance leave his realm?

Now, while I can see him being more forgiving of Elrond––both within my backstory with @ofgoldcnflowcrs / @ofmarchwardcns / @ofcldcrdays and outside of it––is it really any wonder that he isolates himself and his realm? To some extent, on top of just being wary and distrustful in general, I’m sure he’s maybe just a little bitter that he and his people got the short end of the stick.

Imladris is protected.

Lothlórien is protected.

And then Thranduil has to deal with damn giant spiders and darkness-twisted woods. Perils that Galadriel––for all of her meddling in the affairs of Middle Earth, and Mithrandir’s as well for that matter––has never offered to purge or make any attempt to aid him in its protection. (Which, ostensibly, could very well have helped to prevent the death of his wife, had such measures been taken, though that’s more of a hypothetical situation.)

Neither was any attempt––to the reader/viewer’s knowledge––made to ask help or advice of Thranduil at the time of the various Council meetings.

[ NOTE: Within RP on my old account, there is an exception to this in my arrow & the song verse with @ofgoldcnflowcrs wherein Glorfindel likely has to practically beg him to journey from his halls to wherever the meeting is being held to share with Galadriel and Elrond what he has seen for himself… only for Saruman to be there––unexpected and uninvited––to try to dispel every concern, and when that fails to make Thranduil pause, he then verbally tears him apart and trivializes him as he has done to Gandalf and to Radagast and makes him seem every bit the eccentric and foolish king with far too much fondness of wine that I’m sure some rumors have made him, causing Thranduil to level a, “I came here against my better judgment and this is how I am treated. I have had enough of this farce.” at Galadriel and Elrond before storming out with every intention of returning to his halls. ]

On top of excluding Thranduil from Councils, when the battles happen in War of the Ring Era, Lothlórien deals with its own issues––understandably, as it undergoes heavy assault from the enemy––but, again, Thranduil’s people are left to fend for themselves. So while that works out well enough obviously as the legions only made the mistake of attacking Thranduil ONCE, it still seems a little odd.

(Though it also proves, as being able to bring back even a third of his army out of the mess that was Dagorlad, that Thranduil is not only an able king, but a skilled leader in battle as well, likely a tactician to some degree, or at least willing to listen to advisers and military commanders who are tacticians. And we already know my headcanon about him basically being a quick-draw with a blade and fearsome in combat.)

But, really, how much more does that say about Thranduil that he’s the only one of the three major realms remaining who doesn’t have a Ring of Power?

And consider that, of all the (elven) realms, his is perhaps closest to multiple of the Very Bad™ dangers/perils and therefore more at risk than others as it is.

Here is a map of Middle Earth.

For the purpose of this, let’s narrow down the focus. Here’s a cropped map with the three ‘realms’ highlighted: Imladris (blue), Lórien (gold), and Mirkwood (green).

(NOTE: I’ve had to approximate the location a little with the latter as it was not marked on this map, so where I’ve colored may not be 100% accurate.)

Now let’s look at what perils surround each realm.

First, Lothlórien.

Lórien is close to the mountains, closer to Mordor itself, and closest to Dol Guldur. But, Galadriel has a ring that offers a great deal of protection to the land and her people. To the extent that, while orcs may raid and cause the loss of lives on the outskirts with the wardens, or that they may even attempt something bold, no true trouble has come from Dol Guldur. For her and her people. Because the darkness of the forest cannot reach them.

Next, Imladris.

Imladris is closest, I believe, to the Misty Mountains and the dangers that lurk there. And while Imladris may indeed be closer to Gundabad as the crow flies, it’s closer across/over the mountain chain rather than across wide open plains and dark woods where anything could lie in wait. And again, there is a ring of power there. Not only that, however, but also there dwells Glorfindel who––by the generally accepted account, I believe––is a reborn Lord of Gondolin, sent back by the Valar with great Power and Light. Power and Light enough to chase away Ring-Wraiths.

Now, to Mirkwood.

Thranduil, on the other hand, his realm is near enough to Gundabad to pose a problem (especially if you do keep the movie canon that his wife was killed there, as I do). His next door neighbor is a dragon. And he and his people were forced to move from where they had originally settled, if I remember correctly, because of the reach of Dol Guldur, which happens to be in the very same forest, even though Lórien is––again, as the crow flies––closer.

On top of that, Thranduil’s forest itself has been twisted by the shadow of Sauron (who nobody believes has returned), and the spiders––if not orcs as well––assail his people and make, what once was the Greenwood, come to be known as Mirkwood.

It becomes even worse when you take into consideration the mindset of Thranduil and his people, whether truly a valid threat or not:

❛ The king’s cave was his palace, and the strong place of his treasure, and the fortress of his people against their enemies.

It was also the dungeon of his prisoners. So to the cave they dragged Thorin––not too gently, for they did not love dwarves, and thought he was an enemy. In ancient days they had had wars with some of the dwarves, whom they accused of stealing their treasure. ❜ [ The Hobbit, Pocket Edition; page 155 ]

Coupled with the actual movie (insomuch as it might be allowed), the Iron Hills could also very easily be added to the list of dangers (and/or perceived dangers):

Yet, despite everything, he keeps his people safe and cared for and as happy as they can be under the circumstances, at least enough that they feel free––in the book––to hold festivals and parties out in the forest. He is impressive enough as a ruler, that Tolkien makes a point of writing into the Hobbit,

❝ In a great cave some miles within the edge of Mirkwood on its eastern side there lived at this time their greatest king. ❞ [ The Hobbit, Pocket Edition; page 154 ]

Which would at least imply that he was held in some reverence and respect, if only by his own people.

All of that, without a Ring of Power, without anything that would have aided in his endeavors besides his own ability as a King.

I know I’ve somewhat combined book and movie-adaption into this post––and into the way that I portray Thranduil––but I think regardless of media, it’s worth noting. There are aspects of things that I’ve mentioned here, even in the films, though it is more difficult to see due to the butchery of the writers and He Who Shall Not Be Named (and likely open to interpretation even still).

I suppose I just find that rather impressive for a character who most people––including the writers and HWSNBN––turn into a villain or into a parody or the punchline of a joke.

#|| there lived at this time their greatest king || { about thranduil }#tw; long post #// This is very very important

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arofili · 5 years

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Fornication and Relationships among the Eldar

[FaRE]: A Meta Analysis of LaCE

AO3 version of this can be found HERE!

I've been wanting to write this since like. 2016. and i finally got around to it thanks to the B2MeM prompt for "The universality of Laws and Customs among the Eldar" (O73) on the Silm Fanon Inversion card & @absynthe--minded‘s encouragement! thanks y'all!

Disclaimer right at the top: I may have gotten a few details here and there wrong. Blame fanon for that - this is as much an exploration of the fanon around LaCE as it is the actual document Tolkien wrote.

This meta can be shortened to "FaRE," mirroring the acronym "LaCE," but my roommate @berbss suggested the alternate title "Flaws and Customs among the Eldar" which is VERY funny and I needed to mention it.

CWs: lots of cursing, frank discussions of sex and sexuality, brief mention of rape, frequent insults to JRRT, obstinate queerness on the part of OP

Okay, so LaCE can be fun for plot reasons, and I want to preface this by saying that everyone's interpretations of this document are valid and I don't mean to shit on your headcanons, but let's be real! The whole idea that sex=marriage for elves is some real Catholic bullshit and Tolkien should be ashamed of himself.

The thing about LaCE, for me, isn't just "that's stupid and I want to write about elves that fuck" (though that is also true and valid). LaCE is is buckwild in a lot of ways, and doesn't make a whole lot of sense historically or culturally.

First of all, this is a Law and/or Custom of the Eldar. Who set down that law? When? Why? If it's a custom, does that mean it's not hard and fast for everyone? And it says /right there/ that it's a law/custom of the ELDAR, which leaves out the Avari entirely.

After all, another part of this law/custom is that marriage includes vows before Manwë, Varda, and Eru, none of whom are holy to the Avari. But the Avari are still elves; does that make them heathens in Tolkien's eyes? I mean, yes, definitely, but still! The Avari have no reason to follow this particular custom and were probably doing whatever the hell they wanted with their bodies and relationships.

But back to the Eldar. This rule stinks of the Valar to me. Eru was never that direct about what he wanted, and the Valar messed up all the time, especially when it came to elves. The Ainur don't need to procreate, after all, so why would they understand sex? Defining it in ways that they could divide into "right" and "wrong" is very much in character for them. And if it's a rule set down by the Valar and followed obediently by the Calaquendi...that raises a whole lot of questions about the Exiles.

Sure, maybe they followed that rule in Valinor, and the elves who live there might still follow it as well. If this law includes the "only one spouse" rules, we have good evidence that Finwë and his generation, at the least, were subject to it. But Fëanor and the other Noldorin Exiles forsook the Valar by returning to Middle-earth. Why would they keep this law if they are abandoning so many others?

Fëanor hated Indis, though, and might have wanted to cling to this law because of that. Or maybe not, and whatever he thought about marriage laws, his kin blamed the Valar for most of their troubles and this is another way to defy them. If you're partial to Russingon, Maedhros was already up to some illicit shit, and you can't tell me that ALL the Fëanorians were celibate in Beleriand. Like, c'mon, you know that Celegorm got some. (Or maybe not, your headcanons are VALID!)

The Arafinwëans and Nolofinwëans are direct results of a second marriage and the ~bending~ of marriage laws, if not their breaking. I wouldn't be surprised if they were willing to overlook this... though maybe Galadriel, at least, stuck to the rule and passed it onto her subjects in Lothlórien later. (Or not...this one's for you, Galadriel/Melian shippers. Also, tangent: do you really think MELIAN really stuck to this law? Come on, she married an elf! She doesn't give two shits about the Valar and their laws about Ainur not having kids or whatever the fuck!)

We've established that the Vanyar and the other Valinorian elves were all about this law, questioned whether the Noldorin exiles would stick to it, and determined that the Avari had no reason to ever start following this custom. But what about the Silvan and Sindar elves who started the journey to Valinor, but never finished?

We know elves had familial relationships in Cuiviénen; Elwë and Olwë were brothers, for some reason. But the first elves just kind of...HAPPENED. Did this first generation of elves just not know to procreate until the Valar set down laws for them? Sounds fake. Maybe Elwë and Olwë weren't first generation, but literal blood brothers, and just happened to be among the most important leaders later. Or not, who really knows.

Elves had to figure this shit out on their own before Oromë stumbled across them. Maybe the Eldar adopted the laws along the way, having sex and children along their long journey to Valinor. In that case, the Silvan and Sindar elves didn't have much of a reason to stop following the custom, because they never outright rebelled, just kind of drifted away. To me, this seems like the most plausible reason that the law endured.

But over the Ages and Ages of time separated from the beings who set down the law, I can't believe that no one questioned it. What happens if elves have sex but don't want to be married? What happens if they have sex and do want to be married, but don't say the vows? Does it not count, then? Maybe not in the eyes of the Valar, but how fussed are the Silvan and the Sindar about conforming to the Valar's every whim? ESPECIALLY the Silvan, who never saw the Valar's power firsthand in the War of Wrath.

And what about the Sindar elves who followed Oropher to Eryn Galen? If the Silvan elves there had long since abandoned the tradition, would this custom get lost in Mirkwood when Oropher's people assimilated (mostly) into Silvan culture?

And this is all assuming the custom developed while on the journey to Valinor! If it didn't get set down until they arrived in Aman, only the Calaquendi ever followed this practice. How, then, would the rest of the elves learn of it? Noldorin colonialism? (Looking at you, Galadriel.) Or would they not even bother with it, whatever they think of the Valar in general?

I've written a lot already, but you know what? Let's go deeper.

What about elvish interactions with other species? There are canon elf-mortal relationships, but you can't tell me that the ONLY elf-fuckers were Tuor, Beren, and Aragorn. Sure, maybe we only KNOW about the high and mighty elf princesses and their scandalous affairs, but the Noldor were more than their princes. There were normal people there, too! Fantasy Classism dictates that only the famous relationships got written down, with whispers of others like Aegnor/Andreth and Mithrellas/Imrazôr, but come on. There were more that happened, and more peredhel than just Elrond and his family. And y'all know I'm a slut for elf/dwarf relationships! Tauriel/Kíli may be a PJ Original but like this is NOT a new idea...it's got to have happened, right?

How do these interspecies marriages work? Mortals can fuck an elf and not be married. Would the elf be married to them, but not the other way around? (I know I've seen a Gigolas post about that...) That doesn't sound legit. This whole idea is full of holes.

Besides, who says the Valar kept this law? Aside from cultural drift, it's such a normative way of looking at relationships. I'd like to think the Valar can learn and grow, especially given the disastrous rebellion of Fëanor. Let's talk polyamory for a bit: so many problems could have been solved if Finwë/Míriel/Indis could have been allowed! With the Finwëan fiasco, you think the Valar would reassess what they did wrong there!

What counts as "sex" for the purposes of sex being the same thing as marriage? Just PIV? There's a lot of sexual acts outside of that narrow definition. Is penetration the key? Because there's ways around that. Or is it orgasm? Because that doesn't necessarily require another person. If it is just PIV, I guess that would make gay elves unable to marry, but like... come on! That's some real bullshit, even for Tolkien!

What about asexual elves? Sex-repulsed elves? I've seen people claim that all Tolkien elves are demisexual, which...I have issues with, but there definitely elves with complicated relationships to sex! Are sexless marriages not valid? Even if they include vows? Consummation laws are not great, y'all...

And what about aromantic elves? Elves who have nonromantic sexual relations? Is that unholy and evil? I know Tolkien wanted his Favorite Special Perfect Species to not have any lust or sexual sin, but this is just unrealistic. Besides, Tolkien wrote flawed and fallen heroes all the time, just look at Túrin and Maedhros and Fëanor! Even IF LaCE was meant to be taken as literally as we sometimes take it, his own world and characters break his rules frequently.

What about nonromantic and nonsexual relationships? Those get brushed over a lot irl, but Tolkien's works are full of them. Just look at Frodo & Sam, probably what he intended Maedhros & Fingon to be, Legolas & Gimli, etc... Some of those people will want their relationship formalized, maybe through calling it marriage. Does that not count? Is Tolkien really going to say that these relationships he writes, often at the core of his stories, are suddenly lesser?

I can tell this is just veering into my politics around relationships in general, so let's get back on track:

The important part of this whole custom should be the love and intent behind the vows, not the act of sex. Elves can get married if they're on the run, if need be, so it's not the actual ceremony that they value. What the people involved want should be enough to make it formal in the eyes of each other and of the Valar, if that's something they care about.

When it comes down to it, sex equaling marriage is a custom and/or a law, like it says in the title of LaCE. It's not an inherently biological trait...which makes the whole thing about how elves can "see" if someone has gotten married SUPER weird. Maybe what they can really see is the marriage-bond, visible through some funky kind of magic - I could buy that, and I've played with the idea in fic before.

But I maintain that sex CANNOT equal marriage, even by Tolkien's standards. Rape is clearly not marriage, as we see in the case of Celebrían. Elvish marriage has intent and ritual behind it, certainly; that is what makes it a custom. To me, this whole idea feels like a mistranslation or misconception that occurred when mortal scholars tried to understand elvish customs.

At least, that's the in-universe explanation. The out-of-universe explanation is just that Tolkien is a fucking coward.

#laws and customs among the eldar #silm #silmarillion #b2mem #silm meta #my meta #tefain nin #b2mem 2019 #bingo bonus #fornication and relationships among the eldar #absynthe minded #berbss #meta #tolkien meta #my fic

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