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frodo-with-glasses · 1 year

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More Reading Thoughts: The Epilogue, Version One

The long-awaited sequel!! I’m reading the Epilogue as it appears in “The End of the Third Age”, from The History of The Lord of the Rings as compiled by Christopher Tolkien.

Tagging @lady-merian because she’s been asking for this for a LONG time 🤣

Manuscript A

It’s interesting that “well, I’m back” wasn’t originally supposed to be the end of the story. It’s become something iconic now—the perfect, hauntingly understated ending, harkening back to “there and back again”—but the only reason it seems so abrupt is because Tolkien actually meant to write on.

I like both, honestly. This Epilogue has so much good stuff in it, but it would make an already slow book even slower; “well I’m back” is lovely for what it is. ^-^

“Elanor 15, Frodo 13, Rose 11, Merry 9, Pippin 7.” Just looking at their names and the list of ages gets me in the heart. Argh, I love these kids ;u;

Sam resting by the fire in this study! And he’s surrounded by his kids! And they’re listening to him read the Red Book!! AAAHHHHHH

“…And there was Frodo-lad on the heathrug, in spite of his name as good a copy of Sam as you could wish…” D’aww 8-D Named Frodo, looks like Sam. That’s adorable.

AND THERE’S GOLDILOCKS AND HAM AND BABY DAISIE AND—

*strangled screech*

SAM. CALLS ELANOR. ELLIE.

I’M GONNA HECKIN’ CRY

Confirmed that Merry and Pippin traveled to Gondor and Rohan multiple times in their lives! That’s wonderful!

And now: the Gamgee children being carbon copies of their namesakes begins.

Merry Jr. is inordinately proud of Merry Sr. and wants to grow tall like him.

Pippin Jr. is likewise inordinately proud of Pippin Sr. and insists that Merry isn’t the tallest anyway.

“Is he Prince Peregrin away down in the Stone City, dad?” Oh my word.

First of all: the fact that this little hobbit lad knows Minas Tirith familiarly enough to call it the Stone City.

Secondly: I mean they did call him a prince of the halflings at first—

Frodo Jr. wants to hear about the spider again because he likes the parts where his dad comes in ;u;

And Elanor wants to know about the flower she’s named after!

Elanor: I want to go see my flower! Sam: There’s a prettier one if you look in a mirror. Elanor: Daaaad…

Rose Jr. is worried about the elves going away TT-TT

Sam is secretly very proud of the Mallorn tree in the Party Field LOL

Legolas lives in Ithilien! And Pippin says they’ve made it very lovely, which means he’s seen it! WHICH MEANS PIPPIN GOT TO HANG OUT WITH LEGOLAS AND FARAMIR AND BEREGOND AND BERGIL AGAIN—

Frodo Jr. loves Gimli and wants an axe LOL

Gimli and his dwarves helped to rebuild Minas Tirith! And now they live in the mountains behind it!! And he goes to visit the Glittering Caves every two years! Tolkien thought of EVERYTHING

And nobody knows if anyone’s seen Treebeard lol

ROSE JR. LOOKS FOR THE ENTWIVES WHEN SHE GOES WALKING IN THE WOODS I’M GONNA CRY

Haha Sam shuts down the “its not fair”s so fast, he’s such a dad 🤣

‘Don’t talk like that to me,’ said Sam sternly. ‘If it ain’t fair for Ellie and Fro to sit up after supper it ain’t fair for them to be born sooner, and it ain’t fair that I’m your dad and you’re not mine.’

My dad made up an “it’s not fair” song when I was a kid and this is reminding me of that for the first time in over a DECADE

Le gasp! Sam has a SecretTM!

“A dead hush of expectancy fell on all the children: they watched him as hobbit-children of other times had watched the wizard Gandalf.” Hello yes I will cry

THE KING IS COMING HERE

I love that Aragorn himself won’t enter the Shire according to his own decree

But he has sent! A Fancy ScrollTM!

“Elessar Aragorn Arathornsson the Elfstone King of Gondor and of the Westlands…” Local man has too many names, authorities report

And now Tolkien gives elvish names to all Sam’s kids. Nerd.

“‘Samwise or Halfwise who should rather be called Plainwise.’ So now you know what the King thinks of your dad you’ll maybe give more heed to what he says.” LOL SAM COULD YOU GET ANY MORE DADLY

All Frodo Jr. takes away from this is “MUST INTERROGATE FATHER”

And they’re gonna stay with the King and Queen at the house on the Lake for a few weeks!! HOW EXCITING

Tbh I like the first version of Sam’s conversation with Rosie better. (The one marked with footnote #6, if you have the book.) It gives more character to Rosie, which is in short supply; and I like the idea of her almost prophetically starting to sing on the day Sam is about to return. Something very Elvish and Tolkien about that.

And Sam tells us he is all whole and healed so as to preemptively shut down the angst writers. (But we will survive muahaha >:-D)

“The went in and shut the door. But even as he did so Sam heard suddenly the sigh and murmur of the sea on the shores of Middle-earth.” OHOHOHO NONONO DON’T DO THIS TO ME

Manuscripts B and C

WAIT—in one version of Appendix A Gimli became LORD OF THE GLITTERING CAVES?? HELLO??

EDIT: I have been informed that Gimli being Lord of the Glittering Caves did, in fact, make it into the final version of the book, and I just didn’t pay enough attention LOL

Also “Master Samwise who should be called Fullwise”

“I think maybe the Entwives don’t want to be found” *EYES EMOJI*

Merry Jr. asks too many questions about horses! Carbon copies, I tell ya!

The amount of times Tolkien changed the beginning of Aragorn’s letter to include different names and titles is killing me 🤣🤣

#samwise gamgee #elanor gamgee #frodo gamgee #rose gamgee #merry gamgee #pippin gamgee #rosie cotton #aragorn #legolas #gimli #lord of the rings #lotr #my writing #assorted thoughts

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alloftheimaginesblog · 1 year

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Headcanons for Samwise Gamgee making his spouse meals at any chance he gets...

He knows the importance of food and never ceases to remind you about how important it is to eat. He'll always prepare you breakfast, second breakfast, lunch, snacks, supper, dinner and tea. He never judges your portion sizes or how much you eat, he loves the shape of you and if you are curvy/plus size, he adores those curves.

He's a very good chef and you are always so thankful for him and his abilities.

Obviously he uses potatoes a lot, pretty much every meal because they're so versatile.

Eggs over easy with spices and herbs and herby breakfast potato cubes and a cup of hot tea.

"Made with love for my love."

Sausages, hash browns, bacon, beans, tomato, maybe more eggs.

Sandwiches with tomato, lettuce and turkey with a side of crisps for extra crunch.

"You want more? Was it good? You liked it?"

He's not only good at cooking, baking is also a skill he has.

Pancakes with berries and cream, scones and jam and clotted cream. Pastries like croissants and chocolate or maybe ham and cheese.

Toast with cheese, beans; simple but he always serves with an award winning smile.

"Here you go, beautiful. If you want more, I'll happily get you more."

Your favourite meal he makes is a roast dinner which could consist of ham, turkey, chicken or beef, roast potatoes, yorkshire pudding, sprouts, parsnips, carrots and a hearty load of gravy on top.

Sometimes he'll make a stew; leftover meat with carrots, potatoes, onions and gravy with crusty bread to dip.

Soup of all flavours (his lentil and bacon is the best though) with buttered bread. He always makes lots during the winter.

"To keep your stomach warm."

Fish with a side salad, thick chips and mushy peas.

Pasta that you help him make for scratch with a garlicky, onion tomato sauce with meatballs or sausages or even sometimes chicken with homemade garlic bread and cheese for the top.

Dessert is always delicious too...

Rich chocolate cake with ice cream and berries.

Sticky toffee pudding - a recipe passed down through generations.

Ice cream - all and every flavour you can imagine. He'll take you on walks, find berries and wild edible flowers and make ice cream from it.

Pastry stuffed with jam, cream and chocolate.

Waffles with caramel drizzled over the top.

Fruit salad, the fruit fresh from the garden.

After dinner, he'll bring you cups of tea and water with a kiss on the forehead.

Tea with biscuits.

Hot chocolate with marshmallows and fresh whipped cream for the top.

Toast as you read your book, winding down for the evening.

Before you go to bed, he double checks that you're satisfied and happy; that you're not in need of anything else. He's impossibly kind.

#headcanon #headcanon prompt #prompt #samwise gamgee imagine #samwise gamgee #imagine #lotr #lotr imagine #lord of the rings #lord of the rings imagine #samwise x reader #sam gamgee imagine #sam gamgee

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checkoutmybookshelf · 13 hours

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Re-reading The Fellowship of the Ring for the First Time in Fifteen Years

Hi, Hello, Welcome! The conceit of these posts is pretty self-explanatory. I read the Lord of the Rings for the first time at age 17, in the middle of my parent's divorce (it was messy, we're not going into any details). Needless to say, I remember pretty much nothing about that read, and I would like to give the books a fair shake of a re-read. That's what this is, and there will be spoilers throughout!

I usually do full-book reviews, but if ever I was going to do a chapter-by-chapter re-read, it would be for LotR. The rules are that I'm going in as blind as I possibly can (I have watched the movies and have absorbed like...a reasonable amount of lore from existing on the internet as a millennial) and I'm not doing any research beyond like, defining words for myself as I read. So here we go, and I hope you enjoy rereading with me! Let's talk "A Long-Expected Party."

The first chapter of ANY book has a lot of work to do. The first chapter of THIS book has...rather more to do than most. Which is why I was kind of floored by HOW MUCH of it was dedicated to establishing how godawful the Sackville-Bagginses are. Like, when Tolkien said,

He remained on visiting terms with his relatives (except, of course, the Sackville-Bagginses)

on literally page one of chapter one, I was over here going "relatable, my dude." I also taught The Hobbit for an Intro to Literature class when I was getting my PhD, so I also knew that they had overtaken Bag End and were on the verge of declaring Bilbo dead and taking over his life and estate. I also knew about Lobelia stealing the spoons. I was ON BOARD with the Sackville-Bagginses being the godawful relatives that not only we do not like but also we legally cut out of their inheritance. I was cool with that, it was fine. I got it.

THEN IT KEPT GOING. They get snobby about attending the birthday party. They only showed up because the invitation was inexcusably fancy. They got offended about Bilbo's speech. They talked shit about him on his birthday at his party. They bulled into Bag End to insist on seeing the will, and stole stiff while they were there. They insulted Frodo's parentage and the Brandybuck side of his family IN FRONT OF MERRY, the most famous Brandybuck of the fellowship. And then Lobelia has the sheer goddamn nerve to be offended when Frodo stops her from stealing his shit, calling her on her bullshit, and kicking her out of his house.

Did...did Tolkien have an aunt that he had a massive, lifelong beef with? Because IT SURE SEEMED LIKE IT. Although passively aggressively gifting her the remainder of the set of spoons was just A+ shitty relative management on Bilbo's part, and I deeply appreciated that he can do both sincere and pointed gifting.

So, when I watched Dom Noble's LiA on Fellowship, I was like, "I don't actually know if I agree that the hobbits would vote Republican, Dom." Let this be my public apology for doubting Dom, because HOLY TITS YES, YES THEY WOULD. It literally took a gaggle of hobbits two "Well I heard"s to get to "Primula pushed Drogo out of the boat and he pulled her in after him" like it's a murder gone wrong. And no matter what the Gaffer said, nobody would hear different after "murder" came up.

And speaking of the Gaffer...his name is Ham. Ham Gamgee. Ham and Sam Gamgee. What the Jolkien Rolkien Rolkien Tolkien was happening with this name, John Ronald??? I demand to know! And no, not even Bilbo calling him Master Hamfast makes "Ham Gamgee" any less ridiculous.

Now, let's talk Gandalf for a sec. I know there are plot reasons that Gandalf doesn't initially know that Bilbo's ring is THE ONE RING, but like...their first conversation weeks before the party tells us that Gandalf has concerns. And yet he still is cool with Bilbo HANDING THE RING OFF TO FRODO??? Even if it's just a weirdly powerful, not inherently evil ring, Frodo is basically an 18-year-old (33 in hobbit years) with no life experience and no sense of how to manage a magic ring. Gandy. Wizard, buddy, friend. This is not like...a great plan. Yes, you get Bilbo off the ring cocaine, but you've just exposed Frodo to it. And this is BEFORE you know it's holding a bit of Sauron's soul. If you taking it is a bad idea, there has to be a secret third option that isn't "Leave it with Frodo." That all said though, Gandalf was SUPER prepared to hand fireworks to LITERAL CHILDREN and hammered hobbits at Bilbo's birthday, so he's clearly not the guy you call for safety or babysitting.

That probably hits all the key things from me for this opening chapter, so other than calling out how cute Merry and Frodo are when Merry has Frodo's back as the Shire descends on Bag End to claim or just straight steal shit, I will sign off for now. Key takeaways were that the Sackville-Bagginses FUCKING SUCK, and Gandalf was super cool with exposing Frodo to basically magical cocaine.

#lord of the rings #the fellowship of the ring #reread #chapter 1 #a long-expected party #lotr #seriously who was the aunt who inspire lobelia sackville-baggins???

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glitteringaglarond · 11 months

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In case the end of the LOTR Newsletter wasn't enough of a tear-jerker, I wanted to direct all of you to the un-published epilogue to the story, featuring Samwise and his family. Text transcribed by @godkingreiss here.

And one evening in March, 1436, Master Samwise Gamgee was taking his ease by a fire in his study, and the children were all gathered about him, as was not at all unusual, though it was always supposed to be a special treat.

He had been reading aloud (as was usual) from a big Red Book on a stand, and on a stool beside him sat Elanor, and she was a beautiful child more fair-skinned than most hobbit-maids and more slender, and she was now running up into her ‘teens; and there was Frodo-lad on the hearthrug, in spite of his name as good a copy of Sam as you could wish, and Rose, and Merry, and Pippin were sitting in chairs much too big for them. Goldilocks had gone to bed, for in this Frodo’s foretelling had made a slight error and she came after Pippin, and was still only five and the Red Book rather too much for her yet. But she was not the last of the line, for Sam and Rose seemed likely to rival the old Gerontius Took in the number of their children as successfully as Bilbo had passed his age. There was little Ham, and there was Daisie in her cradle.

'Well dear,’ said Sam, 'it grew there once, because I saw it with my own eyes.’

'Does it grow there still, daddy?’

'I don’t see why it wouldn’t, Ellie. I’ve never been on my travels again, as you know, having all you young folk to mind - regular ragtag and bobtail old Saruman would have called it. But Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin, they’ve been south more than once, for they sort of belong there too now.’

'And haven’t they grown big?’ said Merry. 'I wish I could grow big like Mr. Meriadoc of Buckland. He’s the biggest hobbit that ever was: bigger than Bandobras.’

'Not bigger than Mr. Peregrin of Tuckborough,’ said Pippin, 'and he’s got hair that’s almost golden. Is he Prince Peregrin away down in the Stone City, dad?’

'Well, he’s never said so,’ said Sam, 'but he’s highly thought of, that I know. But now where were we getting to?’

'Nowhere,’ said Frodo-lad, 'I want to hear about the Spider again. I like the parts best where you come in, dad.’

'But dad, you were talking about Lórien,’ said Elanor, 'and whether my flower still grows there.’

'I expect it does, Ellie dear. For as I was saying, Mr. Merry, he says that though the Lady has gone the Elves still live there.’

'When can I go and see? I want to see Elves, dad, and I want to see my own flower.’

'If you look through a glass you’ll see one that is sweeter,’ said Sam, 'though I should not be telling you, for you’ll find it out soon enough for yourself.’

'But that isn’t the same. I want to see the green hill and the white flowers and the golden and hear the Elves sing.’

'Then maybe you will one day,’ said Sam. 'I said the same when I was your age, and long after, an there didn’t seem no hope, and yet it came true.’

'But the Elves are sailing away still, aren’t they, and soon there’ll be none, will there, dad?’ said Rose; 'and then all will be just places, and very nice, but, but …’

'But what, Rosie-lass?’

'But not like in stories.’

'Well, it would be so if they all was to sail,’ said Sam. 'But I am told they aren’t sailing any more. The Ring has left the Havens, and those that made up their mind to stay when Master Elrond left are staying. And so there’ll be Elves still for many and many a day.’

'Still, I think it was very sad when Master Elrond left Rivendell and the Lady left Lórien,’ said Elanor. 'What happened to Celeborn? Is he very sad?’

'I expect so, dear. Elves are sad; and that’s what makes them so beautiful, and why we can’t see much of them. He lives in his own and as he always has done,’ said Sam. 'Lórien is his land, and he loves trees.’

'No one else in the world hasn’t got a Mallorn like we have, have they?’ said Merry. 'Only us and Lord Celeborn.’

'So I believe,’ said Sam. Secretly it was one of the greatest prides of his life. 'Well, Celeborn lives among the trees, and he is happy in his Elvish way, I don’t doubt. They can afford to wait, Elves can. His time is not come yet. The Lady came to his land and now she is gone; and he has the land still. When he tires of it he can leave it. So with Legolas, he came with his people and they live in the land across the river, Ithilien if you can say that, and they’ve made it very lovely, according to Mr. Pippin. But he’ll go to Sea one day, I don’t doubt. But not while Gimli’s still alive.’

'What happened to Gimli?’ said Frodo-lad. 'I liked him. Please can I have an axe soon, dad? Are there any orcs left?’

'I daresay there are if you know where to look,’ said Sam. 'But not in the Shire, and you won’t have an axe for chopping off heads, Frodo-lad. We don’t make them. But Gimli, he came down to work for the King in the City, and he and his folk worked so long they got used to it and proud of their work, and in the end they settled up in the mountains up away west behind the City, and there they are still. And Gimli goes once every other year to see the Glittering Caves.’

'And does Legolas go to see Treebeard?’ asked Elanor.

'I can’t say, dear,’ said Sam. 'I’ve never heard of anyone as has ever seen an Ent since those days. If Mr. Merry or Mr. Pippin have they keep it secret. Very close are Ents.’

'And have they never found the Entwives?’

'Well, we’ve seen none here, have we?’ said Sam.

'No,’ said Rosie-lass; 'but I look for them when I go in a wood. I would like the Entwives to be found.’

'So would I,’ said Sam, 'but I am afraid that is an old trouble, too old and too deep for folks like us to mend, my dear. But now no more questions for tonight, at least not till after supper.’

'But that won’t be fair,’ said both Merry and Pippin, who were not in their teens. 'We shall have to go directly to bed.’

'Don’t talk like that to me,’ said Sam sternly. 'If it ain’t fair for Ellie and Fro to sit up after supper it ain’t fair for them to be born sooner, and it ain’t fair that I’m your dad and you’re not mine. So no more of that, take your turn and what’s due in your time, or I’ll tell the King.’

They had heard this threat before, but something in Sam’s voice made it sound more serious on this occasion. 'When will you see the King?’ said Frodo-lad.

'Sooner that you think,’ said Sam. 'Well now, let’s be fair. I’ll tell you all, stay-uppers and go-to-bedders, a big secret. But don’t you go whispering and waking up the youngsters. Keep it till tomorrow.’

A dead hush of expectancy fell on all the children: they watched him as hobbit-children of other times had watched the wizard Gandalf.

'The King’s coming here,’ said Sam solemnly.

'Coming to Bag End!’ cried the children.

'No,’ said Sam. 'But he’s coming north. He won’t come into the Shire because he has given orders that no Big Folk are to enter this land again after those Ruffians; and he will not come himself just to show he means it. But he will come to the Bridge. And - ’ Sam paused. 'He has issued a very special invitation to every one of you. Yes, by name!’

Sam went to a drawer and took out a large scroll. It was black and written in letters of silver.

'When did that come, daddy?’ said Merry.

'It came with the Southfarthing post three days ago on Wednesday,’ said Elanor. 'I saw it. It was wrapped in silk and sealed with big seals.’

'Quite right, my bright eyes,’ said Sam. 'Now look.’ He unrolled it. 'It is written in Elvish and in Plain Language,’ said Sam. 'And it says: Elessar Aragorn Arathornsson the Elfstone King of Gondor and Lord of the Westlands will approach the Bridge of Baranduin on the first day of Spring, or in the Shire-reckoning the twenty-fifth day of March next, and desires to greet all his friends. In especial he desires to see Master Samwise Mayor of he Shire, and Rose his wife, and Elanor, Rose, Goldilocks and Daisie his daughters, and Frodo, Merry, and Pippin and Hamfast his sons. There you are, there are all your names.’

'But they aren’t the same in both lists,’ said Elanor, who could read.

'Ah,’ said Sam 'that’s because the first list is Elvish. You’re the same, Ellie, in both, because your name is Elvish; but Frodo is Iorhail, and Rose is Beril, and Merry is Gelir, and Pippin is Cordof, and Goldilocks is Glorfinniel, and Hamfast is Marthanc, and Daisie is Arien. So now you know.’

'Well that’s splendid,’ said Frodo, 'now we all have Elvish names, but what is yours, dad?’

'Well, that’s rather peculiar,’ said Sam, 'for in the Elvish part, if you must know, what the King says is Master Perhail who should rather be called Lanhail, and that means, I believe, “Samwise or Halfwise who should rather be called Plain-wise”. So now you know what the King thinks of your dad you’ll maybe give more heed to what he says.’

'And ask him lots more questions,’ said Frodo.

'When is March the 25th?’ said Pippin, to whom days were still the longest measures of time that could really be grasped. 'Is it soon?’

'It’s a week today,’ said Elanor. 'When shall we start?’

'And what shall we wear?’ said Rose.

'Ah,’ said Sam. 'Mistress Rose will have a say in that. But you’ll be surprised, by dears. We have had warning of this a long time and we’ve prepared for the day. You’re going in the most lovely clothes you’ve ever seen, and we’re riding in a coach. And if you’re all very good and look as lovely as you do now I shouldn’t be at all surprised if the King does not ask us to go with him to his house up by the Lake. And the Queen will be there.’

'And shall we stay up to supper?’ said Rose, to whom the nearness of promotion made this an ever-present concern.

'We shall stay for weeks, until the hay-harvest at least,’ said Sam. 'And we shall do what the King says. But as for staying up to supper, no doubt the Queen will have a word. And now if you haven’t enough to whisper about for hours, and to dram about till the sun rises, then I don’t know what more I can tell you.’

The stars were shining in a clear sky: it was the first day of the clear bright spell that came every year to the Shire at the end of March, and was every year welcomed and praised as something surprising for the first time every year.

All the children were in bed. Lights were glimmering still in Hobbiton and in many houses dotted abut the darkening countryside. Sam stood at the door and looked away eastward. He drew Mistress Rose to him and held her close to his side. 'March 18th’, he said. 'This time seventeen years ago, Rose wife, I did not think I should ever see thee again. But I kept on hoping.’

'And I never hoped at all, Sam,’ she said, 'until that very day; and then suddenly I did. In the middle of the morning I began singing, and father said “Quiet, lass, or the Ruffians will come,” and I said “Let them come. Their time will soon be over. My Sam’s coming back.” and he came.’

'I did,’ said Sam; 'to the most belovedest place in all the world. I was torn in two then, lass, but now I am whole. And all that I have, and all that I have had I still have.’

They went in and shut the door. But even as he did so Sam heard suddenly the sigh and murmur of the sea on the shores of Middle-earth.

#lotr newsletter #newsletter may 25 #i made it un-rebloggable because i want y'all to reblog from op who put in all the work to transcribe it #but also it deserves to show up in the tag #hence my copy paste/don't reblog attempt #my op

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oh-dear-so-queer · 1 year

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'If that's being queer, then we could do with a bit more queerness in these parts. (...)'

"The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring" - J.R.R. Tolkien

#book quote #lotr #lord of the rings #jrr tolkien #tfotr #the fellowship of the ring #gaffer #ham gamgee #gossip #hobbits #queer

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supermacaroniandsqueezeblr · 2 years

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HAM Gamgee?!?!?

(Almost as funny as Bungo Baggins)

#lotr newsletter #the lord of the rings

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thesilmarilchick · 10 months

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The War of the Dead, Chapter 9: Nightmare in the Dark

The Fire’s come for you again, just like it always does in these dreams, only this time it doesn’t look like fire, looks like water or smoke or air. Almost like it can’t make up its mind what to look like, you prefer the dreams where it sticks to being fire.

It’s decided it wants to be water today and you want to scream but you can’t, the foul water is already filling your throat and your lungs. You can barely breath let along speak, so how are you supposed to scream?

The Water has begun whispering again. You think it might be talking to you but seeing as how you don’t speak any sort of Elvish, you have no real way of telling. You feel something cold and black wrap around your belly, you think they may be chains like the sort you saw hanging unused down at the Shirriff office. You’re not sure, but right now you don’t really care because you know what part of the dream comes next.

It’s the light that really scares you now, after so many dreams like this you’ve become desensitised to the other dangers around you, but the light well…the light always burns.

You believe it might be trying to talk to you as well, but you’ve been down here too long by this point and you can’t hear it over the screaming in your head anymore. Your body’s gone numb by now, just like it always does round this part of the dream. It’s not yours no more, not your body anyway but it makes a pretty picture as a cage for your mind. The light’s still talking to you, but it doesn’t really matter ‘because you can’t understand one-word outta its mouth.

You’d say it sounds a bit like some of those old poems Mister Bilbo reads you sometimes, though different, older and more unnerving. As if you just sat there and listened, you’d hear the forging of the worlds hidden between the glowing orb’s soft vowels and gentle words. The language sweeps over you like always and you find the world growing dark, your vision failing and your surroundings growing blurred. You know what’s coming now, you’ve known it since the start but that doesn’t make it any less painful. That doesn’t make the knife any less terrifying when it plunges into your gut, or your blood any less vile as it spatters across your frozen face. Or your bed any less wet through when you wake up screaming.

Sam Gamgee bundled his sodden bed sheets up into the washing basket, he’d been lucky … no one had been woken by his screaming this time.

***

The Shire, Number 3 Bagshot Row; T.A. 2989, S.R. 1389; February 5th

Hamfast Gamgee was not having a particularly good morning; Sam-Lad had been up and about in the night again. Though the boy had attempted to hide it, Ham had caught on quick when he found the lad snoozing on his, now quite bare mattress – wrapped in naught but a thin wool blanket. The only covering that hadn’t been completely soaked after the lad’s dreams had turned sour and the child had been too afraid of punishment to risk finding more, even for his own comfort.

The tired hobbit had nudged the distraught boy awake and helped him into some dry clothes. Then they’d both set about the task of remaking Sam-Lad’s bed before the others could be woken by the sound of his soft crying. Bell had had one of her fits last week, a pretty bad one at that, and she was still recovering – she needed her sleep. The two hobbits made quick work of the small bed and then retreated into the kitchen when the sounds of stirring from the other rooms caught their ears.

Bell was getting worse, Ham mused as he stirred the large porridge pot over the fire, this had been the fifth fit in almost a month and they were getting more and more disturbing each time they happened. She’d been spitting and cursing his name during the last one, they’d had to call healers just to stop her from hurting herself… or anyone else.

‘I think it’s done, Da.’ Hamfast jerked from his thoughts of his wife, and glanced down to his youngest son, who was now staring intently into the bubbling pot of goo. Ham grimaced when he stuck his pinkie into the gurgling depths and brought it to his mouth, it tasted of nothing but burnt oats. They should just throw it out, but Sam was already starting to get fidgety with hunger and truthfully Ham wasn’t far behind him. So, sighing inwardly he motioned for Sam-lad and young Marigold, who’d appeared like a ghost from her bedroom sometime after Ham had turned his back, to bring their bowls forward. Even burnt porridge in their bellies was better than nothing at all.

***

Two hours later

For as long as Hamfast could remember he had been… well…. I suppose the only way to describe it is to give it its proper title…he had been a Ganyman. For those of you not of a Hobbit nature I will describe, to the best of my ability, exactly what that is. For those of you who are I will assume, that unless your education was extremely limited regarding your cultural identity, that you already know.

To put it in the simplest of terms, the Ganyman (or Ganymen as is the plural) is the bridge between life and death. Or rather between the living and the departed. They are the givers of the last tale and are able, if truly needed, to cut the string that ties a soul to this earthly plain.

It is said, by some of the more superstitious folk, that when a Ganyman is about to be born a crow will fly into their mother’s birthing chamber and circle the room until the baby is born. Then the bird will land… dead …at the infant’s feet. It was of course complete nonsense, not least because birthing chambers as a rule were kept tightly sealed from all outwardly distractions. Which would include open windows and birds flying about the place, as any hobbit midwife or healer with a lick of sense could tell you. And while it was true that some of the skills needed to be a proper Ganyman were innate from birth, it still required a great deal of training to probably harness them. And not every babe born with a psychic gift was going to be up to be a Ganyman, even if they had a strong connection to the other side.

For Ganymen were at their hearts… storytellers.

Which brings us to the core of the matter, the reason for the Ganymen’s entire existence as a people: The Last Tale. Legend goes that if the last words a hobbit ever speaks in this waking world is their deepest secret, then they’ll live on through the telling of its tale and thus their soul will not fade into nothingness. It was an ancient hobbit custom set down in the days before days. Before the wandering years, before Mirkwood, before the three clans, before Mother Magda and her Blarney Son, even before hobbits knew they were hobbits. Some say it was a tradition started by the ancestors, the ones who came before. But no one could say for certain, because strictly speaking no one - except perhaps the Ganymen themselves - could even say what the ancestors were, they simply lived too long ago.

Times back a Ganyman would be called to every hobbit’s deathbed, rich or poor, cruel or gentle, but in later years they’d fallen out of favour…among the gentlefolk anyway. After Bullroarer Took’s famous last words of ‘I don’t need a Ganyman to tell my stories’, the powerful family had dropped the age-old tradition as if it was so much childish nonsense. And whether they wanted to admit it or not, wherever the Tooks lead the other well-to-do families would follow. Which was why the message from Mistress Proudfoot was so very strange, by rights the Proudfoots weren’t the richest of families, but they were still well off enough to call themselves gentlefolk.

But now wasn’t the time to worry about such oddities, right now Ham had a duty to a hobbit on his deathbed.

He’d debated leaving Sam-lad and Little Marigold at home, but eventually decided against it. Even if they never developed a call to it, which considering Bell’s once grounded nature was more than likely, it was still good for a youngin’ too see Gany-work at least once in their lives, without the fog of loss and grief getting in the way.

The Proudfoots’ smial – for no self-respecting gentlefolk would live in anything else – while undoubtedly fine as smials go, was not half so grand as Bagend. The lamps were already lit inside the round windows when the three of them reached it and Ham knocked tentatively on the large red door, his Ganyman Staff clutched tightly to his breast. The round door creaked open and a large weathered face poked out, frowning at them over its long-crooked nose.

‘Yes?’

Ham steeled his shoulders, not in a mood to be waylaid from his duty and the dying hobbit inside by disapproving relatives

‘I’m the Ganyman, the Mistress of this house called for me…please let me in.’ The old hobbit snorted but moved back just enough for the trio to squeeze past. Once inside Hamfast’s eyes by passed the specifics of his surroundings, and instead landed directly on the door farthest to the right. He felt the familiar tug in the middle of his chest, and knew where his charge lay.

***

One hour later

By the time Hamfast had arrived at the dying hobbit’s bed, the patient was already in the middle of his death-throws; so, it hadn’t been the easiest of Last Tales to acquire…but then again, his patient this time was still technically living, so it hadn’t exactly been the hardest either.

The Hysterical soon-to-be-widow shrieking at his side hadn’t made the situation any simpler. He needed quiet to work, and he needed it now – unfortunately that meant he had to be a bit callous. He hadn’t exactly thrown the grieving Mistress out of her husband’s death-chamber, but his suggestion had been strong enough to mistake it for so.

Once she’d removed herself from the chamber, black streaks of makeup blotching her cheeks and a half-chocked sob concealed within her throat, Hamfast had been able to get down to work at last. If this was an ordinary run-of-the-mill Last Tale then right about then Hamfast would have been restraining the patient’s arms, he might have even let her stay to watch, but something deep in his gut told him this had to be done now.

Climbing up onto the bed, Hamfast straddled the old hobbit, pinning him down firmly onto the mattress with his own quite sizable weight. The Ganyman’s fingertips pressed into the old hobbit’s temple, and the death throws seem to still and freeze in place. It was said that the final words of a hobbit were his Last Tale, but of course, as any good Ganyman knew, words didn’t have to be spoken out loud. Which was a good thing, when the patient was a far gone as old Proudfoot was.

The Tale floated through Proudfoot’s dementia-addled mind and into the Ganyman’s. Hamfast saw each detail as it happened, as if he were in the story, living it right here and there. What seemed like years, decades even, to the two hobbits on the bed was barely a minute in the world beyond and with a cry like a wounded Eagle, Ham flopped backwards off the bed and began to sob.

***

When a Hobbit soul gives up its Last Tale, it moves on to the world beyond, into the Ancestor’s Caverns, where not even a Ganyman can properly enter. Leaving not but a whisper of its past self to continue through the story that the Ganyman will tell, but Faldo Proudfoot…did not do that.

Oh, he gave up his Last Tale to the Ganyman, every horrifying bit of it, but as for moving onto the world beyond…well…that he did not do. Or at least so it would appear to the still gasping Ganyman now lying on the old hobbit’s floor. For you see…Faldo Proudfoot’s body was still very much breathing when Hamfast Gamgee shakily climbed to his feet.

Hamfast could have been sure that Proudfoot’s spirit had passed over. Nay he was sure, he’d felt the body go limp with the spirit’s absence himself. Yet Proudfoot was undeniably alive, of that little the Ganyman could be certain of. Laying his hand on the withered chest, Hamfast spoke in soft low voice.

‘Master Proudfoot? Are you there, Master Proudfoot? You’ve given me your Last Tale you can move on now; you won’t be forgotten while I breathe good master, I can promise you that.’

As the Ganyman spoke the old master’s chest shook in an unrhythmic fashion, it was as if something was forcing the old chest to move up and down against its will. Suddenly Faldo Proudfoot’s hand lashed out and struck the Ganyman where he knelt by the bed, sending the other hobbit careening across the floor and smack right into the adjoining wall. And as Ganyman Gamgee began to slip into unconsciousness, his eyes beheld the horrific sight of Faldo Proudfoot’s body, standing up from his death-bed and walking out the door.

***

Middle-Earth, South Lands (or The Dark Land to the heathens of the West), The Yellow Mountains: T.A. 2989

It is a strange land the Great Wizard has led them to, not cold or boiling as the rumours had led them to believe – but strange none the less. The whole place feels…calm, as no mountain should. For mountains, whether their bellies be filled with fire or not, are grand monuments to the gods. Left here by the giants that had made them, or at least that was what Akunosh’s nursemaid had always told him when she was tucking him into bed at night. But then the Nursemaid had been of the lower classes; his father, a man of wealth and education, might have said something different. Akunosh didn’t know, but all the same he couldn’t help the feeling of disappointment as he climbed the steady slopes of the Yellow Mountain. There was nothing particular awe-inspiring about sun-bleached rocks, or scrabbly blades of grass and for a boy of fifteen – who had joined the Blue Wizard’s cause to seek adventure, that was a terrible blow indeed.

Still, seeing a Silmaril might make up for it. He hoped anyway, he’d never seen one before, so it wasn’t like he had anything to base it on. For all Akunosh knew it could be just as dull as the mountain… and that was the moment when they saw the body.

Small, but clearly not a child – the thing had been wrapped up in a multi-coloured shawl and then just left out on the rocks. Probably for more than a couple of days giving the smell of the thing. More than a few of the younger recruits hurried away from the sight; and even a couple of the older soldiers screwed up their noses. But Akunosh stopped by the body and let himself fall behind. Then, when he was entirely certain that no one was looking at him, he knelt by the strangely wrapped thing and stared at her face.

She was old, her shrived face, raisin like to look upon, baked by the sun now scorching his back. Slowly he pushed back the shawl from her face, her hair was still black even despite her clear age…but it was not that that Akunosh stared at, it was her ears. They were small like the rest of her, small and …pointed, he’d never seen such strange ears before, they weren’t the ears of men.

His Nurse had told him many stories as she tucked him into bed at night, but always his favourite had been the stories of the Halflings. Small creatures who belonged to no god of the west – sometimes in the tales they were kind, and helped travellers when they were lost; but other times they were wicked. Tricking the big Folks into wondering off the path and drowning, but whatever they were, friend or foe, good or evil, they had always captivated Akunosh. And they were here, they were real…and they were the people they had been sent to slay.

Up the mountain he could already hear the screams, and felt himself begin to shake.

#the hobbit #fanfiction #lord of the rings #fanfic #the silmarillion #the lord of the rings

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crimsun-n-clover · 1 year

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psychiatrist gave me a new sleep aim to ward off the batshit violent nightmares of everyone i love dying

thanks i guess

i went out of town with my mom today. drove a little over an hour to a major city to walk around the shops and little gimmicky places. got some dnd shit from a nerd store while mom stared at the miniatures with apprehension (“stevie do you really need these” “yeah they go on the board and are good for battles” “you said yourself that your players suck” “okay MAYBE it’s for me”). didn’t buy any of the fancy dice sets i wanted or anything. i showed the restraint of a goddamn nun. i did get more tacky biker rings though so i guess it balances out.

fell in love with a stray cat there. named him judas because i was listening to judas priest. i miss him.

i spent the rest of the day listening to the fellowship of the ring as an audiobook. i love sam gamgee so fuckin much. “mr frodo sir this fucking sucks can we get drunk” “oh my lovely and faithful sam. no. i wanna put my life at risk.” “shit alright i guess i’ll shield you from the scary ass horses or whatever” like sam and frodo are the epitome of “could you do it,,, for m e?”

sam is a fucking simp and i love him more than i love my own fucking family because they’re straight republicans and not hopelessly devoted homosexual gardeners. i’m a (formerly) hopelessly devoted homosexual and i wanted to be a botanist for a couple years there so i could be a gardener if i didn’t hate the sun so much. he’s just like me <3

“sam we can’t go in there that old bastard set his dogs on me thirty years ago” and pippen goes “nahhhh you’ll be fine :)” and my man sam is like “i’ll fucking kill him mr frodo i don’t care how long ago it was”

frodo is so fucking blorbo. he’s my special little guy. my babygirl. my sopping wet cat in the rain. my scrunkly scrimble doo. i want to wrap him in a nice cotton blanket and gnaw on it like a soft taco. i want to watch him spin around in a microwave. i want to shake him like a snow globe. i am so normal.

i swear i had actual shit to talk about. uhhhh

if i get asked one more time “did you MAKE your jacket” “do you even listen to those bands” or the ever irritating “name three songs” i’m gonna maul someone. like nah jennifer i walked into the punk and metal store and said make me look like a threat to humanity and also a total loser at the same time. like fucking OBVIOUSLY i made it. it’s a battle jacket. have you people ever met someone with an interest in music?? i didn’t give someone a list of bands and tell them to go ham and put shit on crooked. i sat on the floor until five in the goddamn morning with a bag of patches i picked up from my patch dealer (he’s in his 40’s at least and had to move back in with his parents. he has met every member of megadeth and talked to dio before he died. he’s so strange and he even gives me a discount for being so amusing he’s pretty rad) and stabbed my hands until they bled.

i know that’s something petty to get annoyed with but hey man, just because i’m not an old bald dude who goes “YEAHHH SLAYER” at every show doesn’t mean i’m not part of that community. it’s like because i’m feminine looking and young they assume i’m trying to be quirky and different or something. nah dude i’m just actually fucked up.

“your parents must have good taste in music little lady” my mom listens mainly to country, is an ed sheeran super fan, and thinks that those shitty motivational songs are her anthems for putting up with her autistic asshole child. my dad heard me listening to misfits and goes “this guy sounds JUST like danzig” and i was like “i know????” and we looked at each other for a minute before i had to explain to him that danzig was IN misfits. i also was stealing his cds and found FOUR FUCKING NICKELBACK ALBUMS. so nah man i’m just a fuckin freak. a complete oddity. a deviant of my bloodline.

i don’t know how to end this i’m getting woozy with my meds so farewell tumblr i shall see you past daybreak tomorrow

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