#And there might have been hope for Sauron when Frodo wielded the Ring for the first time

[jynkiess]

I'm fine, just thinking about how the One Ring worked so hard to get back to Sauron by both calling Gollum to take it from Frodo and calling Frodo to wield it as it's Master but the Ring did its job too well and its success at both led to its demise because Frodo's first and only use of the Ring was to command that if Gollum ever tried to take the Ring again he would go into the lava of Mount Doom with it. And of course Gollum was going to try to take the Ring again. The Ring couldn't take back what it had done for centuries to Gollum. It couldn't have known that even in wielding the Ring Frodo's heart would still be good enough to believe that he was going to destroy it, that his one act as the Lord of the Rings would be to bind the fate of Sauron to the life of Gollum. What poetic justice. Just thinking about that.

[warrioreowynofrohan]

On Gondor and Nationalism

Gondor, and particularly Denethor and Boromir, is characterized more than any other realm in The Lord of the Rings by nationalism, and there is a sharp contrast between its actual role in the war and the way Denethor and Boromir percieve its role. Two quotes in The Return of the King form the core of Tolkien’s discussion of nationalism, and both are conversations between Denethor and Gandalf.

The first:

Denethor: Yet the Lord of Gondor is not to be made the tool of other men’s purposes, however worthy. And to him there is no purpose higher in the world as it now stands than the good of Gondor; and the rule of Gondor, my lord, is mine and no other man’s, unless the king should come again.

Gandalf: ...I will say this: the rule of no realm is mine, neither of Gondor nor any other, great or small. But all worthy things that are in peril as the world now stands, those are my care. And for my part, I should not wholly fail of my task, though Gondor should perish, if anything passes through this night that can still grow fair or bear fruit or flower again in days to come. For I also am a steward. Did you not know?

And the second, discussing Denethor’s views on what should have been done with the Ring:

Denethor: It should have been kept, hidden, hidden dark and deep. Not used, I say, unless at the uttermost end of need, but set beyond his grasp, save by a victory so final that what then befell would not trouble us, being dead.

Gandalf: You think, as is your wont, my lord, of Gondor only. Yet there are other men and other lives, and time still to be. And for me, I pity even his slaves.

Denethor: And where will other men look for help if Gondor falls?

Both of these conversations point to the fundamental flaw in Denethor’s worldview, and it is a nuanced one. He is not the weak, selfish old man presented in the films; he is intelligent, pragmatic, and realistic, and his strategy and tactics are thoughtful. Again unlike the movies, the mission he sends Faramir on - to prevent the armies of Mordor from crossing Anduin, and cause them heavy losses if they do cross - is not a pointless suicide mission but a crucial and tactically necessary battle. He is wrong in his attitude towards and treatment of Faramir, not in sending him into danger.

Denethor represents (as, in another way, does Saruman) the wisdom of the world. His statement that, as the steward of Gondor, his highest purpose must be the good of Gondor, would be approved by many political theorists. But in the wider vision of the story of The Lord of the Rings, expressed by Gandalf, it is critically flawed in its narrowness and arrogance. The war against Sauron is not about the victory or preservation of one realm alone; it is about saving anything and everything good in Middle-earth, in the present or the future. This is the moment when Gandalf comes closest, of any point in the story, to stating outright who he is and what his purpose is; he doesn’t say outright that he was sent by the Valar to preserve the world against Sauron, but he comes near enough to it that Denethor, an intelligent and learned man, could pick up on it if he wanted to. It is important to Gandalf to at least try to get Denethor to understand the importance of what he’s saying.

In the second conversation, though, Denethor has fallen still farther from the truth. In the first one, he only said that Gondor’s good had to be his highest priority, as its ruler; now he says that if Minas Tirith falls, Sauron’s conquered the world anyway and it doesn’t matter if he gets the Ring. In his eyes, Minas Tirith is the only thing standing against Sauron, and the only thing that matters; its defeat is to him synonymous with the destruction of the world. People across Middle-earth are fighting against Sauron: on the very day of the Battle of the Pelennor Fields, the elves of Lothlórien are fighting off an assault by Sauron’s forces, as are the wood-elves in Mirkwood; the Battle of Dale in which the kings of both Dale and the Lonely Mountain fall will be two days later. Gondor is not alone in this war; it is not the only realm fighting and not the only one whose battles matter. It is not the bulwark sheltering the peaceful rest of the world from war; the rest of the world is fighting. But Denethor chooses to regard it as the only place of importance.

These are perspectives that he passed on, in part, to his eldest son, as seen in some of Boromir’s deeds at the Council of Elrond as well as in his later temptation by the Ring. At the Council, he takes the tone that Gondor is unacknowledged and unappreciated and is doing all the work of fighting Sauron: “Few, I deem, know of our deeds, and therefore guess little of their peril, if we should fail at last...By our valour the wild folk of the East are still restrained, and the terror of Morgul kept at bay; and thus alone are peace and freedom maintained in the lands behind us, bulwark of the West...those who shelter behind us give us praise, if ever they hear our name: much praise but little help.” He also - very importantly - instantly conflates “Doom” in the prophecy he hears with “the Doom of Minas Tirith”: the same thing Denethor is doing when he says that, if Minas Tirith falls, the world has already fallen and there’s no point in keeping the Ring away from Sauron. When he is told that the Ring cannot be wielded to defeat Sauron by force of arms, he acts as though the other members of the Council are abandoning Gondor. And so the Ring tempts him with the power to save Minas Tirith, because that’s the only way he can concieve of for the world to be saved.

Aragorn’s response to Boromir, in speaking of the Rangers, is not a counter-boast but an attempt (like Gandalf’s with Denethor) to give Boromir a broader perspective: many people are fighting and resisting Sauron and other evil things, in their own ways (“the servants of the Enemy...are found in many places, not in Mordor only”). Gondor is not alone; it is playing one particular role, while others play other roles.

This attitude, that its battles are the only ones that matter, is quite unique to Gondor. Legolas and Gimli, fighting in the wars of Rohan and Gondor, recognize that their kin cannot come to them: “They have no need to march to war...war already marches on their own lands”. The hobbits continually think little of themselves and their actions, even while achieving great things. (One example that amuses me is the contrast at the Council of Elrond between Boromir, who thinks his comparatively uneventful journey quite heroic - “since the way was full of doubt and danger, I took the journey upon myself” - and Frodo, who regards his achievement of escaping to Rivendell while pursued by all nine of the Nazgûl, and surviving a wound that would have been worse-than-fatal to most other mortals, with an attitude of ‘well, I rather muffed that up’.) The Ents very much have their own priorites - Treebeard says “I am not really on anyone’s side, as no one is really on my side - no one cares for the woods these days” - but they involve themselves in the war beyond merely defending Fangorn, by destroying the orcs who invade Rohan from the north. Théoden likewise keeps the big picture, not just the narrow ‘good of Rohan’ in mind, continuing with his army to the relief of Gondor even as news comes of Rohan being invaded from the north and east (the aforementioned orcs whom the Ents deal with).

Frodo comes closest to understanding what Gandalf is saying in the first-quoted conversation with Denethor. After seeing the Witch-king’s army march out from Minas Morgul, Frodo is tempted to despair: “Even if my errand is performed, no one will ever know. There will be no one I can tell. It will be in vain.” But he resists this: what he had to do, he had to do, if he could, and whether Faramir or Aragorn or Elrond or Gandalf or Galadriel or anyone else ever knew about it was beside the purpose. Aragorn, too, understands it: the march on the Black Gate is the antithesis of Denethor’s perspective: sacrifice of the armies of Gondor and Rohan without even knowing what may happen after they are defeated, in the hope that they may enable someone else to win the victory. They have no way of guessing that Frodo and Sam will reach Mount Doom at the same time as the armies clash at the Black Gate; their hope is founded on the idea of distracting Sauron long enough that Frodo and Sam can destroy the Ring days later, after the armies are all dead.

And Denethor and Boromir’s attitudes are all the more ironic because, in the end, Gondor doesn’t hold up very well. They fall apart and stop even trying to man the walls of Minas Tirith after a mere two days of siege, when food supplies haven’t even begun to be an issue. For a fortified city, especially one as well-designed for defense as Minas Tirith, that’s a very short amount of time to hold out against a siege! During the march on the Black Gate, even the sight of the Plains of Gorgoroth is too much for some of the men of Gondor and Rohan, and they can’t keep going. Yes, they’re just regular people and have never seen anything this horrible before, but Frodo and Sam and now Pippin are also just regular people used to peaceful lives, and they keep going. The purpose of this comparison isn’t to run down the Men of Gondor, but to point out how deeply wrong the idea is of them being the only ones whose fight matters, the only ones with the nerve and determination to protect the rest of the world. The hobbits, who don’t think of themselves as anything special or important or strong, are the ones who save the world, and they do it through hope, endurance, self-sacrifice, love, and compassion, not through military might.

[strangeradventuresofp]

second thoughts (legolas x reader)

The Fellowship of the Ring - Part 1

masterlist

warnings: none (i think)

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5

a/n : so after writing it for the first time, rewriting it and then rewriting it again lol the first chapter of my canon lotr fic is here. not much legolas x reader interaction in this one, more of just an introduction to the series and the readers relationships etc. i also quickly wanna thank @falcor-thee-luck-dragon​ for being super supportive of this ever since i even mentioned it as an idea ily! im super excited for it and i hope you enjoy it, thanks for reading i love you and i hope you have a wonderful day<3 (also i guess let me know if you want to be added to my taglist)

The journey to Rivendell was purely insufferable. Not only was it due to the time it took nor the saddle sore that you had endured, but to how the time had passed so quickly and yet so painfully slowly at the very same time. You had always loved to travel, but you did not seem to have any time at all to admire the vast amount of sights that appeared before you. In the blink of an eye they were gone, and the views became new for a brief second before they disappeared beyond what you could see. Your eyes were forced to stay focused on the road and the rider ahead of you so that the way would not be lost.

When you arrived at Rivendell, however, all of the annoyance that you had endured throughout the voyage seemed to simply melt away. There were no words for how you felt in that moment when you dropped from your horse, gaping at the infrastructure in complete awe. Always, you had associated elves with inexplicable beauty, but never would you have expected something as incredible as what lay before you. Quick to abandon your guide, you made sure to take your precious time when you strode through the decorative archways, following up the spiral staircase, marveling at everything your eyes could possibly muster.

It had hardly been long when your eyes travelled to seek out shards of a broken blade, sat on a bed of silk, a statue standing tall behind it. The concrete seemed to present it to all who passed. You dared not touch it, though a wave of tempt washed over your senses. The fragments made up Narsil, the blade of King Elendil, the one used by his son, Isildur, to cut the finger that held the One Ring of Sauron the Terrible during the War of the Last Alliance. The legend of the One Ring had faded into less than nothing over the years of its absence, but fear always struck you when you imagined the dreaded return of the Dark Lord. The longsword that lay in front of you belonged to the heir of Isildur, the King of Gondor, Aragorn Son of Arathorn. Your heart forever ached with hope that one day he would return to the White City and that the useless steward that held his place would once again be nothing more than just that.

You had scarcely noticed the figure sitting beside the balustrade until you had felt an uneasy turn in your stomach, signaling that someone was watching you. As you shifted your eyes over to the body in black, they fell upon a man with long, unkempt hair and a scruffy grown-out stubble that covered his face and neck. His arm was casually slung over the handrail, his lips drawn into a perfectly straight line and his eyes were fixed on you. The edge of his lips turned up as your eyes locked.

You blinked. “Aragorn! Forgive me, I was unaware of your presence; I would have come sooner.”

“It is good to see you, Y/N.”

“You, as well, mellon nin.” You clapped him on the shoulder. “I had planned to ride north a little while ago.”

“And I had planned to ride for the White City, until Gandalf called upon me.” Aragorn said, and your mouth turned up into a smile. Your eyes flickered up to the ceiling, once again distracted by the beautiful view.

“It is beautiful here. You are very lucky.” Aragorn gave you a small smile. “For why have I been brought here, Aragorn?”

He took a breath. “You will find out, soon enough. For now, you should rest. Your journey could have hardly been sparing.”

“Oh, alright.” You mused, now engaged with the thought of bed and sleep. He gently shook your shoulder. “Goodnight, Aragorn.”

“Goodnight.” He returned to his previous position; arm hung over the bannister as you ambled off in search of a place where you could find rest.

During your search, your feet treading across smooth slabs, and you came to a halt. There were small folk, talking to one another. They were speaking in the common tongue, and seemed half of your height, though you could not really tell from a distance. Fascinating, you thought. So far, the thought had not even crossed your mind that others might be here, besides yourself, Boromir and Aragorn and Gandalf, of course.

One of them moved toward the other, who was staring out among the balcony. The starrer turned, showed something in the palm of his hand and spoke.

“You’re right, Sam. We did what we set out to do.” He opened his hand and lowered his voice. What he said next could not be distinguished by your faint ears. “I am ready to go home.” He put his hand back into his pocket before it slithered out once again, only this time it was empty.

“And where would home be for you two?” You asked. They turned to look at you.

“The Shire, miss.” One said, the one called Sam.

“Hobbits! In Rivendell! How incredible. How curious.” Kneeling down to get a better look, Sam straightening his vest as the other kept a firm hand on his pocket. You noticed. “Do not fret, hobbit from The Shire. I am not interested in stealing from you. Or anyone else, for that matter. But perhaps a small piece of advice is, make it less obvious that you are carrying something worth taking.” The hobbit with brown, curly hair and bright blue eyes smiled sheepishly. You chuckled, standing. “Go to rest, hobbits. Get ready to go home, to The Shire.”

They bumbled off and a smile spread across your face as you continued the forage for somewhere to sleep.

~~~

The morning came quickly. The night had been comfortable, and you set out early to explore the inhabitancy that you had found yourself entering that day previous. A meeting had been called to finally reveal why your presence had been requested, and now, you sat on a chair in a circle, surrounded by some known faces and many unfamiliar ones. There were elves and dwarves grouped near each other, which would never be a good idea. One of the hobbits from the day before sat beside Gandalf. You were located between Boromir and Aragorn, two of your very good friends. Lord Elrond sat at the head of the circle. He stood once everyone had arrived.

“Strangers of distant lands, friends of old. You have summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor. Middle-Earth stands upon the brink of destruction. None can escape it.” Lord Elrond began. He scanned those sat before him. “You will unite, or you will fall. Each race is bound to this one fate, this one doom.” He paused, turning to the hobbit. He brought his arm forth, inviting him.

“Bring forth the Ring, Frodo.”

By Elrond’s instruction, Frodo placed a golden ring on the centered table. Boromir muttered something under his breath. Then Frodo turned, and sat back in his seat, looking rather timid. You gave him a small smile before your eyes glued to the table and the item it held upon it. It called to you, whispering things in a language that you could not understand and subconsciously you were sure you did not want to hear what it was saying to you. How did a hobbit from the Shire receive a Ring of Power? What business did he have with it?

“It is a gift.” The voice tore you from your thoughts. Your eyes caught sight of Boromir standing beside you. “A gift to the foes of Mordor. Why not use this ring?” You pursed your lips in disapproval. One who thought of using any of the Rings of Power is a fool.

“Long has my father, the steward of Gondor, kept the forces of Mordor at bay by the blood of our people, while your lands kept safe.” He looked at you, nodding, giving you the notion that you should be encouraging him. But you couldn’t help but think that Boromir sounded rather ill. Your eyes travelled to the floor for a moment before he continued. “Give Gondor the weapon of the enemy. Let us use it against Him.”

“Do you know nothing of the Ring?” Your brows furrowed as you spoke, unable to contain your discontent for his words any longer. “It is because of Man’s weakness that the Ring survives. It is not safe in the hands of Men.” You spat unwillingly. You hadn’t expected your words to come off so aggressive. After all, you did not want to hurt Boromir’s feelings, just make him see sense. His eye caught yours and you gave him an apologetic look.

“It does not matter; you cannot wield it. None of us can.” Aragorn said. “The one Ring answers to Sauron alone. It has no other master.”

“And what would a ranger know of this matter?”

“Boromir—”

“This is no mere ranger.” Behind Boromir someone stood. It was an elf. Some of his silky hair had been tied back into braids and a velvet cloak smothered his built body. His dark brows drew together as he spoke. “He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance.” You studied him with curiosity, narrowed slightly whilst you scanned his presence. His eyes locked with yours for a brief moment before you turned them back to Boromir, who seemed to be staring at your friend in utter disbelief.

“Aragorn? This, is Isildur’s heir?”

“And heir to the throne of Gondor.” The elf finished and you looked at him as a way to avoid Boromir’s gaze. It was true. The White City that Boromir’s father currently ruled deserved to have their rightful King back. You could only hope that one day Aragorn would finally take the throne and restore the faith of Gondor once again.

“Sit down, Legolas.” Aragorn spoke in an elvish tongue. So, this was the infamous Legolas, you thought. Aragorn had spoken a lot of him to you in the past, but you had yet to meet him until this very moment.

“Gondor has no King. Gondor needs no King.” Boromir took his seat beside you, but you still refused to return his eye. Instead, you and the elf shared a look.

“Aragorn is right. We cannot use it.” Gandalf confirmed.

“You have only one choice.” Lord Elrond stood. “The Ring must be destroyed.” Silence fell among the space for a moment, before a dwarf shifted off of his seat, his fingers tightening around the axe beside him.

“What are we waiting for?” He rumbled, swinging his axe over his shoulder to slice the Ring with a roar. His blade ricocheted and shattered. His back became flush to the floor, his eyes wide in shock. You gasped, sitting forward in your seat to rush to help him. But before you could, the other dwarves appeared by his sides, steadying him.

Frodo clutched his chest when the dwarf’s blade collided with the Ring, as if the axe had struck Frodo himself. Pain seemed to radiate through his body. You looked to him, concerned. Gandalf had also noticed the hobbit’s reaction to the attempted destruction of the Ring.

“The Ring cannot be destroyed Gimli, Son of Gloin, by any craft that we here possess. The Ring was made in the fires of Mount Doom. Only there can it be unmade.” Lord Elrond looked around at the subjects once again. “It must be taken deep into Mordor and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came. One of you must do this.”

“One does not simply walk into Mordor. Its black gates are guarded by more than just Orcs. There is evil there that does not sleep. The great eye,” he made a circle with his hand, “is ever watchful. It is a barren wasteland, riddled with fire and ash and dust. The very air you breathe is a poisonous fume. Not with ten thousand men could you do this, it is folly.”

“Have you heard nothing Lord Elrond has said? The Ring must be destroyed.” Legolas stood, once again challenging your companion. You agreed that the Ring had to be destroyed, there was no doubt about that. Venturing deep into Mordor, however, was an impossible task.

“And I suppose you think you’re the one to do it.” Gimli bellowed from his seat, eyes wide with hatred, fixed upon the elf.

“And if we fail, what then? What happens when Sauron takes back what is his?” Boromir stood and you mirrored his actions, gently grabbing his arm, ushering him to calm down.

“I will be dead before I see the Ring in the hands of an elf!” The words of Gimli, son of Gloin, had all of the elves standing in protest which quickly led to the dwarves standing in hostility too. The squabbling continued despite your attempts to calm it down. You took your seat, sharing a defeated sigh with Aragorn. Gandalf stood to try to diffuse the tension.

“I will take it.” A small voice against the yelling caught your attention. Frodo had stood, standing beside the table. You pulled Aragorn’s sleeve to get his attention, your brows furrowed.

“I will take it!” The disputing seemed to die down when he raised his voice and you shook your head gently at him. “I will take the Ring to Mordor. Though… I do not know the way.”

“I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins. As long as it is yours to bear.” Gandalf placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. Aragorn stood from beside you, marching towards the hobbit, keeling.

“If by my life or death I can protect you, I will. You have my sword.”

It was no question for you as you stood, kneeling beside Aragorn. “You have my knives.”

“And you have my bow.” Legolas moved towards the hobbit. The three of you moved behind Frodo. You gently rubbed his shoulder, sharing a smile with him when he looked up at you.

“And my axe.” Gimli raised his weapon in the air, joining you.

“You carry the fate of us all, little one. If this is indeed the will of the council, Gondor shall see it done.” Boromir gave you a smile and you were quick to return it. A yell echoed from behind, another hobbit running to join Frodo. It was Sam.

“Mister Frodo’s not goin’ anywhere without me.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

“No, indeed, it is hardly possible to separate you, even when he is summoned to a secret council and you are not.” A smirk tugged at Elrond’s lips and more shouts were heard from behind. Two more hobbits joined.

“We’re comin’ too! You’ll have to send us home tied up in a sack to stop us.” One said, slinging his arm around Frodo’s shoulders.

“Anyway, you need people of intelligence on this sort of mission. Quest. Thing.” The other chimed in, raising his eyebrows. The other turned to him in disbelief.

“Well, that rules you out, Pip.” You giggled quietly at the hobbits, the one in the yellow waistcoat turning to grin at you before Lord Elrond chuckled slightly. His eyes scanned over the group before him.

“Ten companions. So be it. You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring.”

“Right! Where are we going?” The hobbit in the green coat, Pip, asked. The other, once again, stared at him in disbelief. Gandalf shook his head.

~~~

You were chatting aimlessly with Aragorn by the gates of Rivendell, where you had arrived only a few days previous. The Fellowship were getting ready to leave in the next hours, you had been preparing for days. Now, all that was needed was to get little extra items that could help along the journey.

Aragorn gave a smile to someone behind you and you turned, standing beside him. It was Legolas. You smiled at him and he returned it.

“Forgive me, my Lady, but I am unsure of your name.” He said.

“Y/N. Pleased to finally meet you, my Lord.”

“Legolas Greenleaf.” He corrected. “The pleasure is mine.”

“So, you are the infamous elf that Aragorn has mentioned to me so many times. I had begun to believe Arwen was no longer in his heart and you had taken her place.” Legolas and Aragorn chuckled at your joke. You gave Aragorn a cheeky grin before you caught sight of Boromir. “Please, excuse me.” He made his way toward you as you did the same. When you reached each other, he chuckled, shaking his head.

“You just cannot help yourself, can you?” Boromir said and you giggled. “I am proud of you. It was a brave thing to do.” You threw your arms around him, pulling him into a hug.

“Thank you for coming along, too. It will be nice to have Aragorn around and, of course, the others who I am yet to know, but I am very glad for your presence.”

“And I for yours.” He chuckled, clapping you gently on the shoulder. You gave him one last tight squeeze before making your way over to the dwarf. You stood silently beside him for a little time, while he mumbled things to himself that you could make out.

“Forgive me for interrupting you, Master Dwarf. I would like to know your name; I do not recall it from the meeting.”

“You’re not interrupting me, lassie. The name is Gimli, Son of Gloin.” Gimli responded, giving you a tight-lipped smile. You returned it with a genuine smile though you worried he was wary of you.

“Pleased to meet you, Gimli, Son of Gloin. I am Y/N.” You responded kindly. Not knowing what else you could say, your feet decided to take you over to the hobbits, one of which you had already met. Sam and the other two hobbits were tending to their respective packs that they would bring on the journey. Frodo was absent.

“There’s a girl?”

“Yes, there’s a girl, Pip. Did you not see?” The other replied.

“Stood beside Strider, she was.” Sam mentioned, earning a nod from the other.

“Are you talking about me, hobbits?” You drew your arms over your chest, one of your eyebrows raised, a smirk tugging at your lips.

“N—No, miss! We were just—”

“Then, what exactly were you talking about?”

They looked between each other. “Merry was speaking about you, miss. Talkin’ of how pretty you were, he was.” Sam admitted and your heart felt warm in your chest. Pip nodded to back up Sam’s claim and a light blush dusted over Merry’s cheeks. You smiled.

“You are very sweet, Merry. If I may call you that.”

“Meriadoc Brandybuck is my full name. But call me Merry if you please.”

“Alright, Merry.” You said softly.

“What’s yours?” Pip questioned.

“Y/N.”

“That’s a nice name.” Sam gushed and you could not help but grin. Who knew that a few hobbits could be so incredibly sweet? You pondered, ruffling their hair gently before you wandered off again, sitting by yourself this time.

~~~

It had been almost a week since the Fellowship had set off from Rivendell and all had agreed that a night stop was definitely needed. You and Aragorn had agreed that you would take the night watch for you did not get much rest even at home. It was not difficult for you to still function without much sleep. Before everyone went off to bed, however, they were shoveling food down their empty stomachs. You sighed, looking at the food spread. You were not particularly hungry though you knew you were going to have to eat something. Sam finished his own food and made sure Frodo completed all of his, plating up another portion and plodding his way over to you. He sheepishly held out the bowl to you, scratching the back of his neck with his spare hand. You gave him a smile, thanking him, taking the bowl before biting into the food. Sam took a seat beside you, making sure you would eat everything.

“You should really be eatin’ everything you can, Y/N. We wouldn’t be wanting you to starve.”

A breathy laugh left your lips. “I’m alright, Sam. You needn’t worry about me.”

“Not worrying, miss. Just making sure you’re alright.”

“Thank you.” Sam shared a smile with you. “And you? Are you alright?” He gave you a nod. You continued to eat until you had finished everything in the bowl. By that time, most of the Fellowship had settled down to get some sleep but Sam was still at your side.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” He yawned, treading off to settle beside his master. You wrapped your cloak further around yourself, sitting beside Aragorn. Neither of you spoke for a while, rather just enjoying the other’s presence in a comfortable silence.

You do not remember much of how you and Aragorn had met, only that he had saved your life. He was known to you as Strider back then. There was a creature that attempted to attack you. You knew nothing of combat back then. He slayed the beast and brought you back to Rivendell. Quick friends you had become. Somehow, Lord Elrond arranged for you to be taken to Gondor. It was there that you would grow up. Boromir acted as your father since you had first arrived there. He was protective of you; you were the daughter he had failed to have.

“What are you thinking of, mellon nin?” Aragorn said in a whisper. You took a breath.

“Our friendship. And how I am glad to spend time with you once again before I make my decision.”

“Have you made it?” He queried, turning his head to look at you and you shook your head at him.

“It is not simple, Aragorn. How am I supposed to make a decision that affects the rest of my life and those who will come after me?” Another sigh left your lips and you leaned into Aragorn’s side.

“I could not describe the feeling when Arwen chose what she wanted. My heart ached with many feelings.”

“Arwen has something to choose for,” you mentioned. “Who knows? Perhaps I will meet a lovely fellow, be it man, elf, dwarf, or even, hobbit, and I decide that I want to spend the rest of my life with them. That would sway my decision quite a lot. I could not imagine being shipped off to the Undying Lands while my love stays on Middle-Earth. Nor would I want to wait for them to die and then hop on a boat to live forever. I am unsure, Aragorn.”

“You need not make any decision yet, mellon.” You continued to speak with your close friend throughout the night, whilst keeping close watch on your surroundings. However, what you did not notice was that a third member of the Fellowship was far from sleep and had in fact been listening in on your conversation.

Legolas rolled over, turning away from the two of you, his head against something that acted as a quite poorly pillow. He had not the slightest idea of what you meant, only that for some reason, you could choose to make your way to the Undying Lands. But this was something that man could not do, so why were you able to choose? He did not know. But he wanted to find out. He did not know why but you intrigued him. How friendly yet quiet you were. The timid yet confident way that you carried yourself. The knives that you held on your belt. He had not seen you use them yet, luckily, but he was looking forward to. You were the first woman he had seen since Tauriel who carried weapons. It was not common for a woman to be trained in combat. He pondered where you had learned, and if you were any good at all.

“The night is long, mellon nin. You should rest.” Aragorn suggested.

You let out a chuckle. “And leave you by yourself? You will need me to protect you from any danger. I will not rest.” Aragorn smiled at your words and gave you a nod. Your eyelids became heavy throughout the night, but you refused to give in to the temptation and the snores of Gimli were sure to keep you from any sleep that you could potentially get. Fixing your cloak around yourself for warmth, your eyes continued to search the space around you. Your ears perked up so to hear any sign of movement. You watched your breath exit your mouth and disperse into the crisp air. The moon was bright and tall in the sky. Hoping nothing would come in the night, you sighed and relaxed against the tree that you were sat up against though still keeping a firm hand on your knife belt. Aragorn pulled you into his side and you smiled. Your hand tightened around your belt.

“Goodnight, Aragorn.” You whispered, and you hoped it would be.

[schrijverr]

Lay Your Burdens Down

An introspection of Boromir’s mind during the quest. How he was fulfilling a role that was not written for him and how it became his downfall.

On AO3.

Ships: none

Warnings: Boromir's relation with the Ring

~~~~~~~~~

Boromir carried burdens he was not meant to carry.

He had traveled far, aching bones and dirty hands to ask for counsel that might not be enough to save Gondor. His beautiful Gondor for which he would give his life, if it meant that the White City should prevail.

It was a feeble hope, but it was the only hope he had. For all other hope had long forsaken Minas Tirith as it lay in the Mountain’s shadow under ever growing darkness.

His father could not hold out for long. Soon the people of Gondor’s doubt, their questions if he knew what he was doing, if he was doing enough to save their land, would lead to discontent that showed in actions, rather than whispered murmurs.

Still, Boromir tried to fight both that darkness growing in the East and amongst his people. He fought bravely out on the field, commanded his men with compassion and took to the streets to help where it was needed.

The Son of Gondor was there, the people knew.

And now the Son of Gondor was away. He had been traveling for a hundred and ten days when he finally arrived and he would have to make the return journey as well.

He felt every day, every minute, heavily in his soul. He knew that this was time he could not waste, because who would pick up his role while he was gone? Who would keep the darkness at bay and that little flicker of hope burning bright?

His soul knew that Faramir would try in his stead, but the people whispered that he was a Wizard’s pupil. That he did not care for his City and carried out rituals in the dark.

Naturally his own soldiers knew this not to be true and no one dared to say a word when Boromir was there to protect his little brother’s honor, but Boromir couldn't always be there and the longer he was gone, the more distrust would fester.

He shouldn’t be here, shouldn't be riding to an Elven city when there was so much he had to do at home, so much to defend.

They had only just reclaimed Osgiliath and he was certain the Dark Lord wished to retake the Gondor city that controlled the Anduin. It was only a matter of time and he should be there to talk strategy so that it wouldn’t come to pass.

It was all too much for one person to bear. Fighting on too many fronts, in both a physical war as well as a war of trust. He was not build for this, he wasn’t the one who could fight both and win, yet he had to try.

He did not know anything else.

His life had always been this war, ever since he was a child and first held Faramir and his mother made his swear to protect his little brother, ever since he remembered that first oath he ever took while they had to hide as their father fought of a group of Orcswhile they had been out riding in the forest.

So, he kept on going. For while it might be too much, might completely hopeless, might be foolish to try and might not even be his destiny, he had to do it. Because who else would step up in his stead if he ever fell down?

Thus he found himself in Rivendell asking for counsel, surrounded by people who seemed much surer of themselves and more comfortable with the danger that lay far from their borders.

The counsel revealed much to him. Not only was the riddle that had plagued both his dreams as those of Faramir explained, but there was hope again. There was a weapon, a thing to turn the tide of this hopeless war and an heir. Someone to ease Boromir’s burden and help to rally the troops and take up arms against the might of Mordor.

Though he could not convince the counsel that Gondor needed the weapon, he was able to convince them to tie his own faith to that of the Ring and take a place on the Fellowship.

He knew there were people wiser than him, many people were and he had long learned that. He was a warrior, not a philosopher. So, he was content to follow both the words of the wise as well as his King. To do what they deemed to be the best course of action to save Middle Earth and with that Gondor.

However, as the journey processed a dark voice started to prod at the hope that had finally managed to bloom.

It spoke to him of the fall of Gondor while he was gone, urging him to return before it was too late, even though it already was. Telling him how he would come back to the White City being overrun and no strength he had in him could turn the tide. It offered him a solution to the problems that had plagued his mind since his youth and grew as he did.

Still, he tried to tell himself that the voice was his darkest fears and that, while they were founded in reality, were not true and merely an extreme. He looked to Aragorn and chided himself for not believing in the prophesied return, for doubting his King.

But it was hard to trust in his King when it seemed his King did not want to be what he was destined to be. When he clung to being a Ranger, keeping close to the Elf that he treated as if he were his kin. When he did not want to listen to Boromir when the soldier attempted to talk about Minas Tirith and the struggles of Gondor.

The burdens that he had carried around all his life made the journey with him towards Mordor, staying in his heart, lowering his shoulders, while no one ever looked his way to ease them, for it was the burdens of his home and no one seemed to care about them.

And so the voice crept back into his mind, its words sounding more tempting and reasonable every time.

A small part of his mind told him that it was the Ring, but a bigger part argued that it did not matter how the thought first came to be, for it was the only viable answer.

He would have to go back to Gondor, he couldn't linger here. He couldn't waste his time on this quest, which was not only folly, but would prove to be their doom, no matter the outcome. They did not know if destroying the Ring would destroy Sauron’s forces and Minas Tirith could still be overrun by his army. But, the voice whispered, they do no care for Minas Tirith, so why would consider that outcome?

It was eating at him and he saw the others look at him with suspicion. He knew they did not trust him and he resented them for their distrust, for they were safe in their countries and his people were the ones dying, yet still they did not see why he wanted the Ring to go to Gondor.

The more their gazes hardened when the passed him, the harder it came to fight with the reasoning of his mind that seemed like his own, until he wondered why he was arguing it.

Then Mithrandir fell. The Wizard was plunged into the deep where no one returned from and the small chance they had of success died with him. It disappearedover the ridge and while they pushed on, it was not the same.

Boromir watched with resentment as Aragorn stood up as leader, his mind wondering why he was willing to lead this Fellowship, while abandoning his people. The resentment grew when he lead to them Lothlórien, an Elven city once more.

Aragorn did not care for the men of Gondor, he was faithful to the Elves and did not want to take the crown. He did not want to fight for Gondor and Boromir was alone as always, but this time he was far removed from home and he could not fight from here.

He had abandoned his home, his people. The realization hit him as a voice spoke in his mind about the fall of Gondor, confirming it had not just been his own fears, but even the Elves knew of the impending doom, hanging over the White City.

She also told him to have hope, but hope had long since perished in Minas Tirith. He’dhad hope, a long while ago and he thought he could have hope when he met Aragorn, but he now saw that the hope was misplaced. The Elves didn’t understand what he had to do. They thought themselves so wise, but they were not. They were blind.

He knew what he had to do.

The solution seemed so easy. He had already said that the hands of a Halfling were not safe and he could prove it by reaching out his hand. The others would have to understand. It was the only choice he had.

It was only after he had attempted to find his salvation that he realized that it had been him, who had been folly to think he could wield it, that it was his own mind that made him think that this was the answer.

But it was too late now and he could not take back what he had done. He could not undo the confirmation of proving that their mistrust in him was just. He had failed them all and he had been too blind to see.

Still, he tried to prove himself worthy of the burden of the protecting the Ring that had been placed on his shoulders by the Counsel.

He tried to protect the little ones, tried to follow the ordersof his King and see it through to the end, no matter if it would mean that his own life would be forfeit. He had risked his life plenty of times before and he would not see two people as joyful as Merry ad Pippin succumb to the horrors of war that had been his reality from birth.

When he fell, he knew he had failed once more. Merry and Pippin were being carried away and he did not know what had become of the others, if Frodo was safe.

And when Aragorn comforted him, he scarcely believed his King when he told him he did enough, that he had kept his honor. He tried in his final moments to live up what his King thought of him, he confessed what he had done and made sure that Aragorn knew that he would have followed him if had been able.

Boromir carriedburdenshe was not meant to carry for his entire life and as he finally closed his eyes, that burden eased from his shoulders and wrapped around Aragorns shoulders like a heavymantle.

The King had to return and take up the burdens meant for him.

~~

A/N:

I love everyone in the Fellowship and anything negative in here abt them is Boromir’s mind under the influence of the Ring

Also this was a mix between book and movie verse

[absynthe--minded]

Okay I'm just being weird again, but I just sort of accidentally started wondering, when the dwarves took Erebor back, how far were the effects felt? Because I mean once it had obviously been a great place and I always got the impression that kings of even more faraway lands would, like, commission stuff from them. But already by the time Hobbit happened, I'm under the impression that a lot of places had sort of closed off, not dealing with most of the world, only 1/?

Okay! So.

In terms of the effects, the most obvious one to bring up is the fact that the Dwarves retaking Erebor and working with Bard to re-establish Dale meant that the War of the Ring didn’t wind up with the north being basically devastated. I know this isn’t what you were asking about, but it’s one of my favorite story details, so I’m gonna bring it up first, and below the cut because it’s Long.

Appendix A of The Lord of the Rings has this to say about Erebor and Dale:

In the late summer of that same year (2941) Gandalf had at last prevailed upon Saruman and the White Council to attack Dol Guldur, and Sauron retreated and went to Mordor, there to be secure, as he thought, from all his enemies. So it was that when the War came at last the main assault was turned southwards; yet even so with his far-stretched right hand Sauron might have done great evil in the North, if King Dáin and King Brand had not stood in his path. Even as Gandalf said afterwards to Frodo and Gimli, when they dwelt together for a time in Minas Tirith. Not long before news had come to Gondor of events far away.

‘I grieved at the fall of Thorin,’ said Gandalf; 'and now we hear that Dáin has fallen, fighting in Dale again, even while we fought here. I should call that a heavy loss, if it was not a wonder rather that in his great age he could still wield his axe as mightily as they say that he did, standing over the body of King Brand before the Gate of Erebor until the darkness fell.

'Yet things might have gone far otherwise and far worse. When you think of the great Battle of the Pelennor, do not forget the battles in Dale and the valour of Durin’s Folk. Think of what might have been. Dragon-fire and savage swords in Eriador, night in Rivendell. There might be no Queen in Gondor. We might now hope to return from the victory here only to ruin and ash. But that has been averted - because I met Thorin Oakenshield one evening on the edge of spring in Bree. A chance-meeting, as we say in Middle-earth.’

We get a bit more information in Appendix B:

At the same time as the great armies besieged Minas Tirith a host of the allies of Sauron that had long threatened the borders of King Brand crossed the River Carnen, and Brand was driven back to Dale. There he had the aid of the Dwarves of Erebor; and there was a great battle at the Mountain’s feet It lasted three days, but in the end both King Brand and King Dáin Ironfoot were slain, and the Easterlings had the victory. But they could not take the Gate, and many, both Dwarves and Men, took refuge in Erebor, and there withstood a siege.

When news came of the great victories in the South, then Sauron’s northern army was filled with dismay; and the besieged came forth and routed them, and the remnant fled into the East and troubled Dale no more. Then Bard II, Brand’s son, became King in Dale, and Thorin III Stonehelm, Dáin’s son, became King under the Mountain. They sent their ambassadors to the crowning of King Elessar; and their realms remained ever after, as long as they lasted, in friendship with Gondor; and they were under the crown and protection of the King of the West.

I love this because it’s a whole story that never gets talked about, and honestly? The Men of Dale and the Dwarves of Erebor deserve all the badass cred they get. And I LOVE the mental image of Dáin standing over Brand’s body refusing to let any of the orcs get at it. It’s a crime that we don’t see more art of precisely that moment. To me it’s one of the most iconic scenes in the whole of LotR.

I also like what we see in Appendix B because it’s reminiscent of what Fingolfin did in Beleriand with the Noldorin kingdoms, creating a system where he was High King but autonomous regions with their own royalty and cultures entered into voluntary alliance with him and became part of a greater federation. The idea of Dale and Erebor as successor kingdoms to Nargothrond and Gondolin is a really cool one to me.

But. You were asking about trade.

Trade in a post-Arnor north is hard. We do know that there were dwarf-made goods that were intended for sale or at least for use elsewhere, as when Bilbo gives away birthday presents many of them have maker’s marks that indicate they came from Erebor and they were delivered by dwarves to Bag End. We also know that there was some measure of export trade from the Shire, and that pipeweed made it at least to Isengard, we just don’t know what that looked like. The problem that this account presents is that it’s from the point of view of people who really didn’t have much to do with pan-continental politics; as a result we get a good story with fascinating details at the margins. How does trade in the North work? Are there peddlers and traders whose job it is to travel and sell? Do goods only get exported when people want specific things from specific regions? We just don’t know. Whatever

That being said, we do have more detail about region-specific trade. We know that Laketown traded with Mirkwood, and we know that Erebor also did prior to the dragon; it doesn’t stretch credulity to assume they restored those relationships once Smaug was gone. Mirkwood is near to Lothlórien, and so I would not be shocked if dwarf-made goods were present in Caras Galadhon either.

The tl;dr is that the canonical cross-continent exports we see are specifically ordered by someone (Saruman and his Old Toby, Bilbo and his dwarf-crackers and toys) but it’s not impossible at all that Erebor’s products made it as far as Mithlond. Minas Tirith or Dol Amroth isn’t a stretch at all.

[funkymbtifiction]

The Lord of the Rings: Boromir [ENFJ]

OFFICIAL TYPING by Charity / The Mod

Functional Order: Fe-Ni-Se-Ti

Judging Functional Axis:

Extroverted Feeling (Fe) / Introverted Thinking (Ti)

Boromir is warm and outgoing. The hobbits take a swift liking to him and him to them. His primary motivation is living up to the unrealistic expectations of his father. Boromir pursues the Ring for two purposes: to please his father, and in the hope that it might redeem and protect the people of Gondor. He empathizes strongly with his brother whenever Faramir falls under their father’s scrutiny. Boromir adapts to life in the Fellowship and becomes one of them – until the Ring temporarily assumes control of him. Boromir is equally unable to reflect upon and criticize his own intentions, and unable to listen to Aragorn’s sharp, rather hostile assessment of human nature without feeling insulted – showing his inferior Ti (to judge them all on such harsh standards feels wrong to him).

Perceiving Functional Axis:

Introverted Intuition (Ni) / Extroverted Sensing (Se)

He has a specific dream that warns him the Ring has been found. That, and his father’s encouragement, lead him to Rivendell. Boromir fixates on one larger goal in his life – the defense of Gondor – and believes the Ring can assist him in reaching that goal. He puts aside any ideas that don’t fit with that goal, and tries to persuade others of the future he envisions for Gondor. He is imaginative and with his dying breath, prophecies that the kingdom of men will fall – until Aragorn assures him that he will change the future of Gondor. His good reflexes come in handy in battle. Boromir can get so caught up in the moment, he remains unobservant (he can be having so much fun with the hobbits he doesn’t notice danger) and yet, when he’s on his guard, he notices Gollum following at a distance. Boromir is observant and knows just how far he can push others before they will resist his influence.

Hogwarts House: Hufflepuff

House Traits: hard work, patience, loyalty, and fair play.

Boromir frequently conflicts with Aragorn in his desire to believe in man, ignore their frailty, and highlight their good traits. He has somewhat of an idealistic need to believe the best of them, and is loyal to them. He serves his father well, despite Denethor’s negative, greedy, self-serving traits. Boromir tries to step between him and Faramir, to protect his brother from emotional blows.

Enneagram: 2w3 so/sx

Tritype: 216 The Supporter [2w3 1w9 6w7]

Boromir both understand love, and needs it from others – he responds best to the hobbits, who love him right away due to his fun-loving, generous heart; but finds it harder to be around Aragorn, whom he feels judges him for his ambition and human frailty. His need for the Ring is both to wield power and “save Gondor” and also to earn his father’s love and respect. As a social 2, Boromir sees himself as a leader and works hard to achieve it. His 3 wing needs the respect of others, to be seen as capable and good, makes him competitive and desire to win. Under stress, Boromir becomes aggressive and attacks Frodo, berating him with the “weakness” he sees in the hobbit and semi-accurately predicting “You will take the Ring to Sauron!” – showing a disintegration to 8.