#corunir

[a-lonely-dunedain]

looking respectfully

[corunir]

*makes this pop up in your status effects*

*it won't go away*

[lotro-quest-objectives]

Give Corunir a big Hug

[poetry-draws]

Go go Regular Rangers! Mighty, Moving, Regular Rangers!

@isi7140's machination :P

[thelordofgifs]

Obscure Tolkien Blorbo: Round 1

Corunir vs Elulindo

Corunir:

Ranger of the North; part of Golodir's company. Waited for his trapped friends for years (Lord of the Rings Online character)

he's a ranger of the north who followed his captain to angmar despite aragorn very specifically telling them 'hey, angmar's super dangerous, Do Not'. most of his friends got stuck and/or killed by some haunted statues, and he kept trying to cross the statues to go help them (failed many times til they almost killed him) and just waited for them on the other side for years before he managed to get a message back to the rest of the rangers. love his friends So Much and will not stop following them into stupid dangerous situations

Canonically the ranger who would give the best hugs

he's loyal to a fault, staying behind (alone) in the dread-realm of Angmar just desperately hoping for word from his captain. He couldn't make it further east to where Golodir was because of a valley of powerful watching stones that killed like half of their company when they passed through them the first time. Corunir was trapped on the west side while the survivors made it east, but kept trying to pass them for years and years "until my very spirit was broken within me" as he puts it. like. dude. this poor guy! he kept throwing himself at the valley of death-statues for years and he somehow survived. he was broken by it but he did it out of that stubborn loyalty, because "I could not abandon my captain" :( he just wants his friends to be ok!!! I'm literally so normal about him. also he's somewhere on the aroace spectrum. this is canon probably dude just trust me. we love an aroace-spec king

Elulindo:

Elulindo was the son of the Teleri king Elwë, whose name was later changed to Olwë.

HE'S SILLY. he's olwe's son. he's earwen's older brother. he's one of the reasons finarfin loved alqualonde so much (love grew between finarfin and the sons of olwe!!!). no mention in published canon means you can grab him and do literally anything, the world is your oyster

Round 1 masterpost

[hallothere]

this is apropos of nothing, but it is adjacent to the Golodir brainwashing AU.

it does go into a little detail on the setup, but this is a branch of a sarc au focused around the Horrible Canonless Potion called Mindcoil, which lets the party administering it control the mind of their poisonee. in this au, Golodir was under said evil influence during his stay in Carn Dum, was subsequently freed, further subsequently re-exposed just prior to the Grey Host's jaunt through Gondor, and re-freed after the battle of the Pelennor. this fic takes off in the Tower of Barad Curon, where Corunir finds himself (and soon, Golodir) prisoners of Gothmog

enjoy

Corunir sat on the top step of the dais as calmly as he was able. There was to be a tournament in the tower of Barad Curon, and the stage was set. Every single aspect of this trial of arms had been calculated. The weapons, the fighters, the stakes, the decor, the level of dust allowed to keep coating the floor- Gothmog had factored all of the random variables, and engineered some for his own ends.

It became obvious from the moment Corunir had woken up in a strange room. Instead of the traditional slime-covered walls, barred doors, and corpses for company, he had found his prison lavish, if dusty. A single bed sat in a large room with windows so high up on the ceiling he doubted they could be opened or closed by human hands. There was a cabinet and set of shelves on every wall, some with tables and the remains of paper, glass containers, and shreds of wood he couldn't guess the purpose of.

But he did recognize the room. That had been calculated. It was similar to another room, one he'd last seen Golodir in. High, warm walls, comfortable beds, the implements of healing. People. Chatter. There was always the smell of herbs and soothing tinctures in the air. The sound of flowing water.

This room was a tomb. Corunir clenched his jaw hard and stared at the cover of an ancient olia that stretched over most of the floor. These had been the healing halls of Minas Ithil. One corner of the cover was slightly askew, and there was no dust on it. He was meant to look. At all costs, he must not.

Gothmog may have made a fatal error there. His knowledge of Corunir was limited, and his calculations off. He knew only of the steadfast follower, the one too stubborn in the face of horrors beyond comprehension. With the palantir that had once lived in the halls of Carn Dum, he was familiar with the young man undone by the sight of his fellows lying dead in the grip of the Rammas Deluon.

He did not know Corunir very well at all.

The room had not been emptied, with purpose, and now Corunir bent that tactic to his own ends. There remained here more than remains. That would be the wraith's undoing.

Now, he sat perfectly still on the top step of the dais. Gothmog had dressed the scene well- Corunir would give him that. He had been divested of his armor and boots, allowed only tunic and trousers to attend the duel in. He'd been dragged through the city once already, and still found cobwebs and white patches of dust all over. Between the condition of his clothes and the manacles, it spelled a message just for Golodir: He is ours, he is helpless, and the outcome you desire rests in our hands.

Perfect nonsense. Smoke and mirrors. Corunir, in his own act of defiance, had scrubbed his face clean and put his hair back as neatly as he could. Gothmog underestimated him. He was no pawn, not in this game. He was moving pieces of his own, and unfortunately they were both in silent contest over who would be moving Golodir.

The mindcoil was the most prominent factor. It was a newer potion in the grand scheme of things- five hundred years of refinement and only a few decades worth of scholarly materials on how it could be undone. Corunir had been under the effects just once, and at a lower dose. He had felt muddled, compelled but not wholly under the command of the loudest voice. It did not entrance him completely, but it still drew out his complete obedience.

Corunir had worked from his despair in Aughaire on the antidote until he had the weapon, if not the means to wield it. On days where he was too weak to stand, he would pour over herbs and distillations. When he had his strength, he found stories from the Trev Gallorg, sometimes even venturing to Angmarim encampments to steal a tome or a sample. Even before he broke the Rammas, he broke the power of mindcoil in secret. A cure guarded jealously from the enemy was one they would not know to prepare against. Mindcoil was no longer the Iron Crown's ultimate weapon.

But Golodir had been in its thrall for years, puppeted by Mordirith in the halls of Carn Dum. Once ensorceled so deeply, his freedom hung more precariously than Corunir's. It had been taken in Rohan once already. Golodir had been well, of sound mind and decent enough condition, all things considered, when he had been snatched from them in secret. Dagoras had nearly died retaking him. He'd accepted the risk for kin he so loved.

Last Corunir had known, Golodir recovered alongside his longsuffering cousin in Minas Tirith. The fact that he was here, now, meant this struggle coming to its natural conclusion. Corunir was ready.

Golodir was brought forth in short order. Staged as he was, Corunir still held his head high and nodded to his captain- his friend- with all the courage in him. He would need a show of strength from both of them for this to work. Golodir, at least, was armed and armored. The mail looked solid, if old, and he had been given a clean blade as well as every scrap of plate or leather he could wish. They were arranged in a familiar configuration, with similar pieces to what he usually carried. Golodir had been allowed to choose, then. Corunir's brow darkened at the sight of the tabard of Minas Ithil with a hole- dark and stained- right over the heart. He would have to live with it.

"Here he is-" Gothmog's voice grated over the stone floor as he rose from the throne, "-my Champion. The Red Knight of Carn Dum, deserter of the Iron Crown."

"I am none of those, Mordirith." Golodir challenged. Corunir's heart soared. It was not too late! "Golodir of the Dunedain am I, and I come to remove you from a throne unlawfully taken."

Corunir fought down a smirk. Fury rolled over the room like a wave as Golodir's barb hit home. He was no pawn either. Three could play at this game.

"You accept my terms, then?" The voice took on a silkier air, forced as it was, as Gothmog pushed past the blow well-struck. "I am to win the city, your service, and your boy-" Here, Golodir couldn't stop his eyes from flicking towards Corunir, "-uncontested?"

Corunir waited expectantly for Golodir to bristle and say "And the lot to me when I win", only, his answer was not immediate.

"The first I have no claim over." Golodir stood rock-steady, looking every bit the knight. Quite suddenly, Corunir had doubts, and not the kind he anticipated either.

"The second is not mine to give freely, though it may be taken." One of his hands rested on the pommel of his borrowed sword, secured about his waist. It tightened fiercely. "And the third you will not have as long as I draw breath."

He almost laughed as several of his fears disappeared, unfounded. Golodir was of his own mind and undaunted. While he was forced to play this game as well, he was not lost in it. Not confined to it.

"But, I will abide by all terms as far as I can in my honor. Though... I have no assurances you will do the same." That was true enough. To what degree Gothmog sought to reject any semblance of Earnur, they did not know. If a new mantle and a new name meant new capacity for deceit, only time would tell.

"I stand by those terms as well, Golodir." The tone was ice, skating along the veneer of protocol and chivalry. Corunir could feel watching eyes on his back. "Your squire may attend you, and then our contest will begin."

Corunir waited for Golodir's nod, then got up and hurried over. It was time for his final preparations. Instead of maintaining an air of calm as he had before, Corunir threw himself into Golodir's arms and grabbed his tabard with both hands. Golodir, shocked but ever attentive, wrapped his arms around Corunir in response.

"Corunir," he said, relief mingling with worry, "do not be afraid. There is still hope, don't lose your nerve."

"I have not." Corunir whispered. "But if he thinks I have, and have startled you, all is the better. I come bearing gifts." Golodir would not be able to feel so fine a movement through mail and plate, but Corunir uncurled one hand hidden between them.

"Take this," he breathed, "and eat it in secret. Put a hand to your mouth when I leave, pretend to cry, do whatever you must. And worry not for me! I have had some already. Mordirith will play us false, but he doesn't know all that I do."

Golodir didn't respond, but stepped back to take both of Corunir's hands in his. The sachet passed between them easily.

"I thought you'd already made acceptance with our meal in the city." Golodir said, eyes too full of emotion to catch just one, "Though I do appreciate it, son."

"Would not a dutiful son do all he can?" Corunir smiled grimly. "If he thinks me your son by blood, I'll not dissuade him. Though if I wish to hold a meal for you, you can't stop me."

Golodir chuckled. "He returns. Try not to do anything rash, whatever may come. I'll not lose son and Captain both today."

"It will come to neither." Corunir's heart sank a little at the proclamation. He had laid his plans, but the mindcoil of Minas Morgul might be stronger than he knew. It would not sway Golodir into Mordirith's command once more, but it might leave him confused and Corunir in charge.

"Let us hope you stay the captain. I have no love for command." He felt the presence of the wraith looming near, steeled himself, and began his act anew. "He will not frighten me! I will stay strong for you, father!"

As he was pulled away, he saw Golodir turn and put a hand to his face. Father though he may be by heart, it was never Corunir's habit to address him such. In this, he would know all was well and the scheme was alive. Now, the empty sachet lay abandoned on the floor. Corunir smiled. Even if that acrid scent filled the air, and the potion's fumes soaked the room, they had their defense.

Gothmog had underestimated him. It would never pay to trap such a prisoner in the herb stores of Minas Ithil. Whatever the trial, he and Golodir would face it with their minds free.

[find-the-path]

Fun wip game!

Fires in the North - Lord of the Rings Online fic centered on Aderthor & Corunir in Angmar, a region dominated by the False-king and blocked off from the rest of Eriador. Amathan & Lastadron crash the party from the North Downs by getting past the Ram Dúath barricade, and the four of them travel deeper into Angmar in search of the Lost Company. Aderthor, Amathan, and Lastadron are all OCs, and the first two are long-lost brothers. Corunir is a character from LOTRO.

lighter the more it gets dark - Star Wars Prequel/Original fic starring post-Order 66 Feemor and the gaggle of kids he got out of the Temple. Kids are all OCs.

The tower of Ages - Lord of the Rings/LOTRO fic. Lehtion follows Eldacar from Rhovanion to Gondor, particularly Calenardhon, during the Kinstrife. Centuries later during the War of the Ring, Lehtion returns to Calenardhon and finds a nation of horse-lords sprung up in his absence, along with a foolhardy minstrel who has decided to be a hero. Lehtion & Aharan are both OCs.

Demonstrably Haunted - LOTRO short fic, feat. the Rangers of Ithilien fooling the orcs that the ruins of Haerondir are infested with ghosts with tricks and eerie-sounding horns. And then they acquire a ghost. No OCs.

"kick-in-the-pants" writer's game!

Rules:

Reblog this post and put the names/working titles of your wips in either the tags or your reblog. (You may add a brief bio/ship name/any other info if desired)

Your followers can send you the name of one of the wips in an ask, and are welcomed and encouraged to send multiple.

For each wip title you recieve, work for a five minute sprint on writing that wip!

Respond to their ask with one of your favorite lines you wrote during that sprint!

(to encourage community spirit, it is suggested to send an ask to the person you reblogged it from, and whoever reblogs it from you)

[lotro-tooltips-daily]

if you take submissions, may I offer my favorite status effect in the game? (he's worried)

Yes!

[find-the-path]

Fires in the North! You had my attention at the word “Corunir”

(for this ask game)

It is probably the oldest of the wips I mentioned, but is very loose for now as I haven't been focusing on writing this year as much as past ones. Structure is the problem with it now, so that was what I worked on for the sprint. Here's a snippet :D

The dwarves’ camp sat atop an outcrop of Nan Gurth, set between two Iron Crown roads that never bothered to investigate the lonesome-looking cliff. On one side, the swamps of Imlad Balchorth lay beyond a sickly sweet-smelling fog. On the other, sheer darkness blended with the black stoniness of Angmar.

The dwarves had named it Myrkworth, in honor of the view.

[loremastering]

narmeleths won the poll! thanks to those who voted for helping me decide <3 

[sweetearthandnorthernsky]

29, 55, 84? :D

29. Stars, 55. Silence, 84. Shout

So! Spoilers for Chapter 14 of Minas Morgul and also it's. really long so it's going under a cut lmao.

Barad Curon shines in the starlight, and Saelinriel gazes up at it – melancholy aching in her chest. Even taken and corrupted by the Enemy, it’s still beautiful.

Karazgar’s mask is heavy in her hand, and she passes it to Morinel, who nods, slipping it onto her face.

“This ends tonight,” Saelinriel says, and pushes open the doors.

Morinel plays her part well, shepherding her and Culang before Gothmog - as Idhrin creeps through the shadows to hide behind a pillar, and 'flees' and shuts the doors with a bang that echoes up to the throne room.

Saelinriel squares her shoulders as Gothmog laughs once while he comes down the stairs of the dais, appearing from the shadows with unnecessary flare and dramatics that she's come to expect from him.

“I did not expect you to be so bold!” 

He wears the guise of Mordirith here and a laugh, born of an emotion she doesn’t know the name of, bubbles into her throat.

“Then you do not know me as well as I thought you did. A pity, considering how long we've known each other.”

Gothmog's illusions are stronger somehow than they once were, and it takes every ounce of strength she has, even with Culang's help. 

Saelinriel thinks it might be over when Gothmog crumples to the ground, but his body melts and he climbs down from the dais again – blue flame on his pauldrons –  laughing as he raises his hands. 

Then, he brings them down with a percussive movement, and fire leaps up from spots in the tiled floor.  

Saelinriel only just has time to pull Culang away from a geyser of flame, when they have to move again, and again. She’s getting dizzy by now, and she doesn’t want to think about what would happen if either of them falters. 

Lightning arcs from the wings, and she feels a wave of relief wash over her. Morinel has returned, just in time -- Saelinriel and Culang are tiring, and she doesn't know how much longer they could've managed. 

On that signal, Idhrin looses arrow after arrow, but they bounce off the wraith’s iron crown. He turns and the next arrow catches him in the shoulder. 

“Who have you brought to their deaths this time, Saelinriel?” Gothmog snarls. “Did I not say come into the light?” 

Fire bursts from the wings, and a horrible thud makes her heart leap into her throat.

Culang whispers that they must find a way to weaken him somehow, and for a moment she wonders how then she remembers. 

“You have not won,” Saelinriel says, through gritted teeth. 

Isildur and Anarion and Elendil's memory and legacy are a double edged sword, and she uses it like one.

Her own blade glitters like starlight in the dim throne room, and she feels the words and the courage coming to her and strengthening her heart. 

Gothmog growls, and she continues, holding Narmeleth's and Golodir's triumphs over his head, and he throws a pillar of flame at her. 

She dodges. 

Another pillar of flame lashes up from the ground, and it almost knocks her off balance, but Culang keeps her from falling into it.

Gothmog's anger fills the room like thunder and the flames cease as he storms down the steps and he brings his sword down on hers, hard.  “Your words are empty!” 

She blocks it, and goes for her own strike. 

It is just like dancing, she thinks, a little hysterically. Only with several partners instead of one, and any misstep might be their last. “Elendil faced the greatest evil of the Age, and he didn’t cower beneath it. He didn’t betray his kingdom or his people–” 

Her limbs grow heavier and heavier with each moment but she channels everything she has into her sword. 

“The White Tree flowers in the Court of Kings – Gondor flourishes once more.”

“Those victories mean nothing to me,” He shouts, bringing his sword in a wide arc toward your head. 

She sidesteps the blow and it glances off her shield instead – the blossoming white tree on a black field. 

There's a quarter of a second where Gothmog freezes and arrows come flying out of the darkness to catch his shoulder. 

Idhrin has braced herself against a pillar, and blood drips down from above her eyebrows and her silver hair is darkened with blood. 

Gothmog hisses and begins to close the distance between them and Saelinriel tries to step between but he swats her aside like a fly and she goes flying and lands with her back on the hard tile. 

It’s suddenly impossible to breathe and she lays there, gasping and the whole time she's shouting at herself to get up–

Finally, as lightning streaks through the air again, she does, sheathing her sword and pulling her spear from her back.

Idhrin shoots an arrow that finds its way into the darkness of Gothmog's hood. He staggers backward, bringing a hand up to his unseen face. 

Saelinriel doesn't know what comes over her but she tightens her hold on her shield, adjusts her grip on her spear and takes a breath. 

Then, she runs.

Her shield slams into Gothmog's chest with more force than she thought possible, and he staggers again, snarling and seeming disoriented.   

The elven-steel of her spear gleams in the half-light and she channels every ounce of her strength into jamming it into the space just between his chestplate and his hip armor as hard as she can. 

He lets out an agonizing cry and falls to the ground with a mighty crash.  His sword slips from his hand, and she kicks it away from him, toward Culang.  

Morinel comes from the shadows, and rushes toward where Idhrin slumped to the ground moments prior.   Saelinriel stands breathing heavily, looking down at a now wounded Gothmog who clutches his abdomen. 

Words shatter the uneasy silence.

“I sense the presence of my bones, Saelinriel! They are nearby!”

She almost screams but calms herself as Isildur's shade materializes beside Saelinriel, and there is an urgency in his voice that in some way surprises her. “I can see the chamber where my bones must lie, for the Oath-stone stands there too, 'neath the beacon!”

She sighs, slinging her spear over her shoulder and begins the climb to the beacon tower.

“This is not the Minas Ithil it was from my own days,” Isildur says, his voice echoing strangely off the empty walls once they make it to the beacon-stone that cuts through the mist that shrouds the city. 

Saelinriel bites back a sarcastic reply then frowns.

 “What was it like back then?” She asks, as she looks through the nooks and crannies of the room, because there are precious few that she can ask. 

Gothmog is not an option, and Faramir son of Ondoher might be able to tell her but she knows not where he wanders now. But Isildur stands before her, and he’s answered her many questions before.

“It was a beautiful place,” he says slowly then stops.  She doesn’t press him, and after a while he speaks again.

“The moon cast silver light throughout the courtyards and streets, and reflected off the marble walls, so that it seemed to shine. It held great houses of lore salvaged from the wreck of Numenor…” 

He sighs wistfully and then he tells her of the gardens of the Circle of Wisdom, and the melodies and plays from the Lindalire, and it hurts that she can match each location with the twisted parody.

“I am sorry,” she says numbly, after a while, and they sink into an contemplative silence.

Finally, she finds a silver tarnished casket that is not so large, but something ghosts over Isildur's face when he looks at the dust with in and he remains silent as she walks down back to the throne room.

“I swore to bring Sauron's Ring to Rivendell, and though that weapon came in the end to that valley, I did not. But now…” Isildur says finally, solemnly, "The casket of dust gives me hope. Bring me earthly remains to Rivendell and I shall at last know peace.'

Gothmog laughs weakly, despite his wounds. "Peace? What peace does this shade think to find? What peace does he deserve? I remember the tales of Elendil, and of Isildur and Anárion. We were told they were great men, valiant warriors from an age of heroes.”

“And I was told tales of the same sort about Eärnur too,” Saelinriel says viciously, months of anger and hurt that she thought she’d handled bubbling up from her core. They are cruel, maybe needlessly so, but she doesn’t care. “Sometimes our heroes disappoint us.”

Gothmog takes no heed of her words and continues to rail before finally trailing off into silence. 

Culang calls out that someone is approaching the throne room from the outside. Morinel looks up, hands freezing as she pauses in bandaging Idhrin's head.

A few moments pass and then--

The doors bang open and part of her is thrilled to see Annoth alive but – he is carrying himself far too stiffly, and there is a wild look in his eyes – something is wrong.

Saelinriel nearly drops her shield as Ugrukhôr storms into the throne room, looming over Annoth. He stands nearly as tall as Gothmog and towers head and shoulders over her. There are four orcs with him as well, though they don’t scare her.

When Saelinriel doesn't provide an adequate enough answer as to the location of Karazgar, Ugrukhôr roughly shoves Annoth to the side, and he crumples against the floor. 

He pushes past her and Culang, shoving them out of the way, and he sees Idhrin and Morinel where she is still using her runes to try and fix the damage done by Gothmog. “It may cost you your life, or the lives of more friends. Is that what you want?”

Her heart lurches as she opens her mouth to say no, but Ugrukhôr is faster, and he sends her – accompanied by an Uruk – to the top of the tower to search for Karazgar.

The last thing she see before she no longer can is that the others are surrounded by two guards apiece below. The thought hits her like an anchor being sunk into her chest: all of them are hostages against each others’ good behavior.

“Is that really Gothmog?” Lûrkh says, as they pass the fallen wraith. "He looks dead to me. How about that?”

They go up the endless set of stairs to the Beacon-room before finally reaching the top.

“I don't see any sign of Karazgar. Maybe he's gone.” Lûrkh looks at her sidelong, and blood rushes in her ears, and she prays that he has not figured out her ruse yet. “Or maybe he never came up here?”

Thankfully, he is quickly distracted by the broken Oathstone, and orders her to clear the room out of any merrevail that lingered in the shadowed corners of the room. 

She does, quickly and quietly as she can, and he is still pondering if some valuable piece of it might be chipped away and kept as treasure.

Any noise from the throne room is nothing more than a vague rumble and Saelinriel takes her chance.  Lûrkh is too surprised to offer much resistance, and he falls to the ground.

No one comes running up after her guard falls and she sneaks back down as quietly as she can.

She can’t see Idhrin but Morinel’s hands and ankles are bound, and she is pale and unmoving and there is no orc guarding her. 

A thrill of fear races through Saelinriel’s veins. What did Ugrukhôr do to her?

Culang catches her eye as she creeps closer to crouch low behind the giant pillar on each side of the throne’s dias.

She unsheathes her sword as quietly as possible and he nods. 

“Now, Saelinriel!”  

By the time Saelinriel makes it down the dias, Culang manages the two on either side of him, but there is a third behind and Ugrukhôr is too near him and he hits the ground hard. She manages the third guard, along with the one next to Idhrin.

“So that is the way of it, then?” Ugrukhôr asks as he goes to stand in the center of the throne room.  “Come, Saelinriel. Can we not settle this as equals?”

Ugrukhôr’s treatment of Annoth and of the Thandrim before him throws doubt on any promises he might make, even if she was inclined to believe him to begin with. 

But she's the only one standing between him and her friends, and she will not allow him easy access to them when she can do something about it.

So, she climbs slowly down the steps of the dias, head held high. She passes Culang, who is curled around himself, and she sees Morinel’s rune satchel flung across the room, and Idhrin is hiding his face, and Saelinriel can’t tell whether she lives still or not.

“You are alone, Saelinriel.” Ugrukhôr says as if he relishes this fact. “You came to this tower with allies, but they have abandoned you. Your Rangers may find success in the woods, but in towers of stone they die the same as any others. They cannot save you.”

She raises her head higher.

“The Thandrim crossed me, long ago, and they are all dead. The only man who remembered them will have no vengeance. I gave him death instead, and none now will wield his sad sword or bear his broken shield.”

He draws his swords with a flourish as if daring her to come up against him and, despite herself, her grip on her own sword falters.

“Saelinriel!” He bellows. “Do you dare test your will against Ugrukhôr, the Captain of the Pit? Did I say we were equal? I see now I was wrong! You are no equal of mine, for I am Gúrzyul... and I am your ending!”

She raises her shield to cover her torso and plants her feet as he comes to charge toward her.

“Prepare to join your friends in death, Saelinriel!” He sweeps his sword into her shield hard and the impact sends her scrambling backward but other than being a little dazed, she's fine.

She follows the rhythm of the fight: thrust, block, parry, and everything else fades to the background.

“The Thandrim sought mercy. They were fools. You will have no mercy from me,” he says as he brings his sword in a wide arc toward her head. 

“As if I would seek mercy from you,” Saelinriel says, as she steps to the side and raises her shield a little higher. The blow glances off her shield instead. She aims for a blow at his torso, but he deflects it, sending her backward.

He stalks forward and she doesn't manage to completely block the blow, and stumbles, nearly going to her knees.  

Instead, Saelinriel reaches for her horn, and the sound echoes off the walls and pillars, a challenge that rings and bellows, like the shout of many voices beneath the high vaulted roof, that stuns Ugrukhôr for a few moments.

Those few seconds are more precious than gold because they allow her to bring herself to her feet, regroup, and use her sword to cut a deep gash on the inside of his upper arm.

He turns – far, far faster than he should be able to for his size – and raises his sword high over his head and Saelinriel only just manages to put her shield between herself and the blow.

Her arm breaks from the force behind the blow as it pushes her down and it is all Saelinriel can do to not scream. 

Between pain-sharpened heartbeats she watches as he pauses and looks down, examining the gash on his arm that drips dark blood onto the polished floors.

“You have drawn blood, Saelinriel,” Ugrukhôr says mildly, “For that you have my respect.”

She looks up in an attempt at defiance, though she's certain the pain must show on her face and she struggles to bring herself to her feet, but it is nearly impossible as he advances on her, laughing.

There is nothing else for her to do but raise her shield again despite the pain. 

Ugrukhôr, for all he has said of hating Gothmog, pays no heed to where he lay still on the ground.

She peers up at him from the rim of her shield.

Saelinriel can only just see his head, all the rest of him is blocked by the – somehow unbroken – metal of her shield.

She hears someone picking up their sword, and for a moment she thinks it is Culang but he can barely stand and she’s forced to conclude whoever it is, they are no friend of hers.

When Gothmog comes into her sight, something heavy sinks into her chest.

What was it she’d told Corunir before they came into this cursed place when he asked her about her plan for dealing with Gothmog?  

One of us will not leave that tower.

It seems that she will not be the one leaving. She tries to steady her breathing but then– 

“At last you will know death, Ugrukhôr!”

Before she has the time to register what is happening, Gothmog drives his sword deep into Ugrukhôr’s back, and he slowly begins to tip forward.  

She only just has time to stumble out of the way (making the pain in her arm a hundred times worse) before Ugrukhôr falls face first into the ground with a resounding thud.

She's not sure what just happened, but Gothmog falters too, dropping the sword to the ground. 

Upon inspection, it’s not Gothmog’s sword at all, but Annoth’s. 

So the Captain of the Pit is undone by the sword of Annoth, wielded by Gothmog, and now both Gothmog and Ugrukhôr are undone, Saelinriel thinks to herself as she manages to unbuckle her shield to cradle her arm the best she can.

Then she goes to check on her friends.

Isildur reappears, hovering over his bones but he is stony-faced and silent.

Morinel is responsive and Saelinriel brings her the rune satchel before using the dagger strapped to her boot to slice through her bonds, before they go to kneel beside Idhrin.

She seems fine enough, all things considered, and Morinel goes about picking up from earlier with her runes as if she hadn’t just been tied to a pillar and unconscious.

"I am all right…” Culang says with a cough, when she comes to stand over him, as he uncurls and brings himself, unsteadily, to his feet.

“Are you certain?” Saelinriel asks, and he nods. 

He looks to where Annoth fell, and sighs. 

“He has achieved the vengeance he sought, though it arrived not in the manner he sought. Let him rest now, and may the Thandrim for whom he grieved find peace with the death of Ugrukhôr.”

Culang’s words echo her own thoughts, and she desperately wishes for the peace of the Thandrim – wherever they are. 

He sees Gothmog and Ugrukhôr and shakes his head.  “Is that not the nature of evil? Treacherous even to its own. None shall mourn for either of the slain.”

Death has come to Barad Cúron and claimed two of the masters of Mordor. How many countless others have perished in this throne room over the years? Saelinriel wonders to herself, turning away from them.

“By the waters of Nenuial!” Culang says suddenly, and she turns to face him – and the pain in her wrist spikes. “Gothmog clings to life. He tries to speak, Saelinriel and we should listen. Is it not said that dying men rarely speak falsely with their last breath?”

“Men maybe. A man he is no more,” Saelinriel mutters, but goes to stand above Gothmog anyways. 

It takes him a while to begin speaking again.  

 “Mordor should have been ... should have been mine. No one endured... what I have endured. A curse on them all... but I levy my worst upon Isildur who could have prevented it and did not! He calls me coward? He knows nothing of the torments that made me! From that crucible of evil I was born anew, the greatest creation of Angmar! I was to usher in a new age!”

The fire in Gothmog's eyes flickers and burns low and he looks up at her, and he looks particularly pitiful.

“Why could I not, Saelinriel?” He sounds so broken, so far from the imposing wraith she’s known through the past year, who haunted her nightmares and killed and tortured so many of her friends. 

“There were so many chances, but... the Ranger and the Elf-maid…”

Gothmog stares at the floor, his life's essence departing. 

“Narmeleth,” He says her name quietly. "I think Narmeleth knew the same torments as I. How could she fight... longer than...?”

He falls silent, and it seems as if he will speak no more.  As Saelinriel is about to turn and leave, he reaches out to her and grabs onto the hem of her tunic near the hem at her knees, a trinket held in his clenched fist.

“Listen to me, Saelinriel,” He says urgently, tugging at the fabric.  

She should have stepped back and yanked it out of his hands – there is barely any strength to his grip anymore – but there is something that stops her as if she’s bound to that spot. Saelinriel doesn't know what it is, but she thinks pity might be the closest thing to it, though she doesn't want to admit to it.

“There was a Morgul-slave who knew the secrets of this place. At my Master's command... he forged a key. ‘Only this weapon cannot be overcome,’ the dwarf said to me. I spent the time I could... seeking it... but it eluded me.” 

The fires in his eyes burn lower than before and suddenly she knows that he is dying, for good.

“I give it to you, Saelinriel.” He looks up at her, desperately. “If Mordor cannot be mine... let it be no one's! Find the weapon and use it... against all who seek to master the realm that was denied me!” 

Gothmog presses a broken key into her hand.

Then, he dies at last.

There is still, stunned silence in which none of them speak or move for  a long, long while.

“Even with his last breath he raged against Gondor, and shamed his people!”  Isildur stares down at Gothmog’s corpse with a look of disgust on his face, throwing soft blue light over the ancient walls.  He floats away from Gothmog and comes to her, with something somber behind his eyes. 

“He should have resisted Saelinriel, and died as Eärnur. My brother Anárion would have fought the torments of the Lord of the Nazgûl, and embraced death rather than succumb to such evil. So too would I. But instead, he became a tool for evil, and he died as Gothmog.” Isildur’s eyes flash.  “Let him rot where he lies.” 

He floats over to the wrought silver casket once more. “I do not want my bones to remain here any longer.”

Saelinriel nods as she sinks to sit on the steps, cradling her wrist. 

Eventually Morinel finishes with Idhrin and comes to splint her arm, temporarily, and the four (is it five, if they count Isildur’s bones?) of them stumble back to Barad Arthir. 

[a-lonely-dunedain]

ok question! related to this post by @gwynbleiddyn that I see resonated with the folks here on lotro tumblr:

the devs have given you permission to add 1 (one) quest of your design into the game, specifically doing something fun/low-stakes with one or more Rangers post-war. What are you doing and with which Ranger(s)?

I'll go first: (under the cut bc it got longer than intended)

Corunir has been enlisted to help do repairs in the lower circles of Minas Tirith. And by "enlisted" I mean "Corunir Does Not Know How to Take A Break and needs to be constantly helping people, so he showed up wouldn't leave until the foreman gave him something to do"

Now, as this quest would have to be located in Minas Tirith Midsummer, the foreman is not particularly comfortable saddling this war-hero with busywork when he should be celebrating the end of the war he helped bring about! nevermind that that's what literally every other quest in midsummer is making the PC do shh don't worry about it

ANYWAY, he's got a plan, but he needs your help with it. Around dusk, he wants you to tell Corunir that there's some repairs that need done on the top of the wall at east side of the 2rd circle, which coincidentally just so happens to be where the best view of the fireworks they're setting off at the gates is. Also be sure to bring along this plate of snacks and some comfy pillows to sit on.

so when Corunir gets up there he's like "that's weird, I don't see any damage up here-" and then he sees the fireworks starting to go off, that you brought snacks, and puts two and two together and is like "oh darn, it looks like I've been tricked into watching a fireworks show, you devious trickster you (affectionate)"

so you guys get to hang out and watch the fireworks for a bit, and afterwards Corunir laughs at the fact that you literally had to trick him into relaxing and having a good time. Perhaps you have a point, he should allow himself some time to actually enjoy the peace they fought so hard for. He recalls Radanir had proposed the Rangers should do a pub-crawl later, and now thinks he should take him up on the offer. (and, of course, the PC should be allowed to join in, but alas I'm only allowed to add One quest as per my own rules lol)

[corunir]

felt cute, might almost die trying to cross Rammas Deluon again later

[a-lonely-dunedain]

THREE OF THEM!! <3

reblog to give a plushie to the person you reblogged this from

[poetry-draws]

Lorniel lives Au where she gets to go to the midsummer fest and hang out with Corunir ;-; (yes I am still sad from just doing Those Quests)

Lorniel lives and coordinated her outfit with Corunir (and cut out the shoulders of her own dress)

[thelordofgifs]

Obscure Tolkien Blorbo: Round 3

Corunir vs Eldacar of Gondor

Corunir:

Ranger of the North; part of Golodir's company. Waited for his trapped friends for years (Lord of the Rings Online character)

he's a ranger of the north who followed his captain to angmar despite aragorn very specifically telling them 'hey, angmar's super dangerous, Do Not'. most of his friends got stuck and/or killed by some haunted statues, and he kept trying to cross the statues to go help them (failed many times til they almost killed him) and just waited for them on the other side for years before he managed to get a message back to the rest of the rangers. love his friends So Much and will not stop following them into stupid dangerous situations

Canonically the ranger who would give the best hugs

he's loyal to a fault, staying behind (alone) in the dread-realm of Angmar just desperately hoping for word from his captain. He couldn't make it further east to where Golodir was because of a valley of powerful watching stones that killed like half of their company when they passed through them the first time. Corunir was trapped on the west side while the survivors made it east, but kept trying to pass them for years and years "until my very spirit was broken within me" as he puts it. like. dude. this poor guy! he kept throwing himself at the valley of death-statues for years and he somehow survived. he was broken by it but he did it out of that stubborn loyalty, because "I could not abandon my captain" :( he just wants his friends to be ok!!! I'm literally so normal about him. also he's somewhere on the aroace spectrum. this is canon probably dude just trust me. we love an aroace-spec king

Eldacar of Gondor:

The twenty-first King of Gondor, also known as Vinitharya. During his reign the conflict known as the Kin-strife occurred and he was forced from his throne for ten years.

The blorbo of all time actually. He’s the protagonist of one of the most interesting stories in the LoTR appendices, the Kin-strife, and everything about his life story is so fascinating! His father was the crown prince of Gondor and his mother was the princess of Rhovanion so not a Númenorean. As a result all the racist nobles of Gondor made noises about how Eldacar was of “lesser race” and wouldn’t live as long as a “true Dúnadan”. One of the most fascinating examples of fantasy racism in Tolkien’s works imo – the bigotry is awful but the bigots have a shield to hide behind! Obviously their concerns are actually valid because they just don’t want their king to die young! (Their concerns aren’t valid. But I think the worldbuilding here is great.) Anyway Eldacar was born in Rhovanion and given the birth-name Vinitharya, but when he returned to Gondor aged five he was obliged to take up the Quenya name Eldacar, presumably to pacify all the racists in Gondor. He’s the EMBODIMENT of mixed-race/immigrant child trauma my beloved. Eventually his father died and he ascended to the throne of Gondor, but then his shitty second cousin Castamir (all my homies hate Castamir he’s the worst) started the civil war known as the Kin-strife and usurped Eldacar’s throne. Eldacar was forced to flee north to Rhovanion but Castamir captured his eldest son Ornendil and had him cruelly put to death which is SO SAD. But Eldacar, being brave and resourceful and clever and extremely cool, put together an alliance with his mother’s kinsfolk in Rhovanion and after ten years reclaimed his throne, which turned out to be slightly easier than expected because Castamir was The Worst and all his subjects hated him. And Eldacar PERSONALLY fought and killed Castamir HIMSELF and AVENGED HIS SON which is extremely important when you consider all the cringefail elves in the legendarium whose quests for revenge didn’t really go anywhere at all. Then he lived to be 235 proving that all the idiot racists who were worried about his lifespan didn’t have any idea what they were talking about, as is par for the course with racists. Also the Kin-strife itself has such far-reaching consequences for the history of Gondor! The Corsairs of Umbar, Gondor’s long-standing enemies, are actually followers of the descendants of Castamir. And during the Usurpation of Castamir Osgiliath was sacked and burned, leading to the beginning of its decline as Gondor’s greatest city. Even though Eldacar’s story is, to me, ultimately hopeful, it’s also such a fascinating turning point in the history of Gondor. Also ALSO he’s explicitly surrounded by textual ghosts which is really fascinating. His father Valacar has “children” plural – so Eldacar had siblings!! What were they like? How did they react to it all? And his son Aldamir is described as Eldacar’s second son and third child, meaning that he had a daughter too. Who was she?? What happened to her? He’s such a blorbo and there’s so much interesting stuff to dig into around him and he has to win this entire tournament please please please❤️

Round 3 masterpost