#battle of the morannon

[autistook]

March 25th - Battle of the Morannon

[camille-lachenille]

Playlist for the 25th March

For the Battle of the Black Gate (T.A. 3019):

For the Oath of Eorl (T.A. 2510):

[tathrin]

6... on a falling tear and 38... because they're running out of time （＾ω＾）

Oh how lovely and tragic, very nice choices! Thank you very much for the ask. I'll split them up into two separate posts because I'm incapable of ever writing anything succinct though, sigh! Prompt taken from this; anyone can feel free to send other numbers in at any time, I don’t care how long it’s been. (Just maybe add some context to your ask if it’s been like a month or more since I posted this, because otherwise I won’t know what to do with the random number in my inbox lmao).

#38....because they’re running out of time. [mood music anyone?]

“Never thought I’d die as a diversion,” Gimli muttered, watching as Sauron’s army poured out of the Black Gates and surrounded the two small hills on which Aragorn had arrayed their forces.

Gimli could not count the teeming numbers of the enemy that stood before him—they were too many, too foul—but Legolas had the keen eyes of the elves, and he had told Gimli that their force of six thousand was outnumbered at least ten-to-one. They were not all orcs, either, which would have been bad enough; for surely each troll should be counted six or seven times at least.

The hills would help, Gimli thought numbly, at least a little; the incline would grant the defenders an advantage over the enemy that would have to scramble to climb up at them, and the slag pools of fetid Mordor that surrounded the low hillocks would be another impediment—but it would not be enough.

They had known it would not be enough even before they set out for the Black Gates, and they had all of them come anyway. Gimli did not regret his choice to follow his friends into doom, no; but that did not make the moment of the end any less bitter. And that moment was almost here, now; they were running out of time.

The enemy paused at the feet of the hills, hissing and cursing and some of them even spitting, and Gimli spun his axe to stretch his shoulders in anticipation of the battle to come.

He stood near the front, with Aragorn and Legolas and most of the mightiest of their fighters, where the attack would surely be the thickest. He eyed one lumbering troll that was pushing its way through the milling ranks of orcs, an ugly line of drool hanging off one side of its jaw where broken teeth distorted its already ugly grin into something macabre and ghoulish.

“Gimli,” Legolas said, standing so close beside him, his voice light with echoes of distant birdsong, and Gimli could feel himself smiling in instinctive response even as his heart twisted in sorrow at the thought of what was soon to come for them both. “Gimli,” Legolas said, “may I—I would ask a very great favor of you, my friend, if you would indulge me, please.”

“Of course,” Gimli said immediately. He turned to look up at the elf beside him, standing like a slender ray of sunlight in that bleak land, and tried to hide his breaking heart behind his smile. He could not imagine what sort of favor Legolas might ask at this late juncture—or if he could, then it was a favor that need not be spoken aloud, for Gimli had already vowed to himself that he would not allow the enemy to take this elf alive for torment when the battle ended and their defeat enfolded them.

“Anything, Legolas, you know that.”

Legolas gave a strange, half-choked laugh, and pressed his free hand to his face as though smother some strong feeling; with his other, of course, he held the mighty bow of the Galadhrim that the Lady had given him, and Gimli’s heart gave another pang at the thought of three golden strands tucked away safely behind white walls far away, waiting for a dwarf who would never return to reclaim them—but then Legolas moved, and Gimli’s eyes were drawn instead to tight golden braids that swayed before him as the slender Wood-elf suddenly swayed like a falling sapling and bent down close to Gimli’s face.

He caught Gimli’s bearded cheek with his hand and turned the dwarf’s face up to meet him, and then—oh, and then Legolas was kissing him and Gimli’s mind seemed to dissolve in a blaze of starlight. His whole world narrowed down to those smooth lips pressed so tight and hungry to his own; those long fingers twined so gently through his beard to cup his chin in their narrow palm; the brush of heavy golden braids against Gimli’s shoulders as Legolas bent low over him...

Belatedly, Gimli realized that he had reached up to press his hand to the elf’s face as well; he only noticed when the pad of his thumb brushed against the tip of one long pointed ear and Legolas’s breath hitched in both their mouths.

The drew apart, Legolas swaying back upright with a last lingering flutter of his fingers against Gimli’s beard before he pulled away. Gimli’s jaw worked soundlessly around words that would not come,his wide eyes fixed so fervently on the beautiful, beardless face before him that he almost forgot the stink of the orcs and the jeers of their ugly voices in his ears.

“Forgive me the liberty, I pray,” Legolas rasped. His mithril-bright eyes shimmered with unshed tears, in that moment looking suddenly so like the pool of the Mirrormere that Gimli almost felt as though he had been transported somehow back to the hills outside Khazad-dûm, and this desperate death at the doors of Mordor made into naught but a terrible dream.

But the creeping tendrils of fear that marked the approach of the Nazgûl was no dream; nor were the thundering steps of the trolls as they began to scale the hills, nor the shouts of the orcs as they struggled to follow. In moments, the enemy would be upon them. There was so much Gimli wanted, needed, to say; but they were running out of time.

“There is—there is nothing to forgive, Legolas,” he managed to croak.

“I am relieved to hear it,” Legolas replied. “For I could not bear to die without ever kissing you, Gimli.”

Gimli reached up for those golden braids and bright eyes again. “Legolas—!”

Legolas flashed him a brief, bright, heartbroken smile, and then turned away to face the enemy as the orcs rushed towards them. Gimli raised his axe more out of habit than intention and stepped up beside the elf. “Legolas...” he tried again, but his head was reeling and he could not find the words he wished to craft; they all slipped through his mental fingers, like he was trying to scoop cave-cold water with naught but his bare hands.

Then the first troll reached them, bellowing as it knocked three soldiers of Gondor off their feet to tumble down the hill towards the waiting blades of the orcs below. Gimli growled and gripped his axe, and then suddenly Legolas was scaling the troll, blasted fool of an elf that he was!

“Legolas!” Gimli shouted again, and raced to follow him into the fight.

The troll was too slow to catch the nimble elf, but its attempts to do so blunted its attention to the axe in Gimli’s hand as he hacked at its knees. The creature roared belatedly in anger, even as thick blood wept down its legs. It reached down to try and swat Gimli away, and Legolas scampered across its shoulders and drove his long knife in deep into the troll’s eye. Even that was not enough to kill the beast, but when two Rohirrim came up with long spears the troll was too woozy with pain and blood-loss to bat the weapons away from its throat.

It went down with a thud and a cry of rage rose from the orcs in response. Legolas skipped away from the body and landed on the ground again at Gimli’s side. Shaking with fear, anger, and adrenaline, Gimli caught him by the wrist and gave the elf a shake. “Don’t do that again!” he shouted. “You’re going to get yourself killed!”

Legolas laughed, fey and unfettered, his merriment as sharp and keen as his arrows. He slashed his knife through the throat of a climbing orc and twisted easily away from the resulting spray of black blood. “Gimli, we are all going to die here,” he said, wiping the blade clean on the skirt of his tunic before sheathing it and drawing his bow once more. “Put aside your fears, my dear; we have moved beyond that now. All that is left to us is to make our deaths worthy of those that came before us, and to sell our lives dearly enough that we might hope to buy enough time for others to save all those who may come after from this Shadow.”

His arrows flew true, burying themselves in throats and eyes and black-blooded hearts even as he looked back at the dwarf more often than he did at the oncoming orcs. In Legolas’s eyes, Gimli could see the glimmer of all the years together they would never have; could see the crumbling eternity of an immortal life cut short and the unscalable chasm that lay forever between the fates of elves and dwarves, sundering them from one another for all time even unto the breaking of the world.

This, he realized, was all the time they were ever going to have.

Tears stung his eyes, hot and bitter. It was not enough. It would never, ever be enough—and it did not matter, because there was no more to be had.

Gimli shook his head, swallowing down the urge to weep; he had to focus on the orcs. There were too many coming up the sides of the hill now, too fierce; it was all Gimli could do to swing his axe in time to block their blows and cut them down. It was all he could do to keep close to Legolas’s side, the elf now reduced to fighting with nothing but his long white knife. There were maybe half a handful of arrows in his quiver yet, but even elvish speed was insufficient to allow for proper archery at sight a tight distance in this tumult.

Oh, why had Gimli not seen to it that his elf was better armed before they rode off to this final battle? Legolas was deadly with that little knife, yes, but oh it seemed so short in his long fingers. Why had Gimli not sought the armories of Gondor, and borrowed some mightier blade for his friend? Why had he not sought the forges, and made him one to suit his lanky frame?

He was such a fool. What had he been wasting his time on instead, when he could have—should have—been seeing to Legolas’s safety?

When he could have been kissing him?

Gimli growled, and swung his axe harder, and watched one burly uruk go down gurgling and clutching at its guts. Gimli swung again, and its head toppled free and he could turn to the next enemy, the next threat. Beside him, Legolas whirled and slashed in a flurry of golden braids and a black-blooded blade. He lunged over Gimli’s head to slit the throat of an orc that was angling a spear towards Gimli’s ribs as Gimli kicked-out low and took the feet out from under another orc that had managed to get a grimy hand around one of those bright braids.

“Away from him!” Gimli bellowed, and the orc feel back squealing over the stump of its arm. Gimli stepped closer to the elf—his elf—and they ended up fighting back-to-back, or back-to-shoulders at least; their disparate heights should have made them terrible battle-partners, but it was so easy to fall into a rhythm with Legolas, a balancing of their skills and statures. Legolas spun high with his short knife and Gimli swung low with his broad axe, and the enemy gave way before them.

But more came, replacing those that fell. Always more came, and the fight went on. Gimli could feel his limbs tiring, his bones aching from the weight of his blade and the blows that had glanced off his mail. A dozen small cuts he could not remember taking bled sluggishly, adding a dull sheen of red to the viscous black liquid that splattered his armor and his skin.

More came, and the Nazgûl followed, and all around them men shrieked and cowered beneath that mindless fear. Gimli fought on, so numb with grief that he barely startled at the cry that the eagles had come. That felt unreal, like something out of some other story; one that had a better ending than theirs. Despair rolled thick across the Host of the West and even Gimli, stout-hearted dwarf that he was, faltered for a moment before it—

And then Legolas laughed.

There was nothing merry in that sound, and the only brightness was the sharp brightness of a pale blade flashing out of the shadows of tall black trees. It was a laugh full of teeth, and claws, and all the dark and dangerous things that lurk within a wood. It was the sort of laugh that would send wise folk fleeing for strong walls and sturdy doors; the sort of laugh that might send children shivering to hide under their beds and wait for dawn. It was the laugh of a wild thing, untamed and dangerous, and it rang out light and sharp-edged above the gutteral shouts and screams of the orcs and the roaring bellows of the trolls.

Legolas laughed, and Gimli smiled to hear it. He lifted his head high against the weight of Mordor’s bleak despair and raised his axe high once more. Legolas was right; there was no longer any cause for fear. They had faced the end already, and the end was here; there was no sense cowering before it. Better to stand tall, and die fighting proud and unbowed, defying the power of the Dark Lord to the last.

And then—and then, on the other side of fear, after all hope seemed so long lost it was little more than a memory, everything changed.

The Nazguûl fled; the army crumbled; the towers fell.

Sauron was destroyed. And they had lived.

They lived.

Gimli could hardly process it. He turned to Legolas, still at his side, the both of them weary and blood-stained and heartsick from the tangled mingling of hope and despair, and he opened his mouth to speak—but no words came out.

He saw all their tomorrows flow suddenly back into Legolas’s bright eyes and the elf swayed, as though the sudden lifting of the Shadow had left him unsteady on his light feet. Gimli caught his hand and held him steady.

“Legolas—” Gimli began.

“Tomorrow,” Legolas interrupted him with a smile. “Let us help the wounded now, Gimli; we will talk on other things tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Gimli said, rolling the taste of the word around in his mouth; rolling the feel of it around in his mind. “Yes,” he said. “Tomorrow. To think that there will be such a thing!” He laughed from bewildered joy and squeezed his elf’s hand once, tightly, before letting go and turning back to the grim battlefield. “Tomorrow. We will talk on all things then.”

Legolas bent and pressed a light kiss to Gimli’s cheek. “Tomorrow,” he said again, the word heavy with promise, and then they walked off together into the carnage of hopes renewed and deaths well-fought.

“Tomorrow,” Gimli murmured once more to himself, and there on the bloodstained soil of the Black Land, he smiled.

[rannadylin]

Bat-signaling the Eagles with the Phial of Galadriel! 100% the best game ever.

[elgaladwen]

The best place to be.

[dunadaan]

I’ve had Créa for almost 10 years and I’m thinking about how I almost never let her live until like. 2020 LOL. I spent six years killing her off bc I couldn’t conceive a happy ending for her and now I’m like nah she gets to live and be happy

[silmarillion-ways-to-die]

If Gandalf instead of Aragorn had been in charge at the Battle of the Black Gate:

Orc: Excuse me, oh Dark Lord?

Sauron: What is it???

Orc: There's someone to see you at the Morannon.

Sauron: Is it the Armies of the Free Peoples of the West, bringing me my One Ring?

Orc: No, Lord. It's two dwarves. They say they've come for tea.

[from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras]

While we’re all marking the battle at the Morannon and the destruction of the ring today, let us not forget that March 25 is ALSO the day that Borondir, the messenger of Cirion, first reached Eorl and his people back in T.A. 2510 to ask for the help of the Éothéod in driving invaders out of Gondor.

Of course, when Gondor called for aid, (proto) Rohan answered, and we eventually got the Oath of Eorl and the founding of Rohan and the start of 500 years of steadfast allies and friends. So this is a momentous day for all of Middle Earth, but especially for the Rohirrim and, as a huge Rohan partisan, I will be celebrating it as such.

[velvet4510]

The scene at the Grey Havens has so much unsaid. Sam does not detail everything that they all said to each other before the ship departed. While I don’t hate the total silence depicted in the films, it’s much more likely and realistic that the hobbits and Gandalf did have much to say to each other, which Sam chose to keep private and out of the record.

I headcanon that Pippin must’ve needed a moment to say goodbye to Gandalf, too. He really grew closest to Gandalf out of all the hobbits besides Frodo. A sizable chunk of the story focuses on the two of them in Gondor. While Pippin often annoys Gandalf throughout the story, it is clear that there is always affection there. Then it was their teamwork that saved Faramir. Gandalf especially must’ve really admired Pippin for his bravery and maturity during the siege and the Morannon battle.

I imagine while Frodo was hugging Merry goodbye, and Sam stood aside crying, Pippin asked if Gandalf really had to go, prompting Gandalf to confirm his time really was over. (Billy Boyd says a moment similar to this was filmed for but cut from the movie.)

Then Pippin lowered his head in tears. Gandalf touched Pippin’s chin, gently raised it to allow their eyes to meet, and tenderly said with a smile, “Farewell, fool of a Took.” And Pippin couldn’t help but smile at that.

[tolkienosaurus]

Only the deeds written here count, Frodo not included because he would sweep.

[themoonlily]

weird Éothiriel AU:

Elphir, Erchirion and Amrothos all die either in the Battle of Pelennor fields or in the Battle of Morannon. (A great tragedy, obviously.)

In this version Elphir does not have an heir (Alphros).

Lothíriel at this time is already betrothed to marry the heir of Rohan (which recently was Théodred but is now Éomer).

There is too great political pressure for the union of Rohan and Dol Amroth and Éomer and Lothíriel take an instant liking to one another, so the marriage goes through even though Lothíriel is now Imrahil's sole heir and is sorely needed at home.

Éomer and Lothíriel are married and they have a brief happy time together in Rohan as king and queen.

Imrahil is so devastated by his loss that he gives up power, setting Lothíriel up as a regent.

Difficulties arise as Éomer and Lothíriel attempt to balance their duties between his kingdom and her fiefdom.

Thanks to Aragorn's passage through the Paths of the Dead, the road is now open, allowing swifter travel between Rohan and Dol Amroth - and Éomer and Lothíriel travelling between their two realms.

Political intrigue about Éomer being the princely consort in Dol Amroth, and Lothíriel being the royal consort in Rohan.

Also political intrigue about the fact that the father of future Princes of Dol Amroth is not pure-blooded Númenórean (despite the fact his grandmother is Morwen Steelsheen).

The friendship that is build upon horsemanship of the two realms.

Eventually Rohan and Dol Amroth become an insane powerhouse in Middle-earth, creating the greatest cavalry that ever existed.

[a-lonely-dunedain]

“It was nice not sleeping alone” or “do you want to keep the light on?” for Ethedis and Corunir?

Ok finally getting around to this! Going with the first option here :3 I think this made a nice warmup after not writing in like, months probably. Gosh I feel so rusty…. Anyway! Here’s Ethedis, local exhausted party healer, finally getting A Break post Morannon (and Corunir doing what Corunir does best and being Worried about Eth)

Ethedis was sad to find that she had grown accustomed to sleeping alone.

The time since her departure from the Grey Company had been a blur to her, an anxious, desperate, and terribly lonely blur. Amidst it all she did not notice— or at least tried not to notice— the ache in her heart at Corunir and the rest of her friends' absence. But it was still there, always most noticeable in the quiet of the night when she had little else to distract her.

She made new friends in that time of course, Horn, Nona, Corudan… (who she prays are alright, wherever they are) but even they could not stop the gnawing pain in her heart, the fear that the world was ending and neither her best friend nor her beloved would be at her side for it.

Thankfully, despite her fears, she was reunited with Tossdir and Corunir before what seemed to be the end of all things. The battle of the Pelenor passed, and somehow, though it still seems hard to believe, the Morannon passed also. It was over, the war was won.

She was gravely injured near the end of the fighting, though she barely remembers it (perhaps that is for the best), and Corunir has hardly left her side since then. He almost seemed afraid to, scared that if he left her for even a moment she would be torn away from him again, as had happened so many times before. Ethedis hated to see him so worried, and she especially hated to be the cause of it, but also couldn’t help but be grateful for his constant doting. It would be a while yet before the healers released her, so the company was much needed.

It’s late into the night now, her room is lit only in shades of silvery blue and grey in the moonlight shining through her open window, she guesses she should be sleeping instead of lying awake reflecting. Her eyes fall to Corunir beside her, his head buried in his arms atop her blankets, breathing deep and slow. He'd fallen asleep like that a little while ago, the same as he had every night since coming to the Houses of Healing. She gently places her hand on his arm, just needing to feel that he’s there, he’s alive. The touch doesn't wake him, despite the fact that he’s normally a rather light sleeper. He must be exhausted.

Part of her wishes he would go sleep in a proper bed for his own sake, he probably hasn’t had a good night’s rest in months, but she couldn’t bring herself to ask him to leave. Truth be told, she needed him there, probably more than he realized.

She had grown used to being the one caring for others, always worrying about keeping her friends from falling into despair or even just keeping them alive, giving little thought to herself. She was getting used to sleeping alone, to being alone.

It’s different now though, the warmth of his arm under her hand confirmed it. She isn’t alone anymore, Corunir is here and understands her struggles better than anyone. He’s here and it would take nothing short of an intervention from the Valar to tear him away from her again. He and the other healers will see to it that she is well taken care of, and for the first time in almost a year she finds she has very little to be worried about; and the few things she does have to worry about do not seem so daunting as long as he’s here.

She breathes a deep, contented sigh, her eyelids are starting to feel heavy. It isn’t long before they slip closed and she joins Corunir in much needed slumber, secure in the knowledge that they will still be together when she awakes.

It was nice not sleeping alone.

[nothinghereisworking]

‘Orcs Are People' Fic Collection

Of Melkor and the Creation of Orcs

Rated: G Category: Gen Characters: Iluvatar, Melkor Wordcount: 650

To Melkor among the Ainur had been given the greatest gifts of power and knowledge, and he had a share in all the gifts of his brethren. He had gone often alone into the void places seeking the Imperishable Flame; for desire grew hot within him to bring into Being things of his own, and it seemed to him that Ilúvatar took no thought for the Void, and he was impatient of its emptiness…

…for Aulë was most like [Melkor] in thought and in powers; The Silmarillion - JRR Tolkien

Stimp Stamp Mud Shluck

Rated: G Category: Gen Characters: Original Orc Characters Wordcount: 913

In a valley among the foothills of the mountains, below the springs of Thalos, [Finrod] saw lights in the evening, and far off he heard the sound of song. … At first he feared that a raid of Orcs had passed the leaguer of the North,… for the singers used a tongue that he had not heard before, neither that of Dwarves nor of Orcs.

The Silmarillion - JRR Tolkien

Inspired by @papayanna ‘s post here - Orcs sang!

No Dreams In Darkness

Rated: T (Some gruesome content) Category: Gen Characters: Original Orc Character Wordcount:  2,354

An Orc of Morgoth - just one of the many masses that were bred for war and slaughter.  But what happens when an idea of self beyond that of slave begins to form?

_____________________________________________________________

‘Orcs are People’ Other People’s Fics

A Thoughtful Orc by MirienSilowende @miriensilowende

Rated: G Category: Gen Characters:  Original Orc Character(s) Wordcount:   545

Lugrub was one of the few Orcs who survived the Battle outside Morannon when the Evil Eye of Sauron fell in TA 3019. He fled the battle, planning to strike out on his own.

The Sea of Nurnen is the only inland sea in Mordor, and it was fertile enough to produce crops. Sauron kept slaves in the fields there. Later Aragorn would give the land to the inhabitants as their own when he freed the slaves.

This was a short written for the April Tolkien Challenge and the prompt was Orc.

Death of an Orc by Himring @hhimring

Rated: T Category: Gen Characters: Maglor, Original Orc Character(s) Wordcount:  1,233

Sometime in the Fourth Age, Maglor, wandering along the shore, comes across a dying orc. This leads him to question some of his beliefs and reconsider earlier experiences.

And Now For Something Completely Different... by Grundy @grundyscribbling

Rated: Adult Characters: Original Orc Character(s), Elladan, Elrohir Wordcount: 6,283

The world changed when Sauron fell. Orcs have to adapt to survive, and the elves may have to try new things too.

[autistook]

If you could spare one LotR character from their canonical death, who would it be, and why? How would you have them contribute to the rest of the story if they survived?

I would love to answer Boromir, but I feel like his death is important for the whole story. It really shows how cruel the world is and how powerful the Ring is.

If we ignore the Ring impacting him, Boromir would have defended Minas Tirith wonderfully and probably have died there instead of Théoden or something along those lines.

I think Théoden is my second choice. His death was very important to the story as well, but I would have loved to see him and the way his ruling would have happened after the Ring was destroyed.

I feel like Théoden would have done a lot in the Battle of the Morannon.

Idk, tough question 😭 Balin's death was in vain as well.

[catofadifferentcolor]

Terrible Fic Ideas #20: LotR, but make it First Age!Legolas

I've been slowly falling back into the LotR fandom and I have to say that, although there is a lot to recommend the idea of Legolas being one of the youngest elves we come across in the series, I personally love the idea of him being one of the oldest - older, in fact, that Elrond himself.

Hear me out:

We have absolutely no idea how old Legolas is in canon. All we know for certain is that his father, Thranduil, was born and lived for at least a few years in Doriath before the Second Kinslaying in the winter of 506 FA.

This could mean that Thranduil was just a child at the time, but I love the idea that he was a young adult of no more than 500, because that would make him old enough to have 1) a child fight and die in the Sack as a young recruit in the city guard, and 2) for his wife to give birth to Legolas literally as they're fleeing the destruction. (After all, Legolas, green leaf, sounds like something you'd name an elf child in the immediate aftermath of tragedy - the elven version of hope.)

So this gives a Legolas born in the ashes of Doriath, whose day of birth was the day his older sibling (and possibly a great deal of extended family) died, 26 years before Elrond and Elros are born.

This Legolas would also, perhaps, have been old enough to fight in the War of Wrath. He would have lived through the rise of Sauron and the forging of the rings of power, fought at the Battle of Dagorlad and seen his grandfather Oropher (and who knows how many other kin) die, seen the Wizards come to Middle Earth in 1000 TA, and Sauron take up residence in what had once been his grandfather's capital.

The upshot of all of this is, at the Council of Elrond, Legolas would be roughly 6544 and been part and party to all of the same major events as his host, albeit in a somewhat more minor role.

This changes very little, except the entire Fellowship is peppered with these comments that make everyone wonder. The slight digs he makes about famous Nodor elves? Just the traditional animosity of the Wood Elves towards them and absolutely not the result of Legolas having known them in life. Celeborn says something about greeting his young kinsman? The rest of the Fellowship never hears the I'm only twenty years younger than you and that stopped being funny after our third millennia that follows. Legolas occasionally talks about famous historical places and events like he was actually there? That's just the way of elves.

I'm an inveterate Legolas/Gimli stan, so I imagine that as their relationship develops Gimli comes to understand just how much this seemingly young elf has actually lived through, but nobody else does. Not until the conclusion of Battle of Morannon does anyone know the truth - and even then his comment of "it makes a nice change to leave this battlefield without leaving so many kin upon it" is misinterpreted until he goes on to mention something only someone who had been there would know.

The revelation is a bit of a shock, because how is the knowledge that the elf you thought was a couple hundred years old at most is older than Elrond not be a shock? But, again, it doesn't change much.

Except the dynamics of Legolas and Gimli's relationship, because how can it not when Legolas was born in the ashes of a city sacked by dwarves? When Legolas himself has seen the rise and fall of Moria? Rather than overcoming inherited racism their relationship becomes one of I have seen the best and worst Middle Earth has to offer and choose to love you.

Bonuses include 1) Legolas saying some things that really only make sense if he was an older elf, but the rest of the Fellowship running rings to explain them away because there's no way in their minds this particular elf is even 500, 2) Gandalf knowing of the misunderstanding and encouraging it because it's harmless mischief, 3) Legolas being really unimpressed by most of the major figures in Middle Earth history as only someone who knew them as a moody teenager can be.

And that's really all I have. Feel free to use the idea, just let me know if you ever do.

NB: I've expanded upon this idea somewhat here.

Other Legolas Headcanons: First Age | Second Age | Third Age | Half-Maia | Half-Elven

More Terrible Fic Ideas

[masterelrond]

Just realised I never posted my screenshots about the battle at the Morannon!!!