there are 4 versions of The Lord of the Rings: the books, the films, the extended editions, and the self-insert fanfic you’ve had bouncing around in your head since you were fourteen
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Daily reminder that it happened twice for someone to be compared to Oromë while riding into battle. The first one was Fingolfin. The second one was Théoden.
Fingolfin, burning with so much rage, Beleriand ablaze, his nephews dead, eyes so bright and inhuman and otherwordly that he gets mistaken for a Vala. And he challenged Morgoth to a fight, and wounded him seven times, and scarred him for the rest of eternity, and orcs made no boast about that duel, and no songs were sung about it, for the sorrow was too deep.
And Théoden. Just. Théoden. Whose mind was poisoned, whose son was dead, and the world was falling apart around him, but who would not stand down and would not give up. And the armies of Rohan came, the hosts of Mordor wailed, and terror took them, and they fled, and died, and the hoofs of wrath rode over them.
Something about Fingolfin riding out to challenge Morgoth in wrath and despair, raging at the world and nothing going as it should be — something about Théoden riding out in wrath and hope, because there is a better future and he will be damned if he doesn't do everything in his power to lead the world to it.
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"Do not scorn pity that is the gift of a gentle heart, Éowyn! But I do not offer you my pity. For you are a lady high and valiant and have yourself won renown that shall not be forgotten; and you are a lady beautiful, I deem, beyond even the words of the Elven-tongue to tell. And I love you. Once I pitied your sorrow. But now, were you sorrowless, without fear or any lack, were you the blissful Queen of Gondor, still I would love you. Éowyn, do you not love me?"
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