Don't complain about the options in the final bracket if you weren't here for the six days of insanity that were the submission period.
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the rest of the fellowship: guys come on, Saruman’s army is legit here we gotta go fight
Legolas braiding his hair into fishtails:
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Me workshopping new memes: “Alvin, Simon, Theoden…is that something?”
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do you think crabs have external feetilization b’c otherwise they would have had such fuck nasty sex the world wasnt ready for it
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Some of you weren't there when the Westfold fell and it shows.
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“What about Aragorns tax policy??” “How do we know hobbits have sex if we don’t show it??” George Martin my man, you are asking the wrong questions. We should be asking where Gondor was when the Westfold fell.
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Sean Astin and Elijah Wood at Northern Ireland comic con. And with Bernard Hill.
“Where was the Shire when the Westfold fell?”
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do you have more additions for the post. what's varric up to in this universe
he’s asking if hawke dies in the other timeline too and you’re getting the option to lie to him as if that could make it easier. wait sorry you’re asking for jokes. ahem here i go:
varric: why is cassandra yelling at me for a book i haven’t even written yet
inquisitor: why were you in the alternate timeline still writing centrist smut when the westfold fell
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So I don't normally do this, but since my latest Lord of the Rings rewatch I've had this bouncing around my head, and finally am getting it out. So, poetry! This one is for Théodred, and I did my best to get the skaldic alliteration of Tolkien's Rohirric verse.
Simbelmynë
Forever they grow there, the fathers' graves watching;
white flowers covering, warding the dead.
Théodred lofty, Thengel's fair grandson,
alas they await him at his road's end.
Master of horses, the Mark's second Marshal,
prince of the people, proudly he stood.
At Isen's fords, with iron he fought there
with Saruman's forces, and slain there he fell.
Last of his line, Lord Théoden's only,
Dead in the river. So death we dealt then,
avenging the fallen, answering insult.
War we woke, the Westfold arising;
at Helm's Gate we harried the foe to the end.
The White Hand we withered, the wizard defying;
by spear and by sword we slew the dark host.
Still Simbelmynë, silent and silver,
his tomb it protects now til years have an end.
With Fréa he lies, Folca and Fréalaf;
In the ranks of his fathers he rests evermore.
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