#and was just so struck by that moment sam looks up in mordor to see a single star shine through the clouds

[snekky-arts]

Hope

~~~

A little something I cooked up to ring in the new year. It's a little scary, and we're all a little wary, but I think if there's even the smallest light at the end of it we're all gonna be okay

[frodothefair]

꧁ Of Lembas and Hydrangeas ꧂

CHARACTERS: Frodo & Sam, Sam/Fro implied

SUMMARY: Frodo recalls the quest and has a dissociative episode. Sam helps him through it, and teaches him how to find his way back.

RATING: Mature, for descriptions of PTSD and eating disorder symptoms.

WORDCOUNT: 4.7 k

A/N: I've actually realized that Chapter 8 of Flowers of Mordor could be a standalone piece as well, because it has a fair amount of Sam and Frodo. For context, though, this is a canon-divergent AU where it's Sam and his sister Marigold, not Sam and Rosie, who are helping Frodo at Bag End after the quest, and they do not live with him.

PREVIEW:

Sam began to massage again, wiping a tear with his fist. 

“You’re here,” he repeated. “We’re here. In Bag End, Mr. Frodo. It’s August. The tomatoes and the squash have come in, and the melons. We’ll be having some for dessert soon.” His voice cracked. “And today, the sun was very warm. I was sweatin’ buckets, and they were makin’ hay in the fields.”

His fingers were rubbing small, yet insistent circles into tired flesh, coaxing blood to Frodo’s skin. He made his way up to Frodo’s shoulders once again, and then over his torso – avoiding old wounds

꧂

Summer bloomed on, and soon August was on the wane. It was still warm, and Sam wore a thin shirt and breeches as he worked in the garden, while Marigold had not yet exchanged her under-dresses for the ones with long sleeves. Inside Bag End, it was pleasantly cool, and as crop after crop came in of lush peppers, fragrant tomatoes and crisp cucumbers, they continued to eat salads with every meal, and Marigold began to talk of canning. 

One warm, late-summer day, Frodo was sitting closer to the windows than usual, and looking out at the greenery past the wine-colored, translucent cloth. Passing by with the laundry, Marigold paused in the doorway and said, “You know, Mr. Frodo, we really ought to get you outside more. It’s such a fine day.”

And before he knew it, he replied that he would not be averse, though the brightness might rather hurt his eyes. 

And to that, Marigold responded by disappearing into one of the clothing rooms and emerging with a wide-brimmed hat that he had quite forgotten he owned – for he himself did not garden often.

And so they stationed Frodo outside on the bench, book in hand, in shirtsleeves and hat and in plain view of Sam, toward later in the afternoon when the sun had tipped over the zenith and had spent some of its heat.

“Just a few minutes at a time – that ought to do a body good,” Marigold had said, and disappeared. 

She even left a cup of water for him.

Frodo watched Sam hilling the potatoes.

The air was balmy and sweet, and the rich smell of earth and of fresh cut grass filled his lungs. Beyond the hills and the roofs of other hobbit holes, he could, if he squinted, see the glistening Water, and thought of how pleasant it might be to run over the soft, thick grass, stretching his limbs, shaking out the fatigue and plunging straight into the cool river, to the head-shaking and muttering of hobbits walking past. That is, if his body would still obey him, it would have been a fine thing to do.

“May I smoke, Mr. Frodo?”

It had not taken long to get lost in thought, and he had not noticed Sam take a seat beside him. 

Sam stretched his legs, putting his arms over the back of the bench, and threw back his head.

Frodo nodded. He liked the flowery, dark smell of pipe weed still, though smoking it now made his heart race.

Sam extracted a pipe from his knapsack, which he had left on the bench before Frodo had gotten there, and struck a match.

The two were silent for a spell.

Whereas Marigold was always fain to comment on things and ask questions, with Sam there was often no need for talking. Having lived and traveled together as much as they had, there were moments when their minds were all but one, forming a cloud that enveloped them away from the world. 

“This is what we saved the Shire for, isn’t it, Mr. Frodo?” Sam pulled contentedly at his pipe. 

Frodo could not disagree. A cart moved slowly down the road, away by the horizon, and a hobbit in a yard nearby hailed his neighbor. The two then came together to speak over a fence. A goldcrest began to warble in a nearby tree. The mild breeze caressed his skin.

He recalled how he and Faramir had sat, not long ago, on a sunlit wall in Gondor in much the same way, with the stern, proud beauty of the White City rising up behind them. Faramir had spoken with such love for his native land that Frodo could not help but long for the Shire, but also to comprehend just how alike the peoples of Middle Earth really were. 

“More than the Shire, Sam,” he mused. “More than just the Shire.”

“True, very true, Mr. Frodo.” Sam nodded. He put aside his pipe, and unwrapped something in a piece of paper. 

“You know, Mr. Frodo,” he said, “The mallorn tree is right beautiful now. It would be a fine thing to see it. Just like the ones in Lothlorien, it is – bark smooth and silver-gray, and the leaves shimmerin’ in the breeze, green and silver. I’m sure you would like it. We can go together.” 

He withdrew a thick, white wafer from the wrapping.

Had it truly been that long? Frodo had first heard of the mallorn flowering in April, and he had told himself many times that he would go see it, and now it was nearly September. 

He nodded. “I should like that very much, Sam. Perhaps tomorrow.”

Sam extended the wafer to Frodo.

Frodo shook his head.

Sam took a bite, and closed his eyes. Then another, and another. A sweet, elated feeling spread over his face. He ate, more quickly with every bite now, and by the end, he was eating so fast that his teeth could barely chew and his throat could barely swallow fast enough. Still, when he finished the loaf he looked disappointed, and picked off the crumbs from his chin and the paper, consuming them too.

Sam ate like that often these days – it seemed that where Frodo’s appetite had diminished, Sam’s had correspondingly grown, and he ate each meal like it was his last. Still, Sam’s enjoyment of this particular bread had eclipsed even his usual gusto.

“Sam… what is that?” 

Frodo’s curiosity, despite his stomach’s melancholy state, had been aroused.

Sam looked up from folding the paper, and smiled sheepishly.

“Oh, this?” He chuckled. “I’ve been tryin’ to make lembas – and now Rosie and my sisters have joined in. We’ve made it a game of sorts.” 

“Lembas?”

Sam picked up one remaining crumb, and licked it off his finger. His elated expression returned.

“Mind you, it’s nothing like real lembas. Just the taste and the feel of it that we’ve been tryin’ to make. But this im’tation is passing fair, I’d say. I think it’s Marigold’s, in fact. I’ll bring more next time so you can try it.”

“My dear Sam!”

Sam placed the paper back in his knapsack.

“To tell you the truth, Mr. Frodo,” he went on, “I couldn’t stand the sight of anything that looked, or felt, or even smelled like lembas at first. I thought I’d eaten enough of it for one lifetime. But lately I’ve been getting a hankering for it, and now it’s all I want. Same as I can’t stop eatin’ whenever I sit down – it’s unnat’ral, I tell you, even for a hobbit. I’m sorry I didna leave you any.”

Sam looked down at his hands – a habit that he shared with Marigold, Frodo realized. They both did it when they were embarrassed. 

“It’s alright, Sam,” Frodo replied. “I said I didn’t want it. And you were hungry. We were both hungry.” He looked at Sam significantly. “More hungry than any hobbit had ever been, or likely will be. That’s not a thing you soon forget.”

He reached out toward Sam, and Sam’s hands came to meet his – the rough and brown cradling the smaller and less calloused. But Frodo readjusted his hold, so that their fingers were intertwined. 

Sam shifted toward him, and Frodo leaned his head onto his shoulder. And for a while they were those two hobbits once again – huddled together on the side of a dark mountain, a rough, treacherous staircase leading up its side, the wind’s cold, hard fingers prying underneath their cloaks. Gollum was lurking nearby. The two hobbits were eating lembas, its sweet, dry texture caking their tongues.

Frodo felt a coldness in his chest, despite the summer day. His throat tensed up, and he felt dizzy and faint. Sam’s hands, the picket fence, the sky above – they all felt very far away.

“I’m sorry, Sam.” He rallied the last of his strength and got up, unlacing their fingers. “I’ve got to go. It’s getting too hot.”

“Sam, do you have any notion of why Mr. Frodo came in from the outside, made straight for his room and hasn’t been seen since – and it’s been more than an hour?”

Sam looked up. The hilling of the vegetables done, he had been hard at work mending the rabbit-proof fence, which had turned out to be less rabbit-proof than hoped. 

“What – what do you mean?” He squinted into the sunlight – balmy and outlining his sister’s figure, her hands at her hips.

“I mean just that,” Marigold replied. “He does that sometimes. Gets up and disappears with nary a word. Stays in his room for an hour or more, then reappears – at times like nothing’s happened, and at times with an odd look in his eye. So that’s why I wonder, did somethin’ happen just before that made him do it? I don’t know him so well as you, so I wonder, was he like that before? When you were doin’ for him at Bag End?”

Sam blinked, wiping the sweat from his brow.

“Well, no, not that I remember. Did you try knocking?”

“Of course I did.” Marigold clicked her tongue. “But he won’t answer.”

“Won’t answer?”

“Won’t open the door, won’t say a word. But I can hear him breathing in there, and the floorboards creaking, so he can’t be asleep. And he’s not crying or moaning, so I s’ppose he’s not so badly off, but it’s queer. And I wonder if there’s anything we ought to be –”

Sam got up with a decisive start. 

“And you didn’t think to just go in?”

“He’s a gentlehobbit, Sam. I can’t just go into his room without permission – leastwise not unless I know there’s an emergency. That’s why I thought –”

But Sam was already walking away, shaking the dirt out of his foot hair. 

For it had indeed seemed odd that Frodo left so abruptly, though at first he had tried to pay it no mind. This was Frodo, after all, and Frodo liked to wander off to parts unknown, both in body and mind. But he would always come back, and out of respect, Sam might have done what Marigold did at first, and let him be. But over an hour and no response was another matter entirely. And apparently this was a pattern now, of literally shutting people out? 

The Frodo he knew would not do this.

Sam stood outside Frodo’s bedroom, and could feel his heart in his chest.

“Mr. Frodo?”

Silence.

Sam knocked.

“Mr. Frodo?”

Silence again. 

Sam brought his ear to the door and thought he could hear some shifting around, as well as a drawn breath – and he let out the breath he was holding. 

The door stood hulking between them – a ponderous, heavy door, much like the one to the Mines of Moria, though that one had a clever riddle for a key.

Speak Friend and enter.

A friend would know what to say, but for once in his life Sam was at a loss.

In truth, in the months that followed their return, Frodo had developed an increasing reluctance to speak about his troubles. The closest thing was when he offered Sam and Rosie to come live with him, but even that was couched in a comment about “Number 3 not being made of rubber.” And Sam wasn’t blind – he had seen Frodo and Bag End deteriorate by the day as the deep fatigue and indifference took hold – so had he moved in, caring for Frodo would have been all he wanted to do. But his life was rapidly changing. Not only was there Rosie and their future to think of, but there were many others who suddenly wanted and needed his help, much to his surprise – and he was not adept at refusing. He found himself increasingly being torn in two – or even three or four, so short of actually splitting himself apart, sending Marigold to Bag End was the best thing he could think of. Some even said that, had Marigold been born a lad, she and Sam would have been two peas in a pod. 

But there were some things Marigold could not do – at least not yet. So Sam took a breath, and pushed open the door.

“Mr. Frodo, begging your pardon, I’m coming in.”

No guessing of riddles was needed. 

Frodo was sitting on the floor against the wall, his legs at sharp angles like the vault of a pitched roof. There was a vacant, faraway look in his eyes.

Sam rushed to his side, falling to his knees and grabbing hold of his hands. 

“Mr. Frodo. My dear. What’s the matter? Say something, please.”

Frodo’s hands were cold, like his whole left side had been when he was convalescing from the witch-king’s wound. He looked paler than usual, too, and his pulse was thin.

He did not reply immediately. In fact, despite Sam’s quickness, and despite his hands being in Sam’s, he was still very slow to face his friend, and slower yet to meet his eyes. 

“I… don’t quite know, Sam…”

It was like all signals had been slowed and warped. His own voice came from very far away, and he felt Sam’s touch as if through a thick blanket.

“This… sometimes happens… I don’t feel… quite here?”

Sam’s face looked anxious – but his panic was starting to give way. Speaking took some doing – he could not vouch for his own tongue – but the melting of the fear in Sam’s eyes was well worth the effort.

“Oh, Mr. Frodo…” Sam rubbed his master’s hands, and brought them to his lips. His face quaked.

“I’ll be… Alright… Sam... Don’t worry… It’ll pass…”

Of course, “not quite here” did not at all do it justice, but Frodo thought it best not to elaborate. Its hold was slowly lessening, but whenever it began, everything would fall into shadow, and a cold pall would settle over his limbs. His heart would be seized by a nameless fear – and at times he would hear whispers, lose his vision or hearing or speech, and feel like really he might cross over into another realm and not come back… The only thing to do in such moments was to hide, lest he actually lose control and frighten those around him.

In fact, he had frightened a few people when he was mayor of Michel Delving. One of his first spells came on during a meeting with the sheriffs, and his tongue had ceased to obey him altogether. He had managed to play it off as a bout of indigestion, but it was also, in part, why he had resigned as quickly as possible.

But just then he felt too tired and weak, even, to pull his hands out of Sam’s grasp – in fact he could barely feel own hands, or Sam’s. He could not tell Sam to leave him be, either – his tongue felt like tar, and Sam was still plainly worried – so Frodo kept still.

“Well, Mr. Frodo,” Sam finally said. “Let’s not have you sitting on the floor, at least. Let’s get you in bed.”

And before Frodo could protest – the bed, in fact, had not been a place of pleasant memories – Sam lifted him up – far more easily than he had done at Mount Doom, and carried him over, thankfully, to the side of the bed where he slept less often.

As Sam put him down, he lingered for a moment, holding Frodo in a gentle embrace, then let him rest against the pillows. 

“Goodness, Mr. Frodo.” He shook his head. “ I know Mari’s been tryin’, but we really ought to get you eatin’ more. You’re right skin an’ bones, an’ so light to carry…”

He sat on the bed and rubbed Frodo’s forearms. He looked like he might have kissed Frodo on the forehead – which, Frodo had to admit, would not have been unwelcome. As the cold feeling ebbed, it left an orphan’s yearning to be held.

Sam furrowed his brow, and peered into the other hobbit’s face.

“Mr. Frodo” – his hands methodically, tenderly traveled up his friend’s arms and over his shoulders. “When you say you don’t feel quite there, what do you mean? Is it faint or weak? Or is it somethin’ else?”

Frodo shook his head. 

“No.” He squinted – the curtains were not fully drawn, and a sliver of bright light had made its way in. “It’s not… just faint and weak. It’s – hard to explain…”

His eyes fell on a vase of flowers atop the dresser. Blue hydrangeas, cut and brought in by Marigold – their round, downy heads bent over the sides of a wide-lipped, oval vase.

“I feel like I’m… disappearing, Sam… That’s the best way I can explain it. Like I’m fading… And everything’s far away.”

His lips and tongue were still obeying him only reluctantly, and his usual felicity for words was nowhere to be found. Sam’s speech still sounded warped now and again, and it was hard to tell how far away things were – Sam seemed, by turns, both near at hand and a thousand leagues away. He tried to focus on Sam’s face; the rest of the bedroom was, for the moment, less distinct.

“Oh, Mr. Frodo… Even still?”

Sam stopped massaging and took up Frodo’s hands again.

Frodo nodded.

“I feel like I did back then... It happens… When I remember. But not every time.”

In fact, if it did not happen during his and Marigold’s lessons, it was only because he had more control – he could paraphrase past some of the more jagged parts, he could inform, smile, and pause, and used each of these tricks in turn like railings to keep himself upright. But with Sam, his imagination had no such protection: what had happened had happened, and they had shared in every painful part of it.

Tears glimmered in the gardener's eyes. He squeezed Frodo’s hands tight between his.

“But you are here, Mr. Frodo. You’re here. In the Shire. With me. Your Sam.” Tears thickened in his voice with every word. “It’s – No… The past – that’s – that’s gone. You’re here now. Safe. We’re safe.”

“I know, Sam.” Frodo nodded. “I know.”

Sam began to massage again, wiping a tear with his fist. 

“You’re here,” he repeated. “We’re here. In Bag End, Mr. Frodo. It’s August. The tomatoes and the squash have come in, and the melons. We’ll be having some for dessert soon.” His voice cracked. “And today, the sun was very warm. I was sweatin’ buckets, and they were makin’ hay in the fields.”

His fingers were rubbing small, yet insistent circles into tired flesh, coaxing blood to Frodo’s skin. He made his way up to Frodo’s shoulders once again, and then over his torso – avoiding old wounds.

He paused. His look was less tearful now, and he seemed to have an inkling of an idea.

“But tell me, Mr. Frodo, what do you see? Right here, in this room.”

Frodo looked uncertainly around him. His skin was feeling warmer, and by dint of Sam’s efforts, he felt less like he was wrapped up in a blanket of numbness. 

“I see… My bed?.. My dresser?”

Sam nodded, encouragingly.

“Do you remember what the dresser’s made of?”

Frodo tried to remember, but his thoughts did not move fast. 

“Mahogany, I think?”

“And what’s on top of your dresser?”

Come to think of it, what was on top of it? 

He squinted. Ah, yes.

��A mirror… Blue flowers in a vase.”

“Do you remember where the flowers came from?”

“The garden. We have… a hydrangea bush.”

Sam nodded along to each of his answers.

“And I see you, too, Sam. You’re wearing a linen shirt… And your hair is lighter from being out in the sun… And your hands… They smell like the garden, still…”

With some effort, Frodo raised his hands and put them on top of Sam’s.

“And Marigold... I don’t see her, but I know she’s around here somewhere….”

Sam felt a catch in his throat. Suddenly, he was not so keen on Frodo thinking about Marigold.

He extracted his hands, gently, from underneath Frodo’s, and covered them with his own. 

“That’s good, Mr. Frodo. Very good. Now tell me some things you feel. Meanin’ with your body. How do my hands feel, for instance?”

“Your hands, Sam?” 

Frodo paused. He looked down. 

“Your hands feel good, Sam… Very good. They feel heavy. Warm.”

“And the bed?”

“That feels good too. Soft.”

Frodo suddenly wanted to be under the covers, ensconced away from the world, as if in a cocoon.

He closed his eyes, letting himself feel the warmth, the heaviness, the softness.

It would have been pretty to think, if a world could consist of just such things: of heavy, warm hands, of flowers and dressers, of hay being made in fields – a world populated by Sams and Marigolds and other such kind people. What a beautiful world it would be.

And yet, so much depended on such a world.

Sam drew a quilt around him – a small quilt that had been folded at the foot of the bed.

“And how does this feel?”

Frodo opened his eyes, and ran a hand over the piecework surface. Neat, orderly triangles in lavender, blue and green, the threads running like dashes under his fingers. His mother and his Brandybuck aunts had made it, and it was one of his possessions that had followed him to Bag End.

By Elbereth, Sam knew how to keep things green — how to tend to things in danger of falling apart in the world. If not for Bilbo’s influence, he might never have been one for elaborate flowers, or bushes of complex and delicate rarities, but the garden he kept at Bag End was always spectacularly, gorgeously alive. He knew the immediate wisdom of small truths, how the tiniest details could keep things tied inexplicably, marvelously, together.

In the garden, it was good, clear water, perfectly timed with the sun. It was peaty, wormy dirt, and it was good, thick shade where it needed to be. On their long walk to Mount Doom, it was elvish rope, simple knots, and an outrageous, almost contrarian hope.

And here, hovering above him, it was this earnest string of questions. Which flowers? Remember? Which month? Remember? How does it feel, this quilt?

Small things. Trivialities, really. But they reached out to him from the world on thin, thin strings, then touched him, stitched themselves into his thoughts and bore him up. 

Sam could have grown lily-pads in the snow.

“It feels… like someone worked very hard on this,” Frodo replied. “It’s so… intricate.”

Intricate!

A Frodo-word if there ever was one, and not wrenched from him by necessity like “mahogany” and “hydrangea” had been… The felicity for words was coming back.

“And you know who that someone was, don’t you, Mr. Frodo?”

“Of course… I do.”

But he did not want to speak of her. A silent remembrance was enough. He wanted, instead, to think only of this day. He wanted Sam’s hands, and Marigold’s flowers. Intensely, fiercely so, like he had never wanted anything in his life.

He clasped Sam’s hand.

“Mr. Frodo,” Sam asked, “Do you think you could do this? When you feel poorly, I mean? Name the things you can see, hear, touch, and smell? No need to go anywhere ‘cept the place you already are – but methinks, you could feel more here.”

Frodo nodded.

“I think I could. If I start early enough.”

He closed his eyes again.

Hear. They had not done that one yet. 

He listened for Marigold clattering with dishes in the kitchen, and for her footstep on the floorboards in the hall, but the house was quiet. 

“I hear the birds warbling outside,” he said, “And the wood settling, and you breathing, Sam.”

“Oh, Mr. Frodo… My dear…”

Sam suddenly looked as if his strength was spent, and he bent his head low, coming to rest by his beloved master. Frodo wrapped his arms around him.

“My dear Sam.” 

He kissed Sam on the forehead. 

Sam’s shoulders shook. 

“Sam… I am so grateful to you… For everything. Rest a bit. You work so hard.”

He brushed back the soft, sun-blonde hair, and Sam opened his eyes. He looked at Frodo like there was something he wanted and needed – something he could neither understand nor name – but so it went. It was not the first time that Sam had looked at him like that – and in truth, they carried each other. He carried Sam’s pain, too, though in many ways, since it was Sam, it was surprisingly easy. He had only to reassure him with a kind word or a press of the hand, and Sam was quickly glad and strong again, and stubbornly ready to carry enough for two.

“Just… no lembas for me for a while, alright?” Frodo added, his knuckle running over a stubborn cowlick. “Just maybe some blackberries instead?”

Sam had told her to stay nearby, and he would call her if he needed. So she lingered close to the bedroom in the hallway, close enough to hear voices but not close enough to know what was being said. Sam had not fully shut the door behind him, and at first, she had tried not to look – in fact had pointedly looked away – but then she heard what could only have been Sam picking Frodo up off the floor and carrying him to the bed. Her curiosity got the better of her, so she inched closer, and witnessed Sam leaning over Frodo, massaging him desperately – tenderly, as the two spoke in hushed tones. Her heart descended, momentarily, to the pit of her stomach – would Sam be angry with her? Should she have sounded the alarm on Frodo’s behavior sooner? The Mrs. Bracegirdle who still lived rent-free in her head began to chide her for her carelessness, and she had to screw her knuckles into her eyes and shake her head until the imaginary midwife – who was quite a bit taller in Marigold’s racing mind – had gone quiet.

When she looked up, Sam and Frodo were lying down together and Frodo was hugging… Sam? Had one of them been a lad, and the other a lass, Marigold would have thought the scene was not one she should be witnessing – but they were two lads, undoubtedly. Good, inseparable friends. But oddly enough, Sam was the one in pieces now, and it was Frodo’s turn to be sincerely concerned, stroking her brother’s hair.

Indeed, there had always been a special intimacy between those two – going back to the days when they would tramp around the Shire and Frodo would join Sam pottering around the garden, and Sam would only pretend to work while the Gaffer’s back was turned. They seemed to understand each other at half a word, and moved like there was an invisible string between them. They even had a way of communicating not just with the eyes and facial expressions, but without doing or saying anything at all. 

And despite her childish love for Mr. Frodo, Marigold had never especially been jealous of it all. It seemed silly to be jealous of something so ineffable. Even if it was her in Sam’s place, what Frodo and Sam shared could never be replicated, nor would she want it to be. In fact, in her love for Mr. Frodo, it was part of why she was often content to watch from afar. It was extraordinary to see how Frodo could be with other people. How he could be with Sam.

But now, it would have been a lie to say that she did not wish for it to be her – that she did not wish for her and Sam to trade places. She imagined Frodo close to her breast, the mild weight of his head upon her shoulder. She thought of how it would be to rub his cold, pale limbs to bring the blood back where it belonged, talking to him softly, making her his safe harbor. She touched fingertips to her cheek, then her clavicle – where she might have cradled his head – and felt a prickle over the roof of her mouth and behind her eyes.

Oh, Frodo. Poor Mr. Frodo. What evils have you seen?

She had a feeling that the story she had heard was only the fireside, young ones’ version of the truth.

[naruthandir]

Funny to me how for most people it's a LOTR->Linguistics pipeline but for me it was a linguistics->LOTR pipeline. I never really had an interest in reading Lord of the Rings because the whole thing used to struck me as very boring and I didn't really care but from ages 12-14 I was really getting into fantasy worldbuilding and conlanging "formally" (I did do that kind of stuff before that, but I didn't know it had a name or that there were comunities formed around it) and I said "Look if I am going to be a nerd about this I am going to be a full nerd about this I can't go around life calling myself a Fantasy Nerd™ when all I know about LOTR is that there is a fucked up goblin guy and Legolas has a bow" so I decided to bought the Fellowship of the Ring book in the bookstore because I am autistic and I have a hard time engaging with material I am unfamiliar with so I just picked the safest option and then I read it in a weekend. I came home, I sat down to read, and from the very start I was invested. Because Tolkien had THE BALLS to open his book with an extensive infodump about Hobbit culture and I was so into that. And the chapters in the Shire, they were a genuine delight for me. I thought the book would be boring but it was fun! It was funny! And hobbit culture felt so alive...

And when the final chapter of the Fellowship came I almost cried. Rightly, it was at that moment I realized that this was going to be a life-changing experience whether I like it or not.

Since I didn't have the rest of the books back then (and I wasn't really able to get them for reasons I don't remember) I did the most autistic thing: Right after finishing it, I decided to read it again, because I was that obsessed. I made so much silly cringy art of the characters as I imagined them and it was all I could think about in school. When I finally got my hands to The Two Towers and The Return of the King I decided to refresh my memory by reading Fellowship AGAIN and because it was summer I had the luxury to just sit down and read all day long and it was great.

I went into the books as blind as you could possibly go: I knew there were conlangs and lore, I knew there were elves, I knew the protagonist was named Frodo and the plot was about destroying a ring (there is also a being that calls the ring precious because its like a drug? Idk). But not much else. I didn't know Boromir was going to die. I didn't know about Galadriel or Elrond or Aragorn or Sam. Yes, I didn't know that Sam was a character. I was genuinely surprised at each turn the plot was taking. I was surprised about how GAY it all was (why didn't they tell me about this??) and I was absolutely shaken and emotionally destroyed with the ending. The Return of the King was an awakening of sorts for me, because I was expecting a whimsical fantasy story and instead I got to see The Horrors and I just couldn't believe the comic relief characters were dealing with suicidal ideation, out of all things.

And the last bit of Frodo's journey... Well, the scene in the tower of Cirith Ungol was genuinely rough (when Sam found Frodo, he was naked. And I just closed the book and stared into the ceiling for a while. I just had to take a break real fast) and the struggle with the ring as they got closer to Mordor and I was constantly almost-crying-but-not-quite and I knew, even though I went into the story un-spoiled, I knew Frodo wouldn't give up the ring. And then having him deal with the aftermath of it, and I was so distressed the whole time because finally, someone out there gets it. He sailed off to the west and I cried. I actually cried, right after finishing the book, yes, but for a few nights after as well. It was, well, a lot to process for 14 year old me. It had me looking up the diagnostic criteria of PTSD on Google at three in the morning because this can't be right. It wasn't that bad, surely I'm just being dramatic.

And it is very funny, that I was getting into the books expecting extensive sections of infodumping and lore and LINGUISTICS and I did get that, don't get me wrong, but I also got an emotionally resonant story that complelty re-contextuslized my lived experiences, helped me process stuff I had been shoving down the back of my mind because I didn't have the words to even describe it to myself, and lowkey turned me into a transgender anarchist. I was a changed man (just now fully aware that I was a man in the first place). It blew me away completely.

And it also reinforced my interest in linguistics! I often joke about this, but as a kid, I used to read the dictionary instead of paying attention in class. I liked words. Like, a lot. I liked the way words interacted with each other. I was like 9, perhaps, when I first attempted to create a made-up language, for a race of fictional mermaid race. I was really into My Little Pony at the time and I stole a lot of the story from there (don't forget I was nine) and my attempt at conlanging utterly failed, but still. LOTR felt pretty much tailored to me, when I finally gave it a shot. My favorite appendix was, of course, the one dealing with translation. If I was mildly interested in linguistics before this sent me down a rabbithole. I did my whole final school project for graduating on minority languages of Europe (though, due to the pandemic, I never finished it, which is a shame). I picked the literature course in high-school over the fine arts course because they had a morphology and etymology class. I named myself Beren, for fuck's sake, and I've been going by this name in real life for two and a half years by now. That's how important it was.

I really can't overstate how much this silly little book with silly little fairy people influenced my life. It's. Well, it's cringy, it's awfully, awfully cringy, embarrassing, mortifying. Isn't it funny, that we are shamed and made fun of for loving things so unapologetically? For genuinely connecting with art? Even though that's like, the whole point?

I just want to say. This is important to me. This means a lot to me. I keep talking about it but I can't help myself because it's hilarious. I went into this book out of a sense of responsibility and it completely changed my life.

This post wasn't meant to be this long. Uh. Sorry. I just wanted to make a silly joke about "Tolkien fan goes on to study formal linguistics, but it's not for the reason you think" but it turned into this whole personal rant. This is like a tendency of mine, no I don't know how to stop it. I'm sorry if this is in your dash lmao

[rainydaymiddleearthimagines]

Destiny Calling: Chapter Seven

You all seemed lost, feeling this sense of overwhelming hopelessness. You were now leading the group, walking through the woods of Lothlorien. You after all, were the only one that actually knew the way. "Stay close young hobbits! They say there’s a great sorceress lives in these woods, an elf-witch of terrible power. All who look upon her, fall under her spell..." Gimli said, unaware that you actually shared blood to said "Elf-witch". "... and are never seen again." Gimli finished. Aragorn looked over, noticing blood seep through your clothes. "Y/n, did you suffer another wound outside of the scratch on your head?" He asked. "If you're referring to my shoulder Aragorn, I am fine." You said softly.

You stopped, the trees speaking of another presence outside of your group. "Well, here is one dwarf she won't ensnare so easily. I have the eyes of a hawk and the ears of a fox!" Gimli announced before meeting a guard face to face. Lorien guards aimed before a familiar face stopped them. "Princess Y/n." He noticed, all guards reattracting their weapons at the sight of you. "You found us." you said, seeming very calm. "The dwarf breathes so loud we could've shot him in the dark." Haldir said making you chuckle. "Haldir o Lórien. Henion aníron, boe ammen i dulu lîn. Boe ammen veriad lîn. (Haldir of Lorien, we come here for help. We need your protection.)" Aragorn said. "Aragorn, these woods are perilous! We should go back." Gimli huffed. "You have entered the realm of the Lady of the Wood. You cannot go back. Come, she is waiting." Haldir said. You all followed Haldir. "you seem very confident about your choice in leading us to this woman." Gimli muttered. You said nothing, walking ahead of him.

You climbed the stairs before standing before Galadriel and Celeborn. You bowed, Galadriel lifting your face. "You have matured since we last spoke." She said, smiling softly. "It is nice to see you again." You admitted. She nodded before looking at the group. Aragorn gave his proper greeting, making it clear to everyone that he too, had met her before. "Nine that are here yet ten there were set out from Rivendell. Tell me where is Gandalf? For I much desire to speak with him." She said. She looked in his eyes and paused. "He has fallen into shadow." She realized. "The quest stands upon the edge of a knife. Stray but a little and it will fail to the ruin of all." She said. She looked over at Boromir who couldn't meet her gaze. "Yet hope remains while the company is true." She said. She looked at Sam and smiled. "Do not let your hearts be troubled. Go now and rest for you are weary with sorrow and much toil. Tonight you will sleep in peace." She said. You nearly walked off but Aragorn halted you. "Might we receive medical assistance? Y/n was struck in battle." Aragorn asked. "I have herbs in my-" "Come." Galadriel said. You sighed and walked off with her.

You looked over at Galadriel. "How are you taking it? Gandalf's demise?" She asked. "I think I'm in denial. It is almost as if my body just isn't reacting." You muttered. She nodded as you entered a small hut. "How did it happen?" She asked, wringing water out of a small cloth. "There was a monster, one of flames. We had to pass through Moria-" "We both know how dangerous that was Y/n." She scolded. "We didn't have a choice. Saruman betrayed us, if we had made for the Gap of Rohan, we'd be killed or worse." You muttered. She nodded. "Gandalf fought off the monster so we could escape. He... He fell so we would succeed." you muttered. Galadriel nodded solemnly. She touched the wound on your shoulder, you wincing. "You made it here. That is what counts." she said softly. You nodded, looking down. "Your mother would be very proud of you, you know." She added. You looked over. She began crushing herbs. "She would be terrified but still very proud." she said. You smiled slightly. "are you proud?" you asked. She turned, that soft smile reminding you of home. "we all are darling." She said. "I.." you cleared your throat. "I want you to know... I am proud to be your grandchild..." you told her. She put the herbs on the wound, wrapping it before she kissed your head. "I am proud to call you my grandchild." she said.

As everyone else sat around, elves could be heard around them, singing. "A lament for Gandalf." Legolas noticed, him pouring water into a small reflection pool. "What do they say about him?" Merry asked. "I have not the heart to tell you. For me the grief is still too near." Legolas answered. Aragorn noticed Boromir sitting alone on a tree root. He walked over. "Take some rest. These borders are well protected." Aragorn encouraged. "I will find no rest here. I heard her voice inside my head. She spoke of my father and the fall of Gondor. She said to me even now there is hope left. But I cannot see it. It is long since we had any hope." He admitted. He knew for a fact that if his father remained on the throne, there was less of a bright future to one day see. This fact had been haunting him since he picked up the hilt to Isildur's broken sword. "My father is a noble man, but his rule is failing. And now our…our people lose faith. He looks to me to make things right and I would do it. I would see the glory of Gondor restored. Have you ever seen it Aragorn? White tower of Ecthelion, glimmering like a spike of pearl and silver. It's banners caught high in the morning breeze. Have you ever been called home by the clear ringing of silver trumpets?" He asked. "I have seen the White City, long ago." Aragorn admitted. "One day, our paths will lead us there. And the tower guards shall take up the call: The Lords of Gondor have returned!" He said, clearly missing home. Aragorn opened his mouth to speak but saw you walking over. He walked over, hugging you. You didn't care about the slight discomfort from your shoulder. You hadn't had a real moment to breathe since you left. You hugged him back, him pulling away slightly to kiss your forehead. "Your wounds? How are they?" He asked. "They are minor, she believes them to be healed in days." you said.

He sighed. "You need to be more-" "What's the rule?" you halted. He sighed. "No telling Y/n what to do." He said. "Let us try and rest. We still have a long journey." you said. The group looked over as you sat down. "Are you alright?" Pippin asked. "Fear not Pippin, I am well." You assured. "Where are you sleeping?" Frodo asked. Aragorn cleared his throat to answer the question and you nodded your head in his direction. "Thank you Y/n.. For protecting me back in Moria." Frodo said. "I am only doing what I promised. I don't deserve the praise." You stated. "How did you meet the witch- woman?" Sam corrected. You chuckled. "Galadriel is my grandmother." you answered. "You're related to the witch?" Gimli asked, shocked. "She is my mother's mother. Very kind woman despite what many believe." You answered.

Pippin seemed confused. "Y/n... If your grandmother is here then why weren't you sent here instead of Mirkwood?" Pippin asked. "Father was most likely afraid of the path here... It was the same path my mother took when she was attacked." You said. Merry looked at you as you sighed, looking over at Aragorn who was still awake.

"Sleep." you told him. "I cannot." He admitted. "...You're joking. You seriously cannot sleep without me being there?" You asked. "Not fully, no." He admitted, making Sam crack a smile. "With the way you two speak to each other, you'd think you'd be lovers." Gimli sighed. You all froze, looking at him. "What?" He asked. "Nothing." Pippin said, resisting a strong urge to laugh. "We should rest." Sam said, also trying not to break. You moved to Aragorn, lying down next to him. He wrapped his arms around you, his breaths getting deeper as time passed.

The morning soon came, you and Aragorn being the first ones awake. You leaned up and stretched, tapping Boromir as you slid on your boots. He woke up the hobbits who (eventually) woke up Gimli. You all set off once more, Galadriel parting you with Earendil, their most beloved star. You all went off in canoes, riding down the river. You all were silent, Legolas and you both listening to the nature around you before reaching a pass. "Frodo, the Argonath! Long have I desired to look upon the kings of old. My kin." Aragorn said to Frodo, nodding to the large statues of the kings. You all finally reached the foot of Amon Hen, making camp while you rested.

"We cross the lake at nightfall. Hide the boats and continue on foot. We approach Mordor from the north." Aragorn said. "Oh, yes?! It's just a simple matter of finding our way through Emyn Muil? An impassable labyrinth of razor sharp rocks! And after that, it gets even better! Festering, stinking marshlands far as the eye can see!" Gimli huffed. "That is our road. I suggest you take some rest and recover your strength master dwarf." Aragorn said, making you smiled. Gimli seemed almost offended by the mere idea of him needing to rest. You looked up, alarmed by something. "What's wrong?" Boromir asked. "Something's coming." you answered. You looked around. "Where's Frodo?" you asked.

Frodo walked through the woods, Boromir noticing the hobbit as he was collecting firewood. "None of us should wander alone, you least of all. So much depends on you. Frodo?" Boromir commented. Frodo looked over, slightly alarmed by his presence. "I know why you seek solitude. You suffer; I see it day by day. You sure you do not suffer needlessly? There are other ways, Frodo, other paths that we might take." Boromir said. "I know what you would say. And it would seem like wisdom but for the warning in my heart." Frodo said. "Warning? Against what? We're all afraid, Frodo. But to let that fear drive us to destroy what hope we have. Don't you see that is madness?" Boromir questioned. "There is no other way!" Frodo said. "I ask only for the strength to defend my people! If you would but lend me the Ring..." Boromir tossed the wood aside, staring at the ring. "No." Frodo said, stepping back. "Why do you recoil? I am no thief." Boromir asked. "You are not yourself." Frodo answered. "What chance do you think you have? They will find you! They will take the Ring and you will beg for death before the end!" Boromir yelled. Frodo ran from Boromir, alarmed of the greed and darkness taking over the young man. "It is not yours save by unhappy chance. It could have been mine!" Boromir yelled before tackling Frodo. "It should be mine! Give it to me!" Boromir yelled. They struggled against one another for the ring.

"Give it to me!" Boromir yelled. "No!" Frodo struggled. "Give me… Give me the Ring!" Boromir yelled. Frodo slipped on the ring, kicking Boromir before running away. "I see your mind. You will take the Ring to Sauron! You will betray us! You go to your death and the death of us all! Curse you! Curse you! And all the halflings!" He said before falling. It was like a simple fall was all he needed to see reason. Regret instantly hit him. "Frodo?...Frodo?...what have I done?...please...Frodo!" He called.

Frodo ran off, reaching an area away from him. "Frodo?" You asked, standing there with Aragorn. "Huh?!" He gasped, meeting your eyes. "It has taken Boromir." Frodo said, clearly panicked. "Where is the Ring?" Aragorn asked. "Stay away!" Frodo yelled before backing away. "Frodo!" Aragorn halted. Frodo stopped. "We swore to protect you!" Aragorn said. "Can you protect me from yourself?!" Frodo asked, clearly frightened. He showed the ring in his palm. "Would you destroy it?" Frodo asked. You looked away, feeling this intense dread. Aragorn slowly approached Frodo though, ignoring the whispers of the ring, closing Frodo's palm and pushing it to his chest. "I would have gone with you to the end, into the very fires of Mordor." He said. "You will not yield me from your journey Frodo." You said. He frowned. "Y/n, I cannot ask this of you." He said. "Frodo, my father was the one that went with Isildur. He did nothing to stop him... I know I can do something so please. Let me." you said. He nodded slowly before you slid off your necklace, giving it to Aragorn. Aragorn shook his head. "Y/n-" "keep this as a reminder that someone is fighting for you. Always." you said softly. He clutched the necklace, before pulling a chain out from his pack. He took off his ring, sliding it onto the chain. "I will not take the throne without you. If I lose you, the throne will remain as it is." He said. "This is your only proof of your identity Aragorn-" "I know. Because without you, I cannot make my claim." He said, putting the chain around your neck. He gave you one last kiss, your heart filling with sorrow before you pulled away. "Look after the others, especially Sam. He will not understand." Frodo said before his sword started to glow. "Go on you two!" He said. You hesitated, seeing the finality in this choice. Would you leave your lover or stay and leave Frodo?

You shook your head, taking Frodo's hand and running. Sam searched the woods frantically. "Mr. Frodo!" He called before hearing swords clashing. Legolas and Gimli ran forward, Legolas shooting three of the orcs quickly. Gimli slammed his axe into one of them. "Aragorn! Go!" Legolas yelled. You sprinted with Frodo, trying to reach the boats as the orcs were ready to kill. You ran hiding behind a set of trees, Merry and Pippin looking at you with urgency. They noticed the orcs ready to follow you. "Run you two! Go!" Merry whispered before cupping his hands. You two ran off as Merry yelled. "Hey! Hey you! Over here!" He shouted, diverting attention away from the two of you. "Hey!" Pippin chimed in. "Over here!" Merry called. Pippin waved his arms. "This way!" Pippin yelled, running away from Frodo.

As you ran you heard three loud blasts from a horn, your heart dropping. This was it... Boromir's final stand. "The Horn of Gondor... Boromir.." you whispered as you ran. Merry and Pippin locked eyes with Boromir as he fought. "RUN!" He told them, fighting for his life. "Boromir!" Aragorn called, rushing toward the sound. Fear coursed through Boromir as he fought before an arrow hit his shoulder. Merry and Pippin stopped, looking at him in shock. Boromir fell to his knees, breathing hard as the pain seemed to overwhelm him. No. Not like this.

The orcs came closer, Boromir letting out a battle cry as a final stand. He stood up, stabbing an orc as he did. Another arrow fired, this time to Boromir's stomach. He fell again, still his will to live too strong for this as he got back up. He killed another orc, another arrow hitting you, this one being the final blow. Boromir fell to his knees, staying down this time. Merry and Pippin both looked at him. They knew this was it. That he would not rise again to fight. This was their friend that kept them safe. If he was dying, they were going to defend him till his last breath. Merry and Pippin fought, screaming "SHIRE!" before stabbing an orc or two.

You reached the boats, heart pounding as you were unaware of the dangers ahead of you. Then you felt it. A loss. A hit. You put a hand over your mouth. "Y/n, what's wrong?" Frodo asked. "Boromir has fallen." You whispered, hearing the trees tell you of the brave sacrifice he made.

Aragorn kneeled to Boromir. "They took the little ones." Boromir said weakly. "Be still." Aragorn instructed. "Frodo, where is Frodo? And Y/n?" Boromir asked. "I let them go." Aragorn said. "Then you did what I could not. I tried to take the Ring from him." Boromir admitted, his breathing getting weaker. "The Ring is beyond our reach now." Aragorn assured. "Forgive me, I did not see it. I have failed you all." Boromir whispered. "No, Boromir, you fought bravely! You have kept your honor." Aragorn assured. He reached for the arrows that were ailing his friend but Boromir stopped him. "Leave it! It is over. The world of men will fall, and all will come to darkness… and my city to ruin." Boromir whispered. "I do not know what strength is in my blood, but I swear to you I will not let the white city fall, nor our people fail!" Aragorn said, his heart in pain. "Our people?" Boromir asked. Not once had Aragorn even referenced his homeland or people... Boromir smiled at his friend. "Our people." He breathed, barely holding onto life. Aragorn put Boromir's sword in his hand, Boromir bringing it to his chest. "I would have followed you my brother, my captain, my king!" Boromir said before his face grew still. Your vision was indeed true. Boromir was dead. "Be at peace, son of Gondor." Aragorn whispered before pressing a kiss to his forehead.

You heard rapid footsteps, turning to land which you hadn't left yet. "Frodo!" Sam called. Frodo seemed spaced out, recalling a conversation that he had with Gandalf before Sam sprinted out from the woods. "Frodo no! Frodo! Mr. Frodo!" Sam frantically called. "No Sam." Frodo said, continuing to paddle. You opened your mouth but closed it as Sam sprinted into the river. "Go back Sam! I’m going to Mordor." Frodo yelled. "Of course you are, and I’m coming with you!" Sam replied. He trudged deeper into the water. "You can’t swim! Sam!" Frodo gasped. You watched Sam go under, forsaking your cloak as you dove into the waters and pulled up Sam.

You put him in the boat, you climbing in afterwards. "You are insane!" You breathed. "I made a promise, Mr. Frodo. A promise! 'Don’t you leave him Samwise Gamgee.' And I don’t mean to! I don’t mean to." Sam said. Frodo's expression softened. "Oh Sam!" Frodo wailed before hugging Sam. You smiled at the two friends before Frodo yanked you into the hug. You slowly hugged the two hobbits back, them clinging to you.

Gimli, Aragorn and Legolas gave Boromir a proper send off, laying him one of the boats with his sword and shield, his cloven horn by his side. The boat went off the side of the Falls of Rauros, falling to the mists below.

"Hurry! Frodo, Y/n and Sam have reached the eastern shore." Legolas called. Aragorn did not move. "You mean not to follow them?" Legolas asked. "Y/n and Frodo’s fate is no longer in our hands." Aragorn said, clutching your necklace that he was now wearing. "Then it has all been in vain! The Fellowship has failed." Gimli said. "Not if we hold true to each other. We will not abandon Merry and Pippin to torment and death. Not while we have strength left. Leave all that can be spared behind. We travel light. Let’s hunt some orc!" Aragorn said. Legolas and Gimli smiled. "Yes! Haha!" Gimli exclaimed. Aragorn ran into the woods, Legolas and Gimli following.

You stood on the hills of Emyn Muil, looking at the Dead Marshes and Mordor." Mordor. I hope the others find a safer route." Frodo muttered. "Strider will look after them." Sam said. "I do not think they will accompany us from here." You said, clutching Aragorn's ring. "I don’t suppose we’ll ever see them again." Frodo said. Sadness filled your gaze. "We may yet, Mr. Frodo. We may." Sam reminded. You smiled at Sam. Frodo turned to the both of you "I’m glad you’re with me." Frodo said to the both of you. You smiled softly, roughing up his hair before walking. "We have a long journey ahead of us." you said. "Think we'll see something new?" Sam asked. "Let us hope not." You said earning smiles from both of the hobbits.

You had no idea of the dangers ahead. Or how many events were to play out in front of your eyes.

[strangeradventuresofp]

second thoughts (legolas x reader)

The Fellowship of the Ring - Part 1

masterlist

warnings: none (i think)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It is good to see you, Y/N.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~~

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

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

“Bring forth the Ring, Frodo.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Boromir—”

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

“Aragorn? This, is Isildur’s heir?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“There’s a girl?”

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

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

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

“N—No, miss! We were just—”

“Then, what exactly were you talking about?”

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

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

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

“Alright, Merry.” You said softly.

“What’s yours?” Pip questioned.

“Y/N.”

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

~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[windandwater]

I've posted about this passage of Two Towers on my blog before but I gotta talk about another element of it that I really love but can't capture in any other format. This is when Frodo & Sam are in Cirith Ungol:

All was dark about it, earth and sky, but it was lit with light. Not the imprisoned moonlight welling through the marble walls of Minas Ithil long ago, Tower of the Moon, fair and radiant in the hollow of the hills.

Paler indeed than the moon ailing in some slow eclipse was the light of it now, wavering and blowing like a noisome exhalation of decay, a corpse-light, a light that illuminated nothing.

In the walls and tower windows showed, like countless black holes looking inward into emptiness; but the topmost course of the tower revolved slowly, first one way and then another, a huge ghostly head leering into the night.

--The Two Towers, Book 2 Chapter 8

There's so many things I love about this chapter, and of course this is creepy and mood-setting and world-buildy (just casually throwing in the corruption of Minas Ithil in there! I could write another post just about that line!) in a ton of amazing ways. 

But what I'm thinking about this time around the most is that you get this sense, that even though it may be possible for Sam & Frodo to infiltrate Mordor and make their way through and do their job and maybe, maybe even get out--if they get taken into Minas Morgul, they're not coming out.

It's a credit to the way Tolkien has built up the terror of the Ringwraiths, partially, but they've always been able to escape or evade their attention, even narrowly, before. But now they're on Ringwraith territory. Now this is their ground. And Tolkien makes the peril so real. If they’re caught, it’s all over. There’s no escaping this time.

And then there's a moment where the Witch-King senses the Ring and very nearly finds them, but then:

At that moment the Wraith-king turned and spurred his horse and rode across the bridge, and all his dark host followed him. Maybe the elven-hoods defied his unseen eyes, and the mind of his small enemy, being strengthened, had turned aside his thought. But he was in haste. Already the hour had struck, and at his great Master’s bidding he must march with war into the West.

--The Two Towers, Book 2 Chapter 8

It's such a close call, and there are many things that save Frodo & Sam in this moment--the light of Galadriel, the Elven cloaks--but also, Gandalf's whole plan. He's been saying all along at this point that his job is distract Sauron from Frodo & Sam, to keep him worrying about the war with Gondor instead of keeping too close an eye on his borders.  And in this moment, we see it actually work.

This is showing, not telling--we get a horribly close call, saved at the last moment by a desperate strategy, plotted by people who don't and can't know if it's working, or how close it came to not working.

I love this book so much.

[musemash]

Images from The Return Of The King, courtesy of New Line Cinema

ARWEN’S CHOICE, GRIMA’S TEAR  – part 3

Temptation & Forgiveness

The many Christian elements clearly present in Jackson’s Rings have been noted by some critics, including the power of sin, service to others, sharing, conversion, overcoming evil, pilgrimage, good will, salvation, vocation, love, compassion and redemption. One theme would be obvious even to a biblically illiterate viewer: susceptibility to temptation, as embodied by the One Ring’s effect on Bilbo, Smeagol, Deagol, Saruman, Boromir, Denethor and Faramir. This motif is presented at its most complex in the various stages of temptation Frodo goes through.  

Forgiveness is especially apparent in several places: Frodo’s treatment of Gollum; Gimli’s change of heart regarding elves; Aragorn’s acceptance of Legolas’ apology; and Theoden’s kindness to the repentant Grima. The self-sacrifice, loyalty, servant nature and unconditional friendship of Samwise are a beacon throughout the film. Christ’s devotion to his mother Mary is echoed when Aragorn honors his own deceased mother’s statue (which is itself an obvious reference to Catholic veneration of the Virgin).

Providence

Divine providence rears its majestic head in several places. Gandalf tells Frodo: “Bilbo was meant to find the Ring; and you also were meant to have it. And that is an encouraging thought.” As Aragorn lies grievously wounded, Arwen’s spirit hovers over his body. Deep in Mordor, Sam looks up and sees a star through a break in Sauron’s poisonous cloud, and says: “There is light and beauty up there, Mr. Frodo, that no shadow can touch.” The White Tree finally blossoms, a none-too-subtle reference to the Tree of Life. Frodo and Sam are rescued by Gandalf and the eagles, as if by angels.

The filmmakers also add a surprisingly biblical twist to Theoden’s release from mental and spiritual subjugation: the king is literally exorcised, freeing him from being directly possessed by Saruman. Whether this was done because Jackson knew it was a very Catholic concept, or simply because it was a way cool cinematic device, is a matter of speculation.  

Christ Figures  

Just as Sauron, Saruman and the Witch King are clearly symbolic of Satan, and the Black Riders represent demons, the film also presents several obvious Christ figures: Gandalf, Aragorn and Frodo. Gandalf is explicitly called The White Rider – invoking the horseman of Revelation 19:11. As Gandalf the Grey, he falls at Khazad-dum, his arms spreading out to form a cross; he wrestles the Balrog of Morgoth (Satan) into the abyss (hell); he is later reborn as Gandalf the White, a more powerful Istari than he has ever been. In his new form, he is able to drive the fearsome Nazgul away with the white light issuing from his staff.  

In the book, after the battle of Pelennor Fields, Aragorn demonstrates his gentler skills in the Houses of Healing. Tolkien writes: “The hands of the king are the hands of a healer – and so shall the rightful king be known.” While Jackson doesn’t overly emphasize this, he shows Eowyn being nursed by Aragorn – accompanied by a peaceful and lyrical song by Liv Tyler. Early in the film, Aragorn also uses his healing skills to help Frodo. There is also a very touching moment near the end, when Aragorn tells the hobbits: “You bow to no one.” He bows his knee to them, echoing an aspect of Christ: “He humbled himself.” His humility is also demonstrated by his earlier willingness to serve another king, Theoden, even though he is a monarch waiting to ascend to his own throne.  

Mercy & Sacrifice

Frodo repeatedly shows mercy to Gollum, hoping to somehow help reverse the effect of the One Ring and start the pathetic creature on the road to regeneration. Frodo also embodies the punishment Christ endured when He was “wounded for our transgressions.” By the time the hobbit gets to Mount Doom, he is a devastated shadow of his Shire self.  

The crucial moment, where he is stricken by the poison of evil, comes in act one – when he is wounded by the Witch King on Weathertop. Jackson reminds us of this moment several times, through flashbacks and other references. Toward the end, Frodo tells Sam: “It’s never really healed.” The price he pays in gaining the victory over Sauron’s evil, through his sacrifice, echoes the price paid by Jesus on the Cross.

Rebirth & Eternity                                    

Resurrection is also very much evident throughout the film. Gandalf is literally raised from the dead. The injured Aragorn is restored by a mystical kiss from Arwen’s spirit; and the future king symbolically conquers death by walking the Paths of the Dead.  At the Grey Havens, the last elves in Middle-Earth board a ship to the Undying Lands (also referred to by Tolkien as the Blessed Realm, the home of the Valar).  

Frodo tastes death symbolically several times: getting stabbed by the morgul blade, whose poison could turn him into a wraith; succumbing to the Ring’s power on several occasions; falling into a swamp filled with demonic ghosts; and being struck down by Shelob’s sting. But all of these are overthrown by the Grey Havens scene, which represents his resurrection. “We set out to save the Shire,” he says, “and it has been saved – but not for me.” The only way out for him is to pass from Middle-Earth to the elves’ paradise across the sea. Thereby, “death is swallowed up in victory.”  

The film only briefly alludes to the Undying Lands, with no detailed explanation of the term; but the concept of eternal life is touchingly enunciated by Gandalf, in a wonderful passage taken almost verbatim from the climax of the book (describing Frodo approaching the Undying Lands). As they sit barricaded in Minas Tirith, with enemy forces closing in, the wizard says to Pippin: “No, the journey doesn’t end here. Death is just another path, one that we all must take. The grey rain-curtain of this world rolls back, and all turns to silver glass. And then you see it … white shores – and beyond them a far green country, under a swift sunrise.”  

Arwen’s Importance

Many critics and purists have complained about the increased role given to Arwen. Initially, the perception was that the filmmakers were simply tacking on a gratuitous romance to appeal to ‘the female demographic.’ But such talk died down when it became known that most of the Arwen scenes were taken directly from material in Appendix A of the book. Curiously, most Christian commentators don’t seem to have picked up on the Christian elements that virtually saturate the Aragorn/Arwen subplot.

In my view, this subplot was the most significant script decision taken by Jackson and company; indeed, it was a stroke of genius. By expanding Arwen’s role, based faithfully on the back story outlined in the Appendices, the scripters greatly increased the Christian content; they added a strong metaphorical element which was only implied in Tolkien’s actual narrative. It makes me wish Tolkien had woven the details into the narrative instead of relegating them to the appendix.

Arwen’s Grace

A summary of the Arwen/Aragorn story arc will help clarify my thesis. The first hint of the subplot occurs in act one, before Arwen appears in the film. Beside a campfire, Aragorn softly sings a song about the legendary elfmaiden Luthien, who gave her love to the human Beren, thus relinquishing her immortality. Frodo asks whom the song is referring to; Aragorn’s response subtly indicates he is thinking of his own immortal lover. Arwen is introduced soon after, and rescues Frodo from the Black Riders; as his wound overcomes him, she prays: “What grace is given me, let it pass to him; let him be spared.” In Rivendell, Arwen gives Aragorn encouragement, renews her vow to ‘bind herself’ to him, and bestows her Evenstar jewel upon him. He goes off on the quest, after a somber parting.  

In act two, there is a flashback to Rivendell. The lovers share a tender moment; then Elrond exhorts Aragorn to give Arwen up, thereby allowing her to leave Middle-Earth and keep her immortality in the Undying Lands. Reluctantly, Aragorn breaks off the relationship; but she insists that he keep the Evenstar. Later, he is severely wounded in the warg attack. As he lies stricken, she materializes above him, conferring a blessing and a phantom kiss upon him. We hear her voice: “May the grace of the Valar protect you”; the Valar are the Ainur, the Holy Ones, the first creations of Tolkien’s Creator, Iluvatar – in other words, angels.  

Arwen’s Destiny

The scene switches to Rivendell. Arwen refuses to leave Imladris with the other elves, determined to be reunited with her lover. Elrond then tells her what will become of her after Aragorn meets his inevitable mortal end; in a vision of her future, Arwen sees herself mourning the passing of her beloved, as her father paints a devastating picture of the black-clad widow wandering desolate, alone in a barren forest. Arwen capitulates, and leaves Rivendell with the other elves.  

In act three, Arwen is heading through the forest with her elvish escort. She sees a vision of an older Aragorn embracing his young son, who is wearing her Evenstar jewel. She returns to Rivendell, and confronts Elrond about this alternate future; she chooses to stay in Middle-Earth, to bring her son into the world – and exhorts her father to reforge Narsil, the shattered blade that cut the Ring from Sauron’s hand 3,000 years before. Elrond sadly accepts her choice, comforts her and laments: “The life of the Eldar is leaving you.” Meanwhile, in his tent, Aragorn has a dream of the Evenstar being shattered.  

Elrond gives Aragorn a gift: Anduril, the reforged Sword of the King. He also gives him the sad tidings that Arwen is dying – her destiny now mysteriously tied to the fate of the One Ring. Aragorn later uses a palantir to confront Sauron – who shows him a vision of his dying lover; the Evenstar shatters, this time for real. Aragorn takes up Anduril, and goes to confront Sauron’s army at the Black Gate; the Ring, and Sauron, are destroyed. At Aragorn’s coronation, he is reunited with his lover. The reunion, while joyous, is rendered even more poignant by the bittersweet implications of Arwen’s new mortal status.

Love & Hope

In total, Arwen is onscreen a fairly small amount of time; but it feels much more substantial. Her appearances are paced just right, and her importance to Aragorn resonates throughout the film. Their story is heavily imbued with Christian meaning, as web critic Abercius has eloquently pointed out at CatholicQandA.com.  Aragorn is willing to sacrifice Arwen’s companionship to save her from a life of war and despair – loving her “as Christ loved the church, and gave Himself up for her.” Yet, he never totally gives up on his love for her, continuing to wear the Evenstar.

Indeed, he is the very embodiment of Christian hope, in Tolkien’s view; the author names him Elessar, which means ‘the Renewer’, and Estel, meaning ‘hope’.  While the film doesn’t clarify these ideas, Aragorn still embodies them. At Helm’s Deep, facing overwhelming odds, he tells a boy soldier: “There is always hope”; when all seems lost, he motivates Theoden to ride out and meet the enemy regardless; and his short rallying speech to the troops at the Black Gate is truly inspiring.

Ultimate Sacrifice

In her own way, Arwen is also a true Christ figure. She, too, humbles herself; and she also makes the ultimate sacrifice. She is free to go to the Undying Lands, but chooses not to – partly motivated by the vision of the child she could only have if she stays with Aragorn. She sacrifices her immortality to bring the child into existence. While her motivation is a combination of romantic love, and love for the child, the fact is that she lays her life down to save another’s life. What could be more quintessentially Christ-like?  

In some respects, Arwen is the purest element in the entire film, an embodiment of nobility, grace, loyalty and love. Her story adds extraordinary emotional and spiritual power to the film. By increasing her role, Jackson and his co-scripters actually improved on Tolkien in a profound way – and that is no mean feat.  

For Fanatics Only?  

Finally, here’s where we separate the elves from the dwarves. At the risk of being dismissed as a hopeless fanatic, I have to say that The Lord Of The Rings is best appreciated when it is watched in an all-day marathon; the story has greater immediacy, momentum and accumulative emotional impact. Some key elements resonate more intensely throughout the saga.  Indeed, watching the complete film in one sitting (with breaks for second breakfast and afternoon tea, of course!) greatly enhances one’s appreciation of some of the most important elements of this sprawling narrative.

These include: the evolution of the relationship between Frodo and Sam; Smeagol’s struggle against his alter-ego, Gollum, and his ultimate capitulation to evil; the growth of Merry and Pippin, from juvenile clowns to seasoned warriors; the dire significance of Frodo’s wound; the relationships between Denethor and his sons; Aragorn’s progress from uncertain exile to confident monarch; the weight of Arwen’s acceptance of mortality; Theoden’s evolution from slave of Saruman to courageous champion; Gandalf’s progression from lovable Grey bungler to imperious White commander; Frodo’s view of Smeagol, going from hatred to pity to mercy; the importance of the Shire as the hobbits’ idyllic refuge from the world; Eowyn’s progression from sheltered royal to shieldmaiden; and Frodo’s evolution from carefree and complacent hobbit to haunted, battle-scarred outsider.  

The shorter version is probably best for a day-long marathon, of course, simply because of the daunting length of the extended edition; but the latter is well worth devoting a day to, for the maximum experience. For the less venturesome, the film can also be split very nicely into two parts and viewed on consecutive days. In my opinion, it’s best to end part one after Saruman sends his army of Uruk-hai off to Helm’s Deep; and to begin part two with Merry and Pippin seeing Saruman’s army in the distance. A Galadriel monologue soon after that scene effectively encapsulates the key points of the story’s first half.

Missed Opportunity

After all is said and done, there’s only one thing Jackson could do to improve upon his work: release the full extended film worldwide as a big-screen special event – preferably in Imax theatres. The extended editions of Fellowship and Towers were given a brief theatrical run in 2003; but as far as I know, aside from a few limited presentations, the extended finale has never been widely shown to the public on the big screen internationally. Surely, this is a missed opportunity.

Now that he has gotten his King Kong remake, The Lovely Bones and The Adventures of Tintin out of his system, and especially since The Hobbit has finally become a reality, I hope Jackson may consider doing a big-screen edition of the complete Rings saga (maybe even a 3D version, if it is done properly). New Line Cinema would be wise to do it now that the complete Hobbit trilogy has run its course; indeed, I would love to see a special presentation of both trilogies in the theatres.

Supreme Masterpiece

Speaking of The Hobbit, much has been written about the supposed failure of Jackson to remain faithful to the book. I have to disagree with that assessment, and have done so at great length in my review (see link below). Personally, I think the Hobbit series is surpassed only by the Rings Trilogy, as a supreme work of fantasy. I can't think of any production unit that could have done a better job than Peter Jackson and his colleagues, and I am greatly looking forward to further flights of fancy from those quarters. It's fun to ponder how the Kiwi Wizard could possibly top himself.

We might dare hope that he and his team could someday tackle The Silmarillion. It is a rather unwieldy book, but a great film could be made by focusing on the creation myth of Iluvatar and the Ainur; the theft of the Silmarils; the villainy of Sauron’s mentor, Morgoth; the tragedy of Beren and Luthien; the cataclysmic destruction of Numenor; and Sauron’s defeat in the War of the Last Alliance. Tolkien’s Children Of Hurin would also make a fine film – albeit a rather gloomy one, but powerful nonetheless. However, considering the intransigence of the Tolkien Estate, it is highly unlikely Jackson would ever get the movie rights.

In conclusion: It is indeed no exaggeration to call The Lord Of The Rings a supreme masterpiece. While it has a few miniscule flaws, it is nevertheless one of the very greatest accomplishments in the history of film. It is highly doubtful that it could ever be surpassed as a spectacle. In my mind, the only thing that could conceivably trump it would be a faithful adaptation of the Book Of Revelation – done with the same state-of-the-art technology, craftsmanship and imagination, by someone with money willing to invest it. Is George Lucas listening? Just kidding! How about Spielberg?

For an archive of outstanding Rings-related videos, click here for the APPENDICES:

http://musemash.tumblr.com/post/181194210475/the-rings-trilogy-multi-facet-appendices-in

VINDICATING A SPLENDID HOBBIT'S TALE

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