#brand son of bain

[meteors-lotr]

Baby Brand, holding up an acorn: What’s this?

Bain: A tree

Baby Brand: Really??

Bain: Yeah in a nutshell

#incorrect quotes #incorrect lotr quotes #incorrect the hobbit quotes #lotr #lord of the rings #the hobbit #bain dragonson #bain of dale #brand son of bain

[anneangel]

Tolkien said that one of the things he didn't like about LotR was that the book was too short.

In a way I agree with him, because I found the ending so rushed [others always say "that evil" is destroyed in the middle of the book and everything after is just an long epilogue] and yet I found it rushed. And I wanted a lot of the appendices to be narrated chapters, it was interesting to see what the lives of each member of the Fellowship were like in the appendices, but I wanted chapters about.

And I would also like to have seen, narrated chapters, of the Battle of Dale, with Brand (Son of Bain, son of Bard) and Dáin fighting three days against enemy armies and dying. I wish had read a narrative of Thranduill and Celeborn uniting in Mirkwood and destroying Dul Guldur once and for all, and then dividing the region between them. When LotR informs that the others would not come to battle because they already had war at their gates, I wanted the plot to split to show this in other parts.

A better development of the romance between some characters would also be interesting, the Tale of Aragorn and Arwen already makes me cry every time I read it, but I feel like it would be more interesting as a narrative than an appendix. If their marriage went on for another 100 pages I wouldn't mind. And I would like Arwen and Elrond's conversations not to be just subtext.

Faramir and Éowyn, I really love them as a couple, but I think more pages dedicated to their romance would also be interesting. Sam and Rose? I would have liked it more if we had more mentions of the girl throughout the journey, if Sam mentioned her more often throughout the plot, so maybe the end wouldn't seem so sudden. When I say that don't like the development of the "love pairings" in LotR, it's not that I don't like the characters or the ships, but that the narrative wasn't enough for me. Don't get me wrong, I love LotR. But I wanted there to be more to be "narrated" than "told" or "implied" or "pointed out in the appendices."

Yes, I also thought the book was too short. There is a lot between the lines that could come to light more. It could have been another thousand pages. And perhaps it still wasn't enough. How could anyone think that LotR is a very long book?

Maybe that's the problem with Tolkien creating such a complex Universe with such interesting characters: no matter how long the book was, it would never be enough. Because as a fan, I would always want more and more of it. More immersion at all points. Is it always like this with authors who create universes that seem so incredible to read? And when it's gone, it's not enough to fill the void.

And all the posthumous books, like The Silmarillion, or Unfinished Tales (and others), with the tone of "organized drafts" and "told" instead of narrated most of the time, weren't enough for me. I still wanted so much more. And I never will have it. Don't get me wrong, I liked the posthumous books, I think Christopher Tolkien did a good work. But still, when reading, I always asked myself "if this had been published by Tolkien during his lifetime, would it have been like this? What would he have changed yet? What would he have more refined?".

Because, as much as other fans like to see posthumous books as a "canonical" part of the work, like complements. I can only see as unfinished drafts, which it truly are. No matter how well organized are, even The Silmarillion is just a draft organized in the best way, Christopher T says this.

The letters don't count for me either, because Tolkien changed his mind about several things, just like in the drafts.

So I feel that, although the Tolkien Universe is vast, there are a lot of drafts and letters, and little work is actually completed. I liked the posthumous books and the fact that they expanded the universe even further and provided more information. But it becomes a “vicious cycle”, as the information contained there also brings more desire for it be narrated by Tolkien himself in an book he finished (but will never be! Unfortunately).

And that saddens me. Because I wanted so much more. And Tolkien didn't live long enough to give it. In the end, it's a mix of happiness for what Tolkien gave, and sadness for what he still could have given.

#lord of the rings #lotr #the fellowship of the ring #the return of the king #tolkien books #eowyn #faramir #aragorn #arwen #elrond #thranduil #celeborn #the silmarillion #unfinished tales #the hobbit

[audessusdesgens]

Profiter de la nouvelle année

Juste à deux

Un bain bouillonnant pour se relaxer

Sortir de là echauffés

Se chercher, encore nus et le corps humide

Les baisers, les mains sur les corps

Elle est debout devant lui, son corps offert

Il l embrasse, la caresse

Se penche vers son intimité, tout en tortillant la pointe de ses seins, érigés de désir

Sa langue cherche son.clito, déjà gonflé d'envie

Elle se rapproche encore plus de lui, assis sur le canapé

Elle le Domine, sa chatte collée à sa bouche

Il lui insère un doigt pour la fouiller. Il sat ce qu elle aime

Puis un deuxième, en accélérant

Le souffle est court..elle va jouir là, debout, sur sa bouche.

Mais à peine remise de ses spasmes de plaisirs, ils changent de place ..pour qu elle puisse déguster sa queue tendue et offerte.

Elle le pompe, le brande, le leche avec ferveur

Il lui enfonce son dard dans la bouche,

A bout de souffle elle le branle, rapidement fort

Lorsqu'il lui dit qu il va jouir..elle le reprend en bouche et le suce avidement jusqu à la dernière goutte

Texte original 012024

Photo personnelle, copyright @audessusdesgens

#couple #mesmots #libres #fiction #sexe

[nocompromise-noregrets]

For the three-sentence ficathon, may I request Thranduil, Legolas, and father-son apple picking?

wheeee, thank you! <333333

It is autumn in Dale and, having tagged along with my father and Bard on one of their regular visits to see the children, I find myself in one of Tilda's orchards with my father, helping to harvest the plump, ripe apples so that they may be stored for the winter, made into pies and preserves, and perhaps one or two eaten fresh, as a reward for the hard work. My father, being by far the tallest of all, is put to work reaching down the highest fruit, and I work quietly alongside him, fetching down those which have grown not quite as high upon the trees. We have been gradually relearning how to be together, to understand each other, to work alongside each other, and no words are needed between us, for now at least, as he passes apples down to me and I pass them down to little Brand, Bain and Lotta's son, who is growing taller by the moment, it seems, so that he can place them carefully in the baskets to be carried away to Tilda and Agnes' kitchen where their final fates await them.

Long sentences ahoy, again! Here's a snippet from Empty Vessel-'verse focussing on one of the more joyful things about autumn.

Thank you for the prompt! Anyone else fancy prompting me? Give me:

fandom

character(s)

prompt word/sentence

and I will write you a three-sentence fic!

#lotr #the hobbit fanfiction #the hobbit fanfic #legolas #thranduil #bard/thranduil #barduil #(implied) #my writing #three-sentence ficathon

[carlandrea]

Nowhere are there any men so friendly to us as the Men of Dale. They are good folk, the Bardings. The grandson of Bard the Bowman rules them, Brand son of Bain son of Bard. He is a strong king, and his realm now reaches far south and east of Esgaroth.'

Tolkien: hey remember the hobbit. you love the hobbit. I love the hobbit too let's talk about the hobbit

And with that Glóin embarked on a long account of the doings of the Dwarf-kingdom. He was delighted to have found so polite a listener; for Frodo showed no sign of weariness and made no attempt to change the subject, though actually he soon got rather lost among the strange names of people and places that he had never heard of before

I'm so endeared to frodo baggins for this. And it is really really nice to see how Gloín is doing.

You should see the stone-paved roads of many colours! And the halls and cavernous streets under the earth with arches carved like trees; and the terraces and towers upon the Mountain's sides! Then you would see that we have not been idle.'

Ohhh that's where gimli gets it from

#lotr newsletter

[lesya-writes]

barduil wip

He paced behind his desk, only occasionally stopping to take a furtive glance at the missive, before resuming his tread.

He stopped again, in front of his large balcony window. His eyes took in the glistening snow, already melting in the noon sun, but his mind was elsewhere.

That little piece of paper burned.

It burned as his wound still sometimes did, a constant reminder. He knew he could not run, not anymore. He promised. Still, the paper laid on his desk, unopened and untouched. Was it really such a difficulty to read one letter? Yes. Letters don’t mean anything good. They did, once, many years ago. Thranduil would write, voraciously some may say, to his dear friend and fellow king. They ranged from purely logistical and political to friendly and mundane.

He would prefer mundanity, after all the so-called adventures he has faced. He’d long since learned that no matter the prowess or strategy, some battles simply could not be won.

So, it is with that pitiable acceptance that he finally turned back to pick up the paper. His eyes briefly caught on the wax seal holding it closed. The insignia stamped into it was burned in his mind, a bow with a single arrow pointing to the sky. On banners they were usually black, but this seal was red and unpainted.

Red as blood. I pray to the Valar the words are not.

His itching fingers ran across the wax. The muscles in his restless legs clenched, ready to propel him from stillness into swift motion. His mind wandered away, out the door and back to his rooms where an old familiar wooden box lay. In it are letters, numerous pages filled with the friendly and mundane, all stamped with the very same wax.  

Each and every night, he would open up his delicately carved wooden box and take the papers out, one by one, slowly and with care. He would run his fingers across the pages, over the inked words, both in Westron and Sindarin. He would think about the other hands that held those pages, the other fingers which rolled the papers and held them as hot wax poured over the ends to seal them.

He would torment himself with these fantasies every night as he had done so in the past. Perhaps he was a masochist. Or maybe, after an age of trying to forget his first love out of pain, he was desperate to remember the second for the very same reason.

He clenched his fingers, crumpling the paper. Not wishing to damage the message, he stopped and pushed one finger under the seal to finally break it.

There was no time for nostalgia and memory now; he could indulge in such things later, when night was fresh. He always told himself that it was foolish, that he should ignore it and simply go to sleep. One day, perhaps, he would be able to do so without even glancing at the box.

He doubted that day would be today and he doubted tomorrow would be, either. His own personal reassurances were always false. He always gave in to himself without much of a fight, so easily. He was lucky no one saw it, for how could anyone choose to follow such a king? Pathetic.

Thranduil felt he should not shoulder all the blame, however. It was all his doing, after all. His secret and quiet influence which opened Thranduil up and turned him into this. Each passing day it was harder, not easier, to hide his unease. He kept still, held his expressions blank and yet he still felt exposed to the world.  

As the seal broke, the words upon the page spilled forth and greeted him. His eyes ran across the lines of carefully written Sindarin, finally learning what it was that the Men wanted of him.

The words did speak of blood, but not the sort Thranduil had expected. There was no death nor violence here, merely a passage of time and power. The lineage of his dear late friend has survived and resulted in more than one king. This new one was to be named after him as well.

Bard the second, succeeding his father Brand, son of Bain.

Bain, that boy. Thranduil knew the lives of men were short, but his especially. His sisters had lived long lives, but Bain’s had ended at a round thirty. What a cruel injustice it had been, forcing a crown upon Brand at such a young age. Thankfully, Tilda had been there to guide him and make sure everything was all right. However, he knew the death had pained her, as it must have pained Sigrid. Thranduil had been there to witness it, shamed as he was to come forth and leave his meagre offerings of comfort. He had not been there when Bard disappeared and he hadn’t been there to witness Bain’s descent.

He did visit the grave afterward, though he had not been alone. Sigrid and Tilda had stood there and they had been silent. He had stood with them and they did not give him one word of reproach. Tilda had eventually broken down and wept, clinging to Thranduil’s robes like a child once more and not a woman grown.

He had let her.

He himself had not wept for he had long run out of tears, but that night, when he had finally left the grave and girls behind, he sang a mournful song. He had been pleased to hear his people’s voices join his, creating something beautiful out of something so tragic. In this, at least, he was not alone.  

At least Bard did not have to see his child die.

Bain’s son still lived. The reason for his stepping down was unclear, but Thranduil figured he would learn of it soon enough. He’ll need to plan accordingly; the trip was not overly long but he knew, similarly to elves and dwarves, the Men enjoyed their feasting and revelry. This coronation would last for days.

His thoughts were interrupted by a door opening, revealing Galion with a chalice of wine and some choice meats and fruits.

“Your wine, my lord,” he announced, rather pointlessly.

Galion moved to his desk and put down the platter and chalice, eyes skipping to the letter.

“Have you written your reply yet?” he wondered, his tone carefully neutral.

“No.”

“May I ask what it says?”

Thranduil took a moment, composed himself further and replied, “It says Dale is to have a new king. The coronation will happen in a week.”

This caused Galion to still, all the small movements giving him away as living suddenly stopping, giving him the appearance of a statue. He looked around, searching for what to say. Or, perhaps, how to say it.

Thranduil did not wish to see the pity on his face, so he turned to look out of the balcony window once again. The trees were once again springing to life as the snow thawed, new buds forming underneath the passing frost. This winter had been horrid and Thranduil was glad to see it finally go.

“My lord,” Galion said. “If you do not wish to go, you can-”

“I will go,” he spoke loudly, cutting Galion off. “This is an important matter and I cannot send some delegate. It would be demeaning and surely taken as an insult. At least, in this instance.”

Galion did not argue the point.

“Prepare my spring shirts and coats. I’ll wear my crown, but I’ll need my circlet for the ceremony.” Thranduil paused, but remembered an old lesson, spoken in a familiar voice. Be nice. “Please.”

Galion bowed to his king and said, “Of course, sire. I will leave you to your writing.” And he left without another comment.

The second the doors shut, he collapsed back into his chair, strings cut.

He did not dare to look upon the letter once more, so he instead pulled a blank sheet to him, got his pen, and committed.

#the hobbit #fanfic #fanfic excerpt #wip #thranduil #bard #barduil #i've had this in progress for years lol #idk when i'll write the whole thing out im still working on that merlin fic

[nastagency]

Les Premiers Pas de Nast : Créer une Agence de Marketing à 19 ans avec Mon Frère

Introduction

Ah, la douce insouciance de la jeunesse ! À 19 ans, la plupart des gens sont préoccupés par leurs études, leur premier emploi ou leur vie sociale. Mais pour mon frère et moi, l'ambition de créer quelque chose de grand était trop irrésistible. Nous avons donc lancé Nast, notre propre agence de marketing. Dans cet article, je vais vous raconter comment tout a commencé, des plateformes que nous avons choisies aux frayeurs auxquelles nous avons été confrontés.

Choix des Plateformes

Avant de sauter dans le grand bain, nous avons dû prendre quelques décisions cruciales. La première étant : sur quelles plateformes allons-nous travailler ? Après de nombreuses discussions et des heures de recherche, nous avons finalement opté pour un mix de Google Ads, Facebook, et Instagram pour les campagnes publicitaires, et WordPress pour le développement web. Chaque plateforme avait ses avantages uniques en termes de portée, de coût et d'efficacité.

Obtenir un Numéro de TVA

Puis est venu le moment où nous avons dû officiellement enregistrer notre entreprise et obtenir un numéro de TVA. Pour deux jeunes de 19 ans sans expérience en entrepreneuriat, cela semblait être une étape gigantesque. La frayeur la plus importante était sans doute le coût du numéro de TVA en Belgique : 150 euros. Cela ne semble peut-être pas beaucoup pour une entreprise établie, mais pour nous, c'était énorme.

Les Clients Exigeants

Une fois l'entreprise officiellement créée, nous avons commencé à acquérir nos premiers clients. L'excitation était à son comble, mais nous avons vite réalisé que gérer les attentes des clients était un défi en soi. Certains clients demandaient beaucoup, parfois trop. Le dilemme était de savoir comment dire "non" sans perdre l'opportunité de travailler avec eux.

Dire non est une compétence en soi, surtout quand vous êtes nouveau dans le domaine et que chaque client compte. Mais nous avons appris que sur-promettre et sous-livrer était un moyen sûr de ruiner notre réputation. Alors, même si c'était difficile, nous avons appris à établir des limites dès le début.

Conclusion

Les débuts de Nast étaient pleins de défis et de frayeurs, mais chaque étape nous a appris des leçons inestimables. Les choix des plateformes ont façonné notre identité, l'obtention du numéro de TVA a marqué notre première grande étape vers la légitimité, et gérer des clients exigeants nous a appris l'art délicat de dire "non". Chacun de ces défis nous a rendus plus forts, et nous sommes impatients de voir où le chemin nous mènera.

Avec chaque défi, il y a une opportunité de croissance, et pour nous, le voyage ne fait que commencer.

Si vous avez besoin d'aide pour votre site web ou votre branding, n'hésitez pas à visiter notre site web pour plus d'infos : notre site

#ui design #marketing #digital #no code #webflow

[latribune]

[referenceshoteliers-blog]

#AlbertManzone #gastronomie #sbm

[ijemagazine]

🇫🇷 BINU BINU est une marque crée à Toronto. BINU (비누) veut dire savon en coréen. La marque propose comme son nom l’indique, des savons modernes mais aussi de l’encens et des accessoires de bain inspiré par le rituel des bains publics coréens. En effet, c’est un lieu exempt de vanité et d'inhibition où les générations se retrouvent dans le simple acte de se laver.

Vous pouvez trouvez les produits de @binubinu_soapsoap sur le site internet de @ssense. Il y a fort longtemps ils étaient également disponible chez @cosstores en France.

Les produits présentés sont : travel soap gift set, blue marble soap dish, seshin korean scrub soap

Connaissez-vous ces produits ?

—

🇬🇧 BINU BINU is a brand from Toronto of modern soaps, incense, and bath accessories inspired by the ritual of the Korean public bath, a place free of vanity and inhibition where generations are brought together in the simple act of cleansing.

Pictured : travel soap gift set, blue marble soap dish, seshin korean scrub soap

#binu #binubinusoaphouse #binubinu #비누 #디자인비누 #modernsoap #soapmaking #koreandesigner #torontodesigner #torontodesign #designsoap #kbeauty #minimalismskincare #mnml #minimalismdesign #kskincare #koreantrend #south korea #cor��edusud #corée #corée du sud #seoul #toronto #canada

[meteor752]

Brand son of Bain

I have very little to say about this boy, but I do have a few things so letsa go

Is half elf

Has two fathers and one mother (Read my Bain deep dive)

Inherited his fathers blonde hair and brown eyes, but his mothers nose and chin

Let his hair grow below his shoulders, but most of it hangs in front of his face because he likes it that way

Rocks a goatee

Despite the kindness of his parents, he’s one of *those* teens.

He’s rebellious af

Totes as an eyebrow piercing and eye shadow and dark clothes and sneaks out at night and drinks a lot and all that stuff

Bain wonders where he went wrong

Brand has three older siblings who are all technically of different races since two are elves and one is a dwelf

He’s the babey of the family despite everything, and everyone loves him

Especially Tilda, though she isn’t around much

Is meant to be the next King of Dale, but he really doesn’t bother with any of that royal stuff

His aunt Sigrid is frustrated with him constantly

He doesn’t really have an interest, he just chills around doing nothing

Would probs be a gamer if he was modern

Despite it all, he still loves his parents and they love him

(But he does have some of that Thranduil bitchiness which mixes real good with the teenage attitude)

AU Masterpost

#lotr #the hobbit #lotr au #the hobbit au #lord of the rings #lord of the rings au #brand of dale #Brand son of Bain #bain son of bard #tilda daughter of bard #sigrid daughter of bard #Bard the bowman #Barduil #Bain X OMC X OFC

[meteors-lotr]

Barduil fam ship height differences

I’m a sucker for some differing heights bois

Bard: 5’9

Thranduil: 6’5

Height difference: Seven inches

Legolas: 6’1

Aragorn: 5’11

Height difference: Two inches

Sigrid: 6’0

Tauriel: 5’8

Height difference: Two inches

Bain: 6’3

Kamarind: 6’6

Vivian 6’2

Height difference: Three, one, and four inches

Tilda: 5’4

Boromir: 5’10

Height difference: Six inches

#lotr #lord of the rings #the hobbit #bard the bowman #Thranduil #Barduil #legolas greenleaf #aragorn son of arathorn #Aralas #Sigrid dragondaughter #sigrid of dale #Tauriel #Sigriel #bain dragonson #brand son of bain #Kamarind #Vivian #Kamabaivian #tilda dragondaughter #tilda of dale #Boromir #Tildamir

[extendedtkwrtrilogyend]

Chapter XXVI: (EXT) The Fall of Dol Guldur (Pt. I)

“Not long after that night, I found myself wandering alone through the halls of my palace. I found myself standing before a window beyond my throne looking outward into glistening waterfalls lit by rays of the sun. Though I felt little pain, I still wore a bandage wrapped securely around my torso.

“What is on your mind, Thranduil,” I heard Fëaluin ask as he approached me.

“Just thinking,” I said. “Nothing in particular.”

He looked at me without saying a word. His face was stoic, but his eyes seemed animated.

“Well, then,” he said. “Should this war end, our time will come to leave this world for another.”

“And if there is no end to war, Fëaluin,” I asked. What then? I should remain here waiting for peace and hoping I see my son again?”

“What of your children,” he asked. “They would not let you go the way of despair.”

“I know,” I sighed. “Especially the little ones. But I will send them to safety no matter what they say.”

“I hardly imagine Legolas or Tarthôn will leave you to your own, either."

“I have lived my life, Fëaluin,” I said. “I have seen a great many troubles. Eternity would only remind me of them.”

“And what of Êlúriel,” he asked. “You wish her to choose between you and those that have sailed and wait to see her again?”

“No,” I said. “I would never force her to choose. I know which she would choose and I could not bear the guilt. Yet, I have not conquered death.”

“And you never will,” he said. “You will change your mind--I know you will. For now, you thoughts are needed elsewhere.”

“Is there word from Celeborn,” I asked. 

“No,” he said. “From Dale. King Dáin of Erebor has fallen and at his side King Brand of Dale.”

I was crestfallen—remembering my friend Dáin fighting valiantly during the first battle in Dale not long ago.

“From whom was this message sent,” I asked quietly.

“From his kinsmen,” he said. “You have met him twice before. Dwalin, son of Funduin. His brother disappeared after coming through our kingdom a second time on his way to Khazâd-dûm.”

“I remember. Balin,” I said. “I dare not think of the fate that befell him and his company though I am sure Aiwendil knows well of it. And who shall rise in their places?”

“Dáin’s son Thorin, of course,” he began. “To Dale will sit Bard, son Brand.” I knew it would be some time before their coronations but I knew I had to pay my respects.

“I am sure they wish to lay them to rest swiftly,” I said. “The war has not yet ended and what will come remains unpredictable."

“Who do you wish to accompany you,” Fëaluin asked.

“You, of course,” I answered. “Nimlos and Elranduil. Eldôr should remain behind should word come from Emyn Duir.”

“I wish to go with you as well,” I heard Êlúriel say. I turned to see her smiling at me.

“Very well,” he answered. “We leave at first light.”

Fëaluin bowed and left.

“Who will remain behind with the children,” I asked.

“Who do you think, Thranduil,” she asked. “Isílriel, of course.” 

“Of course,” I said.

“I will prepare,” she said. “Please rest some more.”

“I am fine, Êlúriel,” I said. “Stop worrrying so much.”

“Then you have not lived long enough,” he said.

She smiled and left while I took the winding stairs down to the main hall and went into my study where Elranduil waited in my chair.

“We are going to Dale,” he said.

“How would you know of it,” I asked.

“The caverns have ears as well as voices, cousin,” he said. “How could I not have known?”

“The only ears and voices in this palace belong to your wife and her ladies.”

“That is not true,” he said. “Always. I happen to have been with Fëaluin when one of our Marchwardens from the East came with the message from Dale.”

“I have had my fill of death for one life time,” I said. “I suppose men and dwarves see it once and nevermore.”

“Not if they live to see it again,” he said. “Then they leave death for their children to see. It is a cycle that is never-ending. No matter what the old tales say. It is our misfortune to see such things for centuries. I gather we will leave at first light?”

“Yes,” I said. “It will be you, Nimlos, Fëaluin and Êlúriel, of course.”

He rose from my chair and walked over to me.

“We have seen better times,” he began. “It will be far better at the end of them, will it not?”

“Perhaps, but the end will not come soon enough, I am afraid.”

He nodded and left my alone. I sat down at my table thought about many things—so long, I had not realized darkness had begun to fall.

**** **** **** ****

Before the sun rose, I went to see about Nenduîl and Tárimë. They slept soundly in their chambers as I watched them—their innocence I protected and coveted. Time had kept from me memories of my youth. I could barely remember when I was their age.

“Ada,” Tárimë said softly as she sat up. “Are you going away again?”

“Yes,” I answered as I sat beside her. “With Nana, but not for long.”

“I do not like it when you go away,” she said.

“Nor do I, Tárimë,” I said holding her. “Do you think I like being away from you, your sister and brother?”

“No,” she answered. “But when you are gone, Nenduîl teases me all the time.”

“I do not,” Nenduîl said as he walked over. “You tease me all the time.”

“Eärluin teases us both,” Tárimë said frowning.

“She teases everyone,” his sister said. “But boys are just awful.”

“Ada is boy,” he said. “You think he is awful as well?”

“No,” she said. “Just you and Aranduil.”

“Come now,” I started. “Be nice. I do not want to leave thinking you are not getting along.”

“We get on alright,” Nenduîl said. “When Tárimë, Eärluin and Auríel are elsewhere.”

“Nenduîl.”

“What,” he asked. “I like my sisters. Sometimes.”

“You wish me to leave and worry about you while I am gone,” I asked.

“No,” they said.

Nenduîl sat beside me as his sister climbed on my lap.

“So I have your word you will be good for Eldôr and Isílriel?”

“Isílriel,” Tárimë asked. “I love Isílriel. Eldôr tells us lots of stories. Just like great grandfather.”

“Is it true you ran around without anything on when you were little,” Nenduîl asked.

“I did no such thing,” I said. “Now back to bed both of you.”

“You did do that,” Tárimë said giggling.

I kissed her forehead and tucked her in as she continued to giggle. I picked up Nenduîl and carried him to his bed and tucked him in.

“Behave,” I said, kissing his forehead. “I will return.”

“Yes, Ada,” he said. As I left the room, I could here them both giggling.

When the doors were shut I made my way down the hall where I met Fëaluin, Nimlos and Elranduil.

“The Queen awaits us,” Fëaluin said.

“Let us leave now,” I said. “Pray we return before the call comes from Lothlórien.”

We made our way out of the gates where our horses were prepared. Êlúriel was already mounted and waiting patiently.

“Elranduil,” I asked. “Where would Nenduîl get the idea I ran around without anything on when I was little?”

He laughed as he and the others mounted their horses.

“Do not look at me, cousin,” he said. “It must have been Father. I did not say a word. I hardly remember, it was so long ago.”

“I heard it from your mother,” Êlúriel said to Elranduil.

“You mean to say it is true,” Nimlos asked. “I thought you were lying.”

I mounted my horse and rode past them without saying a word as they tried to hide their laughter.

“I will deal with you later, cousin,” I said beneath my breath.

We headed down the familiar path of Forest River leading toward Dale. As the sun rose, the city—grander than the ruins we had left long ago with Erebor rising high above nearly touching the sky as it lit up with the coming of a new day. The closer we came to the city, the more figures I could see—men and dwarves alike. The flags of Erebor and Dale flew side by side. Once inside the square, we were met by a man and a dwarf followed by others.

“I knew you would come,” the elder of the dwarves said as I dismounted.  

Nimlos helped Êlúriel down as several servants took our horses one way and possessions another.

“Of course, I would come, Dwalin,” I said. “How could I not come? I do believe it has been some time since you have seen my wife, Êlúriel.”

“It has,” Dwalin said. “Still as lovely a lass I have ever laid my eye upon.”

“You are too kind," Êlúriel said kissing his forehead.

“Dale welcomes you all,” the young man said. “I am Bard, son of Brand.”

The younger of the dwarves stepped forward cautiously—a youth at his side.

“I am Thorin, son of Dáin,” he said. “This is my son, Durin. We welcome Your Majesties, King and Queen of Mirkwood and your company.”

“Thank you,” I answered. “I wish it were for a happier occasion.”

“Of course,” Dwalin said. “Come, there is food and drink prepared for you in Dale’s great hall.”

We followed the group toward the grand gates along cobbled streets leading to the of the palace above.

“It has been some time since I saw you last,” said a dwarf with hair and beard red as fire. “You might not remember me. I am Glóin, son of Gróin. I came into your kingdom with a company of others.”

“Yes,” I said quietly. I was still ashamed of my actions.

“I had the pleasure of meeting your son in Rivendell,” he said. “Legolas, I believe is his name.”

I felt a warm feeling run through me that someone had seen Legolas. I could feel my face smiling.

“Yes,” I said proudly. “Legolas is my son.”

“He is out there fighting alongside my son, Gimli,” he said. “I hope both return to us in one piece.”

“How else would they come back,” Durin asked.

“Not good,” said a little boy that had come along side Durin. “Not good at all.”

“Bain,” Bard said. “Quiet.”

“Yes, father,” he said.

I looked around and felt a sense of familiarity again. Bard, though younger than his ancestor, looked liked him—brown hair with soft green eyes—and Thorin looked a great deal like Thorin Oakenshield—his long brown hair and beard surrounding eyes of blue.

We reached two great doors opened by several guards. Before us stood a beautiful maiden with golden hair and sharp brown eyes.

“This is my wife, Aurëwyn,” Bard said, taking her hand.

“It is an honor to finally meet you both,” she said bowing.

“Finally,” I asked as everyone was shown to our places.

“Yes,” she said taking her seat. “I have heard many things about your kingdom from my father. His father’s uncle had been there once. I wish they were here now. They both died in the war.”

“I am sorry to hear it,” I said. “What was his name, if I may ask?”

“Haldúir, Your Majesty,” she said. “He was a very old but dear man. He fell at the gates of Erebor beside King Brand and King Dáin. It was foolish of me, but I think he wished to die. He had not been the same since his beloved wife died. Arímë was her name. I do not remember her. She died a long time ago.”

My heart sank in that moment. I could not help but see Arímë’s face in my mind. Êlúriel’s expression seemed stoic hearing the name of her cousin. I looked across to see Elranduil’s expression—it was the same as my own I was sure.

“Well, tomorrow we shall lay the dead to rest,” Thorin said. “We shall honor them for their deeds foolish or otherwise.”

There was an unsettling silence as we dined together. When we were finished, we were shown our quarters for the night. Lit by lanterns, the stone walls were covered with fine tapestries. Êlúriel prepared for the evening as I watched day fall to night and the moonrise casting a gentle light throughout the valley.

I felt shame again. I wish I had let Arímë see her grandchildren again. I believed it must have taken her life never to see Nenduîl and Tárimë again. As I thought, I heard a knock at the door.

“Enter,” I said. It was Fëaluin. “What is it?”

“I know what you are thinking, Thranduil,” he said. “I always do.”

“You are worse than Eldôr,” I said.

“Then might I suggest you think more quietly,” he said.

I could hear a soft laugh as Êlúriel walked into an adjoining chamber.

“I wonder if Aurëwyn knew her father’s father’s uncle was married to one that was once one of us,” I said. “Perhaps that is why she told us her story.”

“No, she does not,” he said coming to me. “Bard said as much.”

“I do not understand,” I said.

“Men may die never to return, but they leave many tales behind from one generation to the next. His father told him and his father before him and his father before him.”

“Bard knew of this?”

“Of course he did,” Fëaluin said. “Whether he knew of her relation to Êlúriel I do not know.”

“I feel horrible,” I said. “Arímë must have died of a broken heart.”

“Your conscience is clear,” he said. “She died from whatever took her daughter.”

“Is there any place left in this world where death does not linger,” I asked.

“I am afraid not, Thranduil,” he said. “It will always linger for it has nothing but time to do so.”

We spoke no more that night. After a while, he left me alone with my thoughts. Êlúriel watched me from across the room. Looking into the shadow of Erebor, all I wished to do was return home.”––TKWR:BII The Saga of Thranduil (EXT. VER.) by J. Marie Miller 12-20-17

Images: ©2012, 2013, 2014. Warner Brothers Pictures. The Hobbit: The Unexpected Journey, The Hobbit: Desolation of Smaug, The Hobbit: Battle of the Five Armies. All Rights Reserved.

#tkwr trilogy #the kingdom of the woodland realm trilogy #the extended version of book ii #the saga of thranduil #thranduil and eluriel #nenduil and tarime #bard son of brand #bain (i) son of bard (ii) #thorin son of dain #durin son of thorin #dwalin #gloin #halduir and arime #aurewyn and bard #nimlos fealuin #city of dale #the funeral of dain ii ironfoot #funeral of brand son of bain #tolkien fan fiction #in honor of tolkien #in honor of jrr tolkien #writing high fantasy #fan fiction #writing fan fiction

[arofili]

men of middle-earth ❅ northmen ❅ headcanon disclaimer

          Bain was the son of Bard the Bowman, and the second King of Dale. He was only a youth when Lake-town was destroyed by Smaug, and survived the following Battle of the Five Armies alongside his sisters. In the aftermath, his father was crowned the King of Dale, making Bain a prince, and as he grew into a young man he settled into the mantle of Bard’s heir, learning how to rule his people well.           The wife of Bain was Iona, a woman whose family had dwelt on a small island in the Long Lake separate from the settlement of Esgaroth. When the dragon’s corpse crashed into the lake, the island was swallowed up by the waters, forcing them to flee with their infant daughter Iona to the shore and integrate into the people of Lake-town. Bain’s sister Tilda befriended the family, and it was through her that he met Iona when she had become a woman. Their love was simple and happy, and they were married in the summer of Iona’s twenty-first year.           Iona bore Bain several children, the eldest of which was Brand, his grandfather Bard’s pride and joy. When Bard passed away, Brand resolved to carry his memory in his heart forever, and when he married the wise-woman Helka, he gave his grandfather’s name to their first son.           Bain ruled wisely for thirty years before he too passed on, and Brand succeeded his father as King of Dale. Brand extended the borders of his realm to the south and east, stopping at Esgaroth, which remained a settlement independent of Dalish rule. But though his people were glad to have more land on which to farm, and his new subjects were grateful for his protection, Brand’s kingship would be marked by hardship as the War of the Ring loomed on the horizon.           When the a messenger of Sauron came to Erebor, he spoke also to Brand, who was shaken by the encounter though he remained firm in his refusal to submit to the Dark Lord. Brand prepared for the war gathering on his eastern borders, and when Sauron’s armies of orcs and Easterlings crossed the River Carnen he retreated into Dale. He held a siege for three days, but in the end his enemies broke through and slew both him and the dwarven-king Dáin II Ironfoot in the Battle of Dale.          The refugees of dale were driven into Erebor where they were once again besieged alongside Durin’s Folk. They held out valiantly against the assault for seven days until the news of Sauron’s defeat arrived in the North, whereupon Dáin’s son Thorin III and Brand’s son Bard II rode out once more to rout their foes from their land. In the aftermath, Thorin and Bard both ascended to their respective thrones, swearing friendship and brotherhood with one another as their forefathers had failed to do, ushering in a new era of peace and cooperation between Erebor and Dale.

#tolkienedit #oneringnet #the hobbit #th #lord of the rings #lotr #esgaroth #dale #bain #oc iona #brand #oc helka #bard ii #my edit #my writing #edit writing #headcanons #tefain nin #men of middle earth #northmen

[nocompromise-noregrets]

Oh! Will you give us some commentary for Second in Command?? Please 🥰

Thank you, anon! I would love to!

So, Second-in-Command is the fic in which Empty Vessel-'verse Bain finally gets together with the woman who will be his wife and the mother of his son Brand (and, in this 'verse, two daughters as well, Astrid and Ingrid). Her name is Lotta, and she and Bain were childhood friends in Lake-town. She started out as just a name in a list of Bain's friends, early on in EV (the other two were Erik and Gustav; Erik's turned up a couple of times in other stories but Gustav seems to have disappeared XD ), but as the story progressed she was there in the background a bit, mostly training with Bain and his other friends to be members of the city guard, and eventually I realised that she was going to be Brand's mother. She turns up in See This Storm Through, set after Bard's death when Legolas comes to Dale to comfort his father, and there she's a very capable, level-headed, matronly mother of three almost grown-up children (Brand is about 20, Astrid and Ingrid are about 17 and 18, I can never remember which way round they are XD ).

In Second-in-Command, Lotta and Bain are in their early-mid 20s, Bain is Captain of the Guard and Sigrid is about to become Queen, and it wasn't until I came to write this fic that I realised that Lotta had to be Bain's deputy. I'd always included her in the training scenes, and she spars with Thranduil in chapter 97 of Empty Vessel, the summer after the battle, but for some reason I hadn't quite realised that she'd kept it up and become one of Dale's most accomplished guards and warriors. So that was one surprise. :D I really enjoyed writing from her perspective for the first time, and I'm hoping she'll have more to say, perhaps in the Sigrid-and-Tauriel (and the rest of the kids) story that I'm planning that'll pick up the story of Dale from their point of view.

I also had a great deal of fun writing Tilda meddling and pulling strings to get Bain and Lotta to realise what they really mean to each other; Tilda's always a delight to write, and never more so than when she's being cheeky. I figured Bain was being particularly dim about it, but then I realised that Lotta was being just as dim (well, maybe not quite as dim, but certainly she was being hesitant about it because she knew how awkward it would be if they screwed it up) and they both needed a shove in the right direction. And who better than Tilda to provide it? :D

Thank you for asking, anon! <333333 Anyone else want to ask me for commentary on any of my fics (or scenes)?

#ask game #go on #ask me stuff! #my writing #my heart is an empty vessel

[gracie-bird]

Princess Grace, co-pilot in the Jaguar MK2 in 1961. At the wheel, her husband Rainier III of Monaco.

GRACE KELLY, THE PRINCESS WHO BROUGHT MONACO BACK TO GLAMOUR ON THE BACK OF A JAGUAR. 

After six years of courtship, Rainier III of Monaco broke up in 1953 with the French interpreter Gisèle Pascal because neither her family nor the Monegasques wanted her on the throne. To get her out of the way, it was said that the sovereign's sister, Princess Antoinette, Baroness of Massy, ​​took it upon herself to spread rumors of the lady's infertility because she wanted the throne for her son Christian Louis.

Laconic and depressed, the sovereign was urged to find the ideal woman. At that time, Aristotle Onassis was the largest shareholder in the Société des Bains de Mer (SBM) - owner of the Casino, the most important luxury hotels and a myriad of properties that generated incalculable dividends - and as he was obsessed with the big names ( Livanos, Callas ...) influenced Rainier III to look for someone solemn among the society pages.

He found that figure in Grace Kelly, whom he met during the filming of To Catch a Thief (1955). His love was settled when the prince presented him during the filming of High Society (1956) in Hollywood with a Cartier diamond ring of 10.47 carats, which caused the admiration of his colleague Celeste Holm when he saw the glow of the gem: "Oh my gosh, it looks like a skating rink!"

That was the beginning of a time of fantasy that has remained anchored in the Monegasque collective memory and, by extension, that of the rest of the world.

Grace symbolized the elegance, charm and glamor that Monaco needed to export abroad to become the ideal enclave for the international jet set. After their wedding in 1956, everything seemed to be going smoothly. The prince was happy in his heart and had regained control of the SBM.

Princes Rainier and Princess Grace in their Jaguar E-Type.

To perpetuate the image of the film myth, the world's best luxury brands stepped into his feet. Hermès created the Kelly bag and Jaguar made available two of its most exclusive models, the MK2 saloon and the E-Type, considered the most beautiful car ever designed, which in 1996 became a piece of art when it was part of the Museum of Modern Art from New York.

In March, the 60th anniversary of its global launch will be commemorated with an exclusive edition because Jaguar Classic will release six pairs of E-Type models (9600 HP and 77 RW) of this jewel on wheels available to checking accounts with multiple zeros to the right. This vehicle was the insignia of who was who in high society, such as Steve McQueen (great motor enthusiast like Paul Newman), Tony Curtis, Brigitte Bardot or the Duke and Duchess of Sussex (Meghan and Harry), who used a Jaguar at their wedding Electric E-Type Zero Concept inspired by the 1968 gasoline-powered model.

Grace Kelly was a magnet for Monaco. She attracted the big names (Elizabeth Taylor, Maria Callas, the Rothschilds) and generated millionaire profits for a principality that was on the verge of becoming a French protectorate. Every time she had to go to an event at the Casino or the Sporting Club, the sovereign used these English vehicles that have nothing to envy other British firms such as Rolls-Royce or Bentley.

Original Article (in Spanish): https://www.elmundo.es/loc/celebrities/2021/01/27/60102afcfc6c83d2348b45a9.html

#grace kelly #princess grace #jaguar #1961 #monaco #monte carlo #prince rainier