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#past tarva speaks
redbootsindoriath · 2 years
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The other day as I was going through the blog’s backup folders, I found some old drawings that I meant to post throughout the past couple of years and either forgot about or just never got around to (I don’t think there are any here that I’ve posted before, but I apologize if there are).  And I thought “I should probably post these before I go.”  So here they are.  I’m going to put them under a cut because there are quite a few of them.  Most of them are from Children of Húrin.
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This one is labeled “glaurung” in my files but he kind of looks more like a dragon version of Jabba the Hutt.  I think it’s because Tolkien mentioned how fat he got while sleeping on the treasure in Nargothrond, so I drew a normal snaky dragon and then tried to imagine how it would look if it gained weight.
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Mablung and Beleg coming back from a rainy hunting trip.  If I remember right, it started out as a height comparison drawing and I decided to actually turn it into a full sketch...?
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Beleg, Túrin, and Mablung somewhere in Doriath.  I actually remember where I was sitting while I was drawing this...I think it was in February 2020?  I’m pretty sure it was the last drawing I did before leaving for the airport to come to the States and then getting stuck there because the virus stopped all overseas travel for so long.  In other words, this is the last drawing from when my life was still relatively normal.  Just look at how chill all the characters are.  I thought I was only going to be gone for a couple of weeks, maybe a month max.
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Those same three characters because I’m predictable.
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Remember how some people and dwarves in Middle Earth think that elves are just so creepy and terrifying?  And heck, we know that some of them really were brutal.  Heck, even our golden boy Finrod bit a werewolf during a fight once.  So I was thinking about how Beleg probably resorted to biting during fights now and again if it was the quickest way out, especially since he’s from that first generation of elves that was figuring out how the world worked on their own and they didn’t have anybody around to say “stop ripping the throats out of your enemies with your teeth, that’s really gross and barbaric.”
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Speaking of Finrod, here he is.  This was originally part of a Third Age Finrod comic but the idea got scrapped.  I still like this frame though.
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Legolas and Gimli talking to Treebeard in Fangorn Forest.  Basically just a little doodle to laugh about how tall Treebeard is even next to characters on horseback.  (Also a squirrel.)
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A little set of parallel drawings I did of Beleg and Túrin rescuing each other.  My best friend had written a list of friendship prompts and this one was “Physically blocking them from harm” and I couldn’t decide which character I wanted in which role so I opted for both.
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Finrod as a beach boy.  In hindsight it would be even funnier if I had put a tropical pattern on his shorts.
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Anyway, thanks for joining me here as I went through my old files in preparation for my hiatus.  Turns out I’m less organized than I thought, but hey, as long as you guys still like the drawings then I don’t mind.
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swordsandshuttles · 2 years
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Rekindling A Hero Chapter Thirteen: Prodigal Son
The Normandy made its final approach toward the Citadel. Even at a distance, the sheer size of the station was jaw dropping. Stretching out from the nebula in which it was nestled, the structure was nearly forty-five kilometres long, a collection of five enormous ward arms splaying out from a central ring, giving the whole thing an appearance of a budding flower. At nearly thirteen kilometres in diameter, the space between the wards was immense, with plenty of room for thousands of ships to come and go with little risk of collision. The imposing size of the place was backed up by hundreds of warships in close orbit. Though the flagship of the Citadel Fleet: the Destiny Ascension was absent, there was nowhere a ship could travel that didn’t have it in range of Alliance or Turian guns.
As the Cerberus frigate descended toward one of the massive wards, everything seemed to shift. What had been the coherent shape of a space station just moments before, gave way to a sprawling cityscape, with hundreds of towers jutting up from the inner side of the ward arm. From the window, the ward took on its own horizon, with inhabitants below looking up to see their sister wards in the skies above, each one curving into the next. Looking toward the dividing line between station and sky, the view was dominated by the central ring of the Presidium, the core structure of the Citadel that held the whole thing together. The Normandy had been routed to Zakera Ward, with traffic control taking over for the docking sequence. The sleek, swooping ship gently coasted down into her berth, coming to a stop when the bay’s magnetic clamps locked the frigate in place.
Emerging from the boarding bridge into the bay, Shepard couldn’t help but pause. It was so surreal, being back here. Just down the way he could hear the hustle and bustle of passengers disembarking and heading off to their destinations. The lights glowed brightly and the finish along the platform was clean and maintained. When he looked out past the protective barrier, he could see countless ships, lazily travelling back and forth across the station. He could still remember the heat of the fires, the acrid smell of smoke: Bullet holes and blood staining the walls. For him it had only been a few weeks ago… it really had been two years. So much had been fixed; from here the damage wasn’t even noticeable: Saren and the geth, Sovereign’s attack, it all felt like a bad dream.
Soon Garrus and Tali joined him, looking out at the breathtaking view. Neither of them said anything, but the turian on his right leaned forward on the platform’s railing, narrowing his eyes. His mandibles rhythmically pressed against his face, contracting flush before relaxing again. Shepard could see the tension in him, something unspoken. Tali stood to his left, putting the commander between her and Garrus. Her glowing gaze held a similar sense of disbelief, mirroring Shepard’s. Taking in the sight, she gingerly touched her hands together. There was a moment, brief and fleeting when he wanted to break the silence. To make a pithy remark about how things had been fixed, or how much time had passed. Beneath that, he just wanted to hear them speak. Something to spark their voices, to bring a sense of routine to a place the three of them had stood many times before. But the time came and went, and as if of one mind the three of them pulled away from the vista and walked toward the terminal. Heading in past the tourist trap stores and security checkpoints, they could see the public skycar lot when a salarian approached them.
“Commander Shepard?” He asked, his voice carrying the typically nasal, expectant tone of most salarians. He wore a suit of combat armour, black and silver contrasting against his green-grey skin.
“Yes?” Shepard saw no point in lying, it was only a matter of time before he was recognised. At his confirmation the tall alien’s large eyes glinted with approval.
“I’m Kello Tarva, I work for the Citadel.” He introduced himself politely. “When your ship was flagged on approach, I was sent to escort you to the Presidium.”
“I see.” Shepard already knew where this was going, though he was thankful to save the time getting there. “I’m guessing the council wants to see me?”
“Precisely, Commander. I received the order from councillor Anderson himself.” Kello nodded.
After everything that’d happened, Shepard had almost forgotten about the old man. The information caught him a little off guard, but it was a pleasant feeling nonetheless.
“No time to waste then.” Shepard asserted, getting a smile from the salarian.
“My thoughts exactly.”
Before long the four of them had left the docking bay, speeding over the buildings in a private skycar. Shepard sat in the front with Kello, who was mostly monitoring the vehicles autopilot: Behind them sat Garrus and Tali, both doing their best not to look uncomfortable. Thanks to the translucent canopy, the aerial view of the Citadel was unobstructed, with the three friends each taking the opportunity to look out the window. The small shuttle travelled seamlessly through the empty vacuum above the towers, the ride only interrupted by the slightest of bumps as it changed course towards the Presidium. Watching the endless city beneath suddenly give way to empty space was exhilarating, as if they’d travelled off the edge of the world. Soon enough the skycar closed in on the Presidium itself. Slipping inside through another kinetic barrier, it began to race along an endless curving landscape. For a man who’d grown up looking at a flat, planetary horizon, Shepard still found the architecture mind-bending. Just a few dozen meters above them was a false sky, complete with clouds and calming blue. Beneath them, a series of lakes, each one rising up toward the next, the two shades of blue mixing at the furthest point. His experience was only dulled when something else caught his attention: A hint of purple in the canopy’s reflective glass. A pair of shining eyes, looking out at the view, but not seeing it. Her helmet’s chin propped up on her elbow, Tali was far away. As the skycar slowly hovered down onto the landing pad, the thought began to eat away at him. Neither of his friends had breathed a word since they’d arrived.
Following Kello up a familiar flight of stairs, Shepard realised they were heading to the old human embassy building. Everything had be redone of course, the former Volus and Elcor room had been relocated, with an office put in there now. The whole place was livelier, with people slotting past the trio headed for one room or another. But gone were the other species, no asari or turians to be seen anywhere. Instead of just one office, now it seemed the whole building had been converted for human use. Finally the small group came to a stop outside the Councillor’s door, a door that once belonged to Udina. Kello tapped his Omni-tool to the hologram, flashing the orange to green. He then gave the commander a warm nod, and left without another word.
Taking a breath, Shepard stepped through into the place his whole adventure had begun two years ago. Garrus and Tali followed close behind, seemingly struck with a similar sense of recognition. The room itself had barely changed; there was a holographic comms console to his right, and a public news terminal to his left. The décor was tasteful and minimal; indoor plants and fine art. The desk at the far side of the room was large, with photo frames posed near the computer and a drinking cup resting in a well-formed coffee ring. An old, dark-skinned man sat at the desk. Dressed in blue finery, but with a crew cut still tying him to his previous line of work. Deep brown eyes looked up from the orange screen, filling with awe as they took in the presence before them.
“John…” Anderson’s gravelly voice held the commander stock still. The councillor was up from his desk, shock and relief on his lined features as he crossed the room. Shepard couldn’t move, he could only watch as the man who had saved his life, the man he owed everything to, put his arms around him. The commander could only stand there, feeling that reassuring strength again. There were no words, no tears, only the breath caught in his lungs.
“God damn it boy…” The old man chided, barely more than a whisper. “…You’re alive.”
Almost subconsciously, Shepard returned the embrace. Waves of feeling crashed against him, relief, shame, guilt, joy. He wanted to tell him everything, to try and explain what had happened, where he’d been. But at the same time, he couldn’t say a word. Nothing came out. It was only when his mentor finally released him, pulling back a step to look him in the eye, that he was able to respond.
“Sir… I…” He didn’t know where to begin. Anderson put a hand on his shoulder.
“It’s alright Shepard. There’ll be time for it… but not now.”
“…Yes sir.” The commander could see that spark of kinship in Anderson’s eyes. Someone who had always understood him, no matter the circumstances.
“When I heard the rumours from Omega, I could barely believe it.” The councillor glanced back toward his desk. “But seeing that ship again, I knew it was you.” His attention shifted to Garrus and Tali, who’d both simply stood and watched the whole thing. “Mister Vakarian, Miss Zorah, good to see you still keeping an eye on the commander.” He addressed them with calming warmth in his voice.
“It’s a full time job, councillor.” Garrus matched the man’s tone, giving a bow of his head. Tali copied the turian’s gesture, but kept silent. Instead, she locked eyes with the former captain, silently echoing his joy and relief at Shepard’s survival.
“Don’t get me wrong, Anderson. It’s… great to see you.” Shepard assured his mentor. “But I get the feeling you wanted to me here officially, sir?”
“Not just him, Commander.” The rumbling reverb of a turian voice interrupted them. The four of them turned to see the holographic projections of the other Councillors shimmer to life before them. A flicker of frustration crossed Anderson’s eyes. Even after two years, Sparatus, Tevos and Valern still held their positions as the turian, asari and salarian representatives.
“We’ve heard rumours surrounding your survival, Commander Shepard.” Valern spoke up. “Some of them are… unsettling.”
Full Chapter:
https://archiveofourown.org/works/35752780/chapters/92705941
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readbookywooks · 7 years
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CASPIAN'S ADVENTURE IN THE MOUNTAINS
AFTER this, Caspian and his Tutor had many more secret conversations on the top of the Great Tower, and at each conversation Caspian learned more about Old Narnia, so that thinking and dreaming about the old days, and longing that they might come back, filled nearly all his spare hours. But of course he had not many hours to spare, for now his education was beginning in earnest. He learned sword-fighting and riding, swimming and diving, how to shoot with the bow and play on the recorder and the theorbo, how to hunt the stag and cut him up when he was dead, besides Cosmography, Rhetoric, Heraldry, Versification, and of course History, with a little Law, Physic, Alchemy, and Astronomy. Of Magic he learned only the theory, for Doctor Cornelius said the practical part was not proper study for princes. "And I myself," he added, "am only a very imperfect magician and can do only the smallest experiments." Of Navigation ("Which is a noble and heroical art," said the Doctor) he was taught nothing, because King Miraz disapproved of ships and the sea. He also learned a great deal by using his own eyes and ears. As a little boy he had often wondered why he disliked his aunt, Queen Prunaprismia; he now saw that it was because she disliked him. He also began to see that Narnia was an unhappy country. The taxes were high and the laws were stern and Miraz was a cruel man. After some years there came a time when the Queen seemed to be ill and there was a great deal of bustle and pother about her in the castle and doctors came and the courtiers whispered. This was in early summertime. And one night, while all this fuss was going on, Caspian was unexpectedly wakened by Doctor Cornelius after he had been only a few hours in bed. "Are we going to do a little Astronomy, Doctor?" said Caspian. "Hush!" said the Doctor. "Trust me and do exactly as I tell you. Put on all your clothes; you have a long journey before you." Caspian was very surprised, but he had learned to have confidence in his Tutor and he began doing what he was told at once. When he was dressed the Doctor said, "I have a wallet for you. We must go into the next room and fill it with victuals from your Highness's supper table." "My gentlemen-in-waiting will be there," said Caspian. "They are fast asleep and will not wake," said the Doctor. "I am a very minor magician but I can at least contrive a charmed sleep." They went into the antechamber and there, sure enough, the two gentlemen-in-waiting were, sprawling on chairs and snoring hard. Doctor Cornelius quickly cut up the remains of a cold chicken and some slices of venison and put them, with bread and an apple or so and a little flask of good wine, into the wallet which he then gave to Caspian. It fitted on by a strap over Caspian's shoulder, like a satchel you would use for taking books to school. "Have you your sword?" asked the Doctor. "Yes," said Caspian. "Then put this mantle over all to hide the sword and the wallet. That's right. And now we must go to the Great Tower and talk." When they had reached the top of the Tower (it was a cloudy night, not at all like the night when they had seen the conjunction of Tarva and Alambil) Doctor Cornelius said, "Dear Prince, you must leave this castle at once and go to seek your fortune in the wide world. Your life is in danger here." "Why?" asked Caspian. "Because you are the true King of Narnia: Caspian the Tenth, the true son and heir of Caspian the Ninth. Long life to your Majesty' - and suddenly, to Caspian's great surprise, the little man dropped down on one knee and kissed his hand. "What does it all mean? I don't understand," said Caspian. "I wonder you have never asked me before," said the Doctor, "why, being the son of King Caspian, you are not King Caspian yourself. Everyone except your Majesty knows that Miraz is a usurper. When he first began to rule he did not even pretend to be the King: he called himself Lord Protector. But then your royal mother died, the good Queen and the only Telmarine who was ever kind to me. And then, one by one, all the great lords, who had known your father, died or disappeared. Not by accident, either. Miraz weeded them out. Belisar and Uvilas were shot with arrows on a hunting party: by chance, it was pretended. All the great house of the Passarids he sent to fight giants on the northern frontier till one by one they fell. Arlian and Erimon and a dozen more he executed for treason on a false charge. The two brothers of Beaversdam he shut up as madmen. And finally he persuaded the seven noble lords, who alone among all the Telmarines did not fear the sea, to sail away and look for new lands beyond the Eastern Ocean, and, as he intended, they never came back. And when there was no one left who could speak a word for you, then his flatterers (as he had instructed them) begged him to become King. And of course he did." "Do you mean he now wants to kill me too?" said Caspian. "That is almost certain," said Doctor Cornelius. "But why now?" said Caspian. "I mean, why didn't he do it long ago if he wanted to? And what harm have I done him?" "He has changed his mind about you because of something that happened only two hours ago. The Queen has had a son." "I don't see what that's got to do with it," said Caspian. "Don't see!" exclaimed the Doctor. "Have all my lessons in History and Politics taught you no more than that? Listen. As long as he had no children of his own, he was willing enough that you should be King after he died. He may not have cared much about you, but he would rather you should have the throne than a stranger. Now that he has a son of his own he will want his own son to be the next King. You are in the way. He'll clear you out of the way." "Is he really as bad as that?" said Caspian. "Would he really murder me?" "He murdered your Father," said Doctor Cornelius. Caspian felt very queer and said nothing. "I can tell you the whole story," said the Doctor. "But not now. There is no time. You must fly at once." "You'll come with me?" said Caspian. "I dare not," said the Doctor. "It would make your danger greater. Two are more easily tracked than one. Dear Prince, dear King Caspian, you must be very brave. You must go alone and at once. Try to get across the southern border to the court of King Nain of Archenland. He will be good to you." "Shall I never see you again?" said Caspian in a quavering voice. "I hope so, dear King," said the Doctor. "What friend have I in the wide world except your Majesty? And I have a little magic. But in the meantime, speed is everything. Here are two gifts before you go. This is a little purse of gold alas, all the treasure in this castle should be your own by rights. And here is something far better." He put in Caspian's hands something which he could hardly see but which he knew by the feel to be a horn. "That," said Doctor Cornelius, "is the greatest and most sacred treasure of Narnia. Many terrors I endured, many spells did I utter, to find it, when I was still young. It is the magic horn of Queen Susan herself which she left behind her when she vanished from Narnia at the end of the Golden Age. It is said that whoever blows it shall have strange help - no one can say how strange. It may have the power to call Queen Lucy and King Edmund and Queen Susan and High King Peter back from the past, and they will set all to rights. It may be that it will call up Asian himself. Take it, King Caspian: but do not use it except at your greatest need. And now, haste, haste, haste. The little door at the very bottom of the Tower, the door into the garden, is unlocked. There we must part." "Can I get my horse Destrier?" said Caspian. "He is already saddled and waiting for you just at the corner of the orchard." During the long climb down the winding staircase Cornelius whispered many more words of direction and advice. Caspian's heart was sinking, but he tried to take it all in. Then came the fresh air in the garden, a fervent handclasp with the Doctor, a run across the lawn, a welcoming whinny from Destrier, and so King Caspian the Tenth left the castle of his fathers. Looking back, he saw fireworks going up to celebrate the birth of the new prince. All night he rode southward, choosing by-ways and bridle paths through woods as long as he was in country that he knew; but afterwards he kept to the high road. Destrier was as excited as his master at this unusual journey, and Caspian, though tears had come into his eyes at saying good-bye to Doctor Cornelius, felt brave and, in a way, happy, to think that he was King Caspian riding to seek adventures, with his sword on his left hip and Queen Susan's magic horn on his right. But when day came, with a sprinkle of rain, and he looked about him and saw on every side unknown woods, wild heaths, and blue mountains, he thought how large and strange the world was and felt frightened and small. As soon as it was full daylight he left the road and found an open grassy place amid a wood where he could rest. He took off Destrier's bridle and let him graze, ate some cold chicken and drank a little wine, and presently fell asleep. It was late afternoon when he awoke. He ate a morsel and continued his journey, still southward, by many unfrequented lanes. He was now in a land of hills, going up and down, but always more up than down. From every ridge he could see the mountains growing bigger and blacker ahead. As the evening closed in, he was riding their lower slopes. The wind rose. Soon rain fell in torrents. Destrier became uneasy; there was thunder in the air. And now they entered a dark and seemingly endless pine forest, and all the stories Caspian had ever heard of trees being unfriendly to Man crowded into his mind. He remembered that he was, after all, a Telmarine, one of the race who cut down trees wherever they could and were at war with all wild things; and though he himself might be unlike other Telmarines, the trees could not be expected to know this. Nor did they. The wind became a tempest, the woods roared and creaked all round them. There came a crash. A tree fell right across the road just behind him. "Quiet, Destrier, quiet!" said Caspian, patting his horse's neck; but he was trembling himself and knew that he had escaped death by an inch. Lightning flashed and a great crack of thunder seemed to break the sky in two just overhead. Destrier bolted in good earnest. Caspian was a good rider, but he had not the strength to hold him back. He kept his seat, but he knew that his life hung by a thread during the wild career that followed. Tree after tree rose up before them in the dusk and was only just avoided. Then, almost too suddenly to hurt (and yet it did hurt him too) something struck Caspian on the forehead and he knew no more. When he came to himself he was lying in a firelit place with bruised limbs and a bad headache. Low voices were speaking close at hand. "And now," said one, "before it wakes up we must decide what to do with it." "Kill it," said another. "We can't let it live. It would betray us." "We ought to have killed it at once, or else let it alone," said a third voice. "We can't kill it now. Not after we've taken it in and bandaged its head and all. It would be murdering a guest." "Gentlemen," said Caspian in a feeble voice, "whatever you do to me, I hope you will be kind to my poor horse." "Your horse had taken flight long before we found you," said the first voice - a curiously husky, earthy voice, as Caspian now noticed. "Now don't let it talk you round with its pretty words," said the second voice. "I still say - " "Horns and halibuts!" exclaimed the third voice. "Of course we're not going to murder it. For shame, Nikabrik. What do you say, Trufflehunter? What shall we do with it?" "I shall give it a drink," said the first voice, presumably Trufflehunter's. A dark shape approached the bed. Caspian felt an arm slipped gently under his shoulders - if it was exactly an arm. The shape somehow seemed wrong. The face that bent towards him seemed wrong too. He got the impression that it was very hairy and very long nosed, and there were odd white patches on each side of it. "It's a mask of some sort," thought Caspian. "Or perhaps I'm in a fever and imagining it all." A cupful of something sweet and hot was set to his lips and he drank. At that moment one of the others poked the fire. A blaze sprang up and Caspian almost screamed with the shock as the sudden light revealed the face that was looking into his own. It was not a man's face but a badger's, though larger and friendlier and more intelligent than the face of any badger he had seen before. And it had certainly been talking. He saw, too, that he was on a bed of heather, in a cave. By the fire sat two little bearded men, so much wilder and shorter and hairier and thicker than Doctor Cornelius that he knew them at once for real Dwarfs, ancient Dwarfs with not a drop of human blood in their veins. And Caspian knew that he had found the Old Narnians at last. Then his head began to swim again. In the next few days he learned to know them by names. The Badger was called Trufflehunter; he was the oldest and kindest of the three. The Dwarf who had wanted to kill Caspian was a sour Black Dwarf (that is, his hair and beard were black, and thick and hard like horsehair). His name was Nikabrik. The other Dwarf was a Red Dwarf with hair rather like a Fox's and he was called Trumpkin. "And now," said Nikabrik on the first evening when Caspian was well enough to sit up and talk, "we still have to decide what to do with this Human. You two think you've done it a great kindess by not letting me kill it. But I suppose the upshot is that we have to keep it a prisoner for life. I'm certainly not going to let it go alive - to go back to its own kind and betray us all." "Bulbs and bolsters! Nikabrik," said Trumpkin. "Why need you talk so unhandsomely? It isn't the creature's fault that it bashed its head against a tree outside our hole. And I don't think it looks like a traitor." "I say," said Caspian, "you haven't yet found out whether I want to go back. I don't. I want to stay with you - if you'll let me. I've been looking for people like you all my life." "That's a likely story," growled Nikabrik. "You're a Telmarine and a Human, aren't you? Of course you want to go back to your own kind." "Well, even if I did, I couldn't," said Caspian. "I was flying for my life when I had my accident. The King wants to kill me. If you'd killed me, you'd have done the very thing to please him." "Well now," said Trufflehunter, "you don't say so!" "Eh?" said Trumpkin. "What's that? What have you been doing, Human, to fall foul of Miraz at your age?" "He's my uncle," began Caspian, when Nikabrik jumped up with his hand on his dagger. "There you are!" he cried. "Not only a Telmarine but close kin and heir to our greatest enemy. Are you still mad enough to let this creature live?" He would have stabbed Caspian then and there, if the Badger and Trumpkin had not got in the way and forced him back to his seat and held him down. "Now, once and for all, Nikabrik," said Trumpkin. "Will you contain yourself, or must Trufflehunter and I sit on your head?" Nikabrik sulkily promised to behave, and the other two asked Caspian to tell his whole story. When he had done so there was a moment's silence. "This is the queerest thing I ever heard," said Trumpkin. "I don't like it," said Nikabrik. "I didn't know there were stories about us still told among the Humans. The less they know about us the better. That old nurse, now. She'd better have held her tongue. And it's all mixed up with that Tutor: a renegade Dwarf. I hate 'em. I hate 'em worse than the Humans. You mark my words - no good will come of it. "Don't you go talking about things you don't understand, Nikabrik," said Trufflehunter. "You Dwarfs are as forgetful and changeable as the Humans themselves. I'm a beast, I am, and a Badger what's more. We don't change. We hold on. I say great good will come of it. This is the true King of Narnia we've got here: a true King, coming back to true Narnia. And we beasts remember, even if Dwarfs forget, that Narnia was never right except when a son of Adam was King." "Whistles and whirligigs! Trufflehunter," said Trumpkin. "You don't mean you want to give the country to Humans?" "I said nothing about that," answered the Badger. "It's not Men's country (who should know that better than me?) but it's a country for a man to be King of. We badgers have long enough memories to know that. Why, bless us all, wasn't the High King Peter a Man?" "Do you believe all those old stories?" asked Trumpkin. "I tell you, we don't change, we beasts," said Trufflehunter. "We don't forget. I believe in the High King Peter and the rest that reigned at Cair Paravel, as firmly as I believe in Aslan himself." "As firmly as that, I dare say," said Trumpkin. "But who believes in Aslan nowadays?" "I do," said Caspian. "And if I hadn't believed in him before, I would now. Back there among the Humans the people who laughed at Aslan would have laughed at stories about Talking Beasts and Dwarfs. Sometimes I did wonder if there really was such a person as Aslan: but then sometimes I wondered if there were really people like you. Yet there you are." "That's right," said Trufflehunter. "You're right, King Caspian. And as long as you will be true to Old Narnia you shall be my King, whatever they say. Long life to your Majesty." "You make me sick, Badger," growled Nikabrik. "The High King Peter and the rest may have been Men, but they were a different sort of Men. This is one of the cursed Telmarines. He has hunted beasts for sport. Haven't you, now?" he added, rounding suddenly on Caspian. "Well, to tell you the truth, I have," said Caspian. "But they weren't Talking Beasts." "It's all the same thing," said Nikabrik. "No, no, no," said Trufflehunter. "You know it isn't. You know very well that the beasts in Narnia nowadays are different and are no more than the poor dumb, witless creatures you'd find in Calormen or Telmar. They're smaller too. They're far more different from us than the half-Dwarfs are from you." There was a great deal more talk, but it all ended with the agreement that Caspian should stay and even the promise that, as soon as he was able to go out, he should be taken to see what Trumpkin called "the Others"; for apparently in these wild parts all sorts of creatures from the Old Days of Narnia still lived on in hiding.
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redbootsindoriath · 3 years
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Transcription:
Turgon: “I didn’t understand why Finrod cared so much about his dumb humans until I got some dumb humans myself. ... I’ve only had Húrin and Huor for a day and a half, but if anything happened to them, I would kill everyone in this city and then myself.”
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redbootsindoriath · 3 years
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If Túrin had been the one to build the tunnel out of Gondolin, it would definitely have collapsed right when everybody was inside of it.
Transcription:
[Tuor:] “So yeah, then we built like this tunnel so that people could leave in greater numbers if necessary, and--” [Túrin:] “Wait, let me guess: the city ends up being attacked through that tunnel.  Everyone dies.  All the readers blame you.” [Tuor:] “What??  No, tons of people were able to escape through it when the city was attacked.  It ended up being a really great thing.  Anyway, as I was saying, my wife and I--” [Túrin:] “You got married?  How closely were you related to her?” [Tuor:] “Related??  Not at all!  She was an elf.  We ended up having a kid, and eventually she and I sailed to the Undying Lands together and I became immortal and--” [Túrin:] “You what?” [Tuor:] “Dude, are...are you okay?” [Túrin:]  “...excuse me a moment.” *bang bang* [Túrin:] “Open this door, Mr. Author, I have some questions!!” [Tolkien:] “Oh crap, it’s Túrin.”
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redbootsindoriath · 3 years
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Y’all.  Y’all look what I hecking found on Friday.
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This is my first Silmarillion fanart ever.  I am dead, this is awful.  20 notes on this post and I’ll redraw it (with my current Fëanor design, of course, but like...I’ll put him in the same clothes).
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redbootsindoriath · 3 years
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Elves being super obsessed with hobbits is one of my favorite things ever.
Transcription:
[Elrond:] “Nobody would judge you, if you stayed in Rivendell, you know.” [Elrond:] “This quest is stupid.  You definitely shouldn’t go (especially Bilbo).” [Elrond:] “THoRin CaN’t be TrUSTeD.  BiLBo ShoULd StAY hErE.” [Gandalf:] “Dude stop trying to steal my hobbit.”
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redbootsindoriath · 3 years
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Friendly reminder that Túrin got all his height from his mom.
“Húrin was by three years the elder, but he was shorter in stature than other men of his kin...” “...and [Túrin] was in truth the son of Morwen Eledhwen to look upon: tall, dark-haired and pale-skinned...”
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Beleg would have met Húrin at the Nirnaeth and was probably really confused when Túrin just kept getting taller.
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redbootsindoriath · 3 years
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A friend of mine on DeviantArt had an AU where Maeglin ended up living with Maedhros in Himring after Aredhel’s death (instead of with Turgon in Gondolin), so I drew her a comic because this AU has a lot of comedic potential if you take nothing seriously.
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And then I made this one too:
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Transcription:
[Maeglin:] “You know......sometimes I wish I had a lot of siblings...” [Maedhros:] “Noooope!  No you do not.”
[Maedhros:] “Son, do you have time to run an errand for me?” [Maeglin:] “I’m not your son, Dad!!”
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redbootsindoriath · 3 years
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Fëanorians in pajamas.  A friend suggested it and I was like “LOL yes good.”
Maedhros’s shirt says “the hot one” and his coffee mug says “hot mess” because it’s always a good time for a joke about his name. Maglor’s shirt says “I don’t shut up about music” because no explanation needed. Celegorm is in a reindeer jumpsuit because why not. The twins are in “Thing 1” and “Thing 2″ onesies so that Fëanor can tell them apart and make sure they’re both accounted for before he sets anything on fire.
Where are Caranthir and Curufin?  I dunno.  We couldn’t think of any good jokes for them at the time.  Throw some suggestions at me and I’ll add a followup post.
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redbootsindoriath · 3 years
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Here are some Beleg and teen/preteen Túrin sketches.
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Túrin would have been such a headache as a teenager, let’s be real.
(Putting this under the cut so I don’t bore anyone, but I just wanted to make sure there isn’t any misunderstanding later on.....these are from a series of platonic prompt drawings I did for my friend.  So in case anyone somehow doesn’t know whether I ship Túrleg or not, no, I don’t ship Túrleg.  I figured that posting this during Aspec Arda Week might help clarify that a bit, but y’know, just in case. “Oh but Tarva they’re wrestling in the last drawing, isn’t that kind of shippy?”  If wrestling with someone is a sign of being romantically interested in them, then I am apparently into all of my siblings.  Which, incidentally, I am not.  [Now would be a great time for a Húrincest joke but I’m not gonna make it because geez.])
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redbootsindoriath · 3 years
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This was just an excuse to draw Túrin as a baby.
Transcription:
[Túrin:] “D...d...da...de...d...” [Húrin:] “That’s right, say “dada”!” [Túrin:] “Death.”
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redbootsindoriath · 3 years
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Now that it’s September, I can officially celebrate it having been a year since my Tolkien hyperfixation rose from its half-slumber and dominated my sketchbook.  (Technically it has been active for just a little bit longer than that, since it was sometime in August last year that it started, but since I wasn’t sure exactly of the date, I decided to play it on the safe side and say “beginning of September”.)
Here’s the first finished drawing and most recent finished drawing from this spike of interest.
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redbootsindoriath · 3 years
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These are from early 2019, I was going to turn them into posters, I never got around to it...so yeah anyway here are some old sketches.
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redbootsindoriath · 3 years
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Some nice mood contrast stuff after the last post.
I listened to Battlelore’s “Doombound” album this past winter and was like “LOL if heavy metal existed in Middle Earth, Túrin would absolutely be the kind of guy to listen to it” and then I was like “You know who’d have introduced it to him?  Beleg, who also taught him about other lovely things that turned out super great, like fighting and using a sword.”
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Transcription:
Thingol: “Oh, Beleg, you’re back!  You know, Melian and I really appreciate you taking Túrin under your wing like this.  It’s important for him to have good role models in his life.” Beleg: “Uh...yeah...” Thingol: “Where is he, by the way?” Beleg: “Um...” Túrin: “You don’t understand me, Thingol!  Nobody understands me!” Beleg: “I may or may not have introduced him to heavy metal, and he may or may not have taken it farther than I anticipated.” Thingol: “I can see that...” Beleg: “Now he wants me to teach him how to do vocal fry and play guitar and drums.” Thingol: “Yeah no, absolutely not.” Túrin: “Ugh...” Beleg: “See, I told you, Túrin.”
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redbootsindoriath · 3 years
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Let’s be real, someone could have made a fortune opening a therapy business in the First Age.
Transcription:
[Maeglin:] “...and that’s when he threw the spear.  To be honest, I think he was aiming for me, but he ended up hitting my mom instead...” [BONUS: the emo boy who is the most frequent client] >supplies 50% of the business >probably just accidentally killed yet another person he cared about >usually it’s an elves-only policy but they made an exception for him
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