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ceescedasticity · 22 days ago

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Unforsaken, 12e

(All sections on tumblr)

(AO3, lagging behind but more polished)

Major takeaways from this round of practice:

Yes, it's even more impressive in stone.

And even louder when not in a hole in the ground.

The ear protection they've come up with is probably good enough, at least for everyone besides the swan-twins.

Legolas somehow ends up trying to explain the history of explosives to the swan-twins. He has no idea what he's talking about.

A stick of Wizard's Clay will not explode if you drop it from thirty feet up. They aren't supposed to, but it was still nerve-wracking.

Nobody likes being under a rain of little rock fragments but there isn't really anything to be done about that.

They might want to leave the oxen farther away next time.

Estimated sticks of Wizard's Clay left behind to threaten the peace of Middle-earth (counting the 25 left in Emyn Arnen): 5495

Following Alphlîn and Alphsîr's continuing success in practice, Glorfindel is ready to sketch out a very rough battle strategy (which hopefully won't be needed since they still aren't 100% certain there's a Warden).

Alphlîn and Alphsîr will be attacking from the air, with power. (If they get grounded, they should change shape and run out of the way rather than try to take off where they are.)

Glorfindel, with Asfaloth, will be fighting with sword and power.

Maglor and Celeborn will also be ahorse. Maglor will be Singing and using the battle-harp. Celeborn has a bow of Lórien and a sword from Eregion.

Turgon and Celegorm will be on foot. (It would be possible to convince horses to bear them, probably, but the horses would be nervous and distracted and they aren't used to it anymore.) (Celegorm kind of wishes he had a warg for this.) Their weapons are dwarf-forged steel, and their own wills.

Whiterot has a crossbow and doesn't plan to get close. Sharlinnu isn't sure how well she'll be able to fight with the noise-generating Warden right there. She wants to, but she also doesn't want to get in the way — more discussion needed there.

That leaves the children Third-Age-born contingent, and here there is some disagreement.

Zuste, Zena, and Dyn readily agree that they are not up for demigod-fighting, either in capability or interest.

Khitwê and Risyind make it clear they are ready and willing to fight! Khitwê in particular would be happy to avenge his family's suffering on the Warden. (Risyind doesn't think it would make her feel any better than the Warden going down without her direct involvement.) But this isn't the kind of fight they're trained for, and even in areas they are trained for they are perfectly adequate, not outstanding. If Glorfindel says it's better for them to hang back they won't argue.

Legolas and Gimli — you don't want to make Legolas and Gimli think you're slighting their abilities, but they're not going to insist on pushing into a fight above their pay grade. They won't argue that this (hypothetical) fight isn't above their pay grade.

…So really the only disagreement is about Elladan and Elrohir.

This fight is above their pay grade, yes, but it's above all of their pay grades. It might have been within Glorfindel's right after he was sent back to Middle-earth, or Maglor's at the height of his power and skill before being ground down by time and grief for over six thousand years, and Turgon or Celegorm's before being ground down by being orcs for over six thousand years. It's not now.

Celeborn has over two Ages of experience more than his grandsons, and they have over two Ages of exhaustion less than him.

The best Glorfindel can extract from them is an agreement to hang back and stick to bows as much as possible.

******

Maglor finally gets up the nerve to approach Celegorm the day before they are expecting to arrive at the site of the Crucible.

"I know what I need to tell you," Celegorm says, before Maglor can ask. "It's just… Just don't interrupt, all right?"

What being an orc is, according to Celegorm:

Being bound by fetters on your soul.

Everything in you is warped to some purpose outside you.

Certainty that you are damned and there is nothing you can do about it.

Certainty that you can do as you're meant to willingly or you will be forced, and it will hurt.

Telling yourself it doesn't matter. Just do what you want — anything that brings a moment of relief —because nothing matters.

Hating yourself for everything you've done and every mistake you made to get into this situation.

Hating your fellow condemned for everything they do that's the same as you and everything they do differently.

Hating everyone not condemned for not being condemned.

Hating and hating and hating because it's warmer than despair alone.

It's all the worst days of living bound by the Oath of Fëanor, back to back, forever.

"I've said before it wasn't as different as it should have been," Celegorm concludes at last. "And that's true. But what I don't like to say is sometimes it wasn't different at all. Well, except elven hröar aren't as miserable, so being an orc is more physically painful unless something's gone really wrong, but— I know this has been easier on me because I've lived this already. At least this time I didn't do it to myself."

Maglor has to take some time to think about this.

It's coming together for him, though. He knows — he thinks he knows what he needs to say, now.

******

On a lighter note, Maglor has an idea about trying to get a better idea of Sharlinnu's noise — what if the orcs do some singing?

—This takes a while to explain as people are varying levels of informed about orcs' tone-deafness and well-established tradition of singing anyway. (Also the Hirnedhrim and the swan-twins have never heard of tone-deafness before.)

The orcs, meanwhile, are trying to pick a song.

Whiterot: "And then there were none", maybe?

[A ‘and then there were none’ backwards-counting song of elf-princes, some verses inspired by real events]

Celegorm: And then there was one!

Turgon: Two. And no, I don't think so.

Celegorm: I wish I was back in Goblin-town?

Turgon: If we must—

Sharlinnu: What about the Prince of Cats song?

[A prince of cats got his ass kicked by a girl and a dog, definitely not inspired by real events, honest, but also definitely not to be sung in Mordor]

Turgon: Definitely that one.

(Other noteworthy subjects of orc songs:

Fear Us We are doing a task [which isn’t very interesting and this at least livens it up] We are going to kill you and destroy everything you love and have fun doing it We’ve been marching a long time and it’s annoying The Sun is a bitch I Fear Nothing Except The Sea Which Is Fucking Terrifying My warg is the best warg, she’s eaten lots of babies Behold my gruesome trophies My body is the most fucked up and uncomfortable but I make it work There’s Something In These Caves (It’s A Dragon And Planning To Eat Us) These Orders Indicate Our Senior Leadership Has Shit For Brains Today Is A Terrible Day To Die But I Guess That’s What We’re Doing )

The orcs end up singing most of the day.

It does not sound very good, but it's nice to see them enthusiastic.

#orc bank #orc bank unforsaken #now what do I title this whole chapter wrapping up here #'one step at a time'#it's really like a series of awkward/difficult/painful but necessary things to do #before they get to the point #one more step and one more step and one more step #hmmmmmm #oh wait #the fellowship of the awkward conversations?#but they've had so many already #'an uncovering of wounds'#ehhhh not very funny #i should probably go over it again before I post to ao3 anyway

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searchingforserendipity25 · 2 years ago

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Brainstorming on the Maglor = Lindir concept for @funwithfanon and here’s a list of different takes, in no particular order:

Lindir does not exist. It’s more of a temporary, honorary rank, a job description - anyone can be the Lindir of Rivendell if their application is accepted. Duties include diplomacy, welcoming guests, playing the harp, singing beautifully, babysitting and being able to remember all the Dúnedain’s names. The usual contract goes for fifteen summers, which is much less than the regular yéni. Whatever you do, do not ask why Lord Elrond is very particular about having an open call for minstrels going on regularly. The Lindor of the book events is just some guy who is here for the steady pay to save up for a fancy dowry to take on his Ship to Valinor. It’s not that he has a sweetheart or anything, but he fully intends to nab himself a hot, rich, and influential Calaquendi once he gets to the West, and Elrond’s court is a good place to practice. I, for one, respect Lindir’s hustle.

The same, but the current Lindir is Maglor. This is never discussed. If you recognize him, no you don’t. He shows up for the fifteen years, and then goes away, and then comes back. It’s fine. They don’t talk about it. It’s definitely fine! The job interviews have gone from dramatic to downright farcical. Neither of them is willing to be the first one to crack. The first time, Elrond gets to ask for a portfolio and watch Maglor draw a blank on anything that isn't a lament. By the fourth time, he has a long repertoire of new works inspired by Imladris ready, all dedicated to its gracious and most generous lord. They come up with ridiculously complicated linguistic crossword games and then swap them to play over morning tea. Again, I cannot overstate how much they do not Talk About It.

Lindir is of the Falathrim of Sirion and he will fight you if you ask whether he’s secretly Maglor Fëanorian. He will hit you with his gigantic gold-and-ivory harp and you will deserve it.

Lindir is Maglor. Ish. Maglor-ghost. Maglor's remaint. If you look at him too hard the edges of him start to blur, like an old crosshatching drawing left to blur in the sun for too long. The shadow he casts upon the wall rests over his shoulders like a cloak. He is also rather misty. Somewhere by the sea, a body has been eaten by the fish, but the fëa wandered far inland and found refuge in the valley where all those in pain are made welcome. One day Elrond woke to a faint song. He followed it through the stairs of his house until he found - the smouldering embers in Hall of Fire stirring, and a darker darkness singing. Lindir has been part of the household ever since.

Lindir is Daeron. He loves the line of Lúthien more than all things, except for the Lady Celebrían, who was the one who found him, once, by the still dark waters of the North, and brought him home to the valley where the guards sing nonsense and the air in the twilit starlight smells nothing at all and very much like Melian’s kingdom in the days before the Sun and the Moon.

Maglor did not defend himself, whenever anyone found him wandering by the sea Maglor never defended himself, with words or Song, steel or harp. Not from wolves, or orcs, brigands or avengers, from the wrathful sea or the elements. Varda's Hallowing had scorched him through, a maddening and encompassing pain, the sort of continuous justice that left very little space for anything that was not regret. He could not defend himself from it, or the absolute, star-bright knowledge that its horror and ugliness should not and could not be denied. By the time he came again among the elves, there was very little left to recognize him by. He was so plainly beyond the ability to do harm - getting him in custody was less a matter of containing him than making certain no one went and killed him. It is imprisonment, in the sense that he’s in custody. There will be no Kinslayings or executions in Imladris (Glorfindel's passionate defence of Turgon's precedent aside), and even if it were allowed - no one could put him on trial presently. Elf parole gets invented eventually, after he is in the healing halls for half an Age, and slowly readjusts to society again. Much has his countenance changed, in grief and pain, and from wounds besides; few people recognize him outright. It takes him a long, long time before he touches a harp again, and longer still before he can be certain enough of himself to sing before an audience.

You would not have caught Maglor Fëanorian admitting he could not identify a poem’s authorial contributions, be he dead or damned or deranged. Luckily, local musical prodigy Lindir, born and bred in Imladris, does not have weird First Age perfectionist hang-ups. Elrond’s students all have a perfectly non-traumatic apprenticeship and are very well-adjusted, thank you very much.

Lindir is a nightingale Arwen accidentally turned into an elf. Listen, it's a thing, it happens with Peredhel sometimes. He’s - adjusting. Focused on playing the harp to develop finger coordination and ended up enjoying it a great deal, after the first challenging yéni (Fingers! Tiny bony bits! What a notion. Lindir misses his beak sometimes). He does still trill sometimes; his old friends answer him during their afternoon songs, it is quite a sight. Mortals are very strange and they have the bad habit of dying fairly often just when he’s started to recognize them, but he likes the way the scruffy one makes his lady smile so he does not chirp in with comments on his poetry. Not many comments, anyway.

They take his harp away, at first. Glorfindel, who had seen him in battle, wanted anted a geas of silence. But that would be a waste, in its way. His voice is bound to the valley instead, to the protection of it, and the working of its purpose as a place of safety and succour. Eternal servitude to the line of Earendil is not, objectively, the worst punishment that could befall the last Kinslayer. If Elrond is not entirely easy with having him in Imladris, neither is he able to countenance the idea that he might go free, and unaccounted for. The might in him goes away from his mouth, and beyond his mastery. He sings, sometimes, when it is for the benefit of the valley. That he must be of use is a just demand, and a kinder end than exile. A grace, in its way - and it is not as if he has any reason or right to have any wish in his heart that is not to serve the line of Elwing. It is not, Maglor knows well, the cruellest captivity a soul has ever suffered. He can even speak, if he wishes; and in time, among the long Ages, he does gather enough nerve to ask leave to sing in the Hall of Fire in company, on those moonless nights when he is not needed to sing enchantments of protection. A minstrel can have many duties, after all. There are many ways to serve, in small and deedless fashion, without doing any harm. Pity is not torment, for all it is difficult to withstand, and difficult the making of a gift rich enough to answer it. Well, and he is an excellent minstrel; that much he can offer still, and he does it willingly. They call him Lindir, and that is fair, as well - it is only that Lindir does not and must not and cannot sing laments.

Maglor the Kinslayer is the minstrel Lindir. Everyone knows this. It's not clear whether Lindir, who cries when the cooks behead the hen and hums to the horses and loathes the silver sound of a drawn sword, does know this.

#maglor #lindir #elrond #funwithfanon #rivendell

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doodle-pops · 2 years ago

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How would the elves and the valar react if the reader died young? Maybe she’s got assassinated or died from a sudden accident? You always see happy(ish) endings were the reader died peacefully from old age but what if someone took the readers life away when they were still young and their elven lovers never had the chance to say goodbye... Sad thoughts from a sad anon. Anywayyyyy... thanks for considering.

I hope the anon that asked this can see the look of horror I'm giving them. I'm right outside your window looking at you with tears in my eyes. ಥ_ಥ you're more an angst anon than sad, and there's only one answer to this, cry

E/N - elf name

The moment they broke through the doors to your room, red. There was crimson everywhere. It pooled around your body, drenching the carpet and your clothes. Your lifeless corpse lay on the floor overturned and sprawled out. They could tell that you had put up a fight before you lost your life, but that wasn't enough to suppress the wrecked sob that escaped their throat. Not a single whisper of thought could convince them that you weren't going to wake. Their hands were touching your face and shaking your corpse begging you to open your eyes, "Hey Y/N, it's me...y-your E/N. W-Wake up, please. Look, it's p-pass lunch, you k-know you get cranky when you don't eat. Come on, wake up and I'll get you something to eat. It's okay, you're going to be fine..." The lack of response would tear them apart. The tears would fall because somewhere in their mind you were going to wake — you hadn't received their confession yet. But it's impossible for them to admit the truth; there was always the possibility.

MAEDHROS, MAGLOR, CARANTHIR, CELEBRIMBOR, FINGOLFIN, FINGON, FINROD, AEGNOR, GLORFINDEL, GALDOR, ROG, EGALMOTH, ELROHIR

Confused. There were no other thoughts than confusion circulating their mind because they left you safe over a week ago. How was it, the day planned to propose their undying love, you were gone from their life? They would have preferred if you reflected them, but this, no. This was unacceptable. This was impossible. Your corpse would stare back at them with fear in your eyes and that's what triggers their anger. Whoever your killer was, would be found and dealt with. Any thoughts about dignity or pride would leave their mind in a heartbeat, you were about to be avenged. "It's okay, it's alright. You'll be fine my love. Know that you will be avenged so you may rest in peace."

FEANOR, CELEGORM, CURUFIN, Turgon, MAEGLIN, Ecthelion

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lamemaster · 2 years ago

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Golden Flowers Welcome Me Home

(A little bit of trauma for beloved Glorfindel. I just wanted to post it here. This was originally part of another fic that I wrote.)

“Ata!” He pushed away the flowing curtains without a care in the world. “Atya,” he called again. The house was silent. With impatient steps, Laurefindelë made his way through the halls filled with the light of Laurelin.

His tiny hands carefully held a beautiful, albeit a little messy flower crown. He had been quite proud of his creation. He had snuck out of his room with the fading rays of Telperion and much to his surprise, he had made it without anyone noticing him.

He had hiked to the hidden valley, where his atar took him sometimes, there with the utmost patience that any self-respecting elfling could manage, he wove a crown of golden daffodils. Usually, he would be accompanied by his ata, who in his opinion, was the best at making flower crowns in the whole world.

“Ata,” impatience snuck into Laurefindelë’s voice as he peaked into another empty hall. Where could his ata be– of course! How did he not check the garden yet?

With a renewed fervor, he rushed towards the backyard of their home. His footsteps rang in the silent corridors. Distantly, he could hear the chirping birds. His ata had probably just fed them.

He pushed the heavy wooden doors open and momentarily scrunched shut his eyes as the light of Laurelin blinded his eyes.

“Aiya! hinya,” his atar’s comforting voice reached him. He opened his eyes as he felt a bop on his nose. And there, crouching in front of him was his atar. Handsome, kind, and the finest ellon in the entirety of Arda.

“Let us see what you’ve got there.” With a flourish, his atar picked him up in an embrace. Golden hair, similar to his own, formed a shining halo around his father’s face. Purple eyes that shined with the light of Aman looked back at him.

Without a word, Laurefindelë plopped the flower crown on his ata’s head. Suddenly feeling shy he tried to look away from his father. “Oh my! Yondo, I love your creation.” Chuckling at the timid elfling, the Vanya ellon adjusted the crown resting on his head.

“I’d say you have surpassed me Laurefindelë.” Placing a gentle kiss on his forehead Laurefindelë’s ata placed him on a nearby chair. “Now, my dearest you must be hungry. Let me g–e _

____________________

“Ata!” Glorfindel jolted awake. He was back in his unlit room. The brilliant light of the trees from his dream was gone. For only so long had the mercy of Irmo lasted. His ata… he had seen him. He felt the surge of a very familiar pain in his chest. His ata…

A gentle breeze from his window ruffled the papers on his desk. They were smudged, dark ink that once carried a well-thought strategy was now nothing more than illegible scribble. Glorfindel felt wetness on his face.

At once, hundreds of years seem to hold no value. He felt vulnerable like the elfling showing his first creation to his father. A yearning stronger than the freezing Helcaraxe seemed to clutch him. Home… home, home he craved it. The brightly lit halls, the garden full of sparrows and pigeons, golden daffodils. He wanted it so badly. Yet, he had lost every right to it.

-----------------------

“Ata! I do not want to be a normal ellon.” Once young elfling was now a full-grown ellon. His shoulders were broad with the settling youth. His eyes were grey, like that of Noldor, he got those from his mother.

Uncaring of his rising voice, Laurefindelë continued. “I do not want to live picking flowers from the valley, I do not want to spend my immortality singing praises of Manwe. I want to see the nether shores; I want to accompany my cousins to avenge grandfather.” The song of wrath clouded Laurefindelë’s mind. So, had been the case for all the Quendi who had listened to Feanor’s words.

“Yondo,” the Vanya noble, who had raised Laurefindelë with all the love a parent could summon, pleaded again. “Don’t go against the Valar yondo. Please listen to me.”

Ignoring his atar’s pleas Laurefindelë stepped back. “Even today you speak of them! Atar are you too unfeeling of our own people? Or are you like the rest of the Vanyar? I understand now, I understand my amil.” Muttering to himself Laurefindelë paid no mind to his atar’s shaking form.

“I would rather die fighting for my kin than cower in the hidden lands. I am no coward Atar, and I will prove my worth.” Unlike you had gone unsaid yet, the older ellon sensed it.

“Yondo…please.”

------------------------

His atar’s broken voice still rang in his mind. He had paid no heed to it back then. A thirst for glory, a yearning for knowledge led him away from the bright halls of his childhood.

Like the broken shards of a mirror, the estranged bond with his atar remained. Doom had been laid on him. He would never meet his ata again. His ata…his ata would spend eternity lamenting for a son who would never return.

Maybe, whatever Namo had done was right all along. After his actions and his words, Glorfindel feared he did not deserve the light anymore. Laurefindelë once had everything and whatever was left of him was Glorfindel. So, he would live and strive for that penance.

------------------------

“Glorfindel,” a quiet voice brought him back to the dark cell. For a moment he had forgotten about the woman next to him. Memories had clutched his fea fiercely that the world had stopped existing.

However, unaware of his inner turmoil, the woman continued speaking, “I don’t think your father can ever hate you.” Glorfindel flinched at the mention of his father from her.

The woman smiled slightly with a pleasant expression. “I have failed to clear the name of my people, I have lived a miserable life despite the sacrifices of my family, I don’t pray twice a day like the custom of my people, I don’t even remember my mother tongue anymore. Yet, every time I think of seeing my family again, I can’t imagine anything unpleasant.”

With a dreamy look in her wandering eyes, she continued, “I imagine my father running to pick me up like he always did, I can almost see my brothers chasing me to the mango tree, and I can almost feel my mother’s embrace.” If Glorfindel wasn’t aware of the edain’s sleeping habits he would’ve assumed she was dreaming.

“So, Lord of Golden Flower, from what I feel your father would not spend years wallowing in rage or humiliation. No parent would. I am sure he would leave everything to embrace his son as he had done for years. Maybe he’ll pick you up like a child.” She chuckled as she patted the back of the sobbing elf lord next to her. She was certain of it.

------------------------

Golden daffodils were in bloom again. The entire valley was full of them.

Amongst the swaying flowers sat two ellon. One laughed merrily as the other tried to weave wayward stems into a pattern.

#glorfindel #tolkien #tolkien elves #angst #middle earth #OCs #the silmarillion #comfort #laurefindil #Glorfindel's dad

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stilltrails · 2 years ago

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💛👨‍👩‍👦🗣🗡 for Maedhros, Maglor or Glorfindel 💖💖

🟡 - Happy (Maedhros): He is happiest in Valinor with his grandmother, Miriel. While in Mandos, he can still visit her given her unique situation. He gets to know her, and experience her emotions, many of which he had himself. He spends hours weaving beside her.

👪 - Family (Maglor): He and his wife divorced before he left for Middle Earth. They never get back together again. He is still kind to her, and she is to him. They don't hate each other, and confide in each other often. They just fell out of love when their visions changed. She didn't think his family was wrong about the Valar, but she was teleri, and couldn't stand beside him after what he did.

🗣 - Social (Glorfindel): He has a diffuclt time adjusting to being "nobility". He would rather associate with non-nobility than nobility. It's Etchellion who teaches him the ends and outs of being a "Lord".

🗡 - Fighting (Maedhros): He was incredibly adament on making Elrond and Elros learn how to fight with both limbs. He never went easy on them, and as children, baited them with the goal that they could eventually kill him and avenge their mother.

He was also never afraid of Morgoth, no matter what was done to him. His defiance is what got him stuck on the cliff

Thank you!

#maedhros #maglor #glorfindel #tolkien

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bastet55 · 1 year ago

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📓

Put "📓" or some other version of a book emoji into my inbox and I'll explain the plot of a fanfiction that I haven't written but daydream about.

**For the sake of this ask game, I'm not counting story summaries or brainrot notes so I don't forget details I've daydreamed about as anything "written."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hello, Nonnie! Thank you for the ask. So this story idea you get is a dark AU of my LOTR/Silmarillion series, details about which and links to which you can find in the pinned post on my blog.

And Death Was Her Reward: A Tale of the Angmar War and Its Aftermath

1639 T.A. Two years after the end of the Great Plague that spread west from beyond Mordor, devastating vast swaths of Eriador and ending the Dúnedain of Cardolan, evil spirits continue to sweep south out of Angmar and Rhudaur. Far to the north in Carn Dûm, the Witch King and his brethren watch and wait, rebuilding their armies, waiting for the right time to strike. It will take centuries more before his strength is enough to strike Arthedain and bring the last kingdom of Arnor to ruin, but his arm is not so weak that he cannot strike, cannot seek his revenge upon the great captains of the half-blood mongrel prince of Rivendell who helped lead the charge against him two-hundred-and-thirty years before, who humiliated them upon the planes of Mordor and brought their Master low. A trap is set upon a patrol from Rivendell seeking to discover the breadth of the spread of those spirits, and the shining singer—the elf who bears Khamûl’s enmity the most—falls into their hands. And Gloredhel, daughter of the House of Finwe, sister of the mighty balrog slayers, passes from history into legend, her final fate unknown.

Carn Dûm is not so weak, nor Rivendell so strong, that even the mightiest of the elves can hope to besiege the stronghold of the Witch King himself and win passage to its dungeons. For Gloredhel, there would be no Luthien at Tol-in-Gaurhoth or Fingon at Thangorodrim. She was Finrod, Fingon, not best beloved of her people, though still beloved, for whom death was her reward for her many labors. And lost deep within the shadows in the north, where necromancers practice their dark magics and seek to control the spirits of the fallen before they flee to their rest, not even death may be the end for the Lady of the fallen House of the Hammer of Wrath. Such is her people’s fear.

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One difficulty in me actually ever writing this is I think it would get much, much darker than I usually right.

"the elf who bears Khamûl’s enmity the most" is a reference to a plot point that I haven't gotten to yet where Gloredhel battles Khamul in a Song duel at some point during the War of the Last Alliance and humiliates him ... similar to what happens with Glorfindel and the Witch King at Fornost.

This story would make the Battle of Fornost especially tragic. Glorfindel wants to avenge his sister but knows that it isn't his fate to bring down the Witch King. And since I like the idea of Glorfindel meeting Eowyn, I think he would meet her in Minas Tirith and thank her for doing what he could not and avenging in part his sister's death.

One other tragic idea I have is when Gloredhel ends up in Mandos' Halls a second time, she doesn't actually realize she's dead, since she knows what it looks like because she's been dead before. The Halls are some delusion of her shattered mind, she thinks, giving her a kind dream of her lost family before she wakes to more torture.

#ask game #lord of the rings #angmar war

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ao3feed-tolkien · 1 year ago

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No More Battles

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/FzhB1NQ

by silvertrails

Steve comes for Bucky

Words: 15958, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 2 of Coming From the Dust

Fandoms: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M, Multi

Characters: Daeron, Maglor, Bucky Barnes, Elladan, Elrohir, Elrond, Glorfindel, Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson (Marvel), Tilion, Irmo, Tulkas, Legolas Greenleaf

Relationships: Daeron/Maglor/Bucky Barnes, Glorfindel/Elladan, Irmo/Tilion/Tulkas

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/FzhB1NQ

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #Tolkien #JRR Tolkien #Tolkien works #ao3 #fan fiction

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gemennair · 6 years ago

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A modern Glorfindel checking out Arda after the fourth age.

Requested by @hauntedsiriel! This was very fun to do; hope you and your friend like it <3

#glorfindel #silmarillion #tolkien #modern #the silmarillion #silm #silm art #tolkien art #gemennair #silmart requests #lotr #middle earth #u know i never really thought of drawing them in a modern setting #but this was honestly really fun to do!#thank you for the request!#also the avengers logo at one of the billboards lol sorry i just couldnt resist

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alexandra-scribbles · 9 months ago

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Ten Characters Tag

rules: give 10 different characters from 10 different fandoms, and then tag 10 people to do the same

@msgeekstyle here we go!!

1. Lord of The Rings: Glorfindel.

2. The Hobbit: Thranduil

3. The Silmarillion: Maedhros

4. Supernatural: Dean Winchester

5. Twilight: Carlisle Cullen

6. Avengers: Tony Stark

7. Pushing Daisies: Ned The Piemaker

8. Vampire Diaries: Niklaus Mikaelson

9. Star Trek: Chekov

10. Castlevania: Adrian Tepes.

No pressure tag: @sunstarmonster @lamemaster @silmarillionno @sleepyschmoop @amixedwitch @weakling-grace @nishamura22 @sorcerrordragon @thunder-the-ranger-wolf @deepseamermaid

Ten Characters Tag

rules: give 10 different characters from 10 different fandoms, and then tag 10 people to do the same

@beauty-of-nyx why are you doing this to me??

the sandman: dream of the endless

lord of the rings: elrond

the hobbit: lindir

silmarillion: maedhros

yes, those three are all different shhhh

star wars: ahsoka

bbc merlin: gaius

doctor who: rose tyler

pushing daisies: ned

bbc sherlock: mrs hudson

pirates of the caribbean: elizabeth turner

this took me way too long wtf

no pressure tag: @thranduilland @alexandra-scribbles @runawaymun @my-brain-needs-a-spring-cleaning @myshadowfaxisparked @janimoon @nanamitoamata @academicblorbo @maglorslostsilmaril @majestictolkienelves

#tag game

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elrondsscribe · 8 years ago

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The Seventh Avenger: Chapter 6

All rights belong to the Tolkien Estate and to Marvel Studios.

Thor's gaze followed the two science men as they left, after which he turned back to look at Glorfindel with interest. "What are you, exactly?" he asked. "You are no Asgardian, and you are not human, yet you resemble both more than any other species I know."

Glorfindel smiled blithely up at the Asgardian. "I am an Elf, or a Quende, technically."

Thor's eyebrows went up. "So the tales brought back from Earth of the immortal peoples with fair faces and voices are true after all," he said curiously.

Fury, who had gone back to his post at the central platform, looked from Glorfindel to Thor. "So you've heard of each other but you haven't met?" he asked.

"So it would appear," said Glorfindel. "Unless perhaps you happen to be Maiar in disguise -?" He looked quizzically back at Thor. Though Maiar usually sneak up on me disguised as Mortals. . .

"Maiar?" Thor blinked in honest confusion.

"I suppose not," Glorfindel shrugged. I really didn't think so. "Never mind."

"And you're no relation to the Dark-Elves of Svartalfheim?" inquired Thor mildly enough, though Glorfindel had the idea that some critical impression was riding on his answer. I also somehow don't think he's talking about the - well, the Moriquendi.

"I don't think so," he said. "I don't know any Svartalfheim, anyway."

"Alfeneel, then?" Thor pressed. "Harudheeniksel? Lovers of the Darkness-Before-the-Universe, enemies of Asgard -? No?"

Is he asking me if he needs to slay me speedily? "Ah, no." Glorfindel shook his head emphatically.

"Maybe the name 'Eldar' might also help," interjected Natasha Romanoff. She had been watching the interplay with somewhat more interest than she had earlier displayed. "Means People of the Stars. 'Quendi' just means 'speaking people.' What?" she added at Glorfindel's curious look. "I did some research myself. The name was originally used by Orome to describe all Elves. It only started to be specific to the Elves who followed him after the initial split."

That's a . . . concise way of putting a very long and complicated linguistic explanation of what we call ourselves.

Thor seemed to be satisfied that whatever Glorfindel was, he was not a "Dark-Elf" (and I've got to stop calling the Sindar, Nandor, Green-Elves, Silvans, and Avari tribes 'Dark-Elves', especially if I'm going to go public) and therefore not an immediate enemy. "I see."

"What exactly does Loki want?" asked Glorfindel, frowning. "You say he wants to use the Tesseract to open a portal for this army of his, the Chitauri. And once the Chitauri conquer Earth for him, he gets to keep the Tesseract. What does he ultimately want with it? Power?"

Thor sighed, and stared glumly into space. "I don't think it's just for the Tesseract that Loki wants to conquer and rule the Earth. It's not mere power he craves. He wants to flaunt his victory before me, and make me feel the betrayal he imagines he has suffered. He wants vengeance - upon me."

Steve blinked incredulously. "Whatdja do to offend him?"

Thor didn't answer.

Fury tilted his head and looked closely at the Asgardian. "You think he can tell us where the Cube is?"

"I don't know," said Thor bleakly. "And even if he could, I don't know if I could wring it from him. His mind is far afield." He frowned again. He was quite obviously burdened with sorrow for his (adopted) brother. And he was worried - for Erik Selvig, his friend, and for someone else too, if Glorfindel wasn't mistaken. And - perhaps most obviously - Thor seemed to imagine that the whole sorry affair was in part his own fault.

"I don't know what's between you and your brother," said Glorfindel firmly. "But blaming yourself for his current misdeeds solves nothing. He must be answerable for his own crimes."

Thor started, and threw the Elf a look of unease and suspicion.

"I'm sure you don't want him to suffer," Glorfindel pressed. "But a little encouragement regarding the finding of the Tesseract may be in order."

Thor's face darkened further. "Even if I were willing to help you torture Loki, it would avail you nothing. There's no pain that would prize his need from him."

"A lot of guys think that," interjected Fury. "Until the pain actually starts."

Thor looked between the stone-faced Director, the uncomfortably penetrating gaze of the Elf, the unreadable Agent Romanoff, and the questioning eyes of the Captain. He seemed to falter. "What are you asking me to do?"

Fury's single eye gleamed. "I'm asking what are you prepared to do?"

"Loki is a prisoner," said Thor.

"Prisoner!" snorted Glorfindel. "Don't make me laugh!"

Thor turned and glared balefully at the Elf.

"Thor, c'mon," said Steve spreading his hands. "Rolling over and playing dead in Germany, sitting up on the side of a cliff watching you and Stark were beat each other up - please! Loki's the only one on this boat, or Helicarrier or whatever, who wants to be here." He got up and walked off, passing Agent Coulson who was just coming in as he went.

Thor caught sight of Coulson, and looked half hopeful and half afraid. Coulson smiled. "Don't worry," he said reassuringly. "She's fine."

I knew there was a 'she' in it somewhere.

Thor sagged with relief as Coulson went to a nearby monitor, set down a folder he was carrying, and with a few touches brought up a picture of a young, petite, attractive brunette woman. The caption next to the picture listed the various and (to Glorfindel's admittedly ignorant eye) impressive accomplishments of astrophysicist Dr. Jane Foster.

"As soon as Loki took Dr. Selvig we moved Jane Foster," Coulson went on as Thor gazed at the image. "We've got an excellent observatory in Traunsee. She was asked to consult there very suddenly yesterday - handsome fee, private plane, very remote. She'll be safe."

"Thank you," said Thor sincerely. "It's no accident, Loki taking Erik Selvig. I dread what he plans for him once he's done. Erik is a good man."

"He talked about you a lot," Coulson smiled. "You changed his life. Changed everything around here."

Glorfindel raised his eyebrows. "This wouldn't have anything to do with what happened in New Mexico last year?"

There had been pictures and stories all over the internet of the weird, seemingly indestructible metal creature that had been fought by four (now undoubtedly Asgardian) warriors and defeated by none other than Thor himself. Both Selvig and Foster had allegedly been involved (along with their much more social media savvy assistant, a pretty brunette by the name of Darcy Lewis who was all over Instagram).

"Sure does," said Coulson. He picked up the folder, came up to the table, slid the folder across to Glorfindel. "Figured you'd want some extra details," he added.

"Thanks," said Glorfindel, opening the folder. The pictures inside were almost more interesting than the reports, including aerial photographs of the atmospheric disturbances and the strange not-thunderstorm, the remarkable hammer (Mjolnir by name, according to Thor) the fire-spitting half-sentient machine (apparently called the 'Destroyer'), and the four strangely armed warriors whose faces Glorfindel had already seen.

Looks like Loki involved in this too.

"You know, we like to pretend on Asgard that we're more advanced," Thor was saying. "but we come to Earth battling like bilgesnipe."

"Like what?" inquired Coulson curiously, and Glorfindel looked up.

"Bilgesnipe," said Thor. "You know - huge, scaly, big antlers -" he curled his hands on his forehead in an imitation of the latter. "You don't have those?"

Glorfindel and Coulson looked at each other, then back at Thor. "I don't think so," said Glorfindel.

"Then you are the more fortunate," said Thor. "For they are repulsive, and they trample everything in their path." He went to the railing at the edge of the upper level of the central chamber and leaned against it, staring pensively into the distance. "When I first came to Earth, Loki's rage followed me here, and your people paid the price - and now again." He sighed. "In my youth I courted war."

"You are still very young," said Glorfindel not unkindly. "And the war may never begin, if Banner and Stark find the Tesseract in time. May I keep this?" he added, raising the folder.

"Sure," said Coulson, and Glorfindel got up and left the room.

He had intended to head down to his locker but on the way down decided to check in on Tony and Bruce. He poked his head into the lab, and Bruce, who was standing nearest the door about to scan the Chitauri spear, looked up. "Oh, hey," he said. "Can we help you with anything?"

"Not really," said Glorfindel. "If you're terribly busy, that is."

"Sure we're busy," said Tony, who seemed to be working on three different equations at once. "Step in for a minute."

Glorfindel entered the laboratory, which seemed to be full of top-notch equipment and the very latest technology. He watched as Bruce scanned the spear, probably for gamma radiation. "Hey, Tony?" he said. "The gamma readings are consistent with Selvig's reports on the Tesseract. But it's going to take weeks to process."

"If we bypass their mainframe and direct a reroute to the Homer cluster," Tony proposed. "We can clock this around six hundred teraflops."

Bruce chuckled ruefully. "All I packed was a toothbrush."

Tony crossed the floor, passing Glorfindel to get on Bruce's other side. "By the way, I forgot to ask you earlier," he said to Glorfindel over his shoulder. "The glow's all natural, right? I mean, obviously it's supernatural, but it is actually, you know, natural?"

Glorfindel arched his eyebrows. "Why, do you want to scan me for radiation?"

Tony eyed Glorfindel with undisguised eagerness. "Maybe - would you mind?"

Bruce snorted quietly, but watched just as curiously out of the corner of his eye.

Glorfindel rolled his eyes. "Go ahead, I won't bite."

Tony grinned, picked up the scanner Bruce had just put down, and brought it over to the Elf. He re-calibrated it and waved it in front of Glorfindel's shoulders. The device began beeping madly, and Tony pulled it back while Bruce swiped an icon on his screen. "Whoa!" he said. "We're definitely looking at something unique here - the pattern's totally unlike anything I've ever encountered."

Tony went over to look at the screen Bruce was studying. "Would ya look at that?" he said. "After we find the Cube I'm going to have to take a closer look at this. The equipment here's nice, but we could really do this faster if it was better."

"Looks pretty state-of-the-art to me," said Bruce in amusement.

"That's because you're deprived," said Tony. "You know, you should really come by Stark Tower sometime," he said. "Top ten floors, all R and D. You'd love it, it's candyland."

"Thanks," Bruce grimaced. "But the last time I was in New York I kind of . . . broke Harlem."

"I think the Abomination actually broke Harlem, and you broke him," suggested Glorfindel.

"That's one way of looking at it," Bruce conceded, scrunching his nose under his glasses.

"So how about this," Tony proposed as he stepped around behind his new colleague. "A stress free environment - no tensions or surprises."

And then he jabbed Bruce in the ribs with a very small prod.

"Ow!" cried the startled Bruce.

"Oi!" protested Glorfindel. "What's he ever done to you?!"

"Hey! Are you nuts?!" Steve Rogers came storming imposingly into the laboratory, glaring at the billionaire. Glorfindel blinked down at the costumed Man.

"Nothing?" asked Tony curiously, ignoring both Steve and Glorfindel. He'd been peering closely into the unfortunate Bruce's eyes. "You really have got a lid on it, haven't you? What's your secret - mellow jazz? Bongo drums? Huge bag of weed?"

"Tony," said Glorfindel. "Did it occur to you that you might have just threatened the safety of everyone on this Helicarrier, to say nothing of offending the man?"

"No offense, Dr. Banner," added Steve.

"Nah, it's okay," said the equitable physicist. "I wouldn't have come aboard if I couldn't handle pointy things."

"See, he's working," Steve pointed at Bruce. "He's focused on the problem at hand, like you should be, Mr. Stark."

"Oh, you think I'm not?" Tony swung round to look at Steve, looking disconcertingly serious. "So riddle me this, Captain - why did Fury call us, and why now? What's he not telling us? I can't do the equation unless I have all the variables."

"You think Fury's hiding something?" asked Steve, as if this were some shocking idea.

Glorfindel raised his eyebrows to cover his rising misgivings. "He's the Director of SHIELD. Keeping things from people who keep things from other people is his business."

"See?" Tony held out his hand. "You've had this run-around before, and it's bugging you too. Probably Banner as well, isn't it, doc?"

The aforementioned scientist hemmed and hawed. "Uh, I just wanna finish my work here . . ."

Steve turned on Bruce. "Doctor?" he asked sharply.

Bruce pursed his lips. "'A warm light for all mankind to share' - Loki's jab at Fury about the Cube," he began.

"Yes, I heard it," said Steve.

"We all did," said Glorfindel. "Go on, Doctor."

"Well," said Bruce. "I think that was meant for you." And he pointed at the famous man.

"What do you mean?" inquired Steve.

But Glorfindel snapped his fingers. "Isn't Stark Tower supposed to have just started its Arc Reactor test run?"

"Stark Tower?" asked Steve. "That big ugly -"

Tony turned a justifiably miffed look on him.

"- building in New York?" finished Steve with only a trace more respect.

You Americans, honestly. I'm not sure why I expected better manners from you, Captain.

Bruce decided to ignore the obvious brewing ego conflict. "That building will run itself for, what, a year?"

"And that's just the prototype," said Tony. "I'm kind of the only name in clean energy right now."

"So why didn't SHIELD bring him -" Bruce pointed to Tony again. "- in on the Tesseract project? I mean, what are they even doing in the energy business in the first place?"

"I should probably look into that," said Tony casually. "once my decryption program has finished breaking into SHIELD's secure files."

Glorfindel's jaw swung, and Steve whirled on Tony. "I'm sorry," he snapped. "Did you say -"

"JARVIS has been running it since I hit the bridge," said Tony rather smugly, pulling a few granola bars from his pocket and tearing into one. "In a few hours I'll know every dirty secret SHIELD has ever tried to hide." He held out the other bars to Glorfindel and Steve. "Blueberry?"

Glorfindel automatically took a bar of granola. Steve ignored the snack. "Yet you're confused about why they didn't want you around," he said, folding his arms.

"An intelligence organization that fears intelligence?" Tony munched on his granola. "Historically not awesome."

"Intelligence organizations generally don't like being hacked," said Glorfindel. "And who's to say they won't catch you?"

"I'm the best at this stuff," said Tony. "I don't get caught."

"Look, I think Loki's trying to wind us up," said Steve sternly. "This is a man who means to start a war, and if we don't stay focused he'll succeed. We have orders, we should follow them."

"Because following orders always works out so well for you, Steve," snapped Glorfindel, who was getting tired of Steve's moral posturing - for all Tony's cocky recklessness, at least he wasn't self-righteous. "And speaking of wars, I'd say something's certainly got you wound up like a clock. Is it all that nervous energy from sitting still instead of bashing people's heads in? Or do you treat everyone you encounter these days like your damned subordinate?"

And then Steve turned on Glorfindel a smile for which the Elf could have wrung his neck. "And you wouldn't know a thing about soldiers breaking trust, would you, Lord of Gondolin?"

Glorfindel drew himself up, nostrils flaring. "I think, Captain," he said icily. "that Loki hardly needs to start a war here as long as you're around." And he strode from the lab.

As he left he heard Steve say "Look, just find the Cube," and come running after him. "Glorfindel?" he called. "Hey! Glorfindel!"

Glorfindel huffed in annoyance and walked faster.

"Could you stop for just one minute?" asked Steve in exasperation.

Glorfindel neither broke his stride or looked around. "You know, for someone who's supposed to be the model soldier you seem a lot better at giving orders than actually taking them."

That seemed to have hit a nerve, for Steve's heavy boots stopped thumping after him and he was left to storm off in peace.

Important reminder: The Light-Elves of Vanaheim exist only in Marvel Comics. In the Marvel Cinematic Universe, Vanaheim is populated by the Vanir, who are very similar to the Asgardians (Hogun the Grim is a Vanir). Remember that this story is strictly movie-verse Marvel.

#the seventh avenger #elrondsscribe #fanfic #fanfiction #fanfiction on tumblr #tumblr fanfic #lotr #lord of the rings #avengers #crossover #au #glorfindel the avenger

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carlandrea · 2 years ago

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Ok so something that’s always bothered me about the legendarium is like. If you’re an elf and you get murdered, you’re basically fine. Mandos spits you up back in Valinor you get a tearful reunion—if your name is Glorfindel you might even get to go back to middle earth

But the thing is no one really acts like that’s the case?? Like people avenge each other and they mourn—and things like Elwing leaping to her death is very clearly not being treated like her just like closing out to the new character creation screen. It’s clearly supposed to be a suicide but that concept doesn’t mean anything if she can’t actually die. What is maglor lamenting about if everyone’s fine. Like I guess his families kinda fucked but like you know

And then of course the kinslayings are treated as a much bigger deal than human murder, which is significantly less reversible, so like—

#Tolkien #i have a couple of ideas of how to resolve this but I want to hear what other people think #maybe I’m missing something

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anipologist · 3 years ago

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Some thoughts on “the Rings of Power”…

Woke up this morning to discover that bad as the Amazon lotr trailer looks things can always be worse.

Elrond (child of Eärendil, child of Idril, child of Turgon, High King of the Noldor and of Elwing, child of Dior, child of Luthien of Doriath whose mother was a Maia and whose father was Thingol, King of the Sindar in Middle Earth) who was fine being Gil-Gilad’s herald and rejected the High Kingship on his death is apparently now “politically ambitious”.

Galadriel (who was actually politically ambitious) is apparently running around Middle Earth searching for the killers of her brother…

which brother you ask? Good question.

Aegnor and Angrod who died in the Dagor Bragollach at least 100 years before the War of Wrath? Or Finrod Felagund who died saving Beren and destroyed the werewolf that killed him with his bare hands? Technically Sauron is ultimately responsible for his death but ummm….isn't the whole point that no one knows he’s back? Who is she chasing exactly? The flames from Thangorodrim?

Don't get me started on the costumes, specifically the HAIR!!! Why are elves running around looking like surfer dudes?

There is actual canonical justification for all elves wearing their hair long btw beyond just Glorfindel's bad hair day with the Balrog and references here and there to the beauty of specific elves' hair such as Galadriel's, Finwe's and Miriel's locks.

"All the Eldar had beautiful hair (and were especially attracted by hair of exceptional loveliness), but the Noldor were not specially remarkable in this respect, and there is no reference to Finwe as having had hair of exceptional length, abundance, or beauty beyond the measure of his people." The Peoples of Middle-earth - "The Shibboleth of Feanor"

It's worth noting in case the "brother being avenged" is Finrod and we get him in flashbacks that he was not only known for his beautiful golden hair but his incredibly curious and inquisitive mind, skill in crafting especially stonework and befriending of elves, men and dwarves alike. Oh, he also fought Sauron in single song-combat. And Tolkien himself calls him the "fairest of all the princes of the Elves". The Silmarillion - "Of Beren and Luthien"

It’s been a recurring source of comfort that least at least they couldn’t ruin Finrod since he died in the first age but apparently I might be wrong.

Lastly, the Feanorian star/Galadriel costume debate.

Yes these pictures….

Yes, the House of Finarfin is on the left and the Star of the House of Feanor from Tolkien's drawing (as used by Celebrimbor on the doors of Durin) is on the right. I have always taken Finarfin's as more of a sunburst than a star given that his father Finwe’s, to which it bares some resemblance is a “winged sun”. The show “star” also resembles Earendil’s device (middle) which makes almost as little sense as Galadriel wearing her despised uncle’s symbol (you know the uncle who murdered her mother’s people over ships) given that Earendil is a distant and much younger cousin (several times removed).

Regardless of which it is meant to be it was a poor choice especially if they are going for a catch all “elven star symbol”. If you are going to adapt a work that the author spent his whole life working on and even included helpful heraldic devices as symbols of various families and allegiances the least you can do is honor that. Elves are far from one size fits all and a show playing with the politics and loyalties of these various elves should know that.

For reference this would be like having a show with a red rose of York, a white rose of Lancaster and a Tudor poppy (for those unfamiliar with the War of the Roses, York is white and Lancaster is red, and the Tudor rose is a merging of the two). Or just saying all three could use a lily as a symbol because “it’s a flower” and they all used flowers.

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sesamenom · 2 years ago

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You guys seemed to like my Feanor-made-the-Infinity-stones post so here's some more of the same genre!

Angwë was a lesser Noldorin nobleman born during the end of the Years of the Trees. Raised during the Flight of the Noldor, he later became a skilled armorsmith of Nevrast, bearing a white gem upon his breastplate and a golden spike upon his helm. During the Fall of Gondolin, he fought with the House of the Pillar and was slain with Penlod in a lane of the city.

Thorontir was one of the many Noldor orphaned during the crossing of the Helcaraxë. Taken in by Glorfindel, Thorontir later colored parts of his hair in the honor of his adoptive guardian. When he was brought to Nevrast in Turgon's host, he befriended Angwë and later became an archer of the House of the Swallow. As one of the archers defending the walls around the Northern Gate, Thorontir perished in the breath of a fire-drake after his arrows ran out.

Kanandorë was a part-Vanyarin Noldo who followed the Host of Fingolfin to Beleriand in his youth. Later a member of the House of the King, he bore a winged helm and a device of four rays arranged in a star upon his shield of red, white, and gold. Said to have been imbued with the gift of Tulkas, Kanandorë fought in the Fall of Gondolin with a mace and Gondolin-steel shield. He fell to the fire-whips and hammers of the Balrogs about Turgon's tower.

Reborn as Men of the Seventh Age, bereft of their memory of ages past, the three began their lives anew. Angwë was once again born into wealth, and he became a renowned craftsman of the new age, seemingly possessing knowledge of his craft beyond his apparent years. Thorontir, orphaned yet again, was a talented archer with the skill of one who had once stood upon white ramparts. Yet Kanandorë fell ill, dispossessed of the blessing of Tulkas, and grew weak and sickly, until he was restored to his former strength by an experimental treatment of Men. Many years later, the three gathered as a part of a new House of warriors, and they named this House in their new tongue "Avengers".

#silm #silmarillion #fall of gondolin #marvel #crossover #avengers #elfify

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gossip-girl-of-middleearth · 3 years ago

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Which universe would you rather visit, if you had to pick one: witcher or lotr?

I literally had to switch to my laptop, just so I could answer this truthfully and in-depth.

So, right off the bat, Middle-earth is a lot more safe and a lot more beautiful. That being said, there isn't a lot...going on, per se. You have to be a real special sap of noble blood (unless you're Sam, or close friends with a wizard, who also happens to be friends with a Dwarven noble) just to be included in any of the "big boy" stuff.

If you're an average Joe, chances are you're stuck in Bree/Gondor/Rohan as the human we are, shoveling shit if you're a man, or sewing if you're a girl.

Let's be real; none of us would be awesome rangers or sparkly elves (and we all definitely wouldn’t end up in a romance with Legolas or Aragorn).

We'd be the average human of average past, which doesn't hold much merit among Elven Princes and Dúnedain men, nor sons of Stewards. Even the Hobbits (again, except for Sam — he's the exception, not the rule) are descended from their version of noble blood.

Therefore, I don't think we'd lead very interesting lives, considering there's not many adventures to be had, and those that are available are taken up by The Avengers of Middle-earth instead (aka The Fellowship plus the occasional roaming Glorfindel and other Early Age Elves).

Despite it being at least a hundred times more dangerous (monsters, more chance of getting mugged or assaulted as a female — call me crazy, but I can't see any woman in Middle-earth getting assaulted in the same world Elrond lives in), I think the average Joe has more of a chance stumbling upon something exciting.

There are more chances to learn magic or a ranger-esque trade in demand. The world is a bit more expansive in terms of "employment", if you will. If you seek something out of the ordinary in terms of a life path, you'd be better off finding it in the world of The Witcher.

Again, that being said, I'd love to spend time with the Elves and their kingdoms in Middle-earth, but I'm sure a few weeks in Rivendell on summer holidays would bore me after a while, and I'd be craving the next big thing — but after having visited every kingdom and seen everything, what is the next big thing?

All the Elves are leaving, the land is growing barren and abandoned as normal human kingdoms take over. You'd still have to pay taxes and work a long, grueling job, except you don't have any aspirin or Netflix.

Now, whilst The Fellowship lads remind me of The Avengers (being the cool, "best of the best" around for the quest), The Witcher universe reminds me of the rest of the MCU, in terms of it being so wide, with the likes of the Guardians of the Galaxy, that literally anyone could stumble upon a destiny-fueled adventure and learn an exciting trade, which boasts thrilling adventures every week of the year.

It may not suit everyone, but personally, I always need that "next big thing" stimulus, or else I grow bored very, very quickly.

So whilst I'd go overseas to visit Middle-earth on holiday, I'd return home to The Continent (that's The Witcher land for all the uninitiated) to return to my job, networks and "real" life, away from sunny water fountains in Rivendell where I'd otherwise get my tan on.

In my head, Middle-earth and The Continent are two separate continents in the same world, as well as Narnia XD

#the Witcher #Witcher #the continent #middle earth #lord of the rings #lotrdaily #lotr movies #the hobbit #elves #legolas #hobbit #lotr shitpost #silmarillion #mirkwood #Jaskier #geralt #Silmarillion

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