#galadriel's lament | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

just-trying-to-fangirl-in-peace · 25 days ago

Text

Reunion (Sauron x fem!Elf!reader)

-> in which your husband finally returns from his time in Númenor, 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 voyeurism

Note: same evil!reader as the others in the collection, but it should make sense on its own too.

He’s finally on his way to Eregion. And wounded. It’s been plain to see through your soulbond for days.

You can barely conceal your trepidation as you stand with Celebrimbor and Elrond, awaiting your husband’s arrival in Eregion. They do not know to expect it, of course—they 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, Celebrimbor’s trusted aid for so many years, are none other than Sauron’s beloved wife.

Had they known, they surely would not have asked you to assist in the task secretly entrusted to them by king Gil-galad—that 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.

“We must not despair,” you intervene, working as much hopeful reassurance into your gaze as possible. “Surely, in another few days, the answers will come.”

And it’s not even a lie. Your husband shall bring all the inspiration needed and then some—but you must ensure the Elves do not leave this city before his arrival.

Elrond shakes his head. “I fear we’re out of time.” He places a hand on your shoulder, and you push down the urge to swat it away as he speaks very inconvenient words. “The Elves must prepare to abandon these shores. Forever.”

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 manage—

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 horse—that 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.

“What has happened?” Celebrimbor asks.

“Enemy lance, six days ago,” Galadriel tells him. “We rode without rest.”

Galadriel. You take a moment to look at her. You’ve seen her before, of course, but not as a cog in your plans. That had happened quite accidentally—or 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 people’s artificers work to mend his wound. All you can do is sit and wait, gently nudging your husband’s 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. He’s been given a new shirt, white and pristine. Pity. If you have your way, he’ll need a new one soon enough.

“The hour is inappropriate,” he greets you, and you don’t know whether you want to kiss or slap away his smug little smile.

For now, you answer with your own. “Good.”

You stride towards the bed with the determination of a demon chasing prey, and with swift, skillful movements, climb into it and straddle your husband’s hips.

“Gently, my love,” 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, “I am but a man recovering from his wounds.”

You give a slight, rueful chuckle. He is perfectly well now, and you both know it.

“I’m afraid you shall have to endure,” 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 beloved’s taste—like 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 all—and what’s 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 are—reunited once more, in body as well as mind. This time, you wish to savour it. You relish each and every slide of your husband’s 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.

“Will you stay this time?” you whisper, nudging his nose with yours as your lips part from his and hover close. “Or will I be made to wait for you once more, my love?”

His hand cradles your face, coaxing you to retreat only enough for your gazes to meet.

“The road goes ever winding,” he tells you. “Not even I can see all its paths.”

“Yet it seems ours so often tend to drift apart,” you say, frustratedly. “As 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 other—that was no coincidence, was it?”

Your husband shakes his head.

“It 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.” Hatred sparks in his eyes, but it is only a flicker against the love with which he beholds you. “The Valar themselves may have attempted to part us,” he says, “yet the tides of fate only brought me back to you all the more fruitful in our endeavours.”

“Hm, so I’ve heard.” Now animated by more pleasant thoughts, you sit up slowly, sure to drag your nails down your husband’s torso with just the right amount of pressure that it draws a low groan from him. “King of the Southlands,” you proclaim, equal parts pride and amusement tugging at the corner of your mouth. “An old man’s trinket and a word from a gullible Elf and an entire people bow at your feet.”

“She is not gullible,” 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. “She is desperate to believe whatever suits her purpose,” he murmurs between languid kisses to your skin. “I all but laid back and allowed Galadriel to bring me right where I most needed to be.”

You’d be a helpless puddle of desire—and to an extent, you are—if 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.

“It is not wise to speak another’s name,” you say with eerie calmness, gaze locked with your husband’s as you lean down until you’re nose to nose, “whilst your wife is astride you.”

He hums as if in contemplation, taking hold of your chin as his eyes roam over your face.

“She is hailed as the most beautiful of Elven maidens,” he reminds you, and you know it satisfies him when your brow knits in indignation. But then he goes on, ever so adoringly, “Those who say such a thing either have never laid eyes upon my beloved, or they are blind as bats.”

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.

“Beguiler,” you purr, a honeyed reproach. “No wonder you have them eating from the palm of your hand.” 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 husband’s 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 you’re 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.

“My love, I would like nothing more than to have you, repeatedly, for the remainder of the night,” he says in earnest, breath heavy. “But you’ve already lingered here too long. Should someone come and see—”

“I’ve locked the doors,” you dismiss, and chase his lips once more. He lets you catch them, claims yet another kiss, only to turn away from you again.

“And if someone should unlock the door to find you here,” he retorts as you grunt in protest, “how shall we maintain our pretence?”

“I do not care!” 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. “I want my husband.” You press an impossibly sweet kiss to his cheek, then murmur in his ear, “Don’t you want your wife?”

His breath hitches. Suddenly, he turns his head, his teeth grazing your earlobe.

“Temptress,” he rasps begrudgingly. Then, softly and subdued, “Beloved.”

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 and—fisting 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 husband’s chest to your ravenous gaze.

“Perhaps we might be able to explain this, after all,” he muses while your lips attack his neck, quickly moving downward. “I could tell them what a merciless creature you are...” His hand comes to cradle the back of your head as he admires how you pepper urgent kisses down his chest. “...taking advantage of a poor mortal man when he finds himself in such a vulnerable state.”

You halt abruptly, eyes snapping up to his. “How dare you accuse me of such a thing,” you gasp with perfectly feigned innocence, even as you lay your sinful mouth on him once more. “Here I am—a kind, virtuous Elven maiden such as myself,” you speak between kisses, nips and licks at his skin, “seeking to bring aid to a wounded man...” Your lips venture lower, down his abdomen. “...only to be seduced into his bed...” His eyes are aflame with desire as you gaze up at him through your lashes, working open his belt. “...with shameless words of temptation and ruinous caresses. Imagine the scandal.”

It happens in an instant—you gasp as you are grabbed and pulled and flipped onto your back, your husband’s frame pressing you down into the mattress as he pins your wrists to the pillow.

“Imagine that, indeed,” he rasps out, eyes so darkened by hunger his pupils turn to their primal slit shape. “Imagine if they were to burst through the door...” He releases one of your wrists to wrap an achingly tender hand around your throat, leaning into your ear. “...and saw us joined as one,” he whispers into it, making you shudder, “and knew at once that we’re forever bound.”

You grip at his wrist, eyes fluttering shut, chest heaving, ready to beg for him to give you more. But he isn’t done, and tightens his hold on your throat with just the right amount of pressure to draw a wanton whimper from it. “Imagine,” he says, “if 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.” He lifts his head, his cruelty to ‘them’ mingling with his reverence for you in his gaze. “Imagine their betrayal, their horror. Their jealousy—for 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?”

You would not like it—you 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.

“I would like you,” you murmur defiantly, “to put that wicked tongue of yours to better use than talking.”

Your husband grins. “How I’ve missed you, my love.”

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 husband’s skin against yours with nothing in between—

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 don’t even bother making your voice quiet. “Oh, for the love of—!”

Your husband puts a silencing finger to your lips—and gives you a scolding look when you lick it obscenely.

“Sir Halbrand?” one of the artificers calls from outside. “Are you well?”

“That should be ‘your majesty’,” your husband mumbles.

“I’ll kill them,” you deadpan.

“Shh,” he cooes, slightly amused. “Not yet. We still have work to do here.” Infuriatingly composed, his eyes roam the room in search of a solution, and land on one. “Why don’t you step onto the balcony for a moment whilst I tell them I locked the door myself? A man needs his privacy, after all.” He looks back to you, and finds a tragic blend of ire and yearning on your face.

“Oh, my love,” he says sympathetically, brushing a tender knuckle down your cheek, “how beautiful you are when you crave me to despair.”

“Then I must always look splendid,” you quip, lifting your head to reach his lips with an alluring whisper, “I never not crave you to despair.”

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.

“Go,” 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.

“Get rid of them,” you pant out as you break away.

Your husband takes your hand, kissing your knuckles quickly. “As my Queen commands.”

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 short—and the reunion all the more delectable.

Previous fic with same reader -> Tides of fate

Next fic with same reader -> As one

#halbrand x reader #sauron x reader #the rings of power

273 notes · View notes

kindlythevoid · 1 year ago

Text

Book Three of The Two Towers is Done!

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

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

20 notes · View notes

queenlucythevaliant · 1 year ago

Note

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 Eärendil)

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

741 notes · View notes

prattling-she-elf · 2 years ago

Text

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 friends—Robert Gilson and Geoffrey Smith—died 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.

4K notes · View notes

lesbiansforboromir · 8 months ago

Text

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 Boromir’s 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; ‘I tried to take the Ring from Frodo,’ [-] ‘I am sorry. I have paid.’

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.

#text post #boromir #faramir #erran vs tolkien #boromir defence

262 notes · View notes

bunnynoldo · 1 month ago

Text

Who is the main villain in the Rings of Power? On Sauron's redemption

So the most obvious answer is that Sauron is the main villain of the series - but everything in the show really circles back to Morgoth, the original source of evil in the Middle-earth: the people of the Southlands are 'destined for darkness' because of their ancestors' blood oath to Morgoth, Galadriel's fall into darkness (Adar accuses her of being transformed by Morgoth), corruption of the Lindon tree, corruption of Adar and his children, and yes, also Sauron.

All of the evil circles back to Morgoth because of Arda Marred

Arda Marred is an Elvish term for the world as it is: tainted by the evil of Morgoth. The damage sustained by Arda, and its creatures' attempts to deal with it, form most of the drama of its history.

The true affliction that the Marring of Arda signified went beyond the physical fact of Arda's damage and misshapenness. Morgoth (...) poured out his evil and rebellious will into its very structure. No creature that depended on the natural world for its survival (i.e., all beings aside from the Valar and Maiar) could escape this taint of Morgoth; it inevitably affected their understanding of the world and subsequent actions. Thus, it was the Marring of Arda that allowed misfortunes such as the Shadow to fall upon populations of the Children of Ilúvatar, causing misunderstandings and conflicts among them.Even after Morgoth himself was removed from Arda, this part of himself that he allowed to pass into its structure remained, and was in fact impossible for anyone save Eru to eradicate fully.

And Morgoth's corruption is especially interesting in Sauron.

... when Eönwë departed he hid himself in Middle-earth; and he fell back into evil, for the bonds that Morgoth had laid upon him were very strong. - Silmarillion

So what are those bonds that Morgoth put on Sauron?

Have you ever paid attention of how similar those two quotes below are? One is the Witch King speaking to Eowyn, and the other is Luthien taunting Sauron after defeating him:

Come not between the Nazgûl and his prey! Or he will not slay thee in thy turn. He will bear thee away to the houses of lamentation, beyond all darkness, where thy flesh shall be devoured, and thy shrivelled mind be left naked to the Lidless Eye.

Lúthien came to him, and said that he should be stripped of his raiment of flesh, and his ghost be sent quaking back to Morgoth; and she said: ‘There everlastingly thy naked self shall endure the torment of his scorn, pierced by his eyes, unless thou yield to me the mastery of thy tower.’

They are almost the same quote! We might guess that Sauron is doing to the rigwraiths what Morgoth has done to him. And he says something similar to Celebrimbor - that he treats him as Mogoth treated him. The showrunners have compared Sauron to Gollum - in him being bound and corrupted to Morgoth, as Gollum is to the One Ring / Sauron.

The initial mistake of Sauron was choosing to join Morgoth - after that he had no other option but to serve him because 'the bonds that Morgoth had laid upon him were very strong'.

Having all this in mind, after Morgoth's defeat Sauron really could have repented, in his own 'corrupted' way. His master's influence on him was diminished - although not fully gone (When Morgoth was defeated, it was as if a great, clenched fist had released its grasp from my neck. And in the stillness of that first sunrise, at last, I felt the light of The One again).

So what were Sauron's plans after Morgoth's defeat?

In Numenor Galadriel finds an account on Morgoth's plan to be enacted in the event of his defeat - which was completed by Adar in season 1, creating Mordor.

Why hasn't Sauron enacted Morgoth's plan? He was not trying to create Mordor, he was hiding in the North and experimenting with the power of the unseen world. He says to orcs that he wants to heal the Middle-earth. It looked that He was not in any hurry to create Mordor.

Playing devil's advocate: I think it's possible that he tried to escape Morgoth's leash after his defeat. We know that's he's still corrupted by Morgoth (his evil dark spaghetti form and Mirdania's descriptons might be some visual clues), but he's concious of this corruption and tries to escape it. And what makes it tragic is that he can't, just like Gollum couldn't - he has been corrupted for far too long, by a force much more powerful than him.

After regaining his physical form, Sauron sails West with a group of people. Later he says to Galadriel that he has sworn never to return to the Southlands / Mordor. We don't see when it happened, but assuming that it is true - perhaps he tried to escape Morgoth's influence by trying to get away from regions most marred by him? By staying as far away as possible from Morgoth's plans? Maybe that's why he wanted to stay in Numenor, a land close to the West, Valinor, and thus less corrupted?

He says to Galadriel that elves need him, because without him the darkness will spread and cover the whole world - he could be deceiving her, but he could also speak of Morgoth's plan here. Maybe the plan was set in motion when Southlanders started their blood sacrifices to Morgoth using the sword hilt from season 1? Maybe that's how the marring of the elven tree started?

What if Sauron really believed he could redeem himself by fighting alongside Galadriel? As Celebrimbor has noticed, Sauron is really good at deceiving himself!

What if he turned back to Morgoth only after some specific event, after coming back to Middle -Earth?

I have two possible moments in mind:

Eruption of Mount Doom and completion of Morgoth's plan was a magical event (the Lindon tree started deteriorating faster after the eruption, and Morgoth's plan assumed creating a place where evil would not only endure, but thrive), and it pushed Sauron back into the darkness - in that case maybe we'll get a flashback to this moment in the future, with Morgoth claiming Sauron back. Or maybe it would be something less dramatic - Sauron slowly falling back into his old ways and embracing Morgoth again

Galadriel's rejection in season 1, because of this quote:

"They say that Morgoth found the Silmarils so beautiful that after he’d stolen them, for weeks he could do nothing but stare into their depths. It was only after one of his tears fell upon the jewels that he was faced with the evil of his own reflection and the reverie was finally broken.”

Galadriel would represents silmarils and light, and her rejecting of Sauron would show him 'the evil of his own reflection '

Either way, I think by the end of season 1 Sauron has fully embraced Morgoth again.

I think when he cuts his hand, it's a blood sacrifice to Morgoth. When he says to Celebrimbor that 'True creation requires sacrifice' it has a double meaning, and he is mocking him, referring to this.

And this comes full circle with the blood sacrifices to Morgoth by the Southlanders in season 1, and the coming sacrifices that we know will come in the future.

I could be wrong about this, and it could turn out that Sauron has planned all this and is deceiving everyone, but the thought that he is also a victim in some way, makes his story more interesting and tragic.

So there you have it, I have some more Thoughts (trying to figure out this show has become a hobby of mine apparently, lol) - this time on how Galadriel fits into all this

#rings of power #the rings of power #rings of power meta #sauron #silmarillion #the silmarillion #tlotr #the lord of the rings #morgoth #tolkien #my rings of power metas

79 notes · View notes

eri-pl · 6 months ago

Text

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 Fëanor 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 mistakes— 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

80 notes · View notes

kylobith · 2 months ago

Text

LotR Week - Day 4 (19th Sep)

Gifts, burdens and choices — @lotrweek

The Elves have long stopped their lament, yet a cacophony lingers within Boromir’s 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 Frodo’s 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 wizard’s occasional visits to Minas Tirith back when he was nothing but a boy. While he did spend more time with Faramir than with him — much to Denethor’s relief, after all, why should his precious firstborn’s time be wasted by the fanciful stories of an old man? — 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 Faramir’s eyes was snuffed by years of their father’s 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

25 notes · View notes

sugarfreeballoon · 4 months ago

Text

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. “My lord,” 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. You’d set out to find yourself and found ruin. He’d been generous enough to help you and you’d 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.

“Y/N,” his voice was soft this time, “what’s happened to you?” You were doing so well.

“I’m sorry,” you said, your voice breaking. “I really just wanted to be better. I think I left before I was ready.”

“Are you certain you didn’t leave because of me? Because of my lack of romantic attraction to you?”

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 couldn’t you just have sucked it up? Why couldn’t you just get over him like a normal person? Why did you have to make a big deal and leave?

“You did what you thought would be best for you,” he said, as if reading your thoughts, “but it didn’t end up being so. Don’t be so hard on yourself, Y/N. Healing is a process.” He took your arm and pulled you into a hug. “It’s all over now. Let’s go home.”

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. “Thanks.”

He nodded. “I’m just glad you’re okay.

Arriving back in Lothlorien after a day’s 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. You’d felt like you were under Elrond’s watchful eye the whole time. Stealing glances every minute or so, it was as though he was still ensuring you were behind him and hadn’t run off. It made you feel sad that he had been so worried about you. You hadn’t 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.

“I would have thought you would be anxious to get a good night’s rest after all this time.” 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.

“I wanted to see the stars,” 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. “Of course you did. You were always one to find something of worth in the small moments, whether it be stargazing or pulling a prank.” 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. “I have missed you so much, Y/N.”

“Really?” Your eyes snapped up to meet his. “You missed me?”

“Of course. There wasn’t a day that passed without me thinking of you.”

You smiled. “I missed you too, but I’m assuming you know that.”

His smile faded. “Yes, I did. If you knew leaving would cause you pain and deteriorate your mental state, erasing all your progress, why did you leave?”

“I left because I was hurting, and I thought leaving would make me feel better. I thought if I told you what was going on, you’d be uncomfortable. I would never want to make you uncomfortable, my lord. You mean everything to me. I know you don’t 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 didn’t end up like this. That would have been the better course of action, I think.”

He sighed. “It 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.”

You nodded. “Your wife,” you assumed.

“Well, yes, long ago,” he said, “but that is not of what I speak of now.”

“What do you speak of, then?”

“You 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?”

“Exactly.”

“I 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 couldn’t 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 weren’t there. Do you know how that tortured me?”

Your jaw dropped. Just what was he saying? Shaking your head, you tried to process his words.

“I 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 also…just as I do now.”

“My lord, what are you saying?” you asked, breathlessly. “Are you admitting that you too care for me? That you love me?”

The smile you’d fallen for once again crossed his lips. “That is exactly what I’m saying.”

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. “I…*cough cough*…I…ack!”

“Y/N,” he said, stifling a laugh, “are you alright?”

Your coughs finally subsiding, you wiped your eyes and face with the back of your hand. “I’m so sorry. That’s not what I wanted to do after hearing your confession. I’m always making a mess of things.”

“My dear Y/N, you are too hard on yourself,” he chuckled, unable to keep the laughs at bay.

“I am of course elated by your response,” you said, squeezing his hand.

“I am glad of it,” he said, smiling. “I hope now that we’ve come to this understanding our lives will be less eventful than these past months have been.”

“Is this your way of asking me to prank you less?” you laughed. “That is absolutely not going to happen.”

“Then I hope you’re prepared for some pranks pulled on you, Y/N.”

“Pranks pulled on me?! My lord, I was unaware you knew how to be mischievous.”

He smirked. “Where do you think my sons get it from?”

Laughing, you wrapped your arms around him and hugged him. “It’s so good to be around you again.”

“Y/N, may I kiss you?”

You gasped, stepping back. “Kiss me?”

He smiled. “I’d very much like to.”

“I’d very much like you to.”

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. “Thank you,” he said.

“Can you…” you stopped talking and laughed before putting your arms around his neck. “Can you keep kissing me? That was too short.”

“Oh, of course!” 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 didn’t let this moment get away. He had your whole heart, and you knew you would die loving him deeply as you did now. This wasn’t 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.

“My lord!” one of his men called from a distance.

The kiss broke apart and you looked at each other sadly. “I’m going to tell him to leave me alone,” Elrond said. “I don’t want to spend another minute apart from you.”

“It’s alright,” you said, shaking your head. “We have the whole ride back to spend together. Plus, I don’t think I’ll be leaving Imladris, even if I do start to show improvement again.”

“So, you’ll stay?”

“Of course.”

He moved back in and kissed you again, gratefully. “Thank you, Y/N. I want you to stay. My home is your home.”

You beamed. “Thank you, my lord.”

“I will see you tomorrow, then?”

“Tomorrow and forever after. I love you, Elrond.”

“I love you, Y/N.” He turned and trotted off in the direction he’d 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 you’d run away. At least one of you was brave. You shook your head. No, now was not the time to belittle yourself. You’d done what you thought was right, given the circumstances, just like Elrond had said. You’d made a mistake, something everyone did from time to time. Harassing yourself about it wasn’t 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.

#silm fic #elrond x reader #silmarillion fanfiction #silm fluff #silm oneshot

25 notes · View notes