#Aragorn's lineage

[chocmarss]

Six Sentence Sunday

Gonna make Rex somewhat of an Elros Tar-Minyatur and I’m gonna make this fic reach 25k words or so help me

Right then, Jango wasn’t convinced he would like what she was about to tell him, but he watched the clones as well. There were fifty of them, at least. Far lesser than the standard decantation amount, with protocol insisting they release ten thousand clones every month, with the exception of the CC class and the RC class.

“Explain.”

[aragornsrockcollection]

I mean. So were the kings men. The factions were different branches of the same family. Who were all descended from Beor, through Beren and then Elros.

Like it’s cool the lords of andunie, the branch that inherited the ring of Barahir, kept faith, but the people banning elvish and planning to invade heaven were… also descended from Beor.

do you ever think how the faithful, the elendili, the elf-friends were predominantly descendants of bëorians, the vassals of finrod the faithful, the edennil, the friend-of-men? because i do.

[camille-lachenille]

I was thinking about how, in fanfictions and in the fandom in general, Elrond is often depicted as a pure Noldorin lord, if not a die hard Fëanorian. And while I do enjoy Fëanorian!Elrond, the more I think about it the more I am convinced Elrond is not the fëanorian one of the twins. Elros is. Elros who adopted seven eight pointed stars as the heraldic device of his whole dynasty, a symbol still used 6000 years after his death. Elros who had Quenya be the official language of Númenor. Elros who decided to leave Arda for an unknown fate after his death; not Everlasting Darkness but not the rebirth in the bliss of Valinor either. He choose to go to a place Elves aren’t supposed to go, just like Fëanor and his sons went back to Beleriand. Elros, the mortal man, who decided to forge his own path in the world.

And I am not saying Elrond didn’t, because Eru knows how much strength, patience and stubbornness Elrond must have to become who he is in LotR. But when I first re-read LotR after reading the Silm, he did not strike me as Fëanorian at all (except for the no oath swearing rule that seems to apply in Rvendell). In fact, Elrond, and all three of his children, are defined by being half-Elven. Elrond is so much at the same time they had to creat a whole new category for him. He is described as kind as summer in The Hobbit, but also old and wise, and his friendly banter with Bilbo in FotR show he is also merry and full of humour. Elrond is both Elf and Man despite his immortality, and this is made quite clear in the text.

But. If I had to link him to an Elven clan, I’d say Elrond is more Sinda than Noldor, and even that is up to debate. Rivendell, this enchanting valley hidden from evil thanks to his power, is like a kinder version of Doriath. Yet, the name of Last Homely House and Elrond’s boundless hospitality make me think of Sirion: Rivendell is a place where lost souls can find s home, where multiple cultures live along each other in friendship and peace.

In FotR, Elrond introduces himself as the son of Eärendil and Elwing, claiming both his lineages instead of giving only his father’s name as is tradition amongst the Elves. It may be a political move, or it may be a genuine wish to claim his duality, his otherness, or even both at the same time. But from what is shown of Elrond in LotR, he seems to lean heavily in the symbols and heritage from the Sindar side of his family, rather than the Noldor one. I already gave the comparison with Doriath, but it seems history repeats itself as Arwen, said to be Lúthien reborn, chooses a mortal life. Yet Elrond doesn’t make the same mistake as Thingol by locking his daughter in a tower and sending her suitor to a deathly quest. Yes, he asks Aragorn to first reclaim the throne of Gondor before marrying Arwen, but this isn’t a whim on his part or an impossible challenge. Aragorn becoming king means that Middle-Earth is free from the shadow if Sauron and Arwen will live in peace and happiness. Which sounds like a reasonable wish for a parent to me.

Anyways, I went on a tangent, what strikes me with Elrond is his multiple identity. Elrond certainly has habits or traits coming from his upbringing amongst the Fëanorians, and he loved Maglor despite everything. The fact he is a skilled Minstrel shows he did learn and cultivate skills taught by a Fëanorion, that he is not rejecting them. There is a passage at the end of RotK, in the Grey Havens chapter, where Elrond is described carrying a silver harp. Is this a last relic from Maglor? Possible.

But while Elros choose the path of mortality and showed clear Noldorin influences in the kingdom he built, Elrond is happy in his undefined zone he lives in. He is an Elf, he is a Man, he is Sinda and Noldo and heir to half a dozen lost cultures and two crowns. He is the warrior and the healer, the only one of his kind in Middle-Earth. And that is why I will never tire of this character and I love so much fanworks depicting him as nuanced and multiple yet always recognisable as Elrond.

[thewulf]

I Choose You || Legolas

Summary: Request - Hii hope you're having a good day, is it okay if I request a Legolas x reader where reader is Gandalf's granddaughter and joined the fellowship on their quest to destroy the ring? They both slowly fell in love with each other along the way and when the incident in Moria happened where Gandalf dies, Legolas comforts her.

A/N: Thank you for the amazing request! Had a blast writing this as usual :) It's a lil long, so enjoy!

Pairing: Legolas x Female Reader

Word Count: 5.5k +

TW: Talks of war/death, war, death, orcs, general LOTR triggers

You stand silently amidst the gathered council fading into the background as best you could. The murmur of many voices echoing softly through the vaulted halls of Rivendell. The air is crisp, filled with the mingling scents of ancient scrolls and the distant freshness of autumnal leaves. Elves, men, dwarves, and even a few hobbits have come to discuss the fate of Middle-earth, their faces marked by concern and resolve.

Your grandfather, Gandalf the Grey, stands at the center of it all. His presence both commanding and comforting. You’ve always admired his wisdom and strength and today, more than ever, you feel the weight of your lineage. You are his granddaughter, gifted with a touch of his magical prowess and a deep love for the mysteries of this world.

As the debate swirls around you, Elrond, the lord of Rivendell calls for silence. His gaze settles on the small golden ring laid upon the pedestal. It’s simple form belying its terrible power. The task is clear though the path is fraught with peril: the ring must be destroyed in the fires of Mount Doom. "We must form a fellowship," Elrond declares. His voice resonant and clear. "Those who will take this burden upon themselves and walk into the shadow to see this evil undone."

A hush falls over the council. Eyes turn, some in fear, others in anticipation, seeking those who might step forward. This is the moment you’ve prepared for, not just since you arrived in Rivendell but throughout your life under Gandalf’s tutelage. With a breath that steadies your resolve you step forward. The rustle of your cloak is like a whisper against the stone floor and several members of the council turn in surprise as you move into the circle of light cast by the morning sun through the high windows.

"I will go," you say, your voice firm and clear. "For the love of my grandfather and for the safety of middle earth. I will see this quest through to its end."

Murmurs of approval ripple through the room and Gandalf meets your eyes across the circle. There’s pride in his gaze and a touch of sorrow, knowing well the dangers that lie ahead. But in this moment you see also the unspoken bond between the two of you. An acknowledgment of the shared commitment to what is right, no matter the cost.

Legolas, a prince of the Woodland Realm, nods to you with respect clear in his bright eyes. Beside him, a stout figure grumbles under his breath, yet Gimli the Dwarf gives a curt nod of assent, recognizing your courage. Beside them a young hobbit named Frodo, who is to be the Ringbearer, looks on with wide, earnest eyes. It is for him, and for all who call this land home, that you pledge your strength. As the council disperses to prepare for the journey you stand beside Gandalf feeling the ancient power of Rivendell around you and the even older strength that lies within your own heart. This is just the beginning you know but you are ready. For the Fellowship, for middle earth, for Gandalf.

You will face whatever comes, together.

As the Fellowship journeys south from Rivendell the path grows increasingly treacherous, winding through craggy mountain passes and shadowed forests. The air is crisp and the first frost of winter sparkles on the leaves. Your companions walk close together. Each step a testament to the weight of the task ahead.

Aragorn leads with a steady hand, his ranger skills essential as the terrain becomes more challenging. Beside him, Boromir of Gondor often lends his strength. His booming voice echoing off the stone trying to keep spirits high among the group, especially the hobbits—Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin—who find amusement in the smallest wonders along the way. Like the frost patterns on the leaves or a particularly stubborn squirrel.

Legolas glides effortlessly beside you. His elven grace a stark contrast to Gimli who stumps along with a determined scowl, his axe ever at the ready. Despite the solemnity of your mission the elf and the dwarf have already begun what seems to be an endless competition, each trying to outdo the other in tracking skills, strength, and the telling of tall tales.

One balmy afternoon as the path narrows along the edges of a steep ravine the rivalry comes to a head between the two of them. Gimli insists he can clear a particularly large fallen tree with a single vault much to Legolas’s skepticism.

“Watch and learn, Master Elf,” Gimli grunts as he began to back up for a running start. Legolas watches with an arched eyebrow, clearly very amused by the red headed dwarf travelling beside him.

Just as Gimli begins to charge forward you step in placing a calming hand on his shoulder. “Perhaps, Gimli, it would be wiser to assist each other over the obstacle rather than compete with others. After all, the road ahead promises ample challenge for both of your strengths.” You smile warmly down at the ambitious dwarf set out to prove himself.

Gimli stops mid-stride puffing out his chest a bit as he turns to you, then to Legolas. “Hmm, perhaps you are right, lass. What say you, Legolas? Shall we make this journey a test of our cooperation rather than our competition?”

Legolas’s lips curve into a smile. His eyes sparkling with a newfound respect. “I believe our companion speaks wisely. Let us proceed together.” He offers his hand to Gimli who looks at it for a moment before shaking it heartily.

As the journey continues you find yourself often mediating and bringing lightness to tense moments. One evening as the Fellowship gathered around the campfire you recount a humorous anecdote from your days studying under your grandfather. Making sure to mimic Gandalf’s stern voice and dramatic gestures. The group erupts into laughter, the sound carrying through the trees and lifting the spirits of all including the hobbits who clap delightedly and ask for more stories.

Aragorn, sitting across from you nods appreciatively. His eyes meeting yours with a silent thank-you for the lightness you bring. Boromir chuckles, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes clearly more at ease. “You have the gift of your grandfather. Not only in magic but in spirit.” Aragorn comments, his voice warm in the chill air.

Legolas who was sitting beside you leans closer and speaks softly, “Your wisdom brings much-needed peace. And your humor is a light in dark times. It is a rare gift.”

You meet his gaze. The firelight cast dancing shadows across his features. All elves were beautiful but there was something about the Price of Mirkwood that drew you in. “We all carry our gifts, Legolas. Yours is your unerring optimism and sharp eye. Gimli’s his steadfastness and heart. Boromir’s his valor. Aragorn’s his leadership. And the hobbits’ their enduring cheer. Together we are stronger than each individual.”

As the nights grow longer and the path more daunting the bonds within the Fellowship deepen, fortified by shared challenges and your quiet efforts to understand, and support each other. In the quiet moments Legolas teaches you Elvish songs of old. And Gimli shares tales of the great Dwarven halls, their voices blending into the night creating a tapestry of friendship and hope.

As the Fellowship delves into the ancient depths of Moria the air grows thick with the mustiness of ages and the weight of stone. The walls echo with the memory of Dwarven voices, now silent. The path is lit only by the faint glow of Gandalf’s staff. Gimli moves with a mix of reverence and sorrow. His eyes reflecting a deep familial connection to the lost realm of his kin. The narrow passages twist and turn leading you deeper into the mountain’s heart. The quiet is oppressive, only broken by the occasional drip of water or the scuffle of a boot on stone. Tension mounts with each step and even the normally unflappable Legolas seems taut, his eyes scanning the shadows.

All too suddenly, the dark stillness erupts into chaos. A low growl escalates into a deafening roar as the Balrog, a creature of fire and shadow, reveals itself. The ground trembles beneath its weight and the air sears with heat. Gandalf steps forward his face set with grim determination. “Lead them on, Aragorn,” he commands. “The bridge is near. Do as I say! Swords are no more use here!” Your grandfather cries as he gives you a sharp look. Obey. You must listen to him now.

The Fellowship rushes forward driven by fear and the urgent need to escape, but you hesitate, your heart torn as Gandalf faces the monster alone. As the others cross the bridge of Khazad-dûm you watch, helpless, as Gandalf confronts the Balrog. His staff was raised, a brilliant light flaring to meet the darkness.

“You cannot pass,” Gandalf declares. His voice echoing powerfully. It sends a shutter down even your spine.

The Balrog advances and with a defiant cry Gandalf strikes the bridge with his staff. It crumbles sending the creature plummeting into the abyss. But the Balrog’s fiery whip lashes out, catching Gandalf’s leg, pulling him towards the edge. With a calm but utterly sad glance back at you, he murmurs, “Fly, you fools,” before falling into the darkness below.

Shock paralyzes you momentarily, tears blurring your vision. The others tug at you, pulling you away from the crumbling edge. As you flee Moria the loss of your beloved grandfather hits you. A deep ache that seems to echo through the empty halls. Outside, under the grey, mourning sky, the Fellowship collapses in a clearing. Each member grappling with grief. Your knees give out and you sink to the ground, overwhelmed by sorrow. Legolas is at your side in an instant, his presence a silent solace. He does not speak, but his hand finds yours, squeezing gently. A clear reminder that you are not alone.

Gimli joins you. His own eyes rimmed red. “He was the greatest of us all,” he says gruffly with his voice thick with emotion. “I am honored to have walked beside him and I vow to you, we will see this quest through. For him and for all our sakes.”

The words are a balm to your spirit even as you could not reply. Words were too hard for you now. You lean into Legolas, his strength supporting you. You mourn the loss of the only thing you knew. Legolas and Gimli by your side reminding you that even in the depths of loss, the bonds of friendship and love hold firm.

You manage to whisper a weak "Thank you," before the sorrow overwhelms you once more. Tears flood your cheeks, each one a memory, a moment shared with Gandalf that you'll never experience again. Overcome, you turn into Legolas's side, seeking the comfort that only close, physical presence can provide.  Though he was not typically fond of physical touch he does not hesitate to comfort you. He wraps his arms around you, his embrace firm and unwavering. In this moment your need transcends his usual reservations, and he holds you close. A silent sentinel in your hour of vulnerability.

His hands are steady on your back, one arm around your shoulders, the other at your waist, grounding you as your grief spills forth unchecked. Legolas's heart aches for your loss and though he may not express his emotions openly his actions speak a clear language of care and adoration. As you cry into his side, Legolas rests his chin atop your head. His gaze was fixed on the distant horizon where the last light of day gives way to twilight. He feels the weight of your sorrow as if it were his own, yet he knows he must stand strong for you.

Legolas knows that the road ahead will be fraught with further trials but for now, he offers you all that he can—protection, comfort, and an unspoken promise that no matter what lies ahead, you will not face it alone. In the stillness that wraps around you and Legolas there's a respectful pause from the rest of the Fellowship. They were giving you a moment to collect yourself under the cloak of Legolas's support. Aragorn, ever attentive to the needs of his comrades, notices the depth of your grief and the comfort Legolas provides. He understands the significance of this moment, the necessity of mourning and the importance of support in such times.

Standing a short distance away Aragorn speaks quietly with the hobbits making sure everyone is ready to continue but delaying their departure ever so slightly for your sake. His leadership is subtle. His decisions shaped by a deep understanding of his people's emotional and physical stamina.

After a brief moment, Aragorn looks over, his eyes meeting Legolas’s over your bowed head. There’s a silent communication between them. A leader’s acknowledgement and a friend’s gratitude for the support given to one of their own. Aragorn’s face softens, his respect for whatever was forming between you two clear in his gentle nod.

With a deep breath, signaling both readiness and respect, Aragorn approaches. His voice is soft yet carries a necessary urgency as he speaks. His words meant to soothe but also to remind of the path ahead. “We must move on for night will not wait for us and neither will our enemies,” he spoke with his tone conveying both compassion and resolve. “Take the time you need but remember we must not linger long.”

Legolas gently helps you stand straighter his arms still offering support. As you wipe away the last of your tears, strengthened by the comfort you’ve received, you nod in understanding. Legolas gives you a reassuring look. His eyes promising continued support and then he gently releases you. He was ready to stand by your side as you all prepare to resume the journey. With a final glance at Gandalf’s last stand you and the Fellowship gather your gear and set off once more into the fading light. The memory of Gandalf a guiding light that pushes you forward through the darkness.

Emerging into the sunlight of the world again does little to lift the sorrow of the Fellowship which soon deepens with Boromir’s tragic fall at Amon Hen. His valiant defense of Merry and Pippin against the Uruk-hai, though ultimately costing him his life, marked him forever a hero in the annals of your journey. The loss of such a stalwart companion leaves a void in your heart and within the group, casting a pall over your spirits.

Driven by a fierce determination to honor Boromir’s sacrifice, you, Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli give chase across the plains of Rohan to rescue Merry and Pippin from their captors. The pursuit is grueling. Pushing each of you to your very limits. The landscape of Rohan is vast and relentless, but the tracks are clear, guiding you unerringly toward the thick fringes of Fangorn Forest. The hope of rescuing the hobbits fuels your weary bodies onward even as your hearts ache with the memory of Gandalf's fall and Boromir’s courageous end.

As you follow the trail into the shadowy depths of Fangorn a sense of ancient watchfulness grows. The forest feels alive, old beyond reckoning, and filled with secrets. It is here among the whispering trees that the unexpected happens. A figure steps out from the shadows garbed in white, his presence bright against the dark underbrush. The shock of seeing what you believe might be Saruman stops you in your tracks. But as the figure approaches the energy changes—the air around him shimmers with a familiar warmth and power. Not the cold malice of Saruman.

"Gandalf?" Legolas breathes. A note of awe mingling with disbelief.

You squint, hardly daring to believe it to be true. As he draws closer, clarity dawns, and recognition floods your senses. Overcome with emotion you shout, "Grandfather!" and sprint toward him. Your heart swelling with joy and relief.

Gandalf opens his arms wide, and you crash into his embrace. The impact strong yet comforting. "My dear child," he murmurs. His voice warm and welcoming as he wraps his arms around you. His cloak envelops you with a familiar scent of pipe-weed and the road clinging to the fabric grounding you in the reality of his return.

"Yes, it is I," Gandalf responds gently, now looking down at you with sparkling eyes, "but as Gandalf the White. I come back to you at the turn of the tide. Stronger and renewed. Just as our hope must now be."

The grief at Boromir’s death and the shock of Gandalf's return blend into a complex tapestry of emotions. The initial shock gives way to a festive air as relief and joy wash over Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli. They join in, their earlier despair replaced by laughter and words of amazement, forming a tight circle around you and Gandalf.

As Gandalf explains his battle with the Balrog and his subsequent rebirth his words filling the gaps in your understanding and rekindling hope in your hearts. His return not only signifies a miraculous second chance but also invigorates the Fellowship with renewed purpose and determination. With Gandalf's guidance now as Gandalf the White you all feel a renewed sense of purpose. The path forward is still fraught with danger but with Gandalf returned, and in memory of Boromir’s bravery, you are reminded that even in the darkest times there can be resurrection and hope. Together you prepare to resume the quest, stronger and more determined than ever.

"Your guidance has been sorely missed, Gandalf," Aragorn says. His voice steady but thick with emotion as he joins you. He captures the mood of the moment, channeling the Fellowship’s relief into focus. "What should we do? Frodo and Sam are gone to Mordor. Merry and Pippin are captives of the enemy." Gandalf releases you from the embrace but keeps one hand on your shoulder, grounding, and comforting. He surveys the small group with a decisive gaze and the air around you seems to thrum with renewed energy and urgency.

"We will split our efforts," he declares. "Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, and you," he nods at you, "will pursue the orcs who took Merry and Pippin. Every second counts and your skills will be crucial in navigating this perilous chase."

You try and protest, but he shakes his head continuing along. "Meanwhile, I shall seek aid from the Ents of Fangorn," Gandalf continues, turning to look at the dense woods behind him. "Their strength will be necessary in the wars to come. We must rally all allies for the shadow from the East grows ever bolder."

As plans are made Legolas stands close by your side, his presence a silent vow of protection and partnership. You feel his hand briefly squeeze yours. A gesture of support that sends a surge of warmth through your heart that he had done so many times before.

"You have grown much, under shadow and trial," Gandalf remarks. Looking at you with a blend of pride and affection With the reunion drawing to a close and the path forward set you all prepare to leave. Gandalf’s return has not only brought back a beloved mentor and friend but has reignited the flame of hope within your heart. Together you feel ready to face the challenges that await knowing that the bonds of friendship and duty will guide you through the darkest of times.

As you traverse the expansive lands towards Rohan the camaraderie within the group deepens, each member adjusting to the rhythms of travel and the complexities of intertwined destinies. Amidst these dynamics your relationship with Legolas finds new ground. The elven prince, always serene and composed, begins to show a more attentive and tender side in his interactions with you. His glances linger longer and his conversations, once filled with tales of ancient elven lore, now often drift towards thoughts and dreams of the future, your future.

It’s during one of the long nights while camped under the vast, starlit sky near the borders of Fangorn Forest, that Gimli noticed the growing tension between you and Legolas. He decided to give you both some space. With a knowing wink and a gruff voice Gimli volunteers for the first watch, his tone unusually gentle. "I reckon the night is best shared with stars and heartfelt words, not an old dwarf's snoring."

Grateful, you share a smile with Legolas as Gimli settles a little distance away, his back to you, affording you a semblance of privacy. Legolas turns to you with his blue eyes reflecting the starlight, and for a moment he simply looks at you as if contemplating a thought long held in silence. "I have seen many wonders in my long life," he starts, his voice soft and mesmerizing under the night sky. "But none compared to the courage and kindness I've seen in you. In these trying times you have become a light guiding me."

Your heart flutters at his words, and you feel a warmth spread through you. "And you, Legolas, have been my solace. In you I find peace amidst turmoil. A joy that even the darkest shadows cannot diminish." He smiles. His gaze intensifying with affection and something more, something unspoken yet palpable between you. Then, in a move that surprises you both for its boldness and its intimacy, Legolas shifts closer and gently pulls you into his side. It's a daring gesture for an elf, particularly one as reserved as Legolas. But it feels right as if many paths had converged to bring this moment into being.

The warmth of his body against yours, the protective embrace of his arm—these are things you never expected to find so far from home. "It seems we have found comfort in one another's presence," he says softly. "Would that we might find a way to keep this light alive… no matter what lies ahead?"

"I would like that very much," you whisper as you leaned into the strength of his embrace.

The two of you sit under the blanket of night talking softly of dreams for a peaceful future and the immediate plans for the days to come. The reality of the quest remains but for now, under the stars, you both allow yourselves the luxury of imagining a life beyond the war. Both of you bound by a newfound affection that promises to grow with each passing day.

At Helm's Deep the air is thick with the tension of impending battle. The great fortress, built into the deep folds of the mountain, stands as the last bastion of hope against the relentless march of Saruman's forces. As the sky darkens and the torches flicker against the night you stand on the ramparts beside Legolas watching the sea of enemies gathering in the distance.

Legolas turns to you, his expression clouded with concern. “You should not be here,” he says softly. His voice barely above the howl of the wind. “This battle... it is not like the ones before. I fear—”

“I know,” you interrupt, understanding his fear but meeting his gaze with a resolve that mirrors the steel of the swords of your comrades below. “I know what this battle could mean for all of us. But I must stand with you, with all of you. There is no other place for me now, Legolas.”

Seeing the determination in your eyes, Legolas's expression softens and he pulls you gently against his side. It was a bold move for him, especially in such a public setting. “Then we will face it together,” he says squeezing your hand tightly as a silent promise passes between you.

The night deepens and the enemy’s drums beat a terrifying rhythm that seems to match the racing of your heart. Legolas pulls you closer. His eyes searching yours in the dim light. “No matter what happens tonight, know this,” he whispers, his voice steady despite the chaos swelling around you. “I love you. I have loved you amidst the shadows of our journey, and I will love you beyond the reaches of time.”

Your breath catches at his words. The simplicity and depth of his confession anchoring you amidst your fears. “And I love you,” you repl. Your voice strong even though you felt so weak. “Whatever may come, whatever we face… we face it together.”

As the battle commences the air fills with the clash of steel and the cries of warriors. You fight back-to-back, Legolas’s arrows finding their marks with deadly precision while you fend off attackers with sword and spell.

Gimli joins two of you, his axe a blur as he protects your flank. “Ha! I’d like to see them try to break this line!” he bellows. His voice a rumble of thunder over the din of battle.

The hours stretch. Each moment a lifetime but you fight with a clarity borne of love and the will to protect not just middle earth but the futures you hope to share. Legolas’s presence is a constant reassurance. His quick glances amidst the fray a reminder of everything worth fighting for.

As dawn breaks the tide of battle shifts. With Gandalf’s timely arrival and the charge of the Rohirrim, a new hope is rekindled. The enemy falters and breaks. Exhausted but alive, you, Legolas, and Gimli regroup, your bodies weary but spirits lifted by the victory, however costly it may have been.

Standing amidst the ruins of the battle you all share a look of relief and unspoken understanding. The war is far from over, but the strength of your bonds, the depth of your love, and the courage of your friends give you the fortitude to press on, to fight another day. With Legolas watch the sunrise, the light washing over Helm’s Deep painting the world in hues of gold and red. A daily rebirth, a reminder that after darkness there always comes a new dawn.

After the long shadow of war finally lifts with the destruction of the One Ring the world begins to breathe again. Minas Tirith stands gleaming under the bright sun, its banners waving in a joyous breeze. The streets are filled with music and laughter as people from all corners of middle earth gather to celebrate the victory. The air is sweet with the scent of blossoming flowers brought forth by a spring that signifies not just the changing of seasons but the dawn of a new era.

You, Legolas, and Gimli stand on a balcony overlooking the jubilant city with a cup of fine wine in hand. The Fellowship has been honored by kings and lords, sung by minstrels, and cheered by crowds. But in this moment, the three of you share a quiet moment that speaks of deeper bonds forged in the fires of your shared trials.

Legolas looks out over the city, his eyes reflecting the green of the fields below. “The world is changed,” he says thoughtfully. “I feel it in the earth, I smell it in the air. The darkness that once threatened to swallow us whole is now but a shadow of the past.”

Gimli nods. His eyes twinkling under his bushy brows. “Aye, and it’s time for more pleasant journeys,” he chuckles. “I promised you both a tour of the Glittering Caves, did I not? And I intend to keep that promise. You’ll find no finer sight beneath the mountains, mark my words!”

“And I,” Legolas adds turning to you with a gentle smile, “would have you both come to Mirkwood. The forests have suffered in the darkness. But they recover, much like us. There are places of such beauty and tranquility that they deserve to be witnessed with friends.”

You sip your wine, letting the rich flavors linger on your tongue as you consider the future. “And what of you?” Gimli asks, looking at you with an expectant raise of his eyebrow.

“I think,” you say slowly, smiling at the possibilities that stretch before you, “that I would like to see more of this world that we have fought so hard to save. From the forests of Mirkwood to the caves of the mountains and perhaps even beyond. There’s so much to explore, so much to learn.”

“And so much to rebuild,” Legolas adds. “Wherever we go we carry with us the legacy of those who fought beside us. Those who fell, and those who lived to see this day. Gandalf’s wisdom, Aragorn’s courage, and even Frodo’s quiet determination—they remain with us, guiding us forward.”

Gimli raises his cup, and you and Legolas do the same. “To the future,” Gimli declares heartily.

“To peace,” Legolas adds, his voice warm.

“To friendship,” you conclude. The three of you clink your cups together, the sound crisp and clear.

As the celebration continues below you lean against the stone railing admiring the city sprawling at your feet. Around you the laughter and music rise to the starlit sky, and you feel a profound sense of contentment. The road ahead is uncharted, but you face it not as a lone wanderer but as part of a fellowship that has endured the darkest of times to see the brightest of days.

With Legolas and Gimli by your side you know that whatever adventures lie ahead, they will be filled with joy, discovery, and the unbreakable bonds of friendship. This is not the end of your story but the beginning of a new chapter, one that you will write together.

As the celebrations in Minas Tirith begin to quiet down into a gentle hum of merriment and the evening deepens, Gimli, with a knowing grin and a subtle nod towards Legolas excuses himself to “inspect the integrity of the ale supply,” leaving you two alone on the quieter side of the terrace that overlooks the city’s sprawling, illuminated gardens.

Legolas watches Gimli depart and then turns to you with a serene expression. His eyes reflecting the myriad lights of the city. He reaches into the folds of his tunic and pulls out a small, exquisitely carved wooden box. “I have something for you,” he says. His voice low and filled with a tender emotion that sends a thrill through your heart.

You watch, curious and expectant, as he opens the box to reveal a pendant. It’s a delicate piece, shaped like a leaf but crafted with such intricacy that each vein in the leaf is visible. It shimmered with a light that seems to emanate from within the silver itself.

“This is a leaf from the Mallorn trees of Lothlórien,” Legolas explains as he carefully lifts the pendant from the box. “Galadriel herself gave this to me before we departed and though I cherish it... I believe it was always meant for you.”

He steps closer. His presence so familiar and yet so heart-stirringly profound at this intimate moment. “In the elven tradition,” he continues, his eyes locked onto yours, “to give such a gift is to choose a companion. To offer a token of one’s heart and soul. I give this to you not out of obligation but from a free and willing heart. I choose you and it’s you I wish to be with through all the ages of this world.”

He pauses while holding the pendant up between you. His eyes searching yours for an answer, a confirmation of your feelings. You nod gently, overwhelmed by the emotion in his gaze and the significance of his gift.

Legolas smiles, a soft, joyous curve of his lips, and delicately clasps the pendant around your neck. His fingers brush lightly against your skin as he secures the clasp sending shivers down your spine. The metal feels warm as if charged with his affection and presence.

“I cannot promise that the road ahead will be free from hardship,” Legolas says softly while drawing you close so that your foreheads touch lightly, “but I can promise that you will never walk it alone. Where you go I will follow. And where I go I hope you will be by my side.”

“Legolas,” you whisper. Your voice thick with emotion. “There is no one else I would rather have by my side. No one else I would want to share my path with. I choose you, too, today, and always.”

Without hesitation Legolas leans in to capture your lips in a kiss. It’s gentle at first. A tender meeting that speaks of mutual respect and deep affection. But as you respond the kiss deepens, becoming a profound expression of your shared love and commitment.

The world around you—the city of Minas Tirith, the sounds of celebration—fades into a blissful quiet. In this moment wrapped in Legolas’s embrace, you realize that while the war might have brought you together it is love that will lead you into your future. Beneath the stars and above the glowing city you share a promise of a thousand sunrises to come. Each one a new day to explore and cherish the world together.

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[minaturefics]

Head and Heart

Request: Could I request an Aragorn x Reader fic maybe where they have to separate during the trilogy, and when they’re reunited they both want to confess their feelings but they each think it’s unrequited?

A/N: It's here.... finally here.... I honestly don't think this is my best work, but I've gone over it so many times and I think it's time to just get it out here! I hope you enjoy it all the same, and thank you for your patience. I think I've lost my writing mojo - this might be the last fic in a long time (｡•́︿•̀｡)

Aragorn x Reader

Gender-neutral reader

Non-graphic mentions of wound treatment

6.6k words

---

There was an unsettling sillness to the forest. Darkness curled around the little campsite, only kept at bay by the small fire. There were no croaks or squeaks from the shrubs, no hoots or chirps in the trees. There was not even the slightest whisper of wind to rustle the leaves. Behind you, the company slept, breaths loud in the silence, while you kept watch. The fire had burned low, the warmth of the flames barely reaching your back, and you glanced behind, wondering if you should refuel it, but Aragorn was already kneeling by the smouldering flames, feeding it sticks and twigs.

It had been a tense couple of weeks with the long treks at night and the fitful sleeps in the day, the unyielding wind and the unforgiving landscape, the cool indifference between the emissaries of Gondor — you and Boromir — and Aragorn.

When you had first laid eyes on him at The Council, you had noted his handsomeness — his dark hair, his piercing eyes, his short beard flecked with grey — but then came the revelation of his lineage. So this was the king come to claim the throne of Gondor. This was the man you would have to swear fealty to and serve under. This was the man who would inherit the land and people that the stewards have long since cared for. 

As though sensing your gaze, Aragorn looked up from the fire and met your eyes. He stood, eyes only flickering away for a moment to check on the others, and walked towards you slowly. You straightened, muscles tensing, and he brought his hands up in a placating gesture. 

“Peace,” he whispered. “I have only come to smoke.”

He settled on the ground next to the boulder you were perched on. Strange, for the king to willingly choose the cold earth when there was more than enough space on the rocks nearby, to willingly choose to be lower than you were. 

He brought out a pipe from his pocket, filled the bowl with leaves, and soon the air was filled with the sweet scent of pipeweed. 

“Do you smoke?” he asked around the stem of his pipe.

You shook your head. “Though I am fond of the plant they once used to be. In Gondor, you can smell them in the wind in summer when the flowers bloom. The scent of them followed Boromir and me to the borders of Rohan when we journeyed to Rivendell.”

He hummed. “You and Boromir must be close. There are not many who would be trusted with such a task.”

“We have known each other for many years.” You shrugged. “My family has long been loyal to the stewards of Gondor.”

You glanced at Aragorn, wondering if he had picked up on your subtle dig. It was not the throne, or who might fill it, that you were loyal to. Aragorn may be the heir, but he was still a stranger. And only a fool would trust another so easily, especially when it came to the country’s land and its people.

You expected him to frown, to grow grim and silent perhaps, but instead a small smile pulled on his lips. “I do not think you care for crowns and titles.” He took a long draw from his pipe and blew it out in a steady stream. “Your heart is with the people and the land. I do not think there is anything you would not do for Gondor.”

Your stomach flipped. How had he read you so easily?

“Of course,” you said, irritation rising unbidden within you. “We have lived in the shadow of Mordor for many years. We have supported and defended the people. We have shed sweat and blood for them.”

“I understand,” he said, serious. “I am aware my presence is an uncomfortable one. But we are not enemies.”

“You do not understand. Gondor may be your birthright, Aragorn, but it is myhome.”

“And I swear to you, I will defend her.”

“You swear to me?” You scoffed. “As a king?”

“As a man.”

You met his eyes. The firelight flickered in them, but there was nothing fickle about his gaze. Something stirred in your heart, a softening, an awakening, and you nodded, short and sharp. “Alright.”

-

Aragorn watched you as you tried to cheer the hobbits after dinner. They were seated in a circle around you on the soft moss, between the great roots of the Lothlorien trees, listening to your stories. There was a fire in your eyes, a merriment, a wildness, and warmth in your voice.

“And then,” you said in a hushed whisper and the hobbits leaned in, “Faramir and I pushed him into the river! Oh, Boromir was furious. He crawled right out and dragged the both of us by our ankles and pulled us in with him.”

Pippin snickered and glanced at Boromir who was seated beneath another tree root.

“You should tell them about the time you got stuck in the bell tower!” Boromir called, grinning.

“The bell tower?” Pippin’s head whipped back and you let out a long groan.

Your eyes darted to Aragorn’s, lighting up in surprise, and you flashed him a smile before turning your attention back to the hobbits. His heart gave a little lurch and he grimaced. He did not have time for such things.

Ever since that evening, you were quicker to smile at him, more likely to walk beside him and talk. He had thought  you beautiful before, stoic and stalwart, seated at The Council, but now, thawing, warming, it was like the first flowers of spring beginning to bloom. Beauty was one thing but spirit was another. And he could not help but admire yours. How you tried to encourage the hobbits through the snow on Caradhras, how you helped Gimli up from his knees in Balin’s tomb, how you stood, crying but defiant, after the Balrog took Gandalf. 

He knew, just as well as any, that it must have been grim, gruelling work as a ranger in such times. Many of his men had grown serious and solemn over the years, and a part of him envied the Gondorian rangers for having your light when he had none. 

He glanced down at the forgotten sword and whetstone in his hand. No, whatever fledgling feelings he might have for you had to be halted. He had just barely earned your esteem; it would be madness to think of earning your affection.

“That’s it,” you said, deflating a little, “I’m out of stories.”

Pippin and Merry gave disappointed groans, and Sam and Frodo flashed you grateful smiles. They went off towards their beds, fluffing the pillows and straightening the blankets, and fell into a quiet conversation among themselves. You stood up and wandered in Boromir's direction and he turned his attention back to his sword, running the whetstone along the edge with a satisfying shink. 

He lost himself in the motion, driving away thoughts of Gandalf, thoughts of the ring, thoughts of you. 

“Are you alright?” You asked and he blinked out of his meditative trance. Your eyes were soft and concerned. 

He nodded. “I am just burdened by the future. I am anxious to carry on with our errand.”

“It has been a harrowing few weeks,” you said, coming to join him on the soft ground. “It would do us all some good to rest here under the protection of the elves.”

“We do not have time.”

“We have time for this,” you said firmly. And then more gently, “Aragorn, we have all suffered a great loss. You more than most. You knew Gandalf the longest among us, have you not?”

“I have,” he murmured, the corners of his eyes burning. He sniffed and swiped his tears  away before they fell.

“Would it… would it ease your mind to speak of him?”

He was uncertain anything would ease the tightness in his chest and the hollowness in his stomach. Still, the words flowed from his lips, low and stilted.

“It was Gandalf who introduced me to pipeweed,” he said, memories of the mischievous wizard filling his mind. “Elrond was most displeased.”

You laughed, a hearty, sweet sound, and he let out a long sigh, muscles loosening. 

“He showed me how to fill the bowl and tried to teach me how to blow smoke rings.”

“Can you?”

He smiled a little, remembering sitting next to Gandalf, practising. “Not quite. It is harder than you think.”

“Well, perhaps next time you could show me.”

He nodded absentmindedly and shifted, laying his sword and whetstone aside. His pipe, in his pocket, jabbed him in the thigh with the movement. It would be nice to take a moment, to have a smoke and relax, just like you said. “Or perhaps,” he said slowly, “I could show you now.”

You glanced around, eyeing the ethereal flets high in the trees. “Is that permitted here?”

He grinned. “I’m sure they will permit it. In the memory of Gandalf.”

He prepared the pipe and lit the leaves. The smoke filled his lungs, sweet and soothing, and he leaned back against the tree root. After a few long draws, he attempted the smoke rings. The first few were short lived, more like coughs of smoke rather than rings, and then one or two vaguely ‘O’ shaped.

“Gandalf would be disappointed,” he murmured with a chuckle. 

“Have another go,” you said with a smile.

He inhaled, long and slow, the smouldering leaves glowing. He relaxed, Gandalf’s scolding instructions filling his mind, and exhaled. Two clouds, and then, to his amazement, a perfect smoke ring. 

You grinned at him, eyes bright, and warmth spread through his stomach. 

-

You tugged at the borrowed robes and wished you had some sort of mirror. They were soft and fine, the pale blue fabric iridescent in the starry elvish lanterns. It was gracious of the elves to extend the invitation of a formal dinner to the fellowship, but it seemed like everyone except Legolas and Aragorn felt a little ill at ease at the prospect of dining with the elves.

“Come on,” Boromir called, “we are waiting for you, my friend.”

You smoothed the fabric down and stepped out from behind the changing screen. The rest of the company were standing around, already changed, by the base of the steps. You walked towards them, forcing your eyes to stay trailed on Boromir instead of straying to Aragorn.

No, it did not matter what he thought of you. It did not matter at all.

The past couple of weeks in Lothlorien felt strangely like a dream, a world removed from everything else. Sheltered by the elves and swathed in trees, it seemed as though Aragorn could lay down his sword and rest. It had been odd, seeing him joke with the hobbits, egging their bickering on with his wry comments, or watching him laugh with Legolas while they spoke in Elvish. 

Was this who Aragorn truly was? He had more than shown his valour and strength in the past few weeks, his firm words to Boromir on Caradhras in the presence of the ring, his unwavering patience and calm in Moria, but this… 

Boromir clasped your shoulders and grinned. “You look amazing. These robes are more difficult to put on than our formal wear, but more comfortable I should think.”

You nodded, your eyes darting to Aragorn anyway. His eyes swept over you, expression barely changing as he inclined his head, and continued his conversation with Legolas. Disappointment pooled in your stomach as you followed the rest of them up the stairs towards the dining flet.

 Disappointment? At what? There was nothing to be disappointed about. He was a companion, just another member of the fellowship. It would be a foolish notion to expect his regard of you to change simply because yours of him had.

And what was it that changed it? Some promise of caring for your homeland, some moments of laughter and levity, the shared grief of losing a companion? You shook your head. How could you let yourself be swayed by such things? He was still yet to prove himself a good king.

Dinner was an uneventful affair. The food was good and any dips in conversation were filled in by Legolas who told tales of Mirkwood to the elves. Eased by the wine and bolstered by the delicious meal, Pippin shyly asked if there was to be music and dancing, and the company was led to another flet with musicians. 

The hobbits had paired up, and Legolas, cajoling, baiting, and challenging Gimli, managed to get the dwarf to at least attempt the steps. Boromir and you had stood off to the side, choosing to watch first, and Aragorn was speaking to Haldir. The flutes and the harps were clean and clear, but the hand drum beat more rapidly than you anticipated.

“It is like our waltzes back home,” Boromir said.

“But faster.” Your eyes darted between the pairs, trying to puzzle the steps. “And it is to the beat of four and not three.”

“It is not so different,” Aragorn said. “In practice.”

“You know how to dance?” You turned to him, astonished.

“Of course.” He broke into a smile. “I was raised in Rivendell.”

You blinked at him and looked away. How did you forget? It was so easy, looking at Aragorn, to see the wild, skilled Ranger and forget the noble circumstances of his birth. Yes, he was a king. The disappointment from before corroded through you. Yes, you must not forget that. No matter his trappings — a good man, a good ranger — Aragorn was a king.

And a good man did not necessarily mean a good king. And Gondor… Gondor would need a good king.

Boromir nudged you with his elbow. “You should dance, my friend. You were always better than Faramir and I. Valar knows I’ll trip over my feet with this new music.”

“It has been many seasons since I last danced.”

“It is easy,” Aragorn said, offering his hand to you.

For a moment you stared at his palm, the creases in them still smudged with errant dirt despite the comforts of Lothlorien. The hands of a man who knew strife, who knew work. 

Before you knew what you were doing, you placed your hand in his and he walked you to the edge of the dance. He laid a hand on your waist, large and warm, and stepped closer to you. You could smell him, leather and soap and sweet pipeweed.

“Your other hand on my shoulder,” he murmured, breath rippling the errant strands of your hair. 

He led you through the steps, his fingers flexing on your waist, his voice low and close. You stared at your feet, at his chest, at the trees beyond his shoulder. Your heart sped up and you willed your breaths to lengthen, hoping he could not sense the change in you. 

“You are a good dancer. A quick learner,” he said. 

You nodded, not trusting your words. Warmth radiated from him, and it seemed as though your hand seared with the heat of his skin. He was solid and steady, and so, so close.

The dance was blessedly short, and when the final chord rang out, you stepped back from him, bowed stiffly, and walked away.

-

Aragorn cradled your head, his hand growing wet with your blood, and stared down at your pained face. Your breathing was laboured and erratic. Had they come too late? He glanced up to see Gimli and Legolas bent over Boromir. A black arrow stuck out from his shoulder and he let out a weak groan. Slain orcs lay around the clearing, their crude weapons scattered on the ground, and the hobbits were nowhere to be seen.

He looked back down at you, willing you to open your eyes. He couldn’t help but sweep his thumb over your muddied cheek. “Please,” he whispered. “By the Valar, please.”

How was it that it was only a week or so ago that he held you in his arms, warm and close, cheeks flushed from the dance? He had kept that memory close  in his mind, guiltily revisiting it in the quiet of the night, fingers twitching to reach out across the moss to touch you again. You had been strangely distant since that night. You were polite and friendly, but your glances had become fleeting and furtive and you hardly sought him out to talk in the evenings like you had done before. 

Did you catch a glimpse of the affection in his eyes? Were you discomfited by it? Possibly. Why else would you withdraw from him? Perhaps you felt it would be too risky to reject him outright, given his position as the future king, and thought it would be best this way. 

You groaned, brows furrowing, and mumbled something unintelligible. He whispered your name and to his relief, your eyes fluttered open. “Boromir,” you muttered. “The little ones…”

He looked up and saw Legolas and Gimli tending to Boromir, discussing how to remove the arrow. “He is alive. The hobbits have been taken by the orcs.”

“You need to save them.”

“I need to save you first.”

“There is no time… The Ring…”

“No. I will not leave you here.”

You muttered some garbled swear at him but did not protest when he began to inspect your wound. He parted your hair carefully, fingers combing through the matted strands. It was a fairly large wound, but not deep. At least, nothing that would be immediately fatal. It would have to be cleaned and bandaged properly to prevent infection. Legolas was already starting a fire and Gimli had gone off, presumably to camp to gather water and whatever spare cloths they could use as bandages. 

It was an hour later when you and Boromir were finally fully awake. Your wounds were bandaged but the both of you were pale and weak.

“The little ones,” Boromir said. “You must go after them.”

Aragorn looked at you. Your eyes were glassy and glazed, the collar of your cloak still stained with blood. “We cannot leave you like this.”

“Cannot? Or will not?” you asked, lifting your eyes to meet his. Your gaze was strong and defiant despite the pain. “The hobbits need to be rescued. Boromir and I cannot go on in our condition. We may yet live as we are, but Merry and Pippin do not stand a chance if you do not go.”

He exhaled sharply and glanced away. You were right, of course. But how could he leave you like this? Weak and bleeding, at risk of attack, at risk of infection. What would a good ranger do? What would a good king do?

“We could split,” he suggested uneasily. “I could remain while Gimli and Legolas go ahead.” 

But even as he said those words he knew it was not the best course of action. Gimli and Legolas, as skilled and strong as they were, would not be able to confront a pack of orcs by themselves. One glance at Legolas’ dubious expression confirmed his thoughts. 

“We are not on death’s door yet,” Boromir said with a grim smile. “I doubt that the orcs will return to this place; they already have what they came for. We can rest here for a day or two, then make our way back to Minas Tirith.”

The both of you, alone and injured? There were so many things that could go awry and it would be at least a three or four day journey to the city, longer even, in the condition the both of you were in.

“You know Boromir is right,” you muttered, your gaze steely.

It was then that he felt the way he did the night he spoke to you by the fire. That in your eyes there was a right thing to say or do, and anything else would lower your esteem of him.

He nodded slowly. “But we will not leave you here among these corpses. Let us at least get you back to camp with a fire. It will not take us long.”

You shared a look with Boromir and agreed. Between the three of them, it was quick work to help you back to camp. He would see you again, he knew, he hoped, but even then, as he followed Legolas and Gimli away from the camp, he could not help but look over his shoulder for one last glimpse of you.

-

A cool wind blew through the window of your room at the Houses of Healing, carrying with it the sound of the army marching out to Osgiliath. You pushed yourself up onto your elbows, groaning and wincing, and slumped back against the headboard, craning your neck towards the window. If you could not see Faramir off on his deadly errand, then you would at least watch him from your room. 

How had it come to this? Boromir, delirious and incapacitated with fever and infection. Faramir, sent off to Osgiliath, surely to die. And you, weak and helpless, unable to do anything but watch.

Faramir had said he was relieved that you were not coming with him, that if he and Boromir were to die, he could trust that you would ensure Minas Tirith would be well defended and cared for. 

There was no comfort in that. There was no comfort in all of this. 

Duty and honour and calling. What did anything matter if you were left alone in the world? Without Faramir, without Boromir, without… 

Without Aragorn. 

For a moment, you laid any sort of obligation to your station, to your city and country aside, and allowed yourself to indulge. When did he become someone so close to your heart? How? 

It was all those moments of softness. Those rare moments where he was simply just a man, when he set down the mantle of ranger and king. Like when he smoked with Merry and Pippin, nestled between tree roots, discussing the characteristics of the various pipeweed strains. Or when he devoured one of Sam’s dinners of potatoes and wild mushrooms faster than anyone else, shrugging with amused resignation when everyone stared at him. Or when he sat up with you during your turn as the night watch, talking about his boyhood misadventures. 

And that moment when he had danced with you, his strong arms around you, his grey eyes bright in sparkling lights of Lothlorien. He had smelled like soap and cedar, and you were close enough that you could smell the sweet wine on his breath when he spoke. There was something in his eyes you had not seen before. Tenderness? Affection? 

You shook your head and laughed at yourself. Affection? There was little chance of that. You had challenged him that night by the fire, silently made him work for your respect and approval on the journey. It was necessary, perhaps, to prove to him that as a servant of Gondor you were not so easily swayed by someone who claimed to be king. But as a person, as yourself… There was no way that such behaviour would endear you to him. 

He was friendly enough, yes, but he was friendly with everyone in the fellowship. That was all there was to it. Camaraderie and friendship. And it was not as though he had given any indication of… feeling more. And as king, he would have to select a suitable partner. In Rivendell, there were rumours of his long friendship with Elrond’s daughter. Yes… Someone like her would be suitable. And you…

You would stand by as always, the protector and servant of Gondor, and watch him be happy with another.

The bell tolled and you snapped out of your musings. The army was just leaving the gates of the city, their armour gleaming in the sun. You muttered a silent prayer for them, hoping that Faramir would return whole and safe.

Yes, whole and safe. That was all you would ask for Aragorn too. It did not matter if he did not return your feelings, all that mattered was that you would see him again, healthy and smiling. 

-

The cragged stone walls of the narrow path began to look the same to Aragorn. The horses’ clops echoed off the high walls, and Legolas’ and Gimli’s muffled chatter strangely amplified. The air grew cooler and, somehow, more still as they continued forward. He glanced behind and Legolas gave him a short nod. They would be close to The Paths of The Dead soon. 

Andruil bumped his calf with each step the horse took and he felt for the pommel with his fingers. For so many months he had tried to ignore the truth of his heritage. To the hobbits he was Strider, and to the rest of the company he was simply a ranger. But now… there was no hiding, no denying, what he was. Who he was.

Would the others treat him differently now? Would they see him as other, higher, than they were? The thought of Merry and Pippin, usually so affectionate and playful,  growing distant and formal made his heart ache. Would Boromir retreat back into his position of Captain and Steward, rebuilding the walls that they so carefully took apart on their journey? And you…

He thought back to that night by the fire. He had not missed your subtle dig, your silent display of suspicion, and he had tried to reassure you, to show you that he was just the same as you and Boromir. And over the months it seemed that you had softened, sitting with him while he smoked, splitting your rations with him when he had offered some of his share to the hobbits, sharing amused looks with him when Gimli and Legolas were bickering about something inane. 

You even let him dance with you.

In that moment, he felt that you finally saw him as he was. A man. Just a man. But then your eyes had shuttered and you walked away from him. He sighed. There was no hope for him now. With the sword returned to him and him on his way to invoke the debt as the heir to the throne. You would be lost to him, he knew, the moment he was crowned. 

-

The city was in an uproar — singing, drinking, dancing — celebrating the destruction of the ring. It seemed that ever since Aragorn returned from the Fields of Cormallen, there were always people around him. You had recovered enough to return to your own rooms in the Steward’s House in the citadel, though Boromir and Faramir were still recovering in the Houses of Healing.

Aragorn had stopped by your rooms once, expressing relief and joy at your recovery, but had not come by since. So it had begun, then, the inevitable distancing that would happen. He had proven himself a worthy heir and king, marching with the Rohirrim, going to the Paths of the Dead, facing the Enemy at the Black Gate, just as you wished at the start of the journey. Gondor would be in good hands. But what of yourself and your heart? At the beginning, nothing mattered more than his suitability as king, but now… 

You let out a frustrated huff and shook your head. Maybe a walk would clear such futile thoughts from your mind. Maybe you should go see Boromir, he always had a way of cheering you up. It was a short walk down to the Houses of Healing and you found Boromir sitting up in bed, reading through some documents.

“Ah, my friend,” he said with a smile, setting the parchment aside. “You have good timing. I am sick of these papers.”

You peered at them. “Trade agreements?”

He shrugged. “Faramir and I have decided that he will take the post of Steward, but he still values my input on such things.” He took you in, eyes searching your face. “You are upset about something.”

You opened your mouth to protest but deflated instead. You sank into the chair next to his bed. “I am vexed by something. That is all.”

He stared at you for a moment before the corner of his lips twitched upward. “Is it Aragorn?”

“Why would you ask such a thing?”

He chuckled. “We have been friends for many years now, and have been by each other’s side for months. Besides, I have had my suspicions for some weeks.”

You shifted in your seat. “What suspicions?”

“That perhaps your feelings towards him have changed. Softened. I have seen it with my own eyes. I knew for sure that night in Lothlorien.”

You stared at your hands and sighed. “Even if I admit to it, it matters little. He will not return my feelings, and even if he did, I am not a suitable match for him.”

Boromir threw his arms up. “I know you are stubborn but you are being deliberately obtuse and difficult now.”

You bristled and frowned at him. “Do not tease me, I am not in the mood.”

“First, your argument of unsuitability is nonsense — your family is well regarded in the city, and do not forget your own title as Captain. And second, is it so hard to believe that he might return your feelings?”

“I don’t see why he would,” you muttered petulantly. 

He rubbed his forehead and let out a long breath. “I am not usually one to meddle in such… things, but a man can only take so much. You are not the only one who has come into my room, sulking and moody.” You blinked at him and he shook his head. “Aragorn is one to keep things close to his heart, yes, but even he cannot completely hide what is in his eyes.”

Your heart sped up a little. “What… what are you implying?”

“That there is reason to hope. And that maybe Aragron, like you, feels as though his feelings may be unrequited.” Your brows furrowed. “Ah, do not act confused — do you not remember how cold you were to him at the beginning? And how wary you were in the first weeks?”

“But I have been friendly since then.”

“Maybe so, but I would not fault him for being… careful. Some encouragement would not go astray.”

Encouragement? At the risk of looking like some fool? But Boromir was not one to make up stories, and his assessment of character and behaviour has not led him, or you, wrong so far. Perhaps you could… try. Try to show a little more interest, and see if Boromir was right. 

-

Aragorn leaned back against the cool stone wall and took a long drag from his pipe. He had escaped to some high tower in the Citadel, yearning for the open, unbroken sky, and wishing for a moment of peace. The stars winked above him, shimmering just the same as they did in Rivendell, and a fragrant breeze blew from the plains below. 

In a few days, everything would change. 

He had accepted it the moment they entered the Paths of the Dead. His lineage, his duty. He had known since the beginning that he would eventually return to the throne but those decades in Rivendell, those years of roaming the wilds made it easy to forget. He let out a long stream of smoke, watching the pale white puffs evaporate into the night. He inhaled, relishing the sweet scent of the pipeweed, and on a whim, blew some smoke rings.

He smiled a little, remembering that night with you in Lothlorien. It seemed like a whole lifetime ago. His heart had wrenched in his chest when you had opened the door to your rooms, and you stood, haloed in warm light, safe and whole and real. It had been nearly too much to sit in your rooms, talking and smiling, with you so close. The gravity of the mission and the perpetual looming peril during the journey helped keep his feelings buried, but seeing you at home in your rooms stirred his imagination and images of you, of a future with you, plagued his mind for days. 

He had tried to keep his distance, for his own sanity, but for the last week it seemed as though you were determined to seek him out. With the coronation coming up, it was inevitable that he would see more of you — you were assisting with some of the preparations — but you always lingered to talk when discussions were finished. You urged him to take breaks, suggesting he walk with you in the gardens or courtyards, and you even called on him one evening.

It was… confusing. Were you just being friendly? Or was there more to your actions? He knew he was not a man prone to delusion and it certainly seemed as though your feelings had changed. Warmed. But he wished to know for sure. Could he ask you? Would you be receptive to such a thing?

It felt as though he was running out of time. That his coronation would somehow alter things forever. 

He took another drag of his pipe and closed his eyes. He had faced death at the Black Gate but did he have enough courage to face you? To bare his heart, to be open, for the chance that you might reciprocate?

Yes, he thought, or he would forever regret that he did not. 

-

You rubbed the smooth fabric of the silks you were to wear for the coronation. It shone in the warm light of the candles and you stepped back to admire the handiwork of the seamstresses. Intricate embroidery decorated the hems of the sleeves and the collar, the design more ornate than anything you had worn before, and you traced it with your finger. It was beautiful, something more fit for royalty than one of the nobility, and you had protested, but Aragorn and Boromir insisted upon it.

You sighed and turned away, wandering towards the window. The city spread itself in front of you, the flickering torches on the parapets forming concentric circles leading down to the plains. Aragorn would take a partner eventually. Would they care for the city and Gondor? Would they appreciate her beauty and her people? 

The city was flooded with visitors, the citadel more busy than before housing the dwarves and elves and other nobles. Lord Elrond’s daughter had come with him and your heart shattered at the sight of her. But to your surprise, Aragorn had made no overtures to her. They were friendly, yes, but the little you saw of them together, they seemed more like siblings than lovers. Was it possible that you were mistaken? Or perhaps the elves had a more modest way of displaying affection?

Boromir still continued to insist that Aragorn had feelings for you but the evidence of it felt weak. True, he had taken you up on all your offers for walks, and had talked long with you when you called on him that one evening, and once or twice you thought you had seen the tenderness in his eyes but you could never be sure. Maybe it was too little too late?

There was a knock on the door and you called out.

“It is me,” Aragorn said, his voice muffled through the thick wood of the door. “I know it is late but I wish to speak with you.”

You opened the door and let him in. His eyes flickered towards your clothes hanging on the wall before he focused on you. He was dressed in one of his more casual tunics, still not changed for the evening, and your eyes darted to the open V of his shirt collar. “I am surprised you have not turned down for the evening,” you said, glancing away and gesturing for him to sit by the fire.

“I could say the same for you.”

He joined you on the cushioned bench and stared at the fire. His face was impassive and his jaw was tense. What was so important that he had to see you on the night before his coronation? Were there any last minute changes to be made?

”Aragorn?” you whispered. “What is the matter?”

“I was thinking about our first few weeks together when we left Rivendell,” he murmured. “You were not very fond of me then.”

You nodded slowly, unsure where he was going with it.

“And as you said, Gondor is your home.”

Your stomach lurched. “Aragorn, surely you know I do not hold any reservations about you anymore. If I had caused offence then, I —”

He shook his head. “No, I understood then, and I understand now. But still, given the coronation tomorrow, I simply wanted to be sure.”

“Then let me be clear,” you said, a little exasperated. “My feelings about you as a king have changed.”

He nodded slowly and stared into the fire. It crackled and popped in the silence. You wanted to ask if he had more to say, but something stayed your tongue and you waited.

“And of me as a man?”

“As a man?” You met his gaze and your heart started to thump.

His eyes were unguarded and soft, the silver steel of his eyes warm and molten. His lips were parted gently, as though he was ready to say more, but was waiting for your reply. What could you say to him? Was he asking what you thought he was asking? 

What could possibly convey the hidden depths of your affection?

You wanted to reach out, to place your hand on his cheek, but the space between the both of you felt like a chasm. Slowly, ready to snatch your hand back at any time, you moved it from your lap and offered it to him, palm up, on the bench. You avoided his gaze, scarcely daring to breathe.

He reached out, fingers curled and uncertain, and softly clasped your hand. His skin was rough and warm, familiar and foreign at the same time. You let out a ragged breath, sounding strangled. How was this possible? Was it even real?

“I was not certain,” you muttered. “But Boromir —”

“Boromir?” Aragorn chuckled and you looked up. He grinned and shook his head. “I did not take him as a meddler.”

“He simply… encouraged me to be open about my feelings.” Feelings. The reality of the situation dawned on you and a smile crept onto your face. “I cannot believe this.”

“I am in greater disbelief than you are. I was struck from the moment I saw you.”

“And I you.”

He arched an eyebrow. “I find that hard to believe.”

“You are not the only one who knows how to conceal your feelings,” you said with a laugh, shifting closer towards him. 

His other hand came to rest on your cheek. “There shall be none of that now. For too long have I been apart from you.”

He dipped his head and captured your lips. His lips were soft and tender. He kissed you slow and languid, savouring and tasting. He smelled of cedar and musk, and his breath held the lingering sweetness of pipeweed. You tried to pull back but he followed you, his lips seeking yours again. His kisses grew passionate, impatient, as though trying to make up for the time they did not have you.

He paused for a moment, breathless, and muttered, “Join me tomorrow, in front of everyone. Walk with me after I am crowned.”

“You would have me with you then?”

“I would have you with me always, meleth nîn.” He pressed a kiss to your temple. “Will you have me?”

“Yes. Anywhere, anytime, my love. Forever.”

[velvet4510]

Tolkien is admittedly pretty good at sparing his couples from permanent separation. Look at Frodo & Sam, Beren & Lúthien, Aragorn & Arwen, the many Elf pairings, the many human pairings, etc. They each get to spend eternity together, be it in Valinor for the Elves who are eventually re-embodied, or beyond Arda wherever mortals go after death.

But then there’s Aegnor, who will spend literally the entire duration of the world’s existence in the Halls of Mandos, loving and mourning someone he only knew for a few comparatively short decades because his own lineage was a traitor to him, his lack of mortal ancestry preventing him from ever having the choice to be with her forever.

And also there’s Bilbo, who spent 80+ years loving and mourning someone who he only actually knew for 7 months, and who he must inevitably leave behind in the Halls of Mandos when he departs the circles of the world.

[torchwood-99]

Legolas at Theodred's Funeral

I get he's there because he's a "main character", and it's an otherwise really emotional and moving scene, but I will always get the giggles when I see Legolas in Theodred's funeral procession.

And not just in the procession, but in a pretty top spot quite close behind the king.

Gandalf and Aragorn make some sense. Gandalf is Theoden's friend and he probably knew Theodred himself. It makes sense he'd be fairly far up the rankings. With Aragorn, ok there's a little bit of "main characters must be in shot" syndrome having him in such a prime position, but he did know Theoden, he did fight with the Rohirrim under the name Thorongil. And there's an argument to be made that as rightful King of Gondor; Rohan's ally, he gets a top spot as Gondor's representative (even if his lineage isn't common knowledge at this point.)

But Legolas. Legolas has never Theoden. Legolas has never been to Rohan. He has no connection with Rohan or any member of the Rohan royal family. The first time Legolas has ever seen Theodred is at his funeral.

Yet at the prince's funeral, there he is, in the procession, right behind the king.

See.

*Must be serious. Must be sombre. Must look sad for death of guy I don't know.*

And like, there will be soldiers, there will be Riders and lords and people who knew Theodred and loved him, and were loved by him in turn, and they get bumped down the procession to make way for a random elf.

Is it because Gandalf and Aragorn were thought owed a top spot, and no one wanted to ask Legolas to hang back in case he felt left out? Is it Legolas's immortality causing a lack of understanding about social niceties around funerals, so he decides to put himself at the front of the funeral procession because that's where is pals are? Or did he just turn up at the funeral as Aragorn's plus one?

[backtothefanfiction]

FELLOWSHIP

PART ONE OF THE GREEN LEAVES TRILOGY.

Summary: Part One follows the storyline of the Fellowship of the Ring. This is a reader insert with a name. (Apart from giving reader a Middle Earth appropriate name and some Elven features there’s no specific descriptors) Raea and Legolas have history, when an old friend calls in your help for a mission it brings up old feelings.

Warnings: 18+, light smut, angst, canon typical warnings, dodgy internet translated elvish, protective Legolas, reader insert no use of Y/N.

Word Count: 3.7k+

A/N: Legolas is honestly my first fictional love from this lifetime. I have wanted to write something for him for years. Seeing a prompt from @imclimbingthestairsoforthanc for more Legolas content a couple months back now really pushed me to work on something. I was just going to post this all as one, but part 2 is getting kind of long and I didn’t want to wait anymore. So I’ve divided it up by the trilogy. Anyway, I hope readers enjoy.

You had always hated Bree. It very rarely saw the sun. It was like it had its own perpetual cloud of rain falling onto the small village, its streets forever a sticky river of mud.

You tried to wipe it off of your shoes, but it was stubborn and persistent, as you made your way through the doors of the Prancing Pony, to meet the old friend who had asked for your council.

“Still sitting brooding in corners and avoiding attention I see.” You say as you sidle up to his table, finally lowering your hood.

“Still hiding your ears, I see.” He merely replies.

It’s true, of course. Ever since you fled Mirkwood after Thranduil made a show of humiliating you for being a half breed and you’d sought out refuge in your Father’s realm of men, you had always made sure to style your hair so that it covered your ears; the only physical indicator, apart from your fair complexion, that gave away your Mother’s Elven lineage.

You held the rangers dark gaze for a moment. The tension crackling between you, before you both broke out in grins.

“Raea.” He sighed in delight.

“Aragorn.” You smiled back, taking a seat at the table beside him.

“It’s been too long.” He says, reaching a hand across the table to you.

“Aye, it has.” You sigh, allowing him to take your hand in his, his thumb rubbing a comfortable greeting across the back of it, before he dropped it once more. “Tell me.” You say pleasantly, yet with an air of caution, “What ails you that you have to seek me out.”

“I have news, from a friend.”

“What friend?” You frown. You fear he means the Prince you once knew and loved, but his tone implies another.

His voice is hushed as he says, “There is an evil roaming these lands.” Your eyes grow concerned as you hold his gaze, recollecting the dark forces you sense drawing nearer, the evil who’s heavy tendrils hang thickly in the air these days, growing ever stronger.

“I have heard rumours.” You say, your voice growing lower as you lean further across the table to the dark haired man; and he you.

“They aren’t just rumors.” He cautions. “They are here- searching.” His voice says, growing urgent. “There is one.” He says lowly, allowing the raucous sounds of the tavern, mask your conversation. “One who has set out on a quest to Rivendell.”

“Who?” You frown, your body leaning even closer.

He doesn’t reply with a name, but instead looks towards a small group of Hobbits, sitting at a table the far side of the room.

“Them?” You question when you turn back towards him.

“I need you to ride ahead to Rivendell. Tell Lord Elrond.”

“But Aragorn, I can’t.”

“Yes you can.”

“I have not been a part of Elven society for many moons. Since before the Mayrond Star fell from the heavens.” You tried to say, growing panicked.

“I would not ask, if it were not dire.” Aragorn pressed.

Your body sagged as you conceded, your gaze falling contemplative to the table before you.

“You must go now.” He urged. “Things will happen this night and you must make haste before they are upon us. Even now as we speak, the power grows stronger.”

You meet his gaze and nod in acknowledgment. “Go now, my dear lady.” He urges once more, his hand reaching out to encompass yours in a brief yet firm squeeze of dismissal.

“Wait for us there. Lord Elrond will grant you shelter.” He attempted to reassure you as you stood.

You gave him a brief nod, raising your hood back over your head, before turning to leave; flashing a brief look to the halflings in question whose fates were to be changed forever.

———————

True to Aragorn’s word, Elrond did provide for you shelter, as you awaited the arrival of the four Hobbits and Aragorn. Upon hearing your message, Elrond’s daughter Arwen fled to help. It was she who now rode quickly back into the Elven City with one of the Hobbits held tightly to her chest. The small dark, curly haired, creature, looked sickly as the beautiful Elven princess brought her horse to a halt in the courtyard.

“What happened?” You asked frantically, as you raced to take the reigns from her, the young hobbit being pulled from atop the horse in front of her by two other elves.

“He was stabbed by one of the Nazgûl.” She replied urgently. “He is dying. He needs help.”

The frail young Hobbit, reached for something at his chest, but you didn’t get a chance to see what it was, before he was taken inside.

Aragorn arrived with the others hours later.

———————

You did not go down to the courtyard to meet Legolas or his brethren as they rode through the gates of Rivendell. Instead you merely watched from the safety of a window. But he saw you. Of course he did. He’d always said that in a sky full of stars, he would always be able to pick you out.

You hid nevertheless, yet still listened out for mention of his name amongst the circling conversations over what it was the Hobbit Frodo had brought. It was all in vain though.

His hand grasped yours, pulling you away from the pillar you had been hiding behind. You hadn’t heard him coming, his footsteps always feather light. A hunters feet.

“Why do you hide from me?” Legolas asked, pulling you into a dark alcove, his brow furrowing as he looked you over.

He had said he cared not of what his Father had said. Cared not of your parentage. If anything it had made him love you even more. Yet you had still left.

“I do not hide from you.” You replied, denial dripping out of every word.

His gaze narrowed more. You followed it as his cerulean eyes moved from your own eyes to your ears, his fingers tentatively moving to lift the carefully placed strands of hair, behind their points, instead of in front of them.

“Why do you cover them?”

“To help me fit in.”

He sighed and it was like you could see the pit that opened up within his chest. He had always been so open with his feelings.

“You should not have left.” He says softly but the statement of his words, remain.

“I could not have stayed.”

“Then you should have let me go with you.” He said, his lingering hand at the side of your face, moving to trace the lines of your cheekbones, before he cupped the soft flesh of your cheek,

You shook your head slightly, slowly pulling away from his touch as pain swimmed in your eyes. “But you could not.” You said with a faint yet pained smile, before you pushed yourself away from him completely and walked away,

———————

There was to be a meeting. Another man, Boromir, and a dwarf, named Gimli, also arriving in Rivendell, along with a greying wizard named Gandalf. As you made your way towards the veranda in which the meeting would be held, you felt a hand on your arm stop you. You looked to the fair haired elf confused.

“You will not go.” He simply stated.

His assumption and command irritated you. “What do you mean, I will not go?” You said, attempting to push past him, headed towards the door, but his grip on your bicep tightened. “Let go of me.” You said trying to pull your arm from his grasp.

His blue eyes were fixed on you, a sense of steel behind them. Still after all this time a need to protect you, even though he had been the one to train you, to teach you all that he knew. “You will not go,” he said again,

“You don’t own me.” You snapped at him, “You do not control me or what I do.” You said, trying to pull your arm from him again to attend the meeting.

He pulled at your arm tighter, whirling you around and pinning your back to the wall behind you both. “I will not have you be a part of this. You have been pulled into this enough already. If you go. If you pledge yourself as I intend to pledge, my bow, my life, I will not be able to fight the way I need to.” He said, that hard stare, boring into you. The care behind it for you, his need to keep you safe from harm, making you soften slightly and you stopped fighting his firm grip on your arm,

“Please,” he urged, his voice growing softer as he leaned into you, “I did not fight your decision when you left my Father’s kingdom. When you,” his voice grew quiet as he mustered the energy to fight through the pain of the reality of his words, “when you decided to leave me. Please, do not fight me on this. Let me protect you.” You didn’t fight him as he lowered his forehead to yours, his eyes closing.

There was a long pause as you savoured the feeling of his skin on yours after so long. “Okay.” You finally but reluctantly gave in. He lifted his head to look at you. “Okay.” You said again and his tension seemed to ease.

———————

They were due to set out at sunrise. Your bed, that once felt soft, comforting and safe in the confines of Elrond’s kingdom, now felt hard, uncomfortable, cold and far too spacious; as you turned back and forth and back again, unable to sleep. Fear and worry marred your gut. You hated that you would not go. Not help keep your friends safe. That the man you once loved so dearly, would shut you out from this for your own safety. The man you used to fight side by side with, trained with day in and day out, now thought this one mission too threatening to your lives he would have you sit out. Once loved? Or still loved?

The moment you laid eyes on him again, that ache in your chest consumed you, wanting to split you into two.

You would not, could not, let him just leave like this, on a quest that you knew only excited him due to the challenge and risk to his life. The only thing that could make his immortal life feel more alive.

You ripped the sheets from your body, wrapping yourself in a velvet robe and left your room to seek out his. The sky was starting to turn grey with the first light when you knocked on the door. You knew he was already up. Had heard him through the wood, grunting and panting as he did his usual morning exercise.

When he opened the door, he didn’t look completely surprised by your presence. When your eyes silently narrowed in question, he said, “I heard your feet come to a stop outside the door near 5 minutes back.”

“What and you didn’t think to just come open the door?” You questioned, stepping past him into the room.

“I wanted to see if you would have the courage for yourself to knock. Or if you would decide it a bad idea and go back to bed.” He breathed, closing the door behind you.

You sighed as you made yourself at home on his bed. He seemed to swallow slightly but you paid it no mind, “I couldn’t sleep.” You explained.

“Naun gohena nin-“ he began to say. I’m sorry I…

“Don’t.” You cut him off. There was pain in your eyes. Great sorrow for all that had been. Everything you had had together, that you walked away from in fear, because you didn’t think yourself good enough for him. Because you believed his Father.

He stepped across the room to you. His hand lifting to cup your cheek. “*amman car-dh *gwanna.” Why did you leave?

You shrugged him off. “Law iston.” I don’t know. “Not anymore.” You breathed as he sat himself beside you. “I feared what your father said was true. I would never be good enough for you. A Prince?”

“I have not been that in a long time. You know that.”

“But I should not have been the thing that made you step away from that.”

“You weren’t. I did it for me.”

“Do not lie.” You sighed, as you suddenly rose from the bed. This had been a mistake.

You froze as his hand reached out for your arm, forcing you to stop, to look at him- to hear him out. “I do not lie. Would never lie.” He said, a hard look in his eye. Was that really how you saw him. “You know I never aligned with my Father’s views. Would never align with them. That’s why he sent me away, in hopes it would change my mind- but instead I found you- and my resolve grew stronger.”

You both grew quiet, realising you had come to an impass.

Knowing you were unable to come to an agreement on that truth, you decided to pull from him another. “You do not think you will return.” You all but confirm from the sorrowful look that now seemed to penetrate his eyes. A look that spoke volumes to times lost.

“I plan to do all that I can for the cause. We head to dangerous lands and I long swore an oath to protect.” He says, finally releasing his hold on your arm.

“And what of the oath you made to me.”

When he looked to you, tears were beginning to well in your eyes. It broke his heart, his hands instinctively reaching out to you. “I did not think you wished me to keep it.” He confided in a whisper. “But if you wish me to, I shall. If you wish me to return to you, I shall.”

You didn’t know what to say. He was your everything. Your first and only love. A part of you would always be at home with him. Would only be complete with him at your side. With him standing before you now, you hadn’t realised how much you had missed him being there.

“Don’t make any more promises you cannot hope to keep.” You said, your eyes dropping to the floor. “You already said,” you continued, pulling yourself away from his grasp, “if I were with you on this journey, you would not be able to do what you need to- whether I am physically with you, or just in here.” You placed a gentle finger to his temple and his head softened and turned towards your touch.

You both knew you were right. Neither one of you spoke as you began to walk slowly back towards the door, unable to say goodbye. As you turned your body towards the door to reach for the door handle, you suddenly felt him at your back, his hand tugging at your own to pull you back into him. As your body turned, his lips latched themselves onto yours. His kiss was desperate, deep and filled with a longing that could span lifetimes.

You didn’t question it, the familiarity melting over you like the rays of the sun on a summers afternoon, warm and inviting. He lifted you effortlessly from the ground as his lips continued to move against yours, both desperate, yet long and drawn out to savor every moment. You wrapped your legs tightly around him as he began to lead you back to his bed. You didn’t have it in you to fight him anymore.

It all happened between a few heated breaths and desperate touches, suddenly you were free of your robe as he lay you back upon his bed. Although it had been many a year since you had last lay together, with the familiarity you still had with one another’s bodies, anyone would think it had been no time at all.

He parted from you so that he may lift his loose fitting tunic from his head as you sat up, fingers racing to undo the strings of his slacks.

Once fully naked, he leant down to latch his lips onto yours once more, but quickly parted again as he reached for the bottom of your robe, lifting it up your body and over your head, before it too was thrown onto a heap on the floor with the rest of his clothes.

The sex was desperate and quick. There was still so much neither of you had said. Each unspoken word and feeling from your time apart turned to tension that sizzled and snapped like the embers of the dwindling fire on the far side of the room. You moaned with the stretch of him, whimpered and shuddered when his lips tried to soothe you through every pounding thrust of his hips.

When you had lay together in the past it was usually tender, soft and slow, some may even say you were making love, but this, this was a different kind of fucking entirely- and you loved it.

As you both finished, he rolled off of you, both of you now laying on your backs in a sweaty mess, all angst from your previous conversation completely forgotten. As you both lay there panting and cooling down, you ran a hand through your hair before you looked at him, but his eyes were fixed to the ornate carvings across the ceiling.

You stared at his must hair. Watched as his piercing blue eyes traced the line on the ceiling above, as he silently thought.

“I want you to tie my braids.” He finally said.

His words stopped you in your tracks. You couldn’t help but blink in disbelief. Elven braids weren’t just to look pretty and keep all that beautiful flowing hair out the way. They were a statement. To have a partner do your braids for you to go off to battle, was almost a marriage ritual in itself.

When you didn’t say anything, he finally turned his head to look at you. You couldn’t help but fixate on all the whispy strands of his golden hair that stuck themselves to the pillow behind his head and stuck up in every which way.

“I want you to tie my braids.” He said again, as if you hadn’t heard him the first time.

“No.” You suddenly cut in. “No.” You said, shaking your head and closing your eyes before swiftly scrambling over him to get off the bed.

“Raea.” He tried to call after you as you reached for your night gown from the floor and placed it back on.

“No.” You said again as you picked up your robe and placed your arms back through the velvety sleeves. “No, you can’t ask that of me.”

“Why not?” He asked in that husky and breathy tone of his that always seemed to make tingles flow down your spine.

“You know very well why not.” You said, wrapping the ties of the robe around your waist and fastening them tightly in a knot. You sighed as your hands found a home on your hips and you turned to him exasperated.

“Has there been another for you?” He asks, sitting on the bed, still naked, hands resting on his thighs as he looks at you.

It takes you a moment to answer. You have indeed slept with other men on your travels since him, but you know that’s not what he means. He’s asking you if you have ever loved anyone else. “No.” You finally reply timidly. There’s another moments pause before you ask him the same question. “What about you? Has there ever been anot-“

You haven’t even finished the question before he’s standing and walking towards you as he says “No.”

He comes to a stop before you, reaching out to take your hands in his and you can’t help but seem to relax at his touch. “I want you to tie my braids.” He says again tenderly. “So that I may take you with me. To remind me to return to you.”

In another life time you would have said yes. Would have jumped for joy at his proposal, but you know how important this is. You know what this truly means. You know what happened to make you part. Know all that is still yet to be put right. Can still clearly see the things you have come to resent about him reflected in his eyes.

You shake your head, “No.” you whisper with tears in your eyes. When you slowly begin to back away, only letting your fingers slip from his when you are no longer in his reach, he lets you.

When you wake again three hours later, they are already gone.

———————

Waiting for news after their departure was torture. Talk of what they had set out to do was limited, not many made aware of the task set for the small company; but when it did come, Lord Elrond and Lady Arwen made sure you were kept in the know.

Once the Fellowship had left, they had insisted on you continuing to stay with them. You had no doubt it had something to do with Aragorn’s wishes. You were grateful for the company. Grateful for the luxury. You trained with their guards most mornings to keep you in condition and stimulated. In the afternoons you took walks with Arwen talking fondly of your adventures over the years with the heir of Gondor.

However as the days passed you grew reckless. Never in your life had you stayed in one place for so long. When the news finally reached you of Gandalf’s departure from the company, you wasted no time in saddling a horse and making ready to ride out to join them.

You knew what Legolas had said. You also had heard news of the Orc forces growing. But you couldn’t sit back and do nothing anymore. Despite Arwen’s protests you were reluctantly allowed to leave.

———————

You rode hard and fast through the days and made strategic camp through the night. After what felt like weeks of travelling you finally reached Lothlórien, where you were taken in by the Lady Galadriel and her company. When you reached the wood, you were surprised to find their guard already awaiting you. It turned out Lord Elrond had contacted the Lady of the Wood and asked her to watch over you.

Being in the wood had a strange restorative power that called to your Elven heritage. The soft breeze through the trees and song in the ripples of the waters that flowed through it made you feel peaceful and rejuvenated as you slept. They insisted you stay three days. On that final day, you wished that you hadn’t.

------------------------

@imclimbingthestairsoforthanc @starlight5cat @lillisummers

[steve-needs-a-hug]

Halbrand as a pseudo-Jesus figure & Annatar as a pseudo-Christ

There's something eerily compelling about what the Rings of Power has done with these two guises of Sauron and how he's able to inspire trust, faith, and devotion in Galadriel and Celebrimbor. In the show, Sauron believes himself to be the one who needs to save or redeem Middle-Earth. The effectiveness in his manipulation of these characters involuntarily reminds me of the exploitative and manipulative nature of Evangelical Christianity and how powerfully it markets itself as the one way to solve people's deepest existential problems. So I thought about some parallels between Sauron's two main guises or personas in the show, and how Jesus and/or Christ is popularly depicted or understood (especially in Evangelical spaces). To me this helps illustrate why RoP!Sauron's deception is so effective, while exposing some unsettling issues I have with Evangelicalism.

Halbrand as a pseudo-Jesus

Halbrand was presented to Galadriel (as well as us the audience) as a scruffy, humble, ordinary man. Although more glamorous depictions of Jesus were common in Catholic art, the recent Evangelical trend has been to portray a humanized down-to-Earth Jesus (e.g., in The Chosen series, Jesus sweats, cries, gets hungry and tired and frustrated). Scripture allegedly described Jesus as humble and unexceptional in appearance and growing up through adversity and suffering (Isaiah 53). Halbrand is (ostensibly) a smith's aide, Jesus was a carpenter - both trades involving working and crafting with one's hands. It's then "revealed" that Halbrand comes from a lost royal lineage and Galadriel hails him as the King who can save his people from enslavement to an evil overlord - Jesus came from the line of the legendary King David and was hailed as King of Jews, expected to rescue his people from the Roman Empire's oppression.

Halbrand's surface-level resemblance to Aragorn, heir to the throne of Gondor, can't be ignored either (this is partly why I found the character of Halbrand so insufferable in s1, he seemed like an Aragorn knockoff to me!). It's also been argued that Aragorn is a Jesus-like figure, though he turns out to be one of the most legendary fantasy heroes rather than one of the most notorious supervillains (Sauron).

Galadriel grows to trust Halbrand and view him as her friend and possibly the only person who truly understands her. Celebrimbor also develops a close friendship with Halbrand as they work together. Evangelicalism emphasizes a "personal relationship" with Jesus as your very own friend (some even lean towards a lover) who knows everything about you and helps you with your problems and gets you what you want. Jesus' disciples were also close personal friends with him while possessing little understanding of his true divine nature.

Annatar as a pseudo-Christ

Now this is where things get a lot more interesting. In 2x02, Halbrand reveals his "true nature" to Celebrimbor in an awe-inspiring display. This goosebumps-inducing moment is akin to a religious experience for Celebrimbor, who instinctively bows in reverence to this angelic figure. Christ has also been depicted and described as arriving with the clouds (Revelation 1:7), and I'm sure the religious symbolism of this scene was not lost on many viewers. Even though Annatar seems to be a powerful emissary of the divine, he still tells Celebrimbor that they are to be equal partners in their work to save Middle-Earth. An important tenet of Christianity is that Christ desires to partner with humanity to accomplish His works. This all sounds well and good to Celebrimbor, but Sauron's ultimate mode of "saving" Middle-Earth is to enslave all its peoples and creatures to his will.

Annatar is known in Tolkien's lore as the Lord of Gifts (in the episode he describes himself to Celebrimbor as "a sharer of gifts"). His gift is the knowledge of the way of Middle-Earth's salvation. Evangelical devotionals and sermons frequently refer to salvation of the soul as a "free gift" Christ offers to humanity. (I can go on about how this phrase is a redundant tautology - oops, there's another one - but that's a whole other discussion.) I will suffice to say that the term "free gift" reads like a salesperson's marketing pitch and it bothers me. Evangelicalism as a whole feels like a colonial mission converted into a giant media marketing operation - its glossy veneer of concert-like megachurch services, prepacked apologetics, and friendly approachability often conceal sinister things (exploitation, corruption, discrimination, abuse, the list goes on).

Sauron chose to prey on two vulnerable people with potential for influence - Galadriel and Celebrimbor, both feeling isolated and slighted by their people and striving for a deeply personal and important goal that feels just out of their reach. However, he didn't force himself on them. They chose to let him in, and as a result he took advantage of their trust. In Christianity, God is described as someone Who stands at the door and knocks, and for those who choose to open the door to Him, He will come in and share a meal with them as friends (Revelation 3:20). This is more or less exactly what Celebrimbor did in 2x02 when he allowed Halbrand in, gave him food and wine, and called him his friend. This was the most eerie parallel to me, inspired by some great analyses I've read about how Sauron is depicted in the show thus far.

In season 1 Sauron as Halbrand laid his strategy bare to Galadriel - give your opponent the means of mastering their greatest fear, so you can master them. I can't help but feel that this is what organized religion does - providing the sense of assurance, safety, and emotional comfort that people desperately need, in exchange for gaining control over their life choices and even their thought patterns through rules, dogma, and pressures of social conformity. Shaping minds and bending wills sounds pretty Sauron-like to me. [Disclaimer: This is not meant to be a dunk on religion as a whole, just a reflection as I work through unlearning and critically inspecting beliefs I grew up with.]

[lesbiansforboromir]

Categorically the most galling part of this universal perception that Boromir is a 'poor out-of-his-depth himbo whose completely ignorant of politics' is how it is blindingly canonically apparent that he put massive effort into being a political entity, to the point that his political opinions follow him even into the Council of Elrond.

Without the Council of Elrond, one could interpret his narrative positioning as a more 'Middle Man' and less 'high' as something forced upon him, a (narratively framed) negative aspect of his character that Faramir is critisising and lamenting as just 'part of his nature'. He is being associated with the Rohirrim and other 'lesser' men because he is also a 'lesser' man inspite of his heritage, due to his 'flawed' and 'weak-willed' personality.

Although that is still a bit of a stilted and awkward interpretation in my opinion, Eomer explicitely differentiates Boromir's treatment and manner around the Rohirrim from other men of Gondor he has known. He is 'less grim' etc etc, Eomer felt more at ease in his company, which implies to me more that Boromir interacted with the Rohirrim as equals, unlike most of this kin. Which seems more likely to be an active effort on his part.

But interpretations based off of that are entirely unnecessary, because the Council of Elrond exists! Where Boromir, when confronted with Aragorn's mistrust of the Rohirrim and Gwaihir's accusation that they pay a tribute of horses to Sauron, immediately and comfortably comes to their staunch defense. 'It is a lie that comes from the Enemy' he declares, literally pointing out propeganda that all these elves and dunadain are primed to believe given their own investment in the racial divide between them and these 'middle men'. A primer that also belongs to Boromir, whose place amongst the 'high men' is a right bestowed on him from birth, yet one he is actively discarding here in favour of defending the Rohir perspective.

And not only that! He even goes so far as to place the rohirrim's ethnic and cultural heritage as a reason for their trustworthiness, inspite of the fact that they cannot claim any relation to any so called 'blessed' lineage. They come from 'the free days of old', a statement that is similar to one of Faramir's but that, tellingly, Faramir uses as a method of infantilising the rohirrim 'they remind us of the youth of Men'.

These are all inherently and radically political statements for the heir of the Stewardship, the man next in line to be chieftain of the southern dunadain, to declare, especially when acting as emissary as he is now.

So now, all those moments when Boromir is linked directly with middle men, when his right to his 'high' heritage is questioned, when he is critisised with the same racially charged language as the rohirrim are (too warlike, "we are become Middle Men, of the Twilight, but with memory of other things" [-] "So even was my brother, Boromir") - all of that is now on purpose, on Boromir's part. He is the one distancing himself from the title of 'high' and questioning it's validity in the process, something Faramir clearly disapproved of and was a part of the breakdown in his respect for him. (Understandable, considering Faramir's equal and opposite effort to reclaim the title of 'high' for himself and his people.) Boromir is, essentially, engaging in some kind of racial-hierarchy criticism/abolishionism and activism.

That is not to say that his political opinions all entirely pass muster, he does still engage in racist rhetoric at least once, calling Gondor's eastern enemies 'the wild folk of the east'. But within the context of his own country and it's ethnic diversity, his position is maverick in comparison to pretty much everyone else.

And before anyone says it, let me head off comments like 'Boromir was just being himself, he didn't even know it was political he was just that stupid but I love him for it' No. Boromir's reputation in Gondor was complex and multifacetted but a great many people loved and supported him, clearly we see that there was a divide in political opinion between the two brother's stances on war and society. What you are essentially saying here is that Faramir is such a dull-witted statesman that he was incapable of swaying opinion his way against someone who didn't even know he was a part of the discussion, who wasnt even involved in the debates, against a high society that based their cultural identity on being descended from racially superior Numenoreans. The historical perspective is heavily weighted in Faramir's favour.

The much more likely state of affairs is that Boromir and Faramir have both been working towards their own social change and against each other, causing an opinion divide within the country. And apparently Boromir has not been losing that fight, even if he hasn't been definitively winning it either. Some people call him reckless where Faramir is measured, others say Faramir is not bold enough, Denethor himself claims Faramir is placing his desire for nobility and 'high-ness' over the safety of himself and his people. Culturally Gondor is going in for more pursuits of war-sports (wrestling perhaps) and the adulation of the soldiers that defend them, above the men of lore if Faramir is to be believed.

Society is changing around this debate and Boromir is actively, purposefully and directly involved in that debate! Hells bells, he even describes a part of how he works in the political sphere to Frodo! 'Where there are so many, all speech becomes a debate without end. But two together may perhaps find wisdom.' Boromir is!!! A politician!! On purpose!!

The neutral political position of 'Heir to the Stewardship' given to him by his birth is so ludicrously weighted towards faithful that the effort it must have taken to push the needle and associate with the middle men as such a divisive yet loved figure is MASSIVE. Boromir believed the Rohirrim and middle men of Gondor were his social equals and counted them amongst his people and that was a stance he upheld in PARLIMENT! Stop!! Acting like he's just a blockheaded soldier who cares about nothing else- he cares!! He cares a lot!! Professionally in fact!!

[marsprincess889]

Purva Ashadha and Shravana (monkey yonis)

As a famous movie couple.

Purva Ashadha is the last venus ruled nakshatra, meaning "the previous invincible one", its symbol is a winnowing basket, separating all things worthy from the unworthy. Its ruling deities are Apas, water creatures, and this nakshatra is strongly connected to waters and the seas. It's about gaining alliances to secure your victory.

Shravana is the last moon ruled nakshatra, meaning "hearing", its symbols are the ear and three footprints. Ruling deity is Vishnu- Hindu preserver god and consort of Lakshmi(associated with Purva Ashadha and Rohini). Its about connecting everything together.

Now, let me introduce you to the couple.

Aragon and Arwen

from The Lord of the Rings trilogy.

Liv Tyler (Purva Ashadha moon)

Viggo Mortensen (Shravana moon)

When the first movie begins Aragorn is a simple, lonely ranger, but always dedicated to doing what he thinks is right. He definitely has the makings of a king, he's also descended from Isildur, being the true heir to the throne. Despite his lineage, he's living like an average lowly man, an outcaste, wondering on on his own. Shravana is connected to wandering and also being one of men and that being the trait that makes the king. Shravana is "the savior" or "the preserver" of mankind, and that also obviously applies to Aragorn. Shravana being mleccha (outcast) caste also ties with him living like a lowlife and being apart from society.

Arwen, on the other hand, is busy rebelling against her father and choosing a mortal life due to her love for Aragorn. She's a noble elf maiden (Purva Ashadha is in the Brahmin caste- the highest standing caste). Purva Ashadha (like all venus nakshatras) are romantics and always choose to bravely follow their heart. Also a very interesting thing to note is that Arwen is reffered to as "the evenstar" or "the evening star", which is obviously Venus.

When she gifts Aragorn her necklace, he refuses at first, not believing himself worthy, but Arwen insists and says: "It is mine to give to whom I choose, like my heart". That pretty much sums up what this nakshatra is about.

Eventually, Aragorn does become king and Arwen does choose a mortal life, even thought it meant seeing her love age and die before her.

One of my favorite scenes in the whole trilogy is when Arwen is taking Frodo to Rivendell while they're being chased by the Nazgul. She bravely stands up to them and summons the waters to defeat them. Purva Ashadha's power is to invigorate and Arwen using the waters to secure her victory makes a lot of sense.

Purva Ashadha invigorates, Shravana connects and together they become a formidable team.

Everytime I think of Purva Ashadha and Shravana my mind immideately goes to these two. The setting, the etheral aesthetic and the otherworldliness makes me think of their yoni- Vaanar also meaning "human-like creature" or "a human-like being from other dimentions" in Sanskrit. They were said to live in forests and that's where Arwen went and lived before she passed, overcome by the grief of being separated from her love. But their story remains in the minds and hearts of people, and their love, courage, devotion and loyalty is remembered forever.

If you're Purva Ashadha or Shravana, or if you love lotr/arwen and aragorn, let me know what you think. Please, interact with me in any way. Love you, take care 🤍

[tathrin]

Okay but the Dunedáin. They've been roaming the western wilds for years and years. And then Aragorn goes off and gets himself made king of Gondor, huzzah ring the bells sound the trumpets etc.

But.

The Dunedáin. Do they all go to Gondor with him? I feel like that's the implication of things. But like...do they all want to? And if/when they do, how does it go?

(There has to be a significantly higher number of them than the 30 we see represented by the Grey Company, too, right? Like even assuming the addition of wives-elders-and-children to those numbers, there has to be a much larger population than that if they're maintaining a population. Even with intermarrying of the other locals. Like, even with Magical Noble Lineage going on to keep things from getting wonky, they can't be interbreeding that much or else everybody would be an Heir To The Throne Of Gondor by now lmao. Those 30 have to just be a fraction of their folk. The "good riders and good warriors who could be gathered on quick notice" fraction.)

Is everybody excited to leave their lowkey wilderness-with-the-occasional-vacation-in-Rivendell existence in favor of the Fancy Shiny White City Full Of Other Humans? The Dunedáin have been living like this for hundreds and hundreds of years. It's not just a "we spent a few decades in exile, but taught our kids Our Ways to preserve them, so they'd be comfortable when they went home" situation. They've been living like this for so long that this is their way of life. This is their home. And now they're supposed to just pack-up and go to Gondor and be fine?

And how do the Gondorians react to having not just a new king, but a new king who brings along a whole bunch of scruffy Rangers for his retinue? Are they welcomed eagerly by a people who've just endured great loss of life and need hands to help them rebuild? I mean tbf probably at first, sure; but how long does that welcome endure without starting to cool when these Rangers prove to be not just Gondorians From Elsewhere Who Nonetheless Act Just Like The Rest Of Us And Know Our City And Its Ways As Well As We Do? Because they don't! They don't even know which hall is used for banquets and which for dancing! They don't know that on Aldëa we wear carnë! and so on.

(Do they all just go to Ithilien with Faramir out of sheer what-the-fuck-am-I-going-to-do-in-this-bigass-city-ness?)

Yes they're all of the Blood of Westernesse and all that, shared Numenorian heritage blah blah blah...but imagine you've been living off-the-grid in the forests of Pennsylvania, and all of a sudden you're dropped in the middle of NYC and told this is your home now, enjoy? How weird would that be? How bizarre, how overwhelming?

Maybe you like it, maybe you thrive there! Maybe you find that Gondorian Civilization is what you've been looking for all along! But what if you don't? What if you find you really hate crowds, and the politics of the city are stifling, and you didn't spend the last seventy years travelling all over Middle-earth learning everybody's ways and culture, thanks, and frankly you'd rather be back in Bree making small-talk with simple farmers and Hobbits, where everybody knows your (nick)name and you're comfortable? Even if you do like it, even if this is All Your Hopes Come True, it's still got to be enormously disruptive. And if you don't...yikes.

(Again, sure, there's Ithilien. But even though that wild-land-recovering-from-the-scars-of-the-Enemy would be more familiar ground to you than the city itself, and Faramir is a great guy and all, Ithilien still isn't your home.)

Like...you don't get to just go back, do you? (Do you?) Maybe but even if you do, even if some of them did, their way of life is still kind of broken; because most of your fellow Rangers are in Gondor now, and you aren't even allowed into the Shire, and the Enemy you've been guarding folks from all this time is gone...

And sure, it's good! This is a good result! This is the Best Case Scenario Ending, really!

But still. What about the Dunedáin?

[silmarillaure]

Elwing is the best woman in Thingol & Melian's lineage

AND she pulled the best husband out of every woman is her lineage.

Elwing >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Luthien > Arwen >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Melian

Melian -> Chose to marry Thingol's stupid insufferable ass and sacrificed everything for her worthless husband

Arwen -> Died over a man, at least Aragorn's pretty cool though (unlike Th*ng0l)

Luthien -> Died for a man, at least Beren is actually a really really nice guy though despite being shallow AF and only falling in love with her looks at the start

Elwing -> Chose immortality for herself, and Earendil loved her so much he chose to be immortal for her instead of asking her to die for him or allowing her to have to grieve his death.

She's literally the only one with a personality outside of being is love with a man and that alone makes her outsell her ancestors and granddaughter.

I love morally questionable tragic women <3

[marmota-b]

Regarding Boromir, his death scene, and redemption / repentance (book vs film)

A bit of a callback to my original post on the topic of redemption, and inspired by a post calling (correctly) Boromir's trying to take the Ring one moment of weakness. I think I've finally figured out (I was low-key aware of it, but never put it into so many words) why I like the book version of Boromir's last moments much more than the film version, and why it pains me the film version seems to be what so many people prefer and so many fic writers inevitably reach for.

"I tried to take the Ring from Frodo. I am sorry. I have paid." ... "Farewell, Aragorn! Go to Minas Tirith and save my people! I have failed." "No!" said Aragorn, taking his hand and kissing his brow. "You have conquered. Few have gained such a victory. Be at peace! Minas Tirith shall not fail!"

Emphases mine, obviously, but when I think about it it's quite telling in which order they tell each other the things they say, and of course how exactly they say them.

The most important thing here, though it is on both their minds and it is what connects them and what their personal motivation is, isn't Gondor. Yes, Boromir is very worried about the fate of his country, but the first thing he tells Aragorn is what he has done, and that he is sorry.

And the very first thing Aragorn tells Boromir is assure him that he did not fail.

It's not a question of warrior honour, the way the film states it ("You fought bravely. You kept your honour."). It's a question of the main conflict of the book, that between the Ring's temptations and the ability to see it as the evil artifact it is.

The film keeps framing a lineage / authority / responsibility conflict between Boromir and Aragorn that's finally resolved, but that's not at all the conflict that matters (or, really, even exists) here. What Boromir is actually saying in relation to Gondor is "I now recognise that what I tried to do to save my people would have actually doomed them, and I recognise you have indeed been much wiser in this than I from the start. Please keep doing that, I can't change what I did now because I'm about to die." And some of it is present in the film, definitely, but it's muddled with the whole issue of both Aragorn and Boromir questioning Aragorn's legitimacy. Which means in the film Boromir's death scene ends up serving us Boromir repenting his behaviour towards Aragorn and... I hope we can all agree that's actually not the point Tolkien was making with Boromir's death scene in the book.

One moment of weakness. Boromir immediately saw that what he had done was wrong, and tried to make amends the only way he could at the moment. He did not keep trying to pursue Frodo, except to apologise (which admittedly Aragorn does not know, but it's still inherent in what Boromir tells him here). Boromir let go of the Ring even after being very, very sorely tempted, and Aragorn can see that. That IS a huge victory. THAT is a huge victory.

And the film frames that main conflict as it played out in the breaking of the Fellowship... wrong. The film leaves us with Boromir the man who succumbed to temptation, and died for his sins, and Aragorn the man who did not succumb and lived, and Boromir submits to the latter. That's not what happens in the book. In the book Aragorn simply never really went through a full moment of culmination of long-term temptation like that. Aragorn recognised and respected Boromir as someone who had reached the moment of culmination of long-term temptation, succumbed, and saw the light anyway. Meanwhile Boromir thinks he's paying for his sin and basically doomed, so Aragorn assures him that no, it was just a moment of weakness and he has overcome it. (Oh, and what also happens in the book is that after a long period of temptation even Frodo succumbs, and lives.)

My main problem with the film version is that the films inadvertently downplayed the main conflict and main theme of the whole story and served up the wrong moral.

[eri-pl]

But how about

(TW Feanorian things: fire, torture, drowning - under the cut)

Maglor in Numenor?

Inspired by "why was Quenya the official language there?" post

Not initially, Osse wouldn't let him probably, but Maglor came a few years later

Because that's as close to home he can go

"no, don't make your son the king, your daughter is older" "shut up, kidnap great-grandpa"

They kept him out of the official history because he's not someone to be proud of, but initially very close to the kings

What if the mysterious remark of Maglor being wed is "I won't mention it to not spoil the history of Numenor but"

Not all elf-human romances are as glorious as B&L, some are just a kinslayer and his wife trying their best

Bonus points if his lineage mixes into one of the important lines (and later, Aragorn!)

Later more and more forced into hiding / disguises

Tar-Palantir invites him to the council again but not officially as an elf of course. Illusions and disguises ftw

Ar-Pharazon doesn't notice it's an elf, because he's an idiot (wise in ways of the world but)

Tar-Miriel knows of course

And then Sauron comes

Maglor runs away into hiding because he's a coward

Isildur find him and begs for help

Major tries to help gets caught by Sauron and it's due to be burned

Sauron doesn't watch him himself because he's busy intriguing

He's too busy angsting about Maedhros (because, you know, the idea of being burned) to escape

Isildur gets him out, or maybe Anarion, let him do something cool too

Runs away into hiding 2

The fleet sets sail

Maglor is conflicted because those guys are being idiots and go too far against the Valar for even a Feanorian to be ok with it, but on the other hand, Sauron

He decides to try again, and (as brilliant idea as it is original) goes and tries to fight Sauron... With singing

Not that that would help now because the fleet is gone already

But I guess he tries anyway

Of course loses and Sauron "has some fun" as he did with his brother

Jest as Sauron is ready to burn Maglor, tsunami

Everything drowns

Maglor finally drowns, as was his fate since long ago but he failed at it before

But

He drowns in the exactly one tsunami in the history that can wash away his idiotic oath

Pun intended

And yes it's idiotic

And no not because he deserves it or smth

But look at me and tell me that Sauron deserved being let free with nothing but an ugly face

So, cut to a visibly confused (sic!) Namo

Yes I'm too sympathetic to characters (unless I'm not) fight me

[thegreatzombieartisan]

Beyond an orc attack that spurs her premature departure West, very little is known about Galadriel’s only child, Celebrian.

Because our modern culture prizes visibility — or alternatively, surveillance — “taking action” is often narrowly-defined as what occurs publicly. However, like an iceberg, most decisions behind historical events remain hidden from public awareness: conversations, letters, interventions, covert alliances, subtle influences that may never be known.

Interdependence is a strong theme in legendarium because it breeds humility. All great deeds were a matter of joint effort and intercession, often intergenerational. Tolkien, accordingly, created several characters whose significance can only be fully appreciated “between the

And Celebrian is one. Here’s a non-exhaustive list of her role:

Celebrian’s departure instigates the Age of Men

By the Third Age, the wearied Noldor in Middle Earth cling to the past. Compared to previous ages, they forsake innovation and mostly retire in sanctuaries. In essence, becoming stagnate and reluctant to act.

But Celebrian’s decision to heal in Valinor is a catalytic event. imply, Elrond will inevitably follow her. The departure of two Elves of royal lineage to Elvenland would tremendously influence others to follow suit. And so it comes to pass that Elvish dominance in Middle Earth ends.

Celebrian helps Galadriel reconcile with God

With her daughter’s departure, Galadriel would naturally consider her own future. When Frodo offers her the one ring, though momentarily tempted, she rejects it not only with humility — but for love of Celebrian whom she no doubt longed for reunion.

If mightier the person, the harder the fall, then a corrupted Galadriel may well suffer her uncle Fëanor’s grim fate: forever sundered from those she loves. In surrendering to love and hope, she ends her rebellion against the Valar, and by extension, Ilúvatar.

Celebrian plays a crucial role in Aragorn's upbringing

In harmony with Elrond, she leaves behind a nurturing environment in Rivendell which provides Aragorn a virtuous upbringing. Furthermore, he gains skills of a warrior, leader, healer plus other valuable knowledge and wisdom of the Eldar. From this transformative power, he can become the King of Arnor and Gondor.  

Celebrian's has a hand in Arwen's “magic” standard

Arwen secretly weaves a standard (flag) for Aragorn. Presumably, as Galadriel is a skilled weaver, Celebrian is too who teaches her daughter. Despite the darkness inside the Path of the Dead, the magic woven into Arwen’s standard enables Aragorn to command the Dead Army. Later, he unfurls it at Pelennor Fields, restoring hope to the two allied armies and turns the tide of battle.