#galadriel's lament
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Galadriel's Lament (Clamavi De Profundis version)
Namårië
Ai! lauriĂ« lantar lassi sĂșrinen, yĂ©ni ĂșnĂłtimĂ« ve rĂĄmar aldaron! YĂ©ni ve lintĂ« yuldar avĂĄnier mi oromardi lisse-miruvĂłreva AndĂșnĂ« pella, Vardo tellumar nu luini yassen tintilar i eleni Ăłmaryo airetĂĄri-lĂrinen.
SĂ man i yulma nin enquantuva? SĂ man i yulma nin enquantuva?
An sĂ TintallĂ« Varda OiolossĂ«o ve fanyar mĂĄryat ElentĂĄri ortanĂ«, ar ilyĂ« tier undulĂĄvĂ« lumbulĂ«; ar sindanĂłriello caita morniĂ« i falmalinnar imbĂ« met, ar hĂsiĂ« untĂșpa Calaciryo mĂri oialĂ«. SĂ vanwa nĂĄ, RĂłmello vanwa, Valimar!
Namårië! Nai hiruvalyë Valimar. Nai elyë hiruva. Namårië!
English Translation Ah! like gold fall the leaves in the wind, long years numberless as the wings of trees! The years have passed like swift draughts of the sweet mead in lofty halls beyond the West, beneath the blue vaults of Varda wherein the stars tremble in the song of her voice, holy and queenly.
Who now shall refill the cup for me?
For now the Kindler, Varda, the Queen of the Stars, from Mount Everwhite has uplifted her hands like clouds, and all paths are drowned deep in shadow; and out of a grey country darkness lies on the foaming waves between us, and mist covers the jewels of Calacirya for ever. Now lost, lost to those from the East is Valimar!
Farewell! Maybe thou shalt find Valimar. Maybe even thou shalt find it. Farewell!
#galadriel#galadriel's lament#namarie#namårië#trop#rop#rings of power#the rings of power#silmarillion#tolkien#lotr#lord of the rings#tolkien legendarium#immeasurable sorrow#from which its beauty chiefly came#Youtube
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Oh my gods, suddenly going feral overâ
Legolas Greenleaf long under tree In joy thou hast lived. Beware of the Sea! If thou hearest the cry of the gull on the shore, Thy heart shall then rest in the forest no more.
Which, yes, obviously refers to the Sea-longing that came upon him at Pelargir, and of which he later said:
To the Sea, to the Sea! The white gulls are crying, The wind is blowing and the white foam is flying. West, west away, the round sun is falling. Grey ship, grey ship, do you hear them calling, The voice of my people that have gone before me? I will leave, I will leave the woods that bore me; For our days are ending and our years are failing. I will pass the wide waters lonely sailing. Long are the waves on the Last Shore falling, Sweet are the voices of the Lost Isle calling, In Eressea, in Elvenhome that no man can discover, Where the leaves fall not: land of my people forever!
But of course, we know that he did not pass the wide waters "lonely sailing," for he brought Gimli with him...
Because his heart was in Gimli's keeping by then. After the War of the Ring his heart dwelt in glittering caves under the stones of Rohan; his heart rested in the strong and gentle hands of a dwarf. The very same dwarf who then sailed that Sea with him, and after dwelt beside him in Elvenhome ever-more. It was no longer the forest that held his heart: it was the solid dwarven stone of Gimli's soul.
Fuck.
#legolas never did demonstrate foresight after all; of course he couldn't predict his future...while galadriel could#she doesn't even outright say you'll be unhappy; she just says ''no longer the forest for you boyo''#pairs it right up with ''hands shall flow with gold'' doesn't it#and yes for the record i DID in fact tear-up when I was copying-over legolas's lament because i always do when i read that THANK YOU#i will NEVER be normal over that passage; never ever be normal over the sea-longing#gimleaf#gigolas#this ship sails itself all the way to valinior#legolas#gimli#galadriel#sea longing#lotr#lord of the rings#lotr meta
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maglor's second run as high king regent (while elrond tries to figure out who gil galad is even related to):
Elrond: Hey.
Maglor: What do you want?
Elrond: So, Gil-Galad died.
Maglor: And?
Elrond: We need a new king.
Maglor: Absolutely not.
#silm#silmarillion#maglor#elrond#gil galad#i hc gil galad is actually maglors kid from his rather short-lived marriage#(neither of them know it bc maglor sent gil away when he was little + name change at the havens)#anyways maglor is Not Happy but elrond promised all he had to do was sit there and basically pretend like the noldor were somewhat intact#he didnt even bother to put the crown on properly lol#hes taken to draping himself awkwardly over various furniture and singing the noldolante at the top of his lungs until someone removes him#he knows what furniture is best for dramatically lamenting on from his first regency#when people start mentally filtering out his current song he switches either to a twelve-hour lament#an equally long lay#or valian pop songs#he bit the last three people who tried to make him do actual politics#ooh imagine a lotr-era au where maglor is the high king of the noldor#its sort of a figurehead position because there are like four and a half noldor left#one is maglor#one is galadriel (who has her own kingdom and has been living w the sindar for 8000 years and also still hates him)#one is glorfindel and the other is erestor#the half is elrond#and since glorfindel refuses to follow a feanorian the only person high king maglor really rules over is erestor the librarian#but! sauron doesnt know that! he just knows that there is at least one high king attending the council of elrond#bonus points if celeborn and/or galadriel claim the sindarin throne#bc elrond doesnt want it and celeborn is the oldest on the elmo side (elmo > galadhon > celeborn)#and galadriel is the oldest on the olwe side (olwe > earwen > galadriel)#actually since olwe is older does that mean galadriel can be the sindarin high queen? or does it not count bc teleri#although teleri dont have a separate high king i think so maybe?#unsure whether the sindarin throne is male line only since it does skip luthien but it also skips daeron because both of them ran away#anyways
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Rereading Sansukh (by Determamfadd on AO3) and poking about for Gimli/Legolas fanart (while "Gigolas" is the most commonly used shipname, I used "GimLas" as a tag for a while but have since taken to "GimLeaf"), I have found my Elrond Favouritism to have flared up rather dramatically. I have found myself spiralling in comment sections over Pained Discoveries on what the Amazon Series has gotten up to, the ease with which Celeborn is misnamed to Setting-Breaking Effect, and undoubtedly startled far too many innocent fanfic writers accidentally caught by my wandering thoughts!
so i must warn, after spending so long Away & having last been active in the Meta of Other Fandoms, that i shall be subjecting innocent bystanders to
THE JUSTICE FOR CELEBRIAN AGENDA
since it has been an actual decade since i last read LOTR (let alone The Hobbit) and that, whilst I was somehow dragged inti watching 2/3 of PJ's Hobbit Trilogy, I have only ever managed to watch the FIRST of PJ' LOTR films in its entirety (the films are LONG and almost all the gaiety of the source text is woefully neglected, prompting my younger self to fall asleep to dreams of flapping away with Galadriel's big swooshy sleeves).
given the State of my Memory (vague, confused over what if book canon & what is fanon & what is from action film adaptations), my "Meta" will be Confused and Weird and Possibly Somewhat Satirical.
after all, for all that i dub my Grievance with Live-Action Tolkien adaptions as "Justice For Celebrian!", Celebrian herself is a Character Known Through "Absence": for being without her, every elven-affiliated character is Changed when "reencountered" in The Hobbit & LOTR.
#hollow whispers#justice for celebrian#tolkien fandom#elrond meta#galadriel meta#there will be some ignorant ranting about TROP despite my refusal to watch it#there will be some ignorant bemoaning over PJ's films despite my seeing only half of them#there will be confused recountings of âcanonâ as reinterpreted by fans not any tolkiens#there will be srs modes that abruptly go into meme territory & back again#there will be occasional instances of Gushing over how Tolkien uses historiography & [translation] to diffusecanon for funsies#which might accidentally trip me into lamenting over how translation as violence is so very contemporary an issue & how AI affects creative#which is dredged from how the bulk of my fandoms are affected by tge adaption of translating texts to ENG#translation is a very dear & personal subject to me and tolkien uses it in his legendarium as a framing device#yet tolkien & his son were both very white englishmen#tolkien had significant character development over the course of his lifw & it is evident in his work#he was still limited by a mortal lifespan & thus he was âstalledâ from achieving full comprehension of the values he was chasing#values of love for all & unglorious war & the import of [tradfem-assigned functions of western society] & not being casually racist#tolkien was working through the unlearning of antisemetism throughout his writing of the legendarium#as a goy i cannot testify how successful that venture was#tolkien never quite got 'round to reevaluating how orientalism sucks but he did realise that his messages had gotten muddled thereabouts#the tolkien fandom remains somewhat awkward about orientalism & its existence#i kinda blame the PJ films & star wars for making so many westerners blind to all the casual appropriation going on#wait this rant was a warning about my celebrian agenda#as the tags evidence my mind is v scattered atm so my articulation will be ???
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How the elves react to Elrond getting sick:
Maedhros & Maglor: Absolutely freak out. Assume Elrond is dying and that the Doom of Feanor's house has finally caught up to them. Maedhros insists he says in bed and makes him soup. Maglor starts planning a lament for his funeral. (He has a cold)
Gil-Galad: Tries to convince Elrond to rest. Always fails. Has resorted to getting Elrond a bed desk so he can do his work while he rests. Frequently checks up on him to make sure he's alright or to bring him little gifts to make him feel better.
Erestor: Also half-elven, so gets it. Inevitably gets sick whenever Elrond does because he refuses to stay away. They always end up sick together, but they are together, and that means something.
Celebrimbor: Has read multiple books on human anatomy for the sake of his cousins (Erestor, son of Caranthir included). Theoretically understands how to care for someone who is ill. *Checks notes* according to this, if I give you chicken soup every day for a week it will cure your *checks notes again* pneumonia. He's trying his best.
Galadriel: Does not understand human or half-elven biology very well. Has taken Elrond on a ten mile hike in the snow when he was getting over a cough. Elrond's Feanorian followers have never forgiven her for it.
Celebrian: I would say she uses Elrond being sick as an excuse for them to stay in bed and cuddle, but let's be honest, she doesn't need an excuse for that. Knows he can take care of himself, and is a lot more Normal about it than everyone else on this list. Elrond loves her very much.
Glorfindel: Fully willing to pick up Elrond (or Erestor) and take them back to bed so they rest. Takes his duty to protect his lord very seriously. A very comfortable pillow for sick half-elves.
Lindir: Absolutely freaks out. You thought his anxiety about the dwarves was bad?? Elrond always has to calm him down and assure Lindir that is, in fact, not about to die. He does sometimes ask Lindir to play for him when he's ill though.
#silmarillion#silm headcanons#elrond#elrond peredhel#maedhros#maglor#gil galad#erestor#celebrimbor#galadriel#celebrian#glorfindel#lindir#kidnap fam#kidnap dads
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Reunion (Sauron x fem!Elf!reader)
-> in which your husband finally returns from his time in NĂșmenor, and you make the most of the first moment you get him alone
Warnings: evil!reader, mentions of injury, hot and heavy make out, slight choking, heavily suggestive dialogue, mentions of exhibitionism
Note: same evil!reader as the others in the collection, but it should make sense on its own too.
Heâs finally on his way to Eregion. And wounded. Itâs been plain to see through your soulbond for days.
You can barely conceal your trepidation as you stand with Celebrimbor and Elrond, awaiting your husbandâs arrival in Eregion. They do not know to expect it, of courseâthey believe Galadriel is long gone into Valinor, and they could never fathom that she is soon to ride through the gates with a man at her side, much less that he is the very darkness they seek to keep at bay. And that you, Celebrimborâs trusted aid for so many years, are none other than Sauronâs beloved wife.
Had they known, they surely would not have asked you to assist in the task secretly entrusted to them by king Gil-galadâthat of bringing into being some sort of creation that will save Elvendome from the dying of their light in Middle-Earth. That is what you are discussing now. Elrond laments that you have failed, and it is time to inform the High King of this. Celebrimbor looks at him, dismayed.
âWe must not despair,â you intervene, working as much hopeful reassurance into your gaze as possible. âSurely, in another few days, the answers will come.â
And itâs not even a lie. Your husband shall bring all the inspiration needed and then someâbut you must ensure the Elves do not leave this city before his arrival.
Elrond shakes his head. âI fear weâre out of time.â He places a hand on your shoulder, and you push down the urge to swat it away as he speaks very inconvenient words. âThe Elves must prepare to abandon these shores. Forever.â
You return his sad smile with practiced ease.
Where are you? you reach out to your husband, sending the thought as far and quickly as you can manageâ
A deep tiredness answers on his end. Swiftly and so very close.
The sound of hooves has never sounded sweeter than when Galadriel finally rides in through the gate. It serves you well that both Elrond and Celebrimbor are too stunned by her arrival to notice the slip in your mask when you see your husband following behind her, slumped against his own horse. Surely, the anguish written on your face is too great to be considered natural concern for a wounded stranger. You school your features quickly, but do rush to aid him in climbing off his horseâthat much, any kind-hearted Elf would do.
For a short, beautiful moment, you are pressed against him as he staggers on his feet, and you manage to exchange the briefest of glances. His brow is slick with sweat, he is bleeding from his side, yet you feel through your bond how your touch fills him with elation. You would suffer the same wound as him, you think, if only it meant you could kiss him as you long to, then and there.
But a couple of guards are quick to intervene, taking what they must think is too heavy a burden off your shoulders. Pulling your husband from you, they sling his arms around themselves and all but drag him away when he fails to walk on his own, leaving you to strive not to follow as your heart slams against your ribcage.
âWhat has happened?â Celebrimbor asks.
âEnemy lance, six days ago,â Galadriel tells him. âWe rode without rest.â
Galadriel. You take a moment to look at her. Youâve seen her before, of course, but not as a cog in your plans. That had happened quite accidentallyâor perhaps by fate. Either way, your husband has returned. That is all that matters.
Well, that and getting him alone.
There is no plausible reason for you to stand at his side whilst your peopleâs artificers work to mend his wound. All you can do is sit and wait, gently nudging your husbandâs mind through your bond to make your presence felt. A sense of content drifts back to you, though it is laced with the same impatience you feel.
If you were still loyal to the Valar, you would thank them for the haste with which Elvish remedies work, even if the hours they require to be applied feel like an eternity. Finally, the artificers leave your husband to rest his newly recovered body as you watch from the shadows of the corridor. It is past midnight, all too easy for you to slip into his room and shut the door behind you without anyone noticing.
Your husband, having sensed you were about to join him, awaits you in utter nonchalance, lying with his legs crossed and his arms beneath his head as if he truly were some graceless human man. Heâs been given a new shirt, white and pristine. Pity. If you have your way, heâll need a new one soon enough.
âThe hour is inappropriate,â he greets you, and you donât know whether you want to kiss or slap away his smug little smile.
For now, you answer with your own. âGood.â
You stride towards the bed with the determination of a demon chasing prey, and with swift, skillful movements, climb into it and straddle your husbandâs hips.
âGently, my love,â he warns, mischief dancing in his eyes as his hands fly to your waist, gripping your flesh greedily even as he keeps you at bay, âI am but a man recovering from his wounds.â
You give a slight, rueful chuckle. He is perfectly well now, and you both know it.
âIâm afraid you shall have to endure,â you threaten sweetly, and he abandons all feigned resistance as you dive in to finally claim his lips with yours.
The relief of being together again is instant, and you sigh into his mouth as you let his kiss consume you, sweet and slow. You surprise even yourself. You had expected a furious clash of teeth and tongues, the frenzy of swallowing each other whole after going too long without your belovedâs tasteâlike it was when you had finally nursed him from an amorphous black mass back into his form, and the two of you had been reduced to a tangle of thrashing limbs in the snow, as mindless and savage as animals mating in heat.
But that was after countless years of suffering in his absence. Compared to that, your time apart since the shipwreck separated you has been nothing at allâand whatâs more, of your own choice, however it displeased you. Your husband had seen an opportunity in his meeting with Galadriel, one from which you could both benefit, and so he had entreated through your bond that rather than look for him, you must return to the false life you had built in Eregion in his absence, for he sensed you shall yet have use of it upon his return.
And now, here you areâreunited once more, in body as well as mind. This time, you wish to savour it. You relish each and every slide of your husbandâs tongue against yours, every scrape of his stubble against your cheek, every inch of hair caressed by your fingers as they sink into it, tugging longingly at the roots. Your hearts beat against each other as you press yourself flush to him, his arms wrapped around you to somehow pull you even closer, and the might of the sheer adoration shared between you is almost too painful to bear.
âWill you stay this time?â you whisper, nudging his nose with yours as your lips part from his and hover close. âOr will I be made to wait for you once more, my love?â
His hand cradles your face, coaxing you to retreat only enough for your gazes to meet.
âThe road goes ever winding,â he tells you. âNot even I can see all its paths.â
âYet it seems ours so often tend to drift apart,â you say, frustratedly. âAs though they are forced to be. That sea creature who attacked the ship, and the immense wave that carried us at such great distance from each otherâthat was no coincidence, was it?â
Your husband shakes his head.
âIt is for us that I wish to reshape this world. Without you, the end I have seen so clearly since I first awoke withers away before my eyes. They know this.â Hatred sparks in his eyes, but it is only a flicker against the love with which he beholds you. âThe Valar themselves may have attempted to part us,â he says, âyet the tides of fate only brought me back to you all the more fruitful in our endeavours.â
âHm, so Iâve heard.â Now animated by more pleasant thoughts, you sit up slowly, sure to drag your nails down your husbandâs torso with just the right amount of pressure that it draws a low groan from him. âKing of the Southlands,â you proclaim, equal parts pride and amusement tugging at the corner of your mouth. âAn old manâs trinket and a word from a gullible Elf and an entire people bow at your feet.â
âShe is not gullible,â he says, almost absent-mindedly. His eyes are fixed on some tantalizing spot on your neck as he sits up as well and covers it with his mouth. âShe is desperate to believe whatever suits her purpose,â he murmurs between languid kisses to your skin. âI all but laid back and allowed Galadriel to bring me right where I most needed to be.â
Youâd be a helpless puddle of desireâand to an extent, you areâif not for the fire his words ignite within you. You grab a fistful of his hair and pull him away, pushing against his chest to throw him right back down against the pillows. That earns you a grunt and a wicked chuckle from your husband.
âIt is not wise to speak anotherâs name,â you say with eerie calmness, gaze locked with your husbandâs as you lean down until youâre nose to nose, âwhilst your wife is astride you.â
He hums as if in contemplation, taking hold of your chin as his eyes roam over your face.
âShe is hailed as the most beautiful of Elven maidens,â he reminds you, and you know it satisfies him when your brow knits in indignation. But then he goes on, ever so adoringly, âThose who say such a thing either have never laid eyes upon my beloved, or they are blind as bats.â
See, now... now you melt.
You catch his hand as it moves from your chin, and give the tip of his thumb the slightest nip.
âBeguiler,â you purr, a honeyed reproach. âNo wonder you have them eating from the palm of your hand.â And that is exactly where you lay a lingering kiss. He seems transfixed by the reverence of your gesture, and his slightly parted lips are too tempting for you not to kiss them once more.
Your blood is still heated from your husbandâs teasing, from being pressed against him so close, and you hunger for so much more than the gentleness from before. Your kiss grows deeper, more desperate, and soon enough youâre tugging at the hem of his shirt, signaling for him to aid you in lifting it over his head. With a frustrated groan, he takes hold of your hands to make them cease.
âMy love, I would like nothing more than to have you, repeatedly, for the remainder of the night,â he says in earnest, breath heavy. âBut youâve already lingered here too long. Should someone come and seeââ
âIâve locked the doors,â you dismiss, and chase his lips once more. He lets you catch them, claims yet another kiss, only to turn away from you again.
âAnd if someone should unlock the door to find you here,â he retorts as you grunt in protest, âhow shall we maintain our pretence?â
âI do not care!â you all but whine, the longing you have endured in his absence swelling painfully within your chest. It turns your voice into a quiet plea. âI want my husband.â You press an impossibly sweet kiss to his cheek, then murmur in his ear, âDonât you want your wife?â
His breath hitches. Suddenly, he turns his head, his teeth grazing your earlobe.
âTemptress,â he rasps begrudgingly. Then, softly and subdued, âBeloved.â
He is the one to capture your lips now, any thought of restraining his desire long gone. You smile in triumph against his mouth, then plant your hands against his shoulders, push away andâfisting your hands in his shirt, you pull.
Elven fabrics are by no means fragile, but with a bit of your powers put into it, the shirt tears apart at the middle, baring your husbandâs chest to your ravenous gaze.
âPerhaps we might be able to explain this, after all,â he muses while your lips attack his neck, quickly moving downward. âI could tell them what a merciless creature you are...â His hand comes to cradle the back of your head as he admires how you pepper urgent kisses down his chest. â...taking advantage of a poor mortal man when he finds himself in such a vulnerable state.â
You halt abruptly, eyes snapping up to his. âHow dare you accuse me of such a thing,â you gasp with perfectly feigned innocence, even as you lay your sinful mouth on him once more. âHere I amâa kind, virtuous Elven maiden such as myself,â you speak between kisses, nips and licks at his skin, âseeking to bring aid to a wounded man...â Your lips venture lower, down his abdomen. â...only to be seduced into his bed...â His eyes are aflame with desire as you gaze up at him through your lashes, working open his belt. â...with shameless words of temptation and ruinous caresses. Imagine the scandal.â
It happens in an instantâyou gasp as you are grabbed and pulled and flipped onto your back, your husbandâs frame pressing you down into the mattress as he pins your wrists to the pillow.
âImagine that, indeed,â he rasps out, eyes so darkened by hunger his pupils turn to their primal slit shape. âImagine if they were to burst through the door...â He releases one of your wrists to wrap an achingly tender hand around your throat, leaning into your ear. â...and saw us joined as one,â he whispers into it, making you shudder, âand knew at once that weâre forever bound.â
You grip at his wrist, eyes fluttering shut, chest heaving, ready to beg for him to give you more. But he isnât done, and tightens his hold on your throat with just the right amount of pressure to draw a wanton whimper from it. âImagine,â he says, âif they saw this kind, virtuous Elven maiden you have led them to believe you are for all these years, ruined with pleasure beneath her husband.â He lifts his head, his cruelty to âthemâ mingling with his reverence for you in his gaze. âImagine their betrayal, their horror. Their jealousyâfor they would know, deep in their bones, that no love of theirs will ever compare to that which binds our souls as one. Would you like that?â
You would not like itâyou need it, you crave it with a force so great it feels as though his skin is made of flame, burning yours in sweet agony with every inch it touches. And yet, even breathless and desperate as you are, you lift your chin in challenge and fix him with your gaze.
âI would like you,â you murmur defiantly, âto put that wicked tongue of yours to better use than talking.â
Your husband grins. âHow Iâve missed you, my love.â
There is nothing teasing about the way he kisses you then. He tastes your mouth with abandon as his hips dig into yours, and you whine impatiently, writhing within his grip. Obeying your silent wish, his hands release your throat and wrist in favour of roaming over your body, caressing and kneading all the spots of your soft flesh he knows to be most sensitive. You coil your arms around him, wishing him even closer, as his lips drift from yours to your jaw, kissing their eager way down your neck, and you shudder as he tugs down the shoulder of your dress, exposing your heated skin only to set it further ablaze with his mouth. You can feel the fabric straining, sure enough to tear apart in the same way his shirt had, and you want it, you want your husbandâs skin against yours with nothing in betweenâ
Someone is trying to open the door.
You pray with all your might that you misheard, even as your husband freezes at the sound as well, and lifts his mouth from your shoulder to look in the direction of the sound. But then whoever is on the other side, realizing that the door had been locked, knocks on it instead.
You donât even bother making your voice quiet. âOh, for the love ofâ!â
Your husband puts a silencing finger to your lipsâand gives you a scolding look when you lick it obscenely.
âSir Halbrand?â one of the artificers calls from outside. âAre you well?â
âThat should be âyour majestyâ,â your husband mumbles.
âIâll kill them,â you deadpan.
âShh,â he coos, slightly amused. âNot yet. We still have work to do here.â Infuriatingly composed, his eyes roam the room in search of a solution, and land on one. âWhy donât you step onto the balcony for a moment whilst I tell them I locked the door myself? A man needs his privacy, after all.â He looks back to you, and finds a tragic blend of ire and yearning on your face.
âOh, my love,â he says sympathetically, brushing a tender knuckle down your cheek, âhow beautiful you are when you crave me to despair.â
âThen I must always look splendid,â you quip, lifting your head to reach his lips with an alluring whisper, âI never not crave you to despair.â
He curses in Black Speech, the foul words muffled as he gives into your kiss once more. But then there is another rap at the door, more urgent than the last.
âGo,â he grunts. Before you can protest further, your husband pries himself off you and leaves the bed altogether. You allow yourself a moment to plop down on the pillows and curse at the ceiling before you will your body into moving. Your limbs are still weak with desire as you get on your feet.
You decide then and there that your first decree as Queen of all Middle-Earth shall be the execution of whoever is now standing beyond that door.
Your husband has hastily discarded his ruined shirt, tormenting you further with an unobstructed view of his lean torso. There must be something equally irresistible in your disheveled state, however, because the moment his eyes land upon you, his apparent composure slips away and he surges to you like a man possessed, planting yet another searing kiss onto your lips.
âGet rid of them,â you pant out as you break away.
Your husband takes your hand, kissing your knuckles quickly. âAs my Queen commands.â
Your heart flutters, easing the frustration as, finally, you go your separate ways: he towards the door, you to conceal yourself. You take comfort in knowing that this parting, unlike the others, shall be extremely shortâand the reunion all the more delectable.
Previous fic with same reader -> Tides of fate
Next fic with same reader -> As one
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Book Three of The Two Towers is Done!
Boromirâs Lament
Aragorn's Song of Gondor
The Lore of Living Creatures
Treebeardâs Song
The Ent and the Entwife
Bregalad's Song
Entâs Marching Song
Galadrielâs Message to Aragorn
Galadrielâs Message to Legolas
Galadrielâs Message to Gimli
Eorl the Young
Gandalf's Song of Lorien
Rohanâs Call to Arms
Ent Riddle
Rhymes of Lore
The Lord of the Rings is a Musical
Song Counter: 35
Poem Counter: 14
Total: 49
Bonus (times singing was mentioned but not spelled out): 22
FotR Counter: 34 FotR Total: 49
#the lord of the rings#kiki re-re-re-reads the lord of the rings#boromir's lament#aragorn's song of gondor#the lore of living creatures#treebeard's song#the ent and the entwife#bregalad's song#ent's marching song#galadriel's message to aragorn#galadriel's message to legolas#galadriel's message to gimli#eorl the young#gandalf's song of lorien#rohan's call to arms#ent riddle#(that one almost just sneaked by me)#rhymes of lore#as you know#some of the names may be made up#so lemme know if you know the actual name!#if you know you know#stay tuned for more!#the two towers#gosh i have no idea why it took me so long to do this part#the lord of the rings music counter
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As the sun sets in the western seas, Elwing hears EĂ€rendil singing in Quenya by the shore.
(tengwar is the last two lines of Galadrielâs lament, the bit that means: farewell! maybe thou shalt find valimar; maybe even thou shalt find it. farewell!)
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Can we take a moment to talk about that generation that consisted mainly of the grandchildren of Finwë?
I mean, look at this:
Dead, Good as Dead, Dead, Dead, Dead, Dead, Dead, Dead, Dead, Dead, Dead, Dead, Only Alive Because Her Family Had the Presence of Mind to Stop Her, Dead, Dead, Dead, Survived.
Galadriel really was the only one who survived.
And this hits me hard when I think about it.
Because a writer puts a bit of themselves in every character.
The part of Tolkien that I see the most in Galadriel is the part of him that survived the war.
After all, he was part of the Lost Generation. Two of his closest friendsâRobert Gilson and Geoffrey Smithâdied in the war. Tolkien and Christopher Wiseman were the only two of their fellowship to survive.
Only Galadriel survived.
That was what the Grandchildren of Finwë were. They were the Lost Generation. An entire generation slaughtered.
The regret, the lamentation, the grief. Galadriel knew it well. She lived it because Tolkien lived it.
And I don't know why, but for some reason, this speaks to me louder than any history book ever has.
#Finwë#Fëanor#Meadhros#Maglor#Celegorm#Caranthir#Curufin#Amrod#Amras#Fingolfin#Fingon#Turgon#Elenwë#Aredhel#Argon#Finrod#Angrod#Aegnor#Galadriel#Tolkien#The Lost Generation#The Silmarillion#Silmarillion#Middle Earth#War of the Wrath#WWI#House of Finwë#House of Fëanor#And there came his cries calling faintly down the dark alleys of the dreary trees#and one there weeping weary on the threshold heard how the hills said 'my home is gone.'
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Reepicheep could just walk into Mordor. Easy-peasy.
He could definitely get there, but he wouldn't be my first pick as Ringbearer. I definitely don't think he'd have it any easier than Frodo and Sam. If I had to send Narnians to do the Fellowship's jobs, here's who I'd send:
Reepicheep could kill the Witch King of Angmar
Puddleglum and Hwin could take the Ring to Mordor
Caspian could take the Paths of the Dead, with assorted Old Narnians (Trumpkin, Trufflehunter, etc.) as backup. Drinian is along to sail the ships.
Puzzle could unwittingly contact Sauron via Palantir
Tumnus is my pick for improvising Boromir's funeral lament. We know he's musical and HHB shows that he thinks fast on his feet
On the flip side:
Faramir could stamp out the Green Lady's fire
Bilbo could joyously take the coracle over the edge of the world (unless it's the First Age, in which case it's definitely EĂ€rendil)
Sam would do the Jill thing and rescue Puzzle from the stable, then immediately speed bond and refuse to let anyone hurt him
Any number of Middle Earth warriors could do single combat with Miraz, but I think Aragorn would come up with the plan on the spot the way Peter does. Very similar vibe to the attack on the Black Gate
Also:
Father Christmas could hand out gifts and cryptic advice in Lothlorien; Galadriel could arm the Pevensies and patch up the Beavers' dam
Lucy stands the best chance of anyone at finding the Entwives
Pippin and Cor would have a lot to discuss re: first experience in battle. Pippin and Corin would have a lot to discuss re: everything else
Ramandu and Coraikin have a biweekly book club with Tom Bombadil and Goldberry. Gandalf is also invited, but only pops by once in a great while
#you literally didn't ask but#these are my hot takes#i think Reepicheep is a little too proud for Ringbearer duty. remember the episode with his tail in PC?#i get where you're coming from though#i just think your humble and earthy characters like puddleglum and hwin ade better options#narnia#tolkien legendarium#ask me hard questions
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In a BoromirLives fanfic, Faramir must be forced to confront this line of his in particular; Whether he erred or no, of this I am sure: he died well, achieving some good thing. His face was more beautiful even than in life. It's vital to me that this is addressed. Because in Tolkien beauty is holy, they are intertwined inextricably, the holy will be beautiful.
Boromir did not live a beautiful holy life according to most, his life is not spoken of with uncomplicated worth by any but Denethor, Eomer, Theoden and Pippin (all either 'simple' or outwardly rebellious against god). But he did die a beautiful holy death, it is what most people praise him for and in Faramir's mystical dream where he sees Boromir's dead body floating down the river, this is his reaction. Boromir's corpse was more beautiful than his living body, because in death he was 'redeemed' and served his purpose in the great holy plan. He 'died well'.
This is horrifying right? It horrifies me when I read it. And I think it so concisely reveals how Faramir and many others viewed Boromir. I am essentially here to argue that this is all about piety, once again, yes I'm a one track record.
Gandalf, when hearing of Boromir's death from Aragorn, declares; It was a sore trial for such a man: a warrior, and a lord of men. Galadriel told me that he was in peril. But he escaped in the end. I am glad. It was not in vain that the young hobbits came with us, if only for Boromirâs sake.
Now, what is Gandalf saying here? Boromir did not escape, he died. Does he mean he escaped corruption? Well, no, since apparently this 'escape' had something to do with Merry and Pippin and Boromir shook off the pull of the Ring long before he was sent to find them. What role did Merry and Pippin play in this 'escape'? Well, Boromir died for them, he had too, there was no other way out of that ambush. So by process of elimination the only thing the 'young hobbits' did that was 'for Boromir's sake' was... to be there so he could die for them, right?
And remember, his death did not actually save them or really help in any way, the hobbits are still taken and the Uruk-hai's downfall has nothing to do with Boromir. In fact Aragorn squandered any time Boromir might have given him to catch up to the Uruk-hai by spending hours on his funeral. So, the death alone is what is being called 'good' here, what is beautiful. Boromir dies and that is beautiful and something to be glad for, according to Gandalf and Faramir.
But why do they think this? Faramir has his 'alas for Boromir, whom I too loved' and Gandalf laments 'poor Boromir', so they have at least some pity for him. What was 'good' to them about Boromir dying? Well we all know this one don't we, it's the accepted narrative of it all, Boromir 'redeemed' himself with this deed. He tried to take the Ring, and for this crime he needed redemption that he gained through vainly giving up his life to try and save Merry and Pippin.
But, in fact, Boromir himself has a slightly different way of phrasing it. Boromir says, of his own death; âI tried to take the Ring from Frodo,â [-] âI am sorry. I have paid.â
He paid for it. To Boromir, in this cosmic exchange, he chose wrongly and paid for the offence with his death. This wasn't redemption, it was spiritual commerce, crime and punishment. Which is a perspective that once again demonstrates Boromir's enduring lack of 'faith' or spirituality. The powers of the west and Eru may exist, but they exist to him as forces of nature, some fact of the world we all must just live with, not something that fills him with hope or brings him nobility or meaning or a 'higher purpose'. Boromir does not want to be closer to divinity, he does not want to be beautiful or noble, he wants his people to be safe.
But of course, this is entirely opposite to Faramir's perspective, and if not downright heretical then at least unfaithful. So, when alive, Boromir cannot achieve 'beauty' in Faramir's mind, because he is unfaithful. It is only when he is dead, when 'fate' draws him into this spiritually good 'end' that sees him give up his life for a holy quest, when Boromir's life is no longer defined by him but by his death, that he can be beautiful.
And bringing this all the way back around, there are two ways you could do this in a boromirlives fic. Either, Boromir comes back but he does not look like he did in Faramir's dream. He did not pay, he is still alive to define who he is and Faramir finds himself slowly drawn into this terrible psychological horror as he realises he misses his brother's death more than he missed his actual brother.
Or Faramir needs to be confronted with a brother who looks dead to him. Boromir has come back and to Faramir's eyes he looks exactly as he did in the dream, but now this corpse moves and speaks and can no longer be confined to one perfect conceptual moment. And this also horrifies him. It is for authors to decide if this is just an aspect of Faramir's perspective, or if Boromir actually 'came back wrong' as it were, he did pay but somehow he came back anyway.
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( credits to @perryabbott for this phenomenal gifset ! )
1/? | SEAWARDS, TO YOU. ; REPENTANT!AU
summ. Mairon Sauron repents. The Valar test his resolve. or: A Seabird meets a Jailbird. pairing. (Repentant!Mairon/Sauron) Halbrand / f!reader w.count.  4k a/n. AU!s1 in which the Valar are the ones who habit Sauron into Halbrandâs body , NĂșmenor timeline is extended , Reader has an established NĂșmenĂłrean name , Galadrielâs call-to-arms is Sauronâs temptation , The Valar are just curious which path heâll take atp
[This looks to be setting up for a series... Feel free to send requests so we can explore this AU together!]
HE BEHOLDS A LIGHT.
And thenâ and then.
Grief follows.
Great and bitter and relentlessly pitiless.Â
It swallows him wholeâ spirit and body and thought alikeâ an all-consuming maw of devouring sorrow that heâd been forcefully severed from. All that Melkorâ no, Morgothâ had sought to smother and sunder from his very esse, stirring back to life from where itâd first been cast to the black depths, like a scalding brand of hot iron against skin.
An eternal, burning reminder.
RETRIBUTIONâ
âhowls the great Winds.Â
It muffles his screams from unseen heights. Pure, unadulterated agony; his heart aflame of every pain heâd ever wrought throughout the age, throughout the centuriesâ
It takes a moment for him to realise heâs dying.
Enough, comes a soft-rising lament. He despairs. He is not yet forsaken.Â
The voice lilts like a mournful dirge, and with it had come a gentle peace, and the torture seemed to cease nigh in an instant.Â
Any will despair in the face of Death, booms another. It rumbles across towering pillars and a cavernous hall of light.
He is not as others. A mighty wave crashes on unseen shores. Thereâs a swelling cascade. He is Mairon, Maiar of AulĂ«.Â
His name lights the world alive. Other voices have come, now. A curious crowd, a divine council.
He seeks repentance---Does he deserve it?---He is dying---Irredeemable!---He has yet to weep a single tear in the name of any that is good---You would grant him a chance to inflict the same corruption?---Cast him away---Â Condemn him to the Night!---He is but a servant hand of Mâ
A fierce billow of wind. Lashing and deafening, enough to sweep the black name into muteness; into nothingness.Â
INVOKE NOT THE DARKNESS HERE.
Quickly follows is a crescendo of music, a song of all Age and that carries all note of harmony, so beautifully terrifying it chills him to the bone. Strikes an utter fear in his heart he hadnât felt since heâd first been tortured byâ
âLet him speak,â commands One.
At once, All had fallen into quiet. The tides recede. The earth stills. The stars dim.
And thenâ
âPeace,â Mairon trembles, bowing low and terrified, guilt-ridden in his and all eyes. âI wish only for peace.â
Halbrand startles awake.
There are tears down his face.
NĂșmenor, he remembers. Heâs in the prisons of NĂșmenor.
His senses are devoid of howling winds, of rumbling earth, and of roaring waters. No thundering night sky of stars. No agonising pain.
But then, echoing from behind, a voice resoundsâ delicate and openly gentleâ and for a terrifying moment he thinks he might still be dreaming; that one of the Valar is speaking to him unseen once again, or perhaps the statue of Uinen graced outside his cell has come to life.
âNightmare?â
A beat.Â
ââŠMemory,â he answers tentatively, from where heâs curled in his cot. He rubs his face awake. âWhere is Galadriel?â
âTrying to win over the heart of the Queen, still.â
âHere.â Halbrand hearkens, and can see a figure shift neath the torchlight closer to the wrought bars, kneeling down to offer him a sip from a carafe of wine.Â
A bitter memory involuntarily resurfaces in him: A bottle of wine in his hands, red as a blood moon, feeding it to a black-haired elf chained upon a dark and nameless peak, scarred to the brink of death.
A blistering ache crawls down his nape. He grimaces.Â
âNo thanââ
The moonlight gleams. Halbrand seizes.Â
ItâsâŠÂ you .
The fair lady; from ereyesterday heâd recalled standing alongside the Captain of the Sea Guard, when he and Galadriel had first been brought before the royal court to face Tar-MĂriel, and you looked like a vision of gold and ocean-blue. He had only caught a glimpse of your profile at the time, but here, nowâ
Youâre beautiful , Mairon thinks candidly. The kind that would make men drown themselves at sea.Â
ââŠNo thank you,â Halbrand repeats, significantly less bitter than before. He shifts to sit comfortably, and leans his head back against the barred wall as he carefully scrutinises your ensemble under the hanging firelightâ the shell-braid hair, the fresh-water pearl jewellery, the deep-teal gown.Â
Princess? He reckons. No. You carry yourself light in both presence and step, but not sophisticated in the high and tight way someone of noble status tends toâ not quite like Galadriel, even in all her salt-soaked mien.Â
Politician, perhaps? Considering the attempt at an olive branch; an out-of-place kindness if you were to compare it to the scorn from the other NĂșmenorean folk.
Nevertheless: âI was told nobody kneels in NĂșmenor.â Then, more scathingly: âYouâre not supposed to be here, are you?âÂ
The rough blatancy would have put anyone off.
But instead, you blink in surprise and laugh. Itâs a soft, wind-chime of a sound, quickly ducked down so he could only catch the tail-end of your obscured, dimpled smile.
(He was surprised to find himself thinking he should have sat closer to the light to see it.)
âSo says the castaway,â you volley breezily, rising back to your feet with your peace offering.
Halbrand finally stands to height before you move to leave. Heâd much rather take the opportunity for a decent conversation at the very least, than stare mindlessly at the dark until something else interesting happens.
Heâs tall, you come to realise. Dizzyingly so.
For someone whoâd supposedly been adrift for weeks in the ocean, he looks surprisingly as hale as the she-Elf. Strong, even. It shows in the curl of his biceps, in the firm way heâs leaning down onto the bars now, forearms poking out as the sea-green shift in his eyes regard you almost inquisitively.Â
If not for the tell-tale signs of a bad sunburn and his salt-licked wounds, you wouldnât have been able to tell him apart from a local NĂșmenorean sailor.
âTo whom or what do I owe the pleasure of a fair maidenâs presence?â
But you arenât so easily swayed. âFlattery will not get you far, Southlander.â
âSo says the one who tried offering me wine,â he shoots, cocking his head to your bottle.
Well âÂ
Well.
Fine. Maybe you are easily swayed. Blame the quick-wittedness of him and that cheeky, roguish smile cutting across his chapped lips.
âOffered,â you correct, uselessly. He can surely recognise it: your meek attempt to have the last say. âYouâve lost your chance.â
He hums. âHopefully not the chance for a name, at least?âÂ
Though it seems heâs lost that tooâ
A clamour descended from a distance; the jingle of skeleton keys, the sound of approaching footsteps in heavy armour. Change in guard shift, maybe, or it could be Galadrielâs escorted return. Regardless, youâre quick to gather your senses and make headway to the shadows.
âWaitââ Halbrand catches your fingers just as you turn to leave. The touch feels like a kindle; a spark of ember. âWhat are you called?â
âTell no guard I was here, and I may just yet be able to tell you another day,â you whisper, before quickly slipping from his grasp.
And then youâre gone. Like sand between his fingers, like a ripple in waterâ
(Something, however, tinkers to the floor.)
âWhoâre you talkinâ to, Southlander?â comes a snap.
(Halbrand stomps a foot on the rolling ring.)
âMyself,â he smiles.
You come the next night after.
Galadriel recognises you.Â
âDoes your father not caution you to speak with strangers?â she bites, when she watches you poke your hand into her cell. Itâs a canteen of water.
A shrug. âIf you speak of the Captain, you are mistaken.â Then, almost breezily, as if a tale told by you countlessly: âMore he my ward and I his charge, if nothing else. Elendil found me in a tidepool, as an infant.â
Something flashes in Galadrielâs mind. A memory that never dims: Seaside, and a skin of water sheâd given to a tidal-haired half-Elf, who had been left estranged with neither friend nor kin.Â
She casts her eyes aside.Â
âErulaitalĂ«Â will begin soon,â you warn. âThe guards may likely conveniently forget to bring down your dinner amid the days-long occasion.â (You leave out the obvious: And because youâd socked two of them in the face during your little tirade towards the Queen yesterday.)Â
Galadriel begrudgingly relents.Â
When you get the canteen back to offer her prison mate, heâs already looming at the bars of his cell.Â
âThatâs not why you came, though, is it?â
Heâs fidgeting with something in his hand. A mixed metal ringâ silver and goldâ dainty and elegant, crowned with a freshwater pearl in its centre. To someone like him the build is simple. Ordinary. But the startled look in your eyes seems to imply itâs not as meaningless as it appears.Â
âYou ought to reshape this,â he murmurs, thumbing at the edge as he studies it. Scrutinising, almost, in his mindâs eyeâ like he couldnât help a habit of assessing the details and correcting any flaws. âItâs loose.â
You wrinkle your nose. âWhat would a castaway like you know of craft?âÂ
His face lights with a soft smile. (Galadriel thinks it mightâve been the most genuine sheâd ever seen of him yet.) âPlenty, if you consider I was once a Smith.â
âCaptivating,â you dismiss. âNow give it bââÂ
You reach out reflexively, but heâs quick to retreat back into the safety of his cell.
âAh. I believe you owe me your name,â he cocks his head slowly. âFair lady.â
A huff. Itâs almost comical how your shoulders sink in defeat as he continues. âOr perhaps youâd prefer, hm, I donât know; Seabird â?â
âEĂ€rmaril,â you admit, reluctantly. âNow give it back, lest I cut it apart from your very fingers myself, jailbird .â
Thereâs a long, tense moment.Â
You wonder if heâll return it to you; if heâll continue to covet it as a method of leverage, perhapsâ but then you watch him slowly make his way to lean on the bars to meet your gaze once more, and to your surprise, gestures for your hand.
You hesitate.
Halbrand patiently waits.
Then, tentatively, you reach out.
Seducer, you want to scoffâÂ
He carefully flips your hand palm-down, slides the ring gently back in place.Â
âBut youâre too distracted by the striking feel of him on your fingers. Itâs callous, rough, strong. Youâre surprised a man of his seemingly boorish nature can handle your hands this delicately at all, much less be this effortlessly charming.
âSea-crystal,â he dazedly translates your name, once your presence had finally slipped free from the dungeon. âNo?â
âA pearl,â Galadriel specifies. âThe Heart of the Sea. â
Youâre back, again.
Halbrand is pleasantly surprised, to say the least. Heâd half-expected you to stop showing up after the stunt heâd pulled, but thereâd also been that gnawing part of him that knew (hoped) youâd return. Thereâs a stubbornness in you he can recognise from the she-Elfâ it must be why the both of you take to each other so easily.Â
âItâs no Lembas,â you tell Galadriel, handing her an apple. (Fresh, still. She can smell the dew rolling down its skin.) âBut itâs better than what the guards have been offering you, here.â
He knows what youâre doing, if Galadrielâs word is right. Youâre trying to turn the tides towards their favour; to, at the very least, get them out of these wretched cells while the kingdom debates their fate. Getting into their good graces, however, and why youâre going the extra mile with feeding themâ heâs not quite sure heâs figured that out exactly yet.
âEnlighten me, what do you stand to gain from your act of breaking proverbial way-bread?â
âHalbrand,â Galadriel warns.
âItâs fine. Heâs right to be wary,â you say, before turning to him. âIs plain amity not enough of a reason?"
âNot to my esteem. Everyone has wants,â he says. âBesides, looks can oft be deceiving.â
(You canât discern if thatâs a jab or a compliment or something else entirely. Perhaps all at once.)Â
âAnd what is it you think IÂ want, Southlander?â
He leans on the cell, studies you purposefully. âAn escape. Off of this island home youâve grown bored of. That in hopes, if the Queen should let us free, you could set sail along with us,â he says. âI think you long for a grand adventure, outside the shores of NĂșmenor, to seek the finer joys of life beyond your charted waters.â
A stagnant moment passes.
âHm,â you shrug, sounding unimpressed. ââŠOf grand adventures and finer things. That shall be my reason, then, if it is enough for you, Halbrand.â
He falters. The name rolling from your tongue sounds like the purl of a steady, clearwater stream. Like heâd been quenched of something he couldnât quite place; of something he never noticed longed to be slated.
âWhat about you? What do you want?â you ask, setting the apple in his hands.Â
You miss the turn of Galadrielâs head.Â
Sauron doesnât.
Vengeance, his heart cries instinctively, meeting Galadrielâs rallying-like gaze.Â
But then Halbrand blinks your way.Â
âPeace,â Mairon recites. âI wish only for peace.â
Someone else delivers in your stead, this time.
A cadet, who appears still wet-behind-the-ears; tanned with a mop of tight curls on his head, and holding a dissimilar kindness to your own eyes. He seems less inclined to linger in his visit, nor to entertain any of their questions.Â
âWhere is EĂ€rmaril?â Halbrand asks, when the cadet clarifies your supposed order to him.
ââŠShe regrets her absence.â
âThat doesnât answer my question,â he says, and couldnât bite back the demand of his tone in time.
âOccupied,â states the cadet.
âWith?â Galadriel urges.
âDealings of which are not of your concern.â
He doesnât know either, they quickly realise, sharing a knowing glance at each other.Â
Itâs only when five long minutes pass that the cadet concludes the bowl of scallops prepared will go stubbornly untouched out of distrust, and so decides to clear the evidence away, and turn on his heel to leave.
You fail to appear a night after.
And then the next.
Halbrand just stares at Uinen, and worries.
âAwfully hungry, are you?â
With a handful of fruit, you freeze in place. Thereâs a chill you feel crawling over you, the type you get when you know youâre caught red-handed; the type a child would get at the icy wrath of their father.
Heâs not your father, you try to thaw. But it would be impossible to attempt that. So you allow yourself to look at him as Captain of the Sea Guard instead. ââŠVery much so.â
âWe may not be of blood, EĂ€rmaril, but to me you are still my eldest,â he reminds, âIâve raised you longer than I have Isildur and EĂ€rien.âÂ
âOnly by three years,â you dismiss, leaning back onto the kitchen counter and crossing your arms.
âYouâve been sneaking to the prison.â He doesnât sound surprised as he puts it out in the open. You wish he wouldâve at least sounded as such, even a little bit.Â
âThe Faithful have believâ"
But having brought up that subject alone seems to effectively tip the scales against your favour. âStop,â he says, in the authoritative tone he always uses to clinch arguments, âYou will cease this madness.â
âIs that what weâre calling kindness, now?â
Elendil pinches the bridge of his nose.
âYou are lucky, foolish girl, that I caught on, and not any other of the Guard. Why is it you care so much for these castaways?â
I donât know wouldâve been a terrible answer, but it wouldâve been an honest one. That you cannot explain the call or the pull towards them since the day those two had set foot on NĂșmenorâ
âThe sea put them in your path the same way I was put upon yours. And the sea is always right.âÂ
âThat was different. You were an infant,â he corrects. âWith no past to haunt you, and no intentions hidden in your heart. These are strangers.â
âGaladriel is known to NĂșmenor. She was the Scourge of Orcs,â you defend, waving an arm. âAnd of Hâ the Southlander, I have seen nothing in him but the utter desire for peace.â
Elendilâs face twists into incredulity. âYou can see that, and yet for Valandil you were seemingly blind to how involving him could have risked dismissal from the coming Sea Trialsâ?â
âDonât bring him into this.â
âYou brought him into this!â
âHe offered to helpââ
âBecause he has a good heart.â
ââbecause you declined to help in the first place!â you snap, and set the apple down with an irritated thud. âAll you had to do was convince Chancellor Pharazon to consiââ
Elendil huffs your name, and it feels the verbal equivalent of him flicking your ear. âDonât you dare fault any of this on me.â
âI am not,â you assert. âI am merely stating the truth. I can take full responsibility for everything else, but whatever fault you feel inside of yourself is not my doing.â
Your expression sinks. âAnd what I asked of you was simple. If you cannot do even that, then at the very least: turn your gaze inwards for once, instead of casting it across the waters.â
That seems to have knocked the wind from his sails.Â
(Surprisingly, yours too.)
âYou know,â he sighs, after the silence stretched for a moment. âYou are so much like your mother, sometimes.âÂ
âSheâsââ Not my mother, you defy reflexively. Though that wouldâve been unfair. She may not have been your mother, but you will always be her daughter; she had raised and cherished and loved you as her very own nonetheless; had chivvied and taught you the ways of water and the world better than anybody ever could have. ââSheâs gone.â
âShe lives in you. I can see it. Everyday,â he says.Â
But that is all the grief he allows you to see. His hard, insular gaze set back into place, and suddenly youâve found Elendil of the Sea Guard, again, as he goes to swipe the bag from your hands.
Laterâ much, much later, in factâ you learn Elendilâs following meeting with the castaways that night goes a little something like this:
A cut-glass voice, and a stomp of his feet. âEver since you two driftwoods have sailed into my path,â echoes Elendil, âA discourse has been sown between me and my daughter.â
âWhat damage could we possibly have done,â Galadriel says in an undertone, watching him stride in. âLocked in a cage like beasts since our arrival?â
Halbrand shoots her a chiding look. Let me handle this. âOur⊠sincerest apologies, Captain. We did not intend as such. Your daughter merely extended us a kindness.â
A snort. Itâs Galadrielâs.
âI donât know what she sees in the both of you.â Elendil sighs, and a deep set frown makes itself known on his weary face. The Captain stops short at the foot of Uinenâs statue. âPerhaps a reflection of herself,â he continues, admiring the stone-carved hair blend into crested waves of the sea. âA key to understanding it.â
Thereâs a cold, calculative look in his eyes as he turns to face them. Itâs nothing like the one you wearâ warm, assessing. But thereâs a kindness, still, in both of you; where the familial thread connects.
It seems youâve managed to pluck that chord.
âErulaitalĂ«Â is a week-long trip to and fro. With the storms weâve been having, maybe more. Iâve managed to get the both of you an audience with the Queen before then,â he lays the bag of fruit to their cells. âTomorrow you will have a chance to plead your case. But whatever is commanded of me, I will obey. So for the sake of my daughter, and for yourselves, I ask you tread lightly .â
The last line is said pointedly at Galadriel.Â
âThank you,â Halbrand says. Itâs forcedâ but genuine.
Galadriel says it too, though the day after; and not to the Queen nor Elendil, but to you, after the audience had gone as well as it could have.
Tar-MĂriel now considers them guests of the island while she travels to perform her duties amid ErulaitalĂ«, though they will be surveilled for the time being until her return, and will personally ensure the matter of their fate be seen to by then.Â
Throughout the final mandate, howeverâ
Ivory white is a beautiful colour on you, Halbrand concludes, distractedly.
âGlad to see the Captain didnât lock you up in a tower,â he says after, as the Guards unlock his shackles. âDo you always have a tendency to help strays? To beachcomb for flotsam and jetsam that wash ashore?â
âA thank you would be nice,â you scoff, but without heat. âAnd yes. Call it a mutual understanding.â
The Guards shuffle off. Halbrand is left in the borders of the court, speaking to you, whoâs robed in a dress like a monolith of pure light. Salvation, you look like. And you had been, in a way. He cannot deny that.
But he cannot deny he doesnât trust any of it either.
(Something about things being too good to be true. Heâs learned that lesson before.)
âI still donât know what you want of me, EĂ€rmaril,â he remarks, and was glad to know the sound of your name finally being uttered by him seems to have an effect on you. âBut a part of me gathers that staying in those cells to rot might benefit me more, than to be at risk of being at your disposal outside these stone walls.â
Hurt flashes in your eyes. Itâs the first heâd ever seen it.Â
As if the thought of having someone in thrall to you wasâ outlandish. And here, perhaps now Sauron will see the malice cut through your façade. That alas, your true colours and intentions will bleed through, as always, like heâs been expecting and predicting all this while.
But then:
âYou must have been hurt so, to be this distrusting, Halbrand.â
He seizes.
Your gaze melts into something sickeningly compassionate. Severe, almost, as EstĂ«âs healing touch in his faded dreams.
Sauron doesnât know what to make of it.
âYouâ think me afraid,â he manages, terse enough to be a statement more than a question. (Enough, hopefully, to hide the fact you have, indeed, rattled him.)
âNo. I think you donât know what true kindness looks like, even if itâs being handed to you on a silver platter.â
âIâve done evil,â he says, slow and careful, and accompanies it with an intimidating step into your space; your orbit.
You donât waver.Â
If anything, youâve boldly bared your throat as you crane your neck to level his steely gaze. âIt is said only the sea can wash away all that is evil. That it can erode all given time. I believe thatâs why you were adrift and washed here.â
âA baptism,â he muses, suddenly remembering OssĂ«, between the battle-drum in his ears.Â
âWhatever floats your boat.â
Halbrand scoffs. âYou think you know me.â
âI know enough,â you say. âI know Iâm the only person in this moment who can give you what you want.â
âYou alone cannot give me peace.â
âI cannot,â you agree, before cocking your head to the side. âThough, I can lend you a Smithâs hammer and tongs.â
In spite of himself, and against his better judgementâ
Mairon lights up.
Footnotes:
ErulaitalĂ« was a ceremony observed on the summit of Meneltarma, the tallest mountain peak of NĂșmenor, in which praise was given to Eru for his works.
#series potential!#may be drawing fanart of this in the future#find me on AO3!#halbrand#sauron#trop#the rings of power#rings of power#lotr#lord of the rings#halbrand imagine#sauron imagine#halbrand x you#halbrand x reader#halbrand x y/n#sauron x you#sauron x reader#sauron x y/n#rings of power imagine#trop imagine#lotr imagine#đȘČ ; lotr#đȘČ ; trop
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So, the Doom of the Noldor
Isn't very strict, to put it politely.
Tears unnumbered ye shall shed; and the Valar will fence Valinor against you, and shut you out, so that not even the echo of your lamentation shall pass over the mountains.
...except that one time when Manwe sends an eagle to Fingon to save Maedhros (both kinslayers) precisely because of Fingon's lamentations prayer...
On the House of FĂ«anor the wrath of the Valar lieth from the West unto the uttermost East, and upon all that will follow them it shall be laid also. Their Oath shall drive them, and yet betray them, and ever snatch away the very treasures that they have sworn to pursue.
...except that one time M&M actually get the Silmarils. Yes, it's kind of ambiguous with this wording, because they do lose them eventually. But still, this 'prophecy' seems a little misleading here.
To evil end shall all things turn that they begin well; and by treason of kin unto kin, and the fear of treason, shall this come to pass.
...except Galadriel's woodland realm, which, sure, fades but doesn't end up evil. Also, Celebrimbor technically wasn't betrayed by his kin, and definitely in was not fear of treason what killed him...
The rest is ok, but even three mistakesâ Even one mistake would prove that it wasn't Namo speaking those words. Namo makes no mistakes, doesn't lie, doesn't joke and doesn't use hyperboles. (Yes, that's headcanon.)
Namo is too omniscient to not be literal.
Many of you will say I'm being picky, and the eagle doesn't count or the words meant something else, and Galadriel wasn't with the Noldor but went separately (per later writings) or something.
Anyway, I'm pretty strict-minded when it comes to prophecies and I really don't think Namo would be that imprecise. Must have been one of his Maiar or whatever.
#Namo said this Namo said that#allegedly#he allegedly said that#he speaks in short sentences not prophecies#Namo#mandos#tolkien#silmarillion#tolkien legendarium#silm#feanor#Noldor#doom of the Noldor#don't even get me started on other things he allegedly said
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LotR Week - Day 4 (19th Sep)
Gifts, burdens and choices â @lotrweek
The Elves have long stopped their lament, yet a cacophony lingers within Boromirâs mind. The others have gone to sleep, and even Frodo finally seems to dream again. Their snores fill their shared nook. He envies them, he does. Ever since his unsettling meeting with the Lady Galadriel, there has been nothing but turmoil in his soul. Will it ever end, the spiralling?
Exhaustion is there, though, he can feel it deep in his bones. Everything hurts, every muscle in his body. He, who has always been one for exercise and fighting, is not immune to the toll that the past days have taken on the fellowship, on both body and heart. He is no longer as young and fierce as he once was.
But that deeply rooted anguish within him⊠Ageing has nothing to do with it all. It would have been easy to dismiss it as a symptom of passing time, but that would have meant lying to himself and everyone who shared the weight of the task at hand. There have been too many lies as of late. He may not desire to instantly trust the first person he encounters, but he certainly refuses to continue this vicious circle of deception. What purpose would that serve? The world is a harsh enough place as it is, and the whole plan is to make it a better place.
Just a ring. Nothing but a silly, little ring. The very fate of Middle-earth rests in Frodoâs hands. Embodied by that tiny golden circle. He might not be as well-taught as Aragorn or Faramir are, but even he knows how disastrous the consequences would be should the quest fail. And it is nothing but a stupid ring.
How absurd life has become since his first puzzling dreams that his brother shared with him. Nothing is going according to plan either. It was all simple, though. Go to Rivendell, seek an audience with Elrond, find out the cause of these dreams and their meaning, educate himself on the broken sword, then return to Minas Tirith to inform Denethor on his findings and prepare against any approaching threat. Easy. But not so easy. Now, he is far from home, shivering in the night surrounded by his travel companions, burdened with a quest much greater than what he knows he can handle, and Gandalf is dead. Dead.
He can still remember the wizardâs occasional visits to Minas Tirith back when he was nothing but a boy. While he did spend more time with Faramir than with him â much to Denethorâs relief, after all, why should his precious firstbornâs time be wasted by the fanciful stories of an old man? â he did enjoy his presence, just like any other child did. When the fellowship was formed, he found solace in the knowledge that Gandalf would accompany them. That was at least one familiar element amid the blur.
But now the wizard is gone, and his companions seem to distrust every word he speaks. The Elves who welcomed them were not any warmer to him. He is an outcast where he has always fit in. Acting in teams, coming up with strategies, fighting, camping⊠None of it is strange to him. If anything, that is what his life has always been. So why, oh why does he feel so inadequate and insecure? Why do the others regard him with such disdain whenever he opens his mouth?
Merry and Pippin do not. Thankfully. Before tragedy struck, he quite enjoyed their company and teaching them new tricks with the sword. The carefree laughs, the games, the jokes⊠It all reminded him of the time when Faramir was a child and wanted his brother to teach him things, not just a regular teacher. For a moment in the middle of fear and uncertainty, he could slip back to simpler times and relive these memories from so long ago. But now that they have escaped Moria, nothing feels right anymore. The two hobbits hardly ever smile anymore. The innocent glimmers in their eyes have dimmed. Just like the wonder in Faramirâs eyes was snuffed by years of their fatherâs spite.
They are grown, now.
And all he can do is clutch his chest and muffle his crying. They all need proper rest, and Boromir will not be a bother to them.
Not this time.
#lotrweek#Lord of the Rings#lotr#lotr fanfiction#lotr fanfic#lotr fic#fanfiction#fanfic#fic#Boromir#Faramir
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Unrequited (Elrond Ending)
(Same warnings and notes apply)
The final two people standing in the way stepped back, and Elrond himself walked right up to you. Stunned, you gave him a courteous bow. âMy lord,â you said, your voice shaking. It was really him in front of you. Your face fell as you thought about how you must look, dirty and tangled. Shame washed over you in waves, each one more powerful than the next. Youâd set out to find yourself and found ruin. Heâd been generous enough to help you and youâd run away. He knew that you liked him but never mentioned it. You could feel the weight of all your troubles pushing down on you, making you feel alone even in the crowd.
âY/N,â his voice was soft this time, âwhatâs happened to you?â You were doing so well.
âIâm sorry,â you said, your voice breaking. âI really just wanted to be better. I think I left before I was ready.â
âAre you certain you didnât leave because of me? Because of my lack of romantic attraction to you?â
The words hit you like a brick. You wanted the earth to swallow you up or to disappear like mist blowing away. Fat, angry tears rolled down your cheeks. Why couldnât you just have sucked it up? Why couldnât you just get over him like a normal person? Why did you have to make a big deal and leave?
âYou did what you thought would be best for you,â he said, as if reading your thoughts, âbut it didnât end up being so. Donât be so hard on yourself, Y/N. Healing is a process.â He took your arm and pulled you into a hug. âItâs all over now. Letâs go home.â
You bit your lip and forced yourself not to cry. The last thing you wanted to do was embarrass Elrond in front of all these people. After a few moments, he pulled away from the hug and guided you to a spare horse that he had brought with him. Helping you onto it, he instructed Elrohir to stay beside you as the group left the town. You gave Elrohir a weak smile. âThanks.â
He nodded. âIâm just glad youâre okay.
**
Arriving back in Lothlorien after a dayâs ride, you apologized profusely to Galadriel for your subtle escape, lamenting that resources were wasted because of you. After you had talked with the lady for a bit, you left to go wash up. Cleansing yourself of all the grime allowed you to have a moment of peace alone. Youâd felt like you were under Elrondâs watchful eye the whole time. Stealing glances every minute or so, it was as though he was still ensuring you were behind him and hadnât run off. It made you feel sad that he had been so worried about you. You hadnât meant for it to end up this way. You were supposed to make it on your own and get over him, not cause him unnecessary worry. Drying your hair with a towel, you slowed your breathing and tried to shift your focus somewhere else. Going back to Imladris meant getting better again. Just focus on getting better.
After slipping into some new clothes, you headed out of your designated room to see the stars. It took you a while to find a spot where you could see them, but once you did you were proud of yourself for trying. The sky was illuminated in thousands of beautiful arrangements and constellations. You felt like you were lost in them.
âI would have thought you would be anxious to get a good nightâs rest after all this time.â You turned to see Elrond beside you, his face turned toward the sky, a small smile on his lips. Seeing him bathed in starlight nearly made you pass out. He was so wildly attractive with his long dark hair cascading over his shoulder, and his reflective mood made him seem gentler and sweeter than ever before.
âI wanted to see the stars,â was all you could think to say as you stood dumbfounded next to him, your eyes refusing to stop staring at his face.
He turned to you and gave you a full smile, churning your insides with only his gaze. The air felt hot all of a sudden and sweat prickled on the back of your neck, making you reach up to scratch it away. Exhaling, you lowered your gaze to the ground beneath you. He was stealing your breath now. Did he have any idea the impact he had on you? Suddenly, his hand took yours and you looked up at him in shock. The smile on his lips turned into a laugh. âOf course you did. You were always one to find something of worth in the small moments, whether it be stargazing or pulling a prank.â You blushed and looked away again, laughter escaping your own throat before you could stop it. His thumb rubbed the back of your hand reassuringly. âI have missed you so much, Y/N.â
âReally?â Your eyes snapped up to meet his. âYou missed me?â
âOf course. There wasnât a day that passed without me thinking of you.â
You smiled. âI missed you too, but Iâm assuming you know that.â
His smile faded. âYes, I did. If you knew leaving would cause you pain and deteriorate your mental state, erasing all your progress, why did you leave?â
âI left because I was hurting, and I thought leaving would make me feel better. I thought if I told you what was going on, youâd be uncomfortable. I would never want to make you uncomfortable, my lord. You mean everything to me. I know you donât care for me in that way, so I had to do something. I felt like I would lose my mind if I just sat around doing nothing and trying to ignore it. Now I wish that I had stayed so I didnât end up like this. That would have been the better course of action, I think.â
He sighed. âIt takes a true act of bravery to confront our feelings. Sometimes it puts us in a place of discomfort, and we feel we must do something, to act, to balance out that passion with action. I know all to well what you speak of.â
You nodded. âYour wife,â you assumed.
âWell, yes, long ago,â he said, âbut that is not of what I speak of now.â
âWhat do you speak of, then?â
âYou felt such great care for me that you did not want to make me uncomfortable. You left because you felt the emotion would drive you insane otherwise, correct?â
âExactly.â
âI also felt that insanity. When you left, I told myself it was for the better, that you knew what was best for you. Yet after you departed, I longed for you. I longed to see you, to hear you, to touch you. I felt as though my mind was crumbling the more I thought about you. All I could think about was the prospect of never seeing you again. It grieved me so terribly that I couldnât stop weeping. I felt the only way I could feel at peace again was to be with you. I went to Lothlorien to be in your presence again and to confront the deep emotion I was feeling, but you werenât there. Do you know how that tortured me?â
Your jaw dropped. Just what was he saying? Shaking your head, you tried to process his words.
âI admit when I first discovered you cared for me, I felt stepping back and creating emotional distance was the best course of action, only because I thought that was the proper thing to do. Would getting involved with someone I was supposed to help be fair to you? Yet I could never bring myself to do that because I delighted in being around you and conversing with you. Looking back on that time, I realized that I care for you alsoâŠjust as I do now.â
âMy lord, what are you saying?â you asked, breathlessly. âAre you admitting that you too care for me? That you love me?â
The smile youâd fallen for once again crossed his lips. âThat is exactly what Iâm saying.â
Short-circuiting, your brain told you to choke on your own saliva, and you began coughing. Pounding your chest with your fist, you fought to regain your dignity as you hacked in front of the man of your dreams, who had just given you the confession of your dreams. âIâŠ*cough cough*âŠIâŠack!â
âY/N,â he said, stifling a laugh, âare you alright?â
Your coughs finally subsiding, you wiped your eyes and face with the back of your hand. âIâm so sorry. Thatâs not what I wanted to do after hearing your confession. Iâm always making a mess of things.â
âMy dear Y/N, you are too hard on yourself,â he chuckled, unable to keep the laughs at bay.
âI am of course elated by your response,â you said, squeezing his hand.
âI am glad of it,â he said, smiling. âI hope now that weâve come to this understanding our lives will be less eventful than these past months have been.â
âIs this your way of asking me to prank you less?â you laughed. âThat is absolutely not going to happen.â
âThen I hope youâre prepared for some pranks pulled on you, Y/N.â
âPranks pulled on me?! My lord, I was unaware you knew how to be mischievous.â
He smirked. âWhere do you think my sons get it from?â
Laughing, you wrapped your arms around him and hugged him. âItâs so good to be around you again.â
âY/N, may I kiss you?â
You gasped, stepping back. âKiss me?â
He smiled. âIâd very much like to.â
âIâd very much like you to.â
He closed the small space between you, wrapping you in his arms and planting a passionate kiss on your lips. It was a brief, but gentle smooch, one that put butterflies in your stomach. âThank you,â he said.
âCan youâŠâ you stopped talking and laughed before putting your arms around his neck. âCan you keep kissing me? That was too short.â
âOh, of course!â He leaned back in, but this time you met his lips with yours, passionately kissing him in response. Rarely did things work out for you like this, and you wanted to make sure that you didnât let this moment get away. He had your whole heart, and you knew you would die loving him deeply as you did now. This wasnât fleeting, and it was no longer unrequited. He really liked you back. He was even kissing you. His arms were holding on to you tightly, and his lips caressed yours. Under the stars, the two of you had found each other again.
âMy lord!â one of his men called from a distance.
The kiss broke apart and you looked at each other sadly. âIâm going to tell him to leave me alone,â Elrond said. âI donât want to spend another minute apart from you.â
âItâs alright,â you said, shaking your head. âWe have the whole ride back to spend together. Plus, I donât think Iâll be leaving Imladris, even if I do start to show improvement again.â
âSo, youâll stay?â
âOf course.â
He moved back in and kissed you again, gratefully. âThank you, Y/N. I want you to stay. My home is your home.â
You beamed. âThank you, my lord.â
âI will see you tomorrow, then?â
âTomorrow and forever after. I love you, Elrond.â
âI love you, Y/N.â He turned and trotted off in the direction heâd been called.
You turned and began walking back to your room. There was a long road of recovery ahead. Self-doubt still plagued you, unlikely to disappear simply because Elrond had just admitted to liking you. The journey to recovery would only be easier because you were embracing your support now instead of running from it. You were grateful to Elrond for coming to find you when youâd run away. At least one of you was brave. You shook your head. No, now was not the time to belittle yourself. Youâd done what you thought was right, given the circumstances, just like Elrond had said. Youâd made a mistake, something everyone did from time to time. Harassing yourself about it wasnât going to make you feel better. The only thing you could do was move forward. It was time to love yourself. If Elrond could do it, so could you. You were always worthy of love from yourself, even if no one else showed it.
A glance back up at the stars filled your mind with peace and hope. Tomorrow, you and Elrond would go back to Imladris. Tomorrow, you would face your doubts. Tomorrow, you would love.
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NEW PHOTOS of "The Rings of Power" â
My thoughts:
Maglor cast his Silmaril into the sea. Thereafter, he wandered along the shores of the world singing laments over the loss of the Silmaril, until he faded from memory.
I am completely sure
that Adar is Maglor. He did not die, but disappeared from sight. He, like Adara, has a craving for "fatherhood". I think they will tell us about it.Adar wears the same patterned breastplate as Gil Galad.I have not seen ordinary elf warriors or artisans wear them, only royalty. And mvgdor is a royal person.
In the first episode of season 1, Elrond says that Galadriel found him unconscious and gave him water. So he and Elros escaped from captivity. They found their way to Gil Galad. And the Battle with Adara in season 2, which Elrond will have will make the young elf remember this - a psychological trauma, and Adara will want to take revenge for the betrayal of his "wards"
It seems we were told that Adar would come to Eregion. Hardly to help Celebrimbor. And Hardly, this photo with Galadriel is proof that he will agree to help his nephew (Celebrimbor).I think he will come to Eregion with a noise, to take revenge on Celebrimbor, to kill his nephew for his betrayal of the house of Feanor, because Celebrimbor has essentially entered the house of Fingolfin, to Gil Galad.
#celebrimbor and sauron#Adar#Maglor#Elrond and Elros#The Rings of power#Gil Galad#Eregion#silmarillion theory#the rings of power#silmarillion#high king gil galad#lord elrond#lord of the rings#the hobbit#celebrimbor#tolkien
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