#gondor has no pants gondor needs no pants

[baggebythesea]

Arise, arise, Pant-less Riders of Théoden! Fell deeds awake: fire and slaughter! Spear shall be shaken, pants be removed, a sword-day, a buttocks day, ere the sun rises! Ride now, with no pants! Ride to Gondor!

older lotr illustrations sometimes depict éowyn wearing ridiculously small armour. apart from the problem general sexualisation of the only female character (who really does anything), there’s another hilarious thought:

éowyn pretended to be dernhelm, a man. to fit in, she must have worn men’s armor. so the armor in the illustrations is normal for rohirrim.

therefore, all the rohirrim rode to war just like that:

[undercat-overdog]

Gondor is not northern European, by Tolkien's own words. It's Mediterranean, and akin to an empire of antiquity.

Conclusion: everyone should wear tunics. Need to see legs. Frank Franzetta is a visionary.

[sonxofxgondor]

With the rise of the sun, so, too, does Boromir begin his day. A morning person, after a good stretch of the back and muscles, he starts with getting himself ready. A quick bath and scrub of the teeth - mint chewed thereafter - he allows the air around him to dry his wet locks, styled with only a wooden comb, his favorite tunic thrown overhead and pants tugged up his legs. Burgundy at the top, black at the bottom, boots to match. Once cleaned, Boromir retreats to the kitchen for breakfast.

Able to feed the entire army, from appearance alone, Boromir enjoys, often, a larger quantity. Prepared alongside the cook - an older woman who treats him more like a son than a steward-prince, does not mind his help nor scolds him for asking - eggs of three kinds are placed onto his breakfast plate. Scrambled, poached, and fried, served with toasted bread and strawberry jam, crispy potatoes and onions, seasoned with herb and spice, sliced fruit, apples and pears, salted pork, baked butter biscuits, and two links of sausage. Gobbled up as soon as it is made and served, after drinking down a cup of juice from an orange, onto his chores does Boromir go next.

Tactical training and combat exercise, Boromir is grateful for the life he is given, the responsibilities of a captain. Teaching the next generation of Gondor's finest men, he takes his role very seriously. Despite personality for fun, Boromir does not allow for the morning hours to be put to waste, especially when there is so much left to do. He trains and teaches. He speaks with his military counsel, conducts thorough check of weaponry, armor, and the health of those under his watch, and reviews defensive and offensive strategy and plan. Finishing on chores that have been assigned to him, too, by the orders of Denethor, Boromir, in the hours that still have not signaled late afternoon, goes to the people.

He talks to them, listens and shares. Hears their concerns and offers promises. Partakes in friendship and merriment, always a prince for the common people. He assists in the construction of new and fallen buildings, though he need not to. Hands dirty in the work, he shares stories with the children during their lesson times, teaches them safety and self-protection. The children so smart - Boromir knows that they are wonderful students and is proud - from the schoolyard does he move to the shopkeepers, eager to rest their woes. Financial and other, he tends to the struggling with compassion and deals with the corrupt with a just hand, firm and swift, punishment to be decided before fair trial.

Returned from the people, Boromir searches out his family. Finds Faramir and listens to his stories, the books he has opened upon his lap or the drama that involves his life, beneath the White Tree and sat on the lawn. Enjoys still the morning sun, up for hours by then but not bothered. Wonders where their father has gone, frowns when the door to Denethor's bedchamber is locked, mumbles behind the darkened wood and a near sob escaped. Boromir worried so, he does not linger, waiting for his father. He moves along; back to work to organize paper and royal decree, in his private chamber, the efforts of both he and Faramir for the sake of their kingdom. One half the brawn, the other the mind: the general and the diplomat.

An early bird by nature, Boromir finds rests when, too, the sun sinks beneath the horizon. Only to start again come the next day; the life of sunshine to his bedchamber window, ivory curtains bright.

[frikatilhi]

Jere + toddler energy part 2

Part 1 here

"Can Bojan come out to play?" [credit]

NO PANTS GONDOR HAS NO PANTS GONDOR NEEDS NO PANTS [credit]

Preventing a meltdown with a juicebox

moar naps

sweater paws [credit]

HeLp I fELL anD cAN't GEt uP [credit]

[tathrin]

🎤—Describe the opening scene

Hmm, I have several stories in progress right now, so let's see which one to pick for this...I think And His Hands Ran With Gold And Shadow, because I think that's the one I have going right now that would need the most changes from the way the opening scene is written to how it would best be filmed.

We would start the scene sort of the way The Two Towers does, with a long pan-in across Middle-earth, perhaps starting on the Anduin and then scanning across the dark trees of Mirkwood, over Dale, slowly closing in on the Lonely Mountain.

There would be faint voice-overs from some of the familiar lines we all know and remember, sometimes mingling together half-heard and sometimes crisp and clear, slowly getting louder as we get closer to the Mountain and to the moment of divergence, until at last we reach new lines, a changed scene that we do not see, but we can hear, and infer, and shudder at...

Galadriel: I amar prestar aen...

Elrond: I was there, Gandalf. I was there the day the strength of Man failed...

Frodo: I will do it. I will take the Ring.

Boromir: It is a gift...a gift to the foes of Mordor.

Galadriel: But they were all of them deceived...

Aragorn: Boromir. Give the Ring to Frodo.

Boromir: Gondor has no king. Gondor needs no king.

Gandalf: All we have to do is decide what to do with the time that is given to us...

Elrond: Evil was allowed to endure.

Boromir: Why do you recoil? I am no thief.

Frodo: You are not yourself.

Boromir: What chance do you think you have? They will find you. They will take the Ring. And you will beg for death before the end!

Elrond: The line of kings is broken. There is no strength left in the world of Men.

Boromir: I see your mind! You will take the Ring to Sauron! You will betray us!

Galadriel: And into this Ring he poured his cruelty, his malice, and his will to dominate all life.

Boromir: It is not yours, save by unhappy chance. It could have been mine. It should be mine! Give it to me!

Frodo: No! Let go! Let me go! Noooo!

(sounds of a scuffle; a scream in Frodo's voice; panting breaths; frantic footsteps on crackling underbrush; silence)

Aragorn: Frodo? Frodo!

Samwise: Mister Frodo, no! Look, Strider, he's still breathing! Oh, hurry, he's still breathing...

Aragorn: But Boromir, where is Boromir?

Samwise: Strider, please! (sounds of someone dropping to the ground; rustling cloth; a moan.) Frodo: The Ring...Aragorn, he has taken the Ring. Forgive me, I could not stop him. Boromir has taken the Ring...

Denethor: And so my son returns to the White City at last!

Boromir: Father, I bring you a mighty gift.

Denethor: Can this be? The One Ring—Sauron's Master Ring?

Boromir: Yes, father. Isildur's Ring, returned to Gondor at last.

Denethor: And Gondor will make good use of such a gift, my son...

Galadriel: One Ring to rule them all...

And on Galadriel's last words, the camera swoops down through the enormous double-doors of the Lonely Mountain and inside to the great hall, tall and shadowed and lit by crystal lamps that are not quite numerous enough to drive away the gloom that hangs in the corners of the tall ceiling and around the wide pillars that hold up the weight of the mountain.

On the throne in the center of the hall sits Gimli, dressed so regally that we can barely recognize him, with heavy beads of gold and gems braided in his beard but, crucially, no crown upon his bare head. A few other dwarves mill around, some by the throne and others lining the walls; it is clear that court is being held, but that it is an ordinary day of no especial significance. Perhaps a few proposals or orders are issued as we pan in for some establishing flavor; their specific content does not matter, because the focus of the scene will be on the slight scuffle by the door as the dwarven guards step aside to admit a handful of ragged, filthy, half-starved looking Men from Dale who drag in four struggling, bloody, wounded elves draped in heavy chains. The Men shove the elves to their knees before the throne, a line of dwarven guards in front of them with others gathered close behind; there will be trouble, and no escape, from either the prisoners or their captors.

Gimli looks bored—a cover for his misery—barely interested, until...he sits up a little in his chair, a look of horror growing behind his beard as the camera draws in closer to him. Then we switch to see the elves he is staring at, three of them with dark hair and one of the two in the middle a pale golden-blonde. Cut back to Gimli, who is gripping the arm of his throne with one white-knuckled hand, on which rests a heavy golden Ring adorned with a thick gem that catches the light and glimmers brighter even than the crystal lamps.

Gimli whispers so quietly that the audience can believe that none of the dwarves are standing near enough to hear him: Not like this. He closes his eyes, swallowing hard as though to fight back tears.

All the elves kneel, some struggling slightly and some staying stoically still, and their heads are bowed, but as Gimli stares and as the camera of his eyeline pans in closer, focusing in on the blonde one, his head comes up and the audience can see Legolas's face, streaked with blood. There is no recognition in his cold eyes as he stares back at the dwarf on the throne.

"A fine tribute," Gimli says, his voice ringing out strong but hollow in the echoing hall. "Tell the Men of Dale that they have earned their people four months of triple rations in addition to the gold-price on the heads of these elves."

The bedraggled Men lift their heads, grinning with joy and relief. Dwarven guards step forwards to take charge of the prisoners and the Dale Men back away, murmuring gratitude to the Lord of the Mountain for his generosity. Some of the dwarves stare at the elves through narrowed eyes; others eye the Dalemen with either pity or distaste. Some confer quietly among themselves, so used to these sort of things that they aren't even worth watching any longer. A few (one of whom we will later meet as Mólin; it is important that he be seen to be part of this scene, although he should not have too much focus put on him yet, to telegraph ahead of time that he is a Notable Character) watch Gimli closely, curiosity or suspicion glittering sharply in their eyes.

"Have the elves taken to the cages," Gimli announces, in his bold and hollow ruler's voice. Then his regal tones break a little, and he says, "Except — except for the golden-haired one."

Legolas's head snaps up, but there is still no recognition in his expression; just a sort of sad, smoldering anger and resignation. The other elves glance at him, then away again, the same grim looks on their bloody faces. One of them snarls at a dwarf who holds her arm, but can do no more than that with the heavy chains around her wrists and ankles and solid dwarven hands holding her tight.

"Take that one to my chambers," Gimli commands, his head thrown back and his voice ringing out boldly across the stone. He curls his lips into a cruel smile that does not reach his eyes. "I will see to his breaking personally."

The elves are dragged away, some struggling and some stoic, by their dwarven captors; Legolas is separated from the others. He holds his head high, his face blank, and does not look back, although two of them turn with miserable frowns to stare at him as they are pulled through different doors.

The Ring on Gimli's hand glitters in a close-up. His fingers are curled into a tight fist.

"Oh," Gimli says, making his voice light, "and heat water for a bath as well; the elf is all-over filthy with blood, and I will not have him defiling my rooms any more than can be helped."

Several dwarves chuckle with varying degrees of sincerity (Mólin is not one of them). Gimli holds his smile long enough for all the elves to be pulled away through the doors that lead deeper into the Mountain.

Then his smile fades to a bleak look of horror and he sinks down heavily into his throne.

We close-up on the Ring again, and see blood dripping from his hand from where he has gripped it so hard that the band has bitten through his skin and broken it.

Then we end with a long-shot of Gimli on the throne in the shadows, the other dwarves at a bit of a distance now and out of focus and looking to their own conversations, leaving him looking very very alone.

End Scene.

Technically I suppose it still opens the same, after the opening...but because we're doing a canon-divergent AU, I think it works best to establish what the divergence actually is, in broad-strokes at least, before the story itself starts. And since TTT has already established this style of opening with voice-over exposition/reminders, it seems the best way to go about it here too I think.

Granted, we could ostensibly actually cut in to show some of those scenes here too, the way they do with Gandalf battling the balrog...but I think it's stronger if we don't actually show anything in this case. Also because we don't want to then segue into Gimli having a dream or flashback, so the cut would be somewhat awkward — but also I just think it's got more weight, in this case, without actually being able to see what happened.

Just make everyone listen to some familiar lines, and then gradually realize that that part isn't the same, oh no...

[oneneatcat]

gondor has no pants.

gondor needs no pants.

Aragorn - Lord of the Rings (Knickerbocker)

[arcticdementor]

[hobbitweed]

[sauronnaise]

Boromir: Wizards spook me.

Frodo: Why do you say so?

Boromir: Gandalf... he says he can talk to the spirits of the forest and the trees.

Frodo: He doesn't, he ate shrooms he shouldn't have. Legolas does the same.

[mistergandalf]

DON’T FORGET

GONDOR HAS NO PANTS... GONDOR NEEDS NO PANTS

Also courtesy of my bestie @mhyinart��​ this absolute banger of a post (original post here)

Have you seen the cartoon Hobbit and LOTR movies?

if this is for the ask game then I vote "it was okay" for all of them lmao

YES! I own them all on VHS (check your local Goodwill for treasures regularly). So here's my thoughts on all three:

The Hobbit: Eh... I can't remember much regarding accuracy, but I do remember it was so boring I fell asleep the first time I watched it. For some reason 7 of the 13 dwarves die at the end??? It's bizarre and I hate it. Like Bombur runs up to Bilbo and is like "oh we won" and then just dies or whatever. That might be inaccurate but wtf. Rankin/Bass is absurd.

The Lord of the Rings: Terrible, but charming. This one was done by Ralph Bakshi, so it's extremely different in tone and style to the Rankin/Bass Hobbit/Return of the King movies. The animation is all over the place, some of the story changes are very questionable, and overall you can tell that they were just doing whatever at every moment while making it, because there is so little consistency it's hilarious. And yet, despite all that... their portrayal of Aragorn is so good? It's like. SPOT-ON to how he is in the book. I love Viggo Mortensen as much as anyone else, but somehow in the middle of this disaster, they really captured Book!Aragorn perfectly. They also do a beautiful job showing how devoted Sam is to Frodo, although they do make Sam too much of a bumbling fool. Anyway the ending sucks because they literally just. ran out of time or money or something. So hilariously it ends with them winning the battle of Helm's Deep like "and then everyone won forever yaaaaay!" and you're like okay but what about Sam and Frodo??? Anyway it's horrible but it has good qualities. Check out this amazing documentary about Bakshi and Lord of the Rings, it's fascinating, and that's coming from me who never watches YouTube documentaries.

The Return of the King: Ehhhhh. Soooo much left out and a lot of inaccuracies. I honestly haven't watched this one in forever so I don't remember a lot. As anyone who's watched it will tell you, though - Where There's A Whip, There's A Way is a BANGER.

Anyway that's my assessment. Maybe I should watch the Rankin/Bass ones again to form harder opinions lmao

[icryyoumercy]

i went out and got a ton of necessary stuff, and was all productive and useful, but now i got home, and took of my trousers because it’s too damn hot for them, and just found that apparently, removing my trousers also removed my executive functioning

oooooops...

[aeide-thea]

for context, i'd been looking up the distinction in usage between that and which, because, well, A— asked me about it the other day, and i like to be able to answer his questions… anyway, i came across this article on the subject, which is frankly a thing of beauty and a joy forever (go and read it right now, i'll wait!), and begins as follows:

Do you suffer from low self-esteem? Do you have anxiety, or difficulty making decisions? Do you find yourself unable to decide whether you should use that or which when composing a sentence? In the event that you answered “yes” to either of the first two questions you have our sympathies, but as a dictionary we can offer little else. However, if the source of your trouble is the issue of that and which we may be of some small assistance.

which, uh. clearly they know their audience! /o\

that said, if you are interested in navigating these mildly-weedy grammatical waters with an Official Map and not just by native instinct, as i have historically done, the distinction apparently has to do with the restrictiveness of the clause? which… is another concept that was new to me until very recently, actually: we'd been talking about comma usage auf deutsch, which, as i understand it, offsets all subordinate clauses with commas; i knew that wasn't the case in english, but i wasn't sure whether our punctuation choices were purely a matter of style, or whether they had a grammatical function? anyway, it turns out that the comma binary corresponds fairly exactly to the that/which divide, and that both are governed by the aforementioned question of restrictiveness:

[I]f your clause is bracketed by commas (“the article on grammar, which I started while eating lunch, seemed to never end”) it is likely a nonrestrictive clause, and you can give it a which. If it is not surrounded by commas, then it is most likely a restrictive clause, and you can choose to give it a that or a which.

anyway, i am probably not going to alter a blog title that has remained—pronouns aside—substantially unchanged for the last decade, but E is otherwise very correct in her suggestion! i will leave you all with one final flower from the bouquet of this article's stylistic delights:

If you would prefer a sartorial analogy, the nonrestrictive clause functions like a silk scarf; you may wish to wear one when leaving the house, but your day won’t really be affected if you decide to leave it at home. The restrictive clause, however, is more akin to pants; your day will have a decidedly problematic tone if you leave home without them.

[tanoraqui]

ficlet scrap of Song:

After three children of his own blood, dozens more fostered or at least uncled, and two Ages of ruling or helping rule a great many elves who veered sharply between utmost and absolutely no respect at all for things like “the privilege of rank”, Elrond was no stranger to having his door unexpectedly slammed open by someone fervently shouting his name.

He hadn’t quite expected it of the just-appointed, still-healing Steward of Gondor, who’d thus far seemed to be notably circumspect for his young age. But here Faramir son of Denethor stood, wide-eyed and several hairs flying out of place, panting as though he’d just sprinted up the stairs. (Elrond frowned. That wasn’t healthy yet—the effects of the Black Breath lingered; Faramir was pale, sweat beading on his brow.)

“You’re taking your library?” Faramir cried, loudly enough to echo throughout the Tower of Guard’s royal guest quarters. “The Library of Imladris, legendary greatest, most comprehensive collection in the world of the history of Middle Earth and all its people?! Is it true— Ar— The Queen said, Lord Elrond, is it true that not only do you mean to sail West soon, but when you do, you will take the whole Library with you?! Ai, why did I let Boromir take my place!”

He was distraught in the utmost, betrayed, alarmed, disappointed and aggrieved as though the Black Tower had risen again overnight and resumed belching fumes.

“I had planned to,” Elrond admitted, as he took the pale, panting young man by the arm and led him to a seat. “It has long been my thought that I collected the records of Middle Earth for my kin across the sea as much as for any in these mortal lands, that they might know what had passed here, deeds great and small alike. Copies have been made and shared over the years of many of the tomes, but usually just of the more exciting ones—the histories of wars and such. I will not say I have not grieved that, say, the farming records of Imladris or a traveller’s account of Umbar from the reign of Eärnur are less requested by scholars—though I myself have grown weary of the farming records at times! But this is a new Age—”

“Not so new!” Faramir interrupted him with a shout (though he did let himself be seated). “Forgive me, but not so new that we need not care for the past—indeed, now we need its wisdom more than ever! If that is the sort of scholars you have in the north, alas that you didn’t come south sooner!”

“I see that now!” Elrond said, and tried not to laugh in either amusement or affectionate academic fellowship, lest he cause offense. “Well, I assure you that I don’t mean to sail tomorrow, nor this next year—though I cannot say how long I will tarry beyond that. But I will gladly pack Imladris’s library last, and until the last scroll is gone, it shall be open to all those who wish to learn, or to copy what they can. Perhaps even after I’ve left—there are those who will sail later still, whom I’m sure can be borne upon to ferry a few last books.”

“My lord, I myself—augh, but there is so much to do here!”

Faramir rubbed his face, then gripped Elrond’s arm and swore with such intensity that there might’ve been the light of ancient Trees in his grey eyes.

“I will have 20 of Minas Tirith’s finest scribes at your doorstep as quickly as horses can bear them, and 30 more the week after that, if you will house them all. Or if you won’t—I know people, I’ve studied with them, from Minas Tirith, Dol Amroth, Lebennin and Lamedon and all the fiefs. For this, the scholars of Gondor will camp in the woods!”

[also on AO3]

[victoriousscarf]

On one hand I do not usually feel like I need to justify myself or my media consumption or the stories I love for whatever reasons (flawed or not) but the Tumblr discourse about the Rings of Power has sorta been blowing my mind.

A. I do not believe moral purity is found in what we consume and I'd take the calls for boycott a lot more seriously if they were consistent in also calling out say the Boys, Good Omens, League of Their Own, etc OR if the actual workers on the show or for Amazon were part of calling for any boycott. I'm not about purity culture y'all and this just feels like another take on it. Consumption is not morality unless the rules of the game on Amazon and streaming in general change a lot. Also weren't we just waiting about the fact HBO fucked up it's streaming and started taking shows down?

B. I'd also take it way more seriously if it didn't feel like the whole "don't even hate watch it give them nothing" didn't feel like it wasn't doing the racist's job for them. In fact if I was more conspiracy minded I might suspect that this whole call was started by a racist trying to figure out what would bring progressives over to their side (yeah, make it about the evils of capitalism! That will get them to do our job for us!) (To give people the benefit of the doubt I hope it was started by someone well meaning who cares about labor and didn't realize they were walking right into these people's hands).

C. The idea of judging something before watching it (they hate Tolkien, all the COC are tokenized) is wrong headed to me. I still remember the way fans ripped apart the LOTR trailer back in 2001.

D. Have we ever gotten a perfect Tolkien adaptation? No. Will we ever? No. But the complaints about this one are sorta like.... Yeah well do y'all remember when Gondor wore no pants because Gondor needed no pants, or when Thranduil was a weird goblin looking dude with a crown of berries or when Peter Jackson took Tolkien's anti-war message and gently toasted it over the burning corpses of a the battle of the five armies? Because man I sure do.

E. This is all to say yes I'm absolutely watching it, no it's not perfect, I would die for Disa (and she doesn't feel tokenized at all she's wonderful). You give me Tolkien of course I'm gonna watch the Tolkien. When y'all boycott Good Omens season 2 you can get back to me.

F. In difference to folks who perhaps have stronger feelings than me all posts will be tagged "granddaddy feanors hammer" along with my usual "all the Tolkien feels." (Because my tags have always been labyrinthian and strange and I ain't changing my ways now)

G.

[elvish-sky]

All that Matters is that We are Together {Aragorn x Reader}

Requested by @lamikahn on Tumblr: Aragorn x reader where he falls in love with the main character who is also a part of the fellowship and a ranger during their time together. Thank you so much for even considering. Much love❤️

A.N: Y’all know how much I adore writing fight scenes. I kinda had a very specific idea for this one and just ran with it. I really hope you like it!

Word Count: 1,205

Pairing: Aragorn x Reader

Summary: You, a Ranger who has been with the Fellowship since Rivendell, want to go with the armies of Rohan to aid Minas Tirith, but Aragorn fears for your safety if you do.

Warnings: Angst, sparring, some kissing.

****

All that Matters is that We are Together {Aragorn x Reader}

Your sword crashed against Legolas’ dagger, echoing across the sparring ground as you whirled and blocked Gimli’s axe stroke. You had asked to spar with them today to take your mind off of the upcoming ride to Minas Tirith, and war against Mordor. You weren’t sure if you would be allowed to join them, just because you were a girl, even though you had journeyed with the Fellowship since Rivendell, and were a trained Ranger of the North. You wanted to prove to everyone that you could fight well enough to be included, which is why you had stupidly challenged Legolas and Gimli to a two on one.

Panting, you drew a dagger from its sheath on your thigh and struck Gimli’s axe from his hand, and then spun again to block one of Legolas’ weapons from striking your collarbone. You charged at him and sprang into the air, flipping over his head and landing behind him with your dagger pressed to his throat. As you stood there, you heard the sound of a dwarf in armor clanking behind you. With the hand that wasn’t holding the dagger pressed to Legolas’ throat, you unsheathed your sword again and whipped it around, placing the point under Gimli’s chin.

“Well fought, lass.” Gimli backed away from your sword, hands up. “That was well done, Y/N,” Legolas added. “I can see you’ve listened to my training.” It was just like Legolas to take credit for your skills. You had trained for years with the Dunedain before joining the Fellowship, and felt that they deserved the real credit for your skills. Chuckling at Legolas’ conceit and pleased with yourself, you wiped your sweaty forehead on the hem of your tunic.

A sudden absence of the sound of weapons crashing together announced the arrival of Aragorn, as soldiers ceased sparring to stare at the Heir of Isildur. As he crossed the ground in between the entrance and his friends, the sounds of fighting slowly resumed. Reaching you, he clapped you on the back, slinging his arm over your shoulder, “I saw you best the elf and dwarf. Well done, Y/N,” he complimented you. “Thank you,” you ducked out from under his arm, blushing at his praise. “What say we have a friendly match now?” you grabbed your sword as you challenged him to a one on one.

While you had been able to beat almost everyone you had ever fought, you had never won against him, even after years of trying. However, the odds of defeat didn’t stop you from trying any chance you got. In fact, today marked the first time you had ever beaten Legolas, but you suspected that was just because Gimli had distracted him. You couldn’t blame the dwarf if he had. Legolas was infuriatingly good, which made sense given that he’d had thousands of years of practice, but still, it had felt nice to knock him down a peg, even if it was sheer chance.

Aragorn’s eyebrows rose as you challenged him, but he accepted, and, drawing his sword, waited for someone to count down. “Three, two, one, begin!” came Legolas’ shout. You circled each other, looking for an opening at which to strike. You lunged, but Aragorn batted your sword away with a mere flick of his wrist. He then feinted to your left, drawing your guard away from your right side, allowing him to score a small hit on your shoulder. This feinting and blocking, getting in a touch here and there went on for a while, neither of you willing to fully commit to an attack. You knew each other’s moves and techniques so well that it was hard to do something the other could not predict. Finally, fed up with the dance, you drove him back with a series of quick, short strokes. He countered in turn by raining a bewildering set of blows down on you, making you use most of your strength blocking the blows from above.

As he forced you onto your knees with the strength of his sword, he spoke. “Why did you challenge me? You have beaten Legolas and Gimli, and you are tired. What good does it do to expend your strength like this?” You quickly rolled out from under his blade and shook out your muscles, sword extended towards him as you answered, “I need the practice. We are riding to Minas Tirith tomorrow and I want to be prepared for battle.” Startled by this, Aragorn’s eyes widened. He looked at Legolas with a question in his eyes, and the elf shook his head.

Confused, you continued circling your opponent, and queried, “What is wrong? Why do you make that face?” With a look of sorrow, Aragorn told you, “Y/N, you aren’t coming to Gondor.” “What!?” you exclaimed. “I can fight just as well as a man. You are responsible for much of my training- you should not doubt my skill. I deserve to fight in this battle, even if it is the end.” “No, Y/N. You aren’t going.” Aragorn declared. Furious, you attacked with a renewed vigor, determined to prove your worth. In your anger, you forgot to guard your back and felt the cold steel of Aragorn’s sword press against the back of your neck as he slipped behind you.

Defeated, you sheathed your sword and stomped out of the training ground, seething. You had fought beside them many times, and you did not understand why they wouldn’t let you fight by their sides once more. As you fumed, you heard a shout from behind you. “Y/N, wait!” You spun around, only to be taken by surprise as Aragorn’s lips crashed into yours. Shocked, you pulled back, breaking the kiss. “What is this?” you yelled at him, not caring that you were surrounded by people. “First you tell me I may not go to Gondor, now you kiss me? Aragorn, what is going on?” He grasped your shoulders, making you look him in the eyes. “I’m in love with you, Y/N, and I’m scared. Scared that you would get hurt and I would not be able to save you.” “I can fight,” you said. “I can fight better than many of the men accompanying you tomorrow.” “I know,” Aragorn whispered. “I’m just not willing to take the chance. I couldn’t bear to see you fall.” “And I’m not willing to stay behind and hear of your death, wondering if there had been anything I could do to save you.” He stepped back, looking as if he was about to leave. “I’ve been with you through thick and thin, we’ve faced many dangers together.”

“Let me come, Aragorn. Let me fight this last fight, the last stand of men.” you pleaded, grabbing his hand. “Be careful, my love.” was his reply. “I will be. For I shall be beside you. Nothing would make me want to survive this battle more than the thought that we will fight it together.” He smiled, faintly at this. “All that matters is that we are together,” and he swept you into a kiss, not caring who saw. You were going to fight together, be together, and that was all that mattered.

Forever tag 💖: @boyruins @entishramblings @anjhope1 @itgetsatadhazy

[scyllas-revenge]

truly the animated Lord of the Rings is a masterpiece of cinema

Boromir?

More like Whore-omir.

Where are your pants, sir?