#guldur-guldur-show

[mervynbunter]

J. R. R. Tolkien, The Return of the King (1955), Appendix B, “The Third Age”

[mithrandirl]

insane that the battle of five armies film just. changed which armies fought in it lol. where are the talking wolves, pj 🧐

[conundrumoftime]

One of the fun things about shipping Haladriel and about Galadriel's story in Rings of Power, for me, is that we know exactly where this is going to end up. And I wanted to babble for a bit about where that place is because I have seen so many people view it as "she is retired to some woods to be a passive wife-and-mother who can do magic but in a mystical New Age-y way", and: no! No.

So a quick overview of where she will end up by LOTR:

Very much not removed from the war against Sauron.

She is constantly mind-battling against Sauron: One of the lines that inspired McKay and Payne's whole show was her talking about this: "I say to you, Frodo, that even as I speak to you, I perceive the Dark Lord and know his mind, or all of his mind that concerns the Elves. And he gropes ever to see me and my thought." In one of the versions of the Annatar story in Unfinished Tales, Sauron immediately realises she will be his 'chief adversary', and has apparently not changed that assessment 3500 years later.

She co-ordinates joint efforts against Sauron: The White Council that Elrond talks about in LOTR, the combined force of Ring-bearers, wizards and elf-lords that first drives Sauron out of Dol Guldur - she's not just on that, she founded it.

She gets Gandalf back after Moria and the Balrog: Galadriel learns what's happened to Gandalf from the Fellowship when they arrive in Lothlórien. The the Fellowship are sad; the elves of Lothlórien mourn; Celeborn loses it a bit and says Gandalf 'fell into folly'; but Galadriel sends Gwaihir the eagle to get him, returns him to health, updates him on the situation with Boromir, gives him some messages to take to the others, and sends him back on his way.

She is possibly in Lothlórien because of its position of strategic importance: from Unfinished Tales here, she 'saw that Lórien would be a stronghold and point of power to prevent the Shadow from crossing the Anduin in the war that must inevitably come' and that's why she and Celeborn go there. (There are other versions as with almost everything else in Tolkien, but this is one of them.) She's not there to hide away from Events.

2. Calmer than in TROP, but not all-wise and all-sweet and still pretty scary.

She is still tempted by power and world domination: "I do not deny that my heart has greatly desired to ask what you offer [...] In place of the Dark Lord you will set up a Queen. And I shall not be dark, but beautiful and terrible as the morning and the night!"

And, she doesn't just turn down the One Ring because it's abstractly eeeevil. She turns it down because she knows what she, specifically, would do with it. Sam sees a vision of the Shire, and tells her "I wish you'd take his Ring. You'd put things to rights. You'd stop them digging up the Gaffer and turning him adrift. You'd make some folk pay for their dirty work," to which she says that yes, she would: "That is how it would begin. But it would not stop with that, alas! We will not speak more of it."

And saying she wants to rule the world here is not me joking about! This is Tolkien describing that moment in LOTR:

It was not until two long ages more had passed, when at last all that she had desired in her youth came to her hand, the Ring of Power and the dominion of Middle-earth of which she had dreamed, that her wisdom was full-grown and she rejected it

People are scared of her: The only scary moment we directly see is the Ring temptation, but she does other unsettling things. When she meets the Fellowship she tests them by reading their minds and offering something they really want to see if it would make them "turn aside from the road and leave the Quest and the war against Sauron to others." (She offers Sam a garden; the One Ring later on tempts him with the same thing.) Even the hobbits are a bit disturbed by this and Boromir, who's already said he doesn't want to go into Lothlórien because people who do that never leave again, absolutely does not trust her.

Éomer, a few chapters later:

'Then there is a Lady in the Golden Wood, as old tales tell!' he said. 'Few escape her nets, they say. These are strange days! But if you have her favour, then you are also net-weavers and sorcerers, maybe.'

She's scary! She's ancient and powerful and people are scared of her.

3. Married, but not in the character-limiting way the nerdbros want it to be and would have you believe it is.

I am not telling anyone they should ship Galadriel/Celeborn or even find it interesting just because I do, but, the angry nerdbros fancasting Celeborn as Henry Cavill and talking about how he'll come back to tame her and tidy her neatly out of the narrative are writing their own little AU headcanons because that is not what's in the text.

She's the more powerful one. Partly because she's one of the 'High Elves' - she's Noldor and has lived in Valinor seen the light of the Trees - which for various reasons about the way Tolkien's elves work just makes her more powerful, partly because she has a Ring of Power and Celeborn doesn't. It's her Mirror; she's the one reading people's minds; she's the one locked in endless mental battles with Sauron; she's the one the Rohirrim (whose lands border Lothlorien's) tell each other scary stories about. Celeborn at no point ever seems to have an issue with this, and calls her his 'treasure'.

They work together. Even in a big-action-sequences sense: after Sauron's defeat, Celeborn 'led the host of Lorien over Anduin in many boats' to Dol Guldur, where Galadriel 'threw down its walls and laid bare its pits'. But the rest of the time, too: she says of him that 'together through ages of the world we have fought the long defeat'.

You really get the sense that they have been married for a loooooong time. An actual sequence of events in LOTR, somewhat condensed:

The Fellowship reveal there's a Balrog in Moria;

Celeborn goes "!!!!", complains about dwarves waking it up and says he'd never have let Gimli into Lothlorien if he'd known that;

Galadriel smacks Celeborn down for being rude to their guest;

Celeborn apologises to Gimli;

Galadriel tells the Fellowship that Celeborn is accounted the wisest of elves;

Boromir says something about "old wives' tales";

Celeborn, whose wife is one of the oldest beings in Middle-earth, tells Boromir not to be so dismissive because "old wives keep in memory word of things that once were needful for the wise to know";

Galadriel hands Celeborn a drink.

Whatever is going on here is clearly something that works for them, is what I'm saying! And you don't have to find their marriage interesting just because I do, of course; but what it's not is some trad fantasy of domestic subservient-wife anything.

So where her TROP story ends up is ultimately with LOTR Galadriel: powerful, important, tempted to rule the world, a bit calmer than in TROP, a bit happier than in TROP, co-ordinating big strategic efforts in the war, married to someone who's got her back and adores her and they fall out a bit sometimes but generally work pretty well together, and still having Sauron constantly trying to get into her head. I am fine with this! I am more than fine with this.

[frost-queen]

Lady of Mirkwood | (Reader x Thranduil)

Requested by: anon, Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @merlin-dahlia, @alex--awesome--22@elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers @merlieve,  @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly,@denkisclown, @wildieflower, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @justanothercoco, @subjecta13-thefangirl, @m-rae23, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @swampthing07, @melsunshine, @panhoeofmanyfandoms, @venomsvl, @the-uncoordinated-house-cat, @rosecentury, @imagines-by-her,  @evilcr0ne, @vviolynn

| Meeting Thranduil

You met Thranduil when the Third age progressed. It was when the Necromancer unknown then but known as Sauron later on claimed the abandoned fortress of Amon Lanc to make it into Dol Guldur. Sauron infected the woods with spiders and orcs. The spiders and the orcs expended their reach claiming more and more for them. Infecting the very nature with their filth and death.

All the elves were forced to leave the woods. Those who fought back were brought down. Countless of lost elves filled the sickening woods. You were amongst some elves that were fleeing. The orcs had increased their stench to the part of the woods where you lived. With a few douzen you were. Fleeing for your lives as the orcs hunted you down. The woods had grown iller. Spider cobs were not too much yet in these parts. But a few spiders having expended their webs out to your lands.

Some elves wanted to stay and fight. They barely lasted long as the pack of orcs were too many. Sweeping them down in a matter of seconds. The others fled as fast as they could. Hatred, anger and sorrow grieving your hearts. You were running trying to stay out of the orcs clutches. The orcs attack made you stumble, dropping to the ground. Surrounded by death and darkness. You thought it was over. You thought you were never going to see the undying lands, but then a bright light appeared between the trees. The illumination blinded the orcs sending them back a bit. The light faded as you could see a small group of elves charge for battle. Lead by a High elf.

The orcs never stood a chance. The High elf approached you, helping you up your feet. The moment his eyes met with his, he was struck. Gasping breathlessly at your grace and beauty. The woods no longer having a place for you, he took you in. Thranduil his name was. King of the woodland realm.

| Life at the woodland realm

Thranduil was smitten with you. For the first time in many ages, the so cocky king found beauty in another. He threated you like a guest with the highest honor. Quarters close to his. Thranduil would host parties just to have an excuse to dance with you. He never let any other elf near you. He wanted you for himself. You sometimes dared to tease Thranduil by speaking to other elves, just to see his reaction. You loved how easily jealous he was. He would come over, pull you gently behind him while urging them in a polite way to leave. Sometimes he would lay his robe over your shoulder to hint to others that you were his.

Underneath the moonlight on a summer's day was when you had your first kiss with Thranduil. Forever giving yourself to one another. He married you a month later never wanted to be parted from you ever again. You became queen of the woodland realm. All the elves present adored you for your righteousness and kind heart. Whenever Thranduil dared to lose his temper, you were there to calm him down. Sometimes you would come along with Thranduil and his army in an attempt to reclaim your woods. When Thranduil saw his numbers dim and almost losing you in a battle, he gave up. Not wanting to see his people be slaughtered or see you in danger. For he could not afford to lose you, his brightest star.

| Legolas

Legolas was born with grace. You loved every little detail of him. Thranduil would be careful at first. For he feared to hold such a fragile creature. He feared he might harm it in any way. You would show him he could do no harm. Taking his hand and bringing it up to Legolas for him to touch. His fingers would brush against his cheek making Legolas flutter a laugh. On that Thranduil was sold. Taking his son in his arms and care deeply for him.

As Legolas grew older, Thranduil insisted he had his features from you. Everything about Legolas reminded him of you. With the coming of Legolas was Thranduil more careful. You were no longer aloud out of the woodland realm. Not wanting anything to happen to you or Legolas. You had to admit it felt a bit lonely being unable to see the old woods. Your home that you missed dearly. With each year it grew colder and deader. Plagued by orcs and spiders. Since you had no where else to go, you focused more on Legolas. Teaching him how to defend himself. It was you who introduced Legolas to the bow and arrow. When Legolas was old enough to have his own bow, he would name it after you.

———————————————

Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!  

[apoloadonisandnarcissus]

Who cares about Celeborn? There's only one character I really want to see included on Galadriel's character arc in future seasons of "Rings of Power":

Sauron and Galadriel are now bound together, merged souls, and he, most likely, transferred some of his powers onto the her in the process. This will come into play in Season 3. So, we might yet see Galadriel spiral down into darkness before emerging, victorious, as the “Lady of Light”: to find the light, we must first touch the darkness.

I would love to see Gandalf involved in this process. Especially since his arc parallels Sauron’s in “Rings of Power”, and this would explain Gandalf and Galadriel's friendship, and mutual admiration and respect for one another, in the future (+ the Elves, in general). We know Galadriel completely trusts Gandalf, even when other characters don’t (Elrond and Saruman, for instance).

In book canon, Gandalf wasn’t supposed to be in Middle-earth at this timeline, but the show changed that, so my wishful thinking can be a possibility.

And helping Galadriel deal with her bound with Sauron would be a very interesting way to connect these characters and both Sauron/Gandalf parallels: while Sauron wants to bring Galadriel to the darkness, Gandalf would provide guidance for her to stay in the light, and help her control her new-found powers. 

The “Rings of Power” Season 2 has established that Gandalf’s mission is to stop Sauron, but in book canon, he never actually faced him, directly (even though he was probably the only one who could be a match to Sauron’s power, with both of them being Maiar);

Galadriel didn’t face Sauron, personally, throughout this timeline, nor was she a direct part of the War of the Last Alliance, working against him for afar (which will remain her course of action throughout the whole story);

This would provide an explanation as to why Gandalf gets his ring of power, Narya (who belonged to Círdan).

In canon, the showdown at Gul Guldur is the only known interaction of Galadriel vs. Sauron, and the only reason she’s there is because of Gandalf. 

And Gandalf tells Galadriel: “You shouldn’t be here, my Lady” 

The potential! The possibilities! Gandalf being the only one who knows of Galadriel’s “dirty little secret”?? Of her being bound together with Sauron!? Yes, please! Amazon: I have this headcanon on my wishlist!

[solymerworld-blog]

We do not talk enough about Saurons struggle to name himself

Throughout the 2 Seasons Sauron claims 4 times that he has many names. Everytime someone asks him his name he becomes almost defensive and refuses to give a direct answer. Why? Because he knows or wants to believe that part of Mairon is still in him, along with his inner darkness (Sauron). When he meets Galadriel he is drawn to her light and sincerely wants to earn a new name. He chooses Halbrand. This name is very similar to the one of a Dunadan in the 3rd age called Halbarad, one of Aragorns kinsmen and fellow rangers. Halbarad is a good, loyal man, his name means Tall Tower in Sindarin, which of course foreshades Dol Guldur and Barad-Dur in Saurons case, but also has a meaning of physical and mental strenght and the desire to protect and guard others. It also can describe a person who is isolated and lonely. "Brand" is the ending of many old German names (I am German) and it means Fire or Sword. I think it was a brilliant choice of the show runners to pick that name for him. But I think Sauron wanted truly to be good and full of valor and the fire was meant to be light this time and not death. It is hard for him to come to terms with the fact that this vision of him has failed, that the darkness in him is too powerful. Seeing the grandeur of Galadriels light, he sincerely hopes that her light is enough for the both of them. When she rejects him the first time the darkness overcomes him and he calls himself Sauron the first and only time. Afterwards he takes a new name again, like a snake shedding it's old skin and chooses Annatar, the bringer of gifts. But after Celebrimbor realizes who he is and when Elves and orcs in Eregion ask for his name he does not say Annatar. He goes back to: I have many names, showing there is still good in him and his refusal to accept solely the facette of him that is called Sauron. When he takes Halbrands shape during the battle with Galadriel, he is not only trying to distract and disarm her, he also wants to show her: look at this beautiful and bright version I could be for you if you'd only let me.

[anneangel]

Tolkien said that one of the things he didn't like about LotR was that the book was too short.

In a way I agree with him, because I found the ending so rushed [others always say "that evil" is destroyed in the middle of the book and everything after is just an long epilogue] and yet I found it rushed. And I wanted a lot of the appendices to be narrated chapters, it was interesting to see what the lives of each member of the Fellowship were like in the appendices, but I wanted chapters about.

And I would also like to have seen, narrated chapters, of the Battle of Dale, with Brand (Son of Bain, son of Bard) and Dáin fighting three days against enemy armies and dying. I wish had read a narrative of Thranduill and Celeborn uniting in Mirkwood and destroying Dul Guldur once and for all, and then dividing the region between them. When LotR informs that the others would not come to battle because they already had war at their gates, I wanted the plot to split to show this in other parts.

A better development of the romance between some characters would also be interesting, the Tale of Aragorn and Arwen already makes me cry every time I read it, but I feel like it would be more interesting as a narrative than an appendix. If their marriage went on for another 100 pages I wouldn't mind. And I would like Arwen and Elrond's conversations not to be just subtext.

Faramir and Éowyn, I really love them as a couple, but I think more pages dedicated to their romance would also be interesting. Sam and Rose? I would have liked it more if we had more mentions of the girl throughout the journey, if Sam mentioned her more often throughout the plot, so maybe the end wouldn't seem so sudden. When I say that don't like the development of the "love pairings" in LotR, it's not that I don't like the characters or the ships, but that the narrative wasn't enough for me. Don't get me wrong, I love LotR. But I wanted there to be more to be "narrated" than "told" or "implied" or "pointed out in the appendices."

Yes, I also thought the book was too short. There is a lot between the lines that could come to light more. It could have been another thousand pages. And perhaps it still wasn't enough. How could anyone think that LotR is a very long book?

Maybe that's the problem with Tolkien creating such a complex Universe with such interesting characters: no matter how long the book was, it would never be enough. Because as a fan, I would always want more and more of it. More immersion at all points. Is it always like this with authors who create universes that seem so incredible to read? And when it's gone, it's not enough to fill the void.

And all the posthumous books, like The Silmarillion, or Unfinished Tales (and others), with the tone of "organized drafts" and "told" instead of narrated most of the time, weren't enough for me. I still wanted so much more. And I never will have it. Don't get me wrong, I liked the posthumous books, I think Christopher Tolkien did a good work. But still, when reading, I always asked myself "if this had been published by Tolkien during his lifetime, would it have been like this? What would he have changed yet? What would he have more refined?".

Because, as much as other fans like to see posthumous books as a "canonical" part of the work, like complements. I can only see as unfinished drafts, which it truly are. No matter how well organized are, even The Silmarillion is just a draft organized in the best way, Christopher T says this.

The letters don't count for me either, because Tolkien changed his mind about several things, just like in the drafts.

So I feel that, although the Tolkien Universe is vast, there are a lot of drafts and letters, and little work is actually completed. I liked the posthumous books and the fact that they expanded the universe even further and provided more information. But it becomes a “vicious cycle”, as the information contained there also brings more desire for it be narrated by Tolkien himself in an book he finished (but will never be! Unfortunately).

And that saddens me. Because I wanted so much more. And Tolkien didn't live long enough to give it. In the end, it's a mix of happiness for what Tolkien gave, and sadness for what he still could have given.

[theoppositeofprofound]

You know, I used to be neutral on the Mairon debate, however overexposure has turned me into a firm hater. Quenya wasn’t even extant when Sauron left his kin! His “real name” isn’t Mairon, it’s Precious (abstract concept directly telepathically communicated). And he shows no objection to being called Sauron—this is the guy who embraced the villain aesthetic so hard his evil tower is next to a volcano and all his horses are black. He’s a cackling tormentor who leaned hard into being Gorthaur, the Lord of the Werewolves, the Necromancer of Dol-Guldur. Tar-Mairon is a personal in-joke from the one of the comparatively minuscule periods when he wasn’t playing up the dread sorcerer look, it’s not representative of what he’s regularly called (no, not even by his followers).

[sweetteaanddragons]

And How Can Man Die Better: Director's Cut

I had lots of worldbuilding thoughts that didn't make it into the story for @saturniiids beautiful artwork, so have them here! (Spoilers ahead.)

"Thorin had never met a hacker quite so dedicated to pretending to be on the legal side of the fence as Master Baggins. It was reassuring, really; it spoke to a level of discretion he appreciated."

As you might have guessed, Bilbo is actually 100% sincere here. Thorin remains blissfully unaware of this throughout the entire story.

"They knew they had already been earmarked for Mahal; that he needed their service in his great foundries and machineries to make his constructs for the Last Great War. What would become of them all when the end days came and Dagor Dagorath struck if they had denied him the souls of centuries of dwarves? The government had not been impressed with this argument . . . " The government here is Sauron. Also his minions, but ultimately Sauron. The dwarves do not, of course, know this - he's switching between his personas as Annatar and the Necromancer - but unsurprisingly, Sauron was not impressed by the argument that the dwarves needed to be allowed to go to Mahal's Halls so they could create weapons to use against him and Morgoth at Dagor Dagorath. If the dwarves had realized, they would have tried a different argument.

"The government had not been impressed with this argument, any more than they had been impressed with the dwarves’ furious insistence that Mahal was not, of course, in any way connected with one of the Forbidden Ones. Who was this Aulë others spoke of? Certainly they knew him not. They followed Mahal and Mahal alone; surely they could not be faulted that his name and that of one of the Forbidden Ones rhymed." Sauron is genuinely unsure if the dwarves telling him this - perfectly straight faced - are as unaware of the truth behind this as they were with their previous argument or not. A lot of knowledge has been lost! (A lot of it has been deliberately suppressed.) They might not know - or they might, and they might be laughing at him.

Most of the dwarves genuinely don't know and are making this argument with indignant righteousness. There are a few (like Balin) who know better. Regardless, they end up having to follow Mahal in secret because all mention of any of the Valar, much less any devotion to them, is being violently suppressed by Sauron, who is violently afraid that the Valar are going to show up to topple his little house of cards. The Valar showed up because the mortals were penitent last time and because the mortals asked for help; he can't risk that happening again.

The Valar are, unbeknownst to him, very aware of what is going on and very eager to intervene, but toppling his house of cards is exactly what they're worried about; Mordor has so consumed everything that they aren't sure how to save people without accidentally destroying the planet in the process.

"Just as they were also faulted for just how many dwarves had been, tragically, dying in conflagrations so intense that no brain matter was left for Dol Guldur." Dol Guldur's brand of afterlife nastiness in this story was borrowed from the Mechanism's album, Ulysses Dies at Dawn. Like in that world, all brains are plugged into a horrible mass computer system after death; any attempt to render your brain unsuitable for this is punished horribly.

But if there's anything that could make a brain truly, entirely, unpunishably unsuitable, it seems like being consumed by fire would do the trick.

"The concrete didn’t switch to marble; there were no trumpet calls summoning them home. Still. He almost thought he could feel it, like a buzzing in his chest." And here we have the first mention of the buzzing that we will eventually learn is the madness-inducing tone coming from Smaug! This was also inspired by Ulysses; Erebor takes the place of Ilium. This seemed particularly appropriate to me given the gold madness that awaited Thorin in the original.

"In the old days, Balin had told him once, their people had buried their dead in stone. Fire had been too impermanent a monument . . . 'From the fires of Mahal’s forge we came,' Balin said quietly. 'And to them we pray to return,' the rest echoed." I thought a lot about the dwarves canonically having to burn their dead after the battle of Azanulbizar; how it was against their traditions, but they did it out of need and made it an honor.

In this AU, I imagine this necessity initially was deeply upsetting to the dwarves that took it up, but by the time the story takes place, they've successfully mythologized it to make it acceptable to themselves.

"The City had not always just been the City, of course; once, before it had conquered and bargained and slowly consumed all else, up to the top of the breathable atmosphere and down to the roots of the earth, once there had been other cities and so it had needed a name.

Once, it had been Mordor."

In this AU, Celebrimbor helps Annatar create a wonderful potion of immortality for their mortal friends. Why shouldn't they be able to delay the Gift of Men for awhile as the Numenorians already do?

The Numenorians, of course, are enchanted by it and use it to extend their own very live longs (and, like in Ulysses, this has unfortunate consequences for the world around them). There's the potion for those who can afford it . . . and Annatar's promise that eventually, even the very poorest will be guaranteed to live forever.

Hello, Dol Guldur.

Annatar uses the potion to seduce some countries into willingly joining his banner and sets out to conquer the rest.

Celebrimbor, once he realizes how it has all gone wrong tries - and fails - to stand against him.

Somewhere in this AU, Pharazon is very much still alive and enjoying his wealth and power.

“'Skulls are intact,' Fili said quietly. 'Most of them.' It was true, he saw. Some few were smashed, but that was easily enough explained, whatever they had been fighting. Most were intact. Which meant that even after the Necromancer had won, he had not sent in drones to collect minds for Dol Guldur. Not even from the bodies that had not been burned." So, in Ulysses, some people's minds are deemed unsuitable for harvesting due to insanity. To keep this from seeming like a preferable alternative that people might be tempted to feign or induce, these people are forcibly kept alive through immortality inducing drugs . . . but kept in absolutely horrible conditions. Presumably, though, this did not happen to the people of Ilium who were driven to kill each other through Ulysses's weapon.

 “Hobbit ears must not be as keen as their dwarven fellows.” Which Bilbo will have ample cause to be thankful for shortly.

"The next door was the one Thorin had been unable to find anyone qualified to open on his own; the one he had nearly despaired of until he had once again stumbled across Gandalf, who had hemmed and hawed over the danger of the journey before admitting it might be worth the risk and saying he knew just the man for the job." Gandalf is still one of the Istari in this AU; five undercover Maiar sent by the Valar to try to figure out a way to help. As per canon, Radagast has gotten sidetracked by his absolute horror over what has become of most of the plant and animal life in this world spanning city, Saruman is slowly being corrupted by fear and the promise of power, and the blue wizards are . . . somewhere. Gandalf has lost track of them.

He, however, is still desperately trying his best.

"'Of course outside of one of their terrarium blocks you haven’t got much of a prayer of getting anything to grow.'

'Not much of a prayer!' Master Baggins said indignantly. 'Why, all you have to do is - '"

As you might guess, there aren't any Ents left in this AU. There are, of course, still hobbits; they weren't particularly seduced by the lure of immortality, but they were conquered easily enough. Their knack for growing things has fewer opportunities by far, but they still grow what they can.

There was so much blood on his hands. Obviously, Thorin and his nephews ended up mortally wounding each other. Their brains are scrambled enough though that they can't remember who struck which blows. At this point, only Mahal could tell them - and he definitely has every intention of keeping that to himself.

“Thorin, are you - I promise it’s just me, totally harmless - “ The trap was calibrated for dwarves. Bilbo was totally unaffected except for having to run from everyone.

"Thorin, at least, would die sane. Surely Mahal would accept Thorin’s tribute at least, and if he did - surely Thorin could convince him. They had died in Mahal’s service; surely Mahal could find some purpose for them even if they had not died sane. Surely there must be something he could offer to convince -" Thorin is aware that Dol Guldur does not accept the insane, and he assumes that Mahal's Halls will be the same. The dwarves' understanding of their Maker has been corrupted over time; mostly, they assume that working in Mahal's Halls will be much like their current (horribly inhumane) factory jobs. This is still preferable to Dol Guldur, because Dol Guldur is awful, and also because they are genuinely convinced they are needed to prepare for the apocalypse.

The dwarves are, of course, very wrong. Mahal accepts them regardless of their condition - and in Fili and Kili's case, they were fine once the sound's ability to influence them ceased.

Dwalin was there, blood thick on his own hands, but Dwalin was there, and Dwalin understood. I regret to inform you that Balin was also a casualty of this AU. And probably some of the others.

Fili: . . . and with a productivity increase like that, you really can't afford not to assign the three of us together to whatever doomsday weapon you want worked on.

Kili, in iglishmek, from where he's currently smushed against Mahal's shoulder: Do you think it's working?

Fili, from the other shoulder: I don't know. I've never had to give this speech to a supervisor that was hugging me and crying before.

Mahal is just. So happy. Whenever any of his children manage to find their way home.

[buffyfan145]

Was not expecting to get a similar Haladriel type storyline on "Only Murders in the Building" but today's episode, the 2nd of season 4, the trio investigating the latest murder, who is trying to kill the character Charles (Steve Marin), they found out across the apartment building's courtyard lives a family where the wife has a massive crush on Charles, it drives her husband nuts and he keeps joking he's going to get rid of Charles once and for all, and their teenage daughter finds the whole thing weird as "he's so old". This leads Martin Short's character Oliver to say to the husband, "So you live directly across from your wife's crush?" The husband replies yes and that she just stares at him sometimes from the window.

For those not familiar with the LOTR books, in the early 3rd Age Sauron leaves Mordor behind and moves to Dol Guldur, which is directly across from Galadriel's home in Lothlórien. He doesn't leave till Gandalf and the others force him out, and "The Hobbit" movies actually showed this. I laughed so hard when I heard this, as some of us have used something similar in our fics, and that it's made more suspects into who's trying to kill Charles. 😂 Love when my shows have random things that fit together. LOL

[growingingreenwood]

Does Celeborn know that Thranduil is friends with the Avari?

Is Celeborn 100% certain that Thranduil is friends with the Avari? No, he isn't. Nobody outside of Greenwood and the Avari Tribes they speak to are 100% certain of their relationship.

However, while Celeborn might not be renowned across the lands for excessive wisdom like his wife is, he’s also not an idiot. He knows that on occasion both Oropher and Thranduil have received support of some kind from outside their kingdom, (usually in the form of Supplies, Advice, or Shared Knowledge) and never from anybody that Celeborn is aware of. He also knows that pretty much the only time one of Thranduil’s elves will stray any distance from the borders of the forest is when they're going to visit somebody, and if no Wood Elves turn up at Imladris, Lothlorien, or Lindon…… that doesn’t really leave many other options other than an Avari tribe for them to have gone too. 

Celeborn doesn't get any form of confirmation on whether he’s correct that Greenwood has a friendly relationship with at least one of the Avari tribes until he shows up at Dol Guldur at the end of the War of the Ring and discovers that several tribes have already been fighting alongside the Greenwood Elves for several weeks.

[pursuitseternal]

Spooky, sexy, wolfy “Trespassers Beware” just in time for Halloween…

Fem!Reader (Galadriel) x Sauron |E| 4K Wolf Sex

🎨 by @thebabydragon

Summary: You seek the source of the dark power, following the rumors and the wolf howls to the Old Fortress… he finds you… and does so much more

CW: bestiality, multiple wolves at once, wolf possession, disembodied sorcerers having their way, sex in an old ruin with your forbidden lover

Read on AO3 | Tolkien Masterlist

🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺

You heard the rumors; they are what drive you to leave the secret realm you worked tirelessly to build. Your haven, your home among the trees. Your safety ensured for an age among the Mallorn trees, you enjoyed the peace while war had raged around you. Your powers of protection had ensured the preservation of light in the darkness.

But it wasn’t enough. Not since you had touched the darkness and left it with a howl in your ears and a slickness between your legs.

You tried to be content with your kingdom of light, but in the dark, you still heard his music. It wafted to you in your dreams, faint, an almost-illusion that haunted you. But it never woke you. Never appeared. Never showed himself aroused and ready to fuck as he had before. He was too preoccupied with war then, and since the Fall of the Enemy, that music had grown silent.

Until tonight.

Tonight, the melody stirred your body, boiling your blood. Tonight you crept along the forest darkness, the edge of your own lands behind you. You still remember that music from your dreams. The way you had just awoken in a sweat, wet and panting like you hadn’t felt in over and age.

You knew the rumors had spread to your door, a spirit dwelling in the shadows of the Old Fortress. Dol Guldur. You had heard tales from travelers that now there were foul things in the darkness, spider webs among the trees and howls in the silence.

But rumors were hollow. You need to see them for yourself. To follow the call of those wolves to their Master.

For you could not deny, part of you hopes it is him. The master of such wolves, the sensual caress of darkness itself.

Your heart beats in your chest, erratic and hard, as you step between the black limbed trees in this part of the Greenwood. Or the Mirkwood as it is now called. Craning your neck, you listen for his song, just a faint wavering that meets your ear.

Your hand flexes, the thin strip of your finger missing the protection of your ring. But you smile, better to seek what you desire without abandon, without distraction or more temptation. For finding the Spirit in the Woods is temptation enough.

Dusty, dead leaves under your feet turn to cold stones. You stand on the bridge to the Fortress, a chill in the air that somehow heats your body, shivers running down your spine to pool between your thighs. You hear that song, that music, faint but real, whining from the distant and crumbling walls. Mists swirl, and you get the feeling of distant eyes watching you, that crawling sensation creeping all across your skin to steal your breath. You reminisce, the feeling of being here before. The ruins of a fortress of darkness, howls in the distance, your body warming at the memory of the same feelings from a thousand years before.

The hush of winds rustle the leaves across the stone bridge, and you push on. Until you hear the scratch of claws in front of you. Suddenly, orange eyes begin to glow in the shadows of arches and derelict walls. Panting, growling, a pack of large, grey wolves file in around you. Their eyes glint in hunger, tongue lapping at their jaws.

Suddenly, a low, rumbling howl overwhelms your ears, commanding his pack to withdraw. Commanding you to come.

And come you do. The way his voice weaves around your body is palpable, shaking into your flesh, riding into your insides with a tremor.

You know that sound in your bones. It is him.

Above you from a parapet, black mist swirls. And then eyes large and red shine, flickering with ridges of orange and flecks of yellow. Made of flame themselves. Two of them, staring unblinking above you. Your blood seems to freeze with fear and boil with desire at once.

That music that settled for ages in your bones now greets your ear, melancholic, weak, and mournful. A baleful howl comes from that patch of shadow, darker than death itself.

“Have you come to taunt me, Lady Light?” his voice scratched inside your ear. “Come to show me the spoils of a lost war? Treasures I shall never plunder the same again?”

Your heart races against your ribs, feeling your body responding to the sound of his voice, the pull of that lamenting music now that fills your ears.

“You come seeking something… or else you would not be here…” those flaming eyes seem to be framed in a tall form, crouching low to the floor of the parapet above you. A shadow of a great wolf, remembering the form you have always craved between your legs.

You step closer, your body humming to life as it had not for centuries. Your body burns despite the cold mist and shadows, your heart beats with lust, not with fear. Even as a dozen eyes shine back at you from the crumbling fortress.

“I may no longer have true eyes to see, or a true tongue to pry your answer from your pretty, pouting lips, but I have my ways even now to make you keen and answer me…”

“Oh?” You dare, sliding your feet through itching dust, your core now turning to liquid, searing and strange, as you meet those eyes of flame with your own arrogant glance. “What would you do to force out my answer as to why I have come? Do you fear I have come to tame you, Wolf?” You toss your words with confidence, arrogance growing with each step you take. Drawn in willingly by his sorcery, his presence.

“Tame me?” he spits down at you, throwing the heat of his gaze in your direction. “No, you will find I am fire and shadow now, untamable, feral, and wild as the dark forest in which you foolishly trespassed…”

Your heart lurches at the meanings. “You mean…?”

“That’s correct, little She-elf, little enemy of mine. I have no form with which to fuck you now, if that was your desire.”

“That is not…”

His howl pierces your ear, splitting your hearing, deafening you with his power. Shadows grow around you, feeling pulled inside the crumbling walls of the Old Fortress. All is mist and shadow and flames and shining eyes.

You feel a hint of fear, heart racing as those wolf eyes begin to draw nearer to you. They shine a white in the distance, but as they draw nearer, they glow like fire. Matching the eyes that still glare unblinking from the archway above you. “Do not lie to me, after all our times together, with only you and me, my fangs in your throat, your body trembling around mine. There is nothing else for it now, it is the punishment you will take for entering my lands. Pleasure or death.”

The black bodies of the wolves draw near, the Wolf Lord’s voice echoing around you from every direction. They circle you, brushing their fur against your legs every so often. Their growls make their own sad music, but one that still fueled the heat between your legs. Each wolf, sable coated and flaming eyes now. Like their Master.

“Which is it, my love,” his voice sounds in your ear, as if his mouth pressed into the curves and point of your ear. “Death—” you feel a snout shoving in your ass, the weight of the beast heaving against you until you fall to your knees. Pain shoots through your body as you hit the rough stone ruin. You pant, swallowing the cry of anguish. Another wolf, eyes of glowing orange and swirling gold, stares into you. Your face matching his height, his maw bearing teeth on one side, as if he smirks. “—or pleasure?” That disembodied voice floats no longer, the smell of smoke settling over this lupine form, that rumbling voice of the Master sounding from its throat.

“You know my answer,” you breathe with a force you did not suspect you could muster as you are stared down by two dozen flaming eyes in the darkness.

“Pleasure it is,” the voice rumbles, so close to the wolf, you can feel its low vibration in your belly. The beast’s hot breath passes over your face, its tongue lolling as it stares, smiling. Massive. You know that wolf will cover you head to toe once the master decides it.

But you force a laugh, reaching a hand to pet it between the ears, trialing your touch down its neck. Fur so thick, so lush, you can’t let go. “Of course, you pick the male almost as big and beautiful as you were to possess…”

“You’re wrong,” his voice sounds from the chest before you. And a dozen other places in the dark. “Why inhabit one body to fuck you in when I can possess them all… possess them to possess you…”

The air grows so cold around you, chilling your skin even under your shift. As if you are already naked. The damp of the mist thickens now, wetting your dress against the goose flesh of your body. You cannot bear it anymore. Ready to rip it off your self.

The Wolf before you takes a deep breath, nostrils flaring as he prods his muzzle into the neckline of your gown. For a moment, you enjoy the heat of his breath down your bosoms. The beast looks down at you with glowing orange eyes—his eyes. His teeth sink into the fabric of your dress, slowly and deliberately. Undressing you with care. Even if it means tearing the measly fabric from your flesh, rip by rip. He jerks his head, baring your skin to the damp night until it puddles in shreds at your feet.

You look at the beast before you, covered in thick, dark fur that ripples in the stiff breeze. And you want nothing more than to have it cover you head to toe. You wrap your arms around his neck, feeling its breath down your back, its muscles flexing in your embrace. The scent of cedar and smoke, the tingle of magic floods you where you touch him. That mournful flow of music curls inside your ear, the wolf resting his head on your shoulders for a moment.

But you are wrong to trust him entirely. His head lifts, dragging that soft, tickling fur against the crook of your neck. His laughter fills your ear, warm and harsh and cruel. Wet fangs replace the blanket of fur on your skin, their points sinking into the flesh of your shoulder with piercing agony. You scream, your voice swallowed by the noise, joining in the rising chorus of howls that echo around you.

Swallowed by the sound of him in his pack of monsters. Consumed by the pain of his fangs pressing into your flesh. Marking you, claiming you as his as your blood covers his tongue and paints his maw.

Your body buckles, bending you on your knees until your bare body lays on the freezing stone. Releasing your shoulder, the great wolf laps at the wounds, cleaning the punctures as soons as your blood begins to trickle. You shiver, from pain and from the cold, but soon it is only your biting fear that races up and down your spine.

Two more wolves approach you, their eyes glowing, his laughter multiplied as many voices when they reach their mouths for your wrists. They don’t bite. At least not hard. But they make you their captive, tongues licking the inside of your wrists as they stretch you out against the ground. Their teeth circled your wrists leaving you nowhere to go.

You breathe, forcing your chest to rise and fall. Feeling your nipples straining painfully hard in the cold. You wish something, anything would take away the chill.

As if to answer your desperate prayer, something hot trails over your mound. All you see is the hulking frame of that Great Wolf, eyes gleaming up from between your legs. “This wolf is strong, hungry,” your lover’s voice caresses inside your mind, as if stoking your desire from within. “A most worthy alpha to use for what I have waited centuries to do to you once more.” His laugh spikes a new sort of shiver down your spine as the animal chuffs and sniffs your folds. “You better beg me to stay in control of this monster…”

“You wouldn’t for one second relinquish control to another,” you snap in return, “no I trust you to be in complete control to enjoy this perverted union.”

“Thousands of years and you finally have learned your fate,” his words brushed like a loving caress. “None shall have you as I have, not in this world or the next….”

His words soften as you feel the cold press of a snout between you folds. Hot and cold mingle in one delicious mix, making your every nerve light on fire. Hot breath, chilled nose. Hot tongues and saliva between your legs and around your wrists as you lay on the freezing ground. An offering to the Wolf Lord himself.

Suddenly you feel heated mouths panting on you. A tongue slips between your folds, lapping and licking with ferocity. A hunger barely bridled. But you can see nothing but black fur now wreathing your vision. More beasts descend upon you, eyes glowing. All under his influence.

“If I must only take what is mine through these wolves, I might as well make use of them all.” His voice tickles in both your ears, sounding from between your thighs, echoing inside your very mind. “And I will use them all at once, in case you doubt my power…”

Maws lower to both your pointed nipples, coating both in matching swirls of wolf-tongues. Your body floods, unable to handle the contact on your skin. The heat and the wet saliva that trickles from your cunt, slipping down the side of your body as all three mouths make sloppy work of your pleasure. A graze of teeth against one nipple sends a scream from your lips, you try to lift your hands, but more fangs press softly into your wrists.

And then you hear that low, throated laugh shiver through your body and mind again.

“Why such a hurry?” he chuckles. “I am starved since last we coupled, as are you from the smell of you. Be still, Princess, my tongues will do you some good.”

You feel consumed, your flesh at his mercy, your pleasure raging unbearable and hot. Everything about you is dripping, your folds leak your arousal faster than the beast’s tongue can lap it up. Your own mouth salivates, and your ears are filled with the wet squelch. Every sense of your body is consumed by heat and flame, going rigid as you writhe on the ground.

For a moment, they all withdraw. For a moment, you feel only cold and wet from their drool and your own cum as it cools in the night breeze. But your guardians hold you firm, binding your wrists in their maws. No escape. But you wouldn’t dream of it now, not as you rub your legs together, unfulfilled and empty. Mewls scratch and whine from your throat, your thighs drenched even as you try to chase the need for him inside you. The walls of your pussy clench on nothing, as your voice cries out only more and more desperate.

And he laughs. A laugh so low, so much like a growl, it shakes your bones. “Are you afraid, little princess? Afraid I’ll leave you for the wolves, or afraid you’ll leave here empty and aching with no cum to drip down your thighs?”

“Both,” you manage to pant, a small thrill of that fear and a massive rush of anticipation as something massive pushes its rippling, fur-coated body between your squirming legs.

“Then let me give you the means of mastering your fear, Princess,” his voice seems to tickle your ears, air brushing past them both as if lips hung not a breath away.

Thick, smooth, and wide…. You are filled, the walls of your innards stretch to the limit. You scream as his cock presses so deep, slipping effortlessly from your slick. Eyes flash down between your legs, seeing nothing but the black of his underbelly and the way your belly swells and bumps. So filled. So aching. He trusts again and again, that rise of him in your cunt protruding over and over. Your hips buck to take him deeper. Beastly breath pants over your head, stands of drool from his slacked maw trickle between your breasts.

And still he thrusts. Your eyes fixed on the bulge of your gut, the way you could take him inside you more and more if your little body could manage it. Pain and pleasure swirl down every nerve, you have never felt more alive, nor more in danger as a dozen eyes glow and a dozen tongues lap their jaws as if they wait for their turn.

His voice growls in your ear, inside your head, a little rumble with each body-splitting thrust he made between your thighs. “Take me,” he rasps in your mind. You feel his tongue lapping at your shoulder, cleaning the blood that begins to run fresh from the rigor of his fucking. Raising your legs, you brace your thighs around his middle and you buck your hips to make him slide deeper. Slam after slam against the end of your cunt. Vision starts to fade until the last thing you see are two glowing eyes of fire in your face, a pink tongue cleaning your crimson blood off its shining teeth.

Then all goes white, your body erupting fire that spasms down your nerves and burns your veins. You stop breathing, the sound of your own scream is swallowed as his tongue laps in your mouth, down your throat. You are suffocating in his rut, possessed just as much as these wolves that pant their lust.

Suddenly, you feel more tongues lapping your body again as the ground of the Old Fortress steadies beneath you. They lick every inch of you, making you squirm and writhe, fighting against the jaws that keep you pinned. You can feel those guards clamp down, their fangs piercing your skin.

The scent of blood thickens.

The sounds of growls and the caws of the carrion birds crescendo. Only sound greater is the way his laugh sounds impossibly loud and impossibly deep in tone. Like gathering thunder.

The thrusts between your legs make your whole cunt numb, the end of your channel unfeeling after he begins to fuck you even harder. More erratic. More feral and wild. You squeeze your thighs harder, trying to leverage against his hip bones, but he only shifts himself against you so rough, you feel the fur of his balls tickling your ass.

Once… twice… you scream despite the lapping, ravenous tongue in your mouth. And then you feel split apart, his knot shoving into your entrance, hard and swollen and bursting. You feel him filling you, pump after pump of cum coating you, overfilling past his cock to squirt from you. The heat that liquid warms your skin as it pools beneath you, and you shiver in the chilling air.

You tremble, wet from their drool, from your blood at your wrists and your shoulder. Sticky and slick even as you wait for his knot to release you. And yet all you can hear are the piercing, chilling cries of carrion birds. Their voices harbingers of death.

“Release me,” you breathe, trembling in voice as your body is wracked with another shiver. “You have given me my fill of pleasure, and I have seen you haven’t lost any of your power…”

“Or my desire,” he rasps in your ear. Another low, consuming howl sounds from the sky, and all the wolves withdraw. That cock tugging free from your folds roughly and suddenly. Your body feels broken, bereft, and cold. Not empty, not as you feel the still heated drips of cum seeping from you. “Join me,” his voice swirls from ear to ear, as if his body hovers over yours on the broken stones of Dol Guldur.

“No,” you pant, trying to lift your body from the ground. But something keeps you pinned still, black mist warm on your skin as you realize it is him around you. On top of you.

“You think you have a choice… how amusing,” you feel a tickle over your collarbone, the black mass taking on a strange orange glow within. “Your arrogance to come to me, to trespass on my domain, has only left you bound to the one being you crave and despise in equal measure.”

You fight to get to your hands and knees, trying to push off the dirt and cum covered stones. Something brushes against your sex as you crawl, as if a cold, damp breath breathes you in. “You can leave, Princess, but you will always be drawn back to me��”

You grit your teeth fighting harder to stand. First one foot, then the other as you crouch beneath the weight of his enchantment. It feels so good, so thrilling, to push back against him for once.

“… you have and will always long for more, another belly swollen with my seed, another empty void filled inside you…”

You press yourself to standing, lifting your head even as the black mist swirls, darts and flickers of orange flames sparking in the midst of it.

“…for you know you are what you have always been…”

“Your mate,” you breathe, “but I will not remain in this chaos and darkness.”

You feel the chill of the air warm at your words. Your admission. The flashes of orange begin to cluster, to take a form, the shape of a man. A smile crosses your lips, feeling the warmth of his magic stealing over your skin, battling the cold that sends goose flesh across your body.

“Then join me…” you feel his voice flutter against your skin, so close and yet unattainable. Intangible.

“You know my answer…” you reply, forcing your words even as that mist trails hotly over your flesh, warming at your nipples, caressing the back of your neck.

You hear him sigh down your skin. “If only I could take true form… if only I could really touch you, convince you…”

“You will have to settle for haunting me, it seems,” you sigh, arching your back as his invisible attentions continue, sending another flood of arousal between your already drenched legs.

“It is you who have haunted me,” his breath, his presence tastes like smoke over your tongue as you gasp. As something prods at your belly and grips your ass. “The least I might do is return the favor, if I can’t keep you as my own, my possession.”

“I fear you will possess me for ages to come,” you wriggle from the center of the black mass, and he lets you. And even as you walk down the cracked path and crumbling bridge of the Old Fortress, you can feel the heat of those glowing eyes on your back. You still feel the slick sliding across your bare thighs as you walk in the darkness.

And all the while, you hum that mystical melody. His song. The melody still clings to your year and fills your throat. You can’t stop, even if you tried, possessed entirely by him. In mind, if not in body. At least not until the next time he calls to you.

One last entry for @hellghoulweek and @thehaladrielfancollective (I’m sure there are five kinks on there for Kinktober 🪦🐺)

[ragingbookdragon]

Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story

Lindir x Reader

Word Count: 1.6K Warnings: Angst

Author's Note: :( --> :')

**********************************************************************

Their journey back was quiet. She knew all three of them were in a particular state of mourning, she for Fili and Kili, Bilbo for Thorin, and Gandalf for all three of them. The old wizard had felt particularly responsible for the deaths of the three, even though it hadn’t been his fault in the slightest. Usually, when someone she knew had passed, her calling as a songstress had her performing ballads of their lives and greatest deeds, but this time, she couldn’t find it in herself to sing such songs just yet. The wounds still too fresh, memories of her dearest dwarven friends still too heavy a weight on her heart. She knew if she tried, she’d break down in tears. Still though, she kept her hopes high, and her grief hidden enough to comfort the other two on their journey back.

She wasn’t sure where she’d end up. Thorin’s company had simply crossed paths by chance and that was how she’d gotten along, but now, Bilbo was going home, Gandalf escorting him, then he was off to who knows where doing who knows what but only the old wizard. That left her where she had been before—simply wandering. But she’d seen the west, seen the great heights of the Mirkwood trees, seen the low valleys of Lake-town, and the majesty of Erebor. What else was there?

Her thoughts continued to plague her all throughout their travels back, through Lake-town, through Mirkwood, and back through the mountains until they’d come back upon the elven settlement, Rivendell. She couldn’t deny that it was a sight for sore eyes, the comfort, food, and care had been greatly remembered and desired ever since she and Gandalf had departed after the company those months ago.

Lord Elrond and his council were already waiting for them when they finally crossed the bridge and the elf looked rather disheartened when he greeted them. “Welcome back,” he murmured, carefully taking in both Bilbo and her expressions of sadness. “Word has already come from the west.” Elrond looked between them all. “My most sincere sympathies go to you all for your losses.”

She cleared her throat, bowing slightly. “Thank you, my Lord Elrond. It is a most kind gesture. We…the journey there and back have been long and arduous, physically, mentally, and emotionally.” She said nothing more, feeling the tears coming to her eyes as she blinked them away and gently placed a hand on Bilbo’s shoulder, squeezing it for comfort; the hobbit merely reached up and squeezed her hand in return, unable to speak, for his wounds were the greatest.

Gandalf looked at the two close together and asked Elrond, “My old friend, might we find refuge for a day or two before traveling back?”

“Always,” Elrond said and turned, leading them up the stairs and into the courtyard; he looked at the elf standing to his left. “Lindir, take our songstress and hobbit and show them to some rooms. I need to speak to Mithrandir.”

“Of course, my Lord,” Lindir replied and waited for the two travelers to meet him. “Has the journey back been beset by any trouble?” he asked her as he led them.

She inhaled. “Nothing we couldn’t handle.” She tried to smile at him. “How has Rivendell faired since we’ve been gone?”

“As usual. Other than his lordship leaving to Dol Guldur.”

“Ah yes, I heard quite a fearsome battle occurred between the forces of evil and good.” She smiled this time. “Perhaps I shall ask Lord Elrond for the details and compose a ballad. Do you think Lady Galadriel would allow me to perform it for her?”

Lindir laughed quietly. “I would not see why not.” As he brought them to two secluded rooms near the edge of the house, he opened the first door for Bilbo. “Here you are,” he said to him, and Bilbo nodded, finally managing to look up.

“Thank you,” he murmured quietly and looked over at her. “I think I’m going to rest until evening dinner.”

“I understand,” she replied and watched sadly as he disappeared inside and shut the door behind him. It was only but a second then she turned to Lindir in tears and whispered, “My heart aches so deeply for him.”

Lindir gazed at her sadly, and instead of leading her to the next door, he took her to a secluded area of the garden beneath a grand willow. She put her pack down beside the bench and sat down, tucking her legs underneath her as Lindir sat down next to her.

“I’m sorry that you have lost your friends,” he said softly. “Though I did not know them well, I did sense honor among them.”

She nodded, barely able to keep the tears at bay as she looked towards the setting sun. “Bilbo will not speak of what happened before Thorin died. He will only tell us that they parted in friendship.” Tears dripped down her cheeks. “But the boys,” she whispered. “Fili and Kili were just boys. They didn’t deserve this as a fate. They deserved to grow up in their homeland. Find loves and have families.” She looked at him. “It isn’t fair, Lindir.”

“No, it isn’t.”

Her expression pinched. “I survived. A useless trobairitz who couldn’t even swing a sword or draw a bow and three battle hardened dwarves didn’t. What kind of fate is that? Why me? Why useless m—”

“You are not useless,” Lindir interrupted with a rather harsh look for the reserved elf. “You survived because it is what fate wished. You survived because fate has not come calling for you yet.”

She frowned and swallowed thickly. “But I wanted them to survive as well.”

“Yes,” he sighed, reaching over to take her hand in his slender one; he gently brushed his thumb over the back of her thumb. “That is our greatest ache. The ones who did not join us at the end.”

Her gaze met his. “Truthfully, Lindir, I don’t know where to go now.”

“What do you mean?”

“Bilbo is going home to the Shire, Gandalf I assume is going to off doing what wizards do…but for myself?” she shrugged. “I am back to traveling the land singing for gold and fame.”

“You have no home to go back to?”

Her eyes were humored but had a sadness to them. “The home I had as a girl is long gone. A songstress knows no home but the next stage.”

Lindir gazed at her, mouth opening and closing for a moment before his cheeks tinted pink and he asked, “…perhaps you could make Rivendell your home?”

She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

He shifted in his seat. “You have no home, but you acted wonderfully as an ambassador between the elves and the dwarves.”

A laugh escaped her. “You mean I mothered them and glared until they obeyed.”

Lindir smiled. “However you managed it, it worked. I could not imagine a better place for you.”

“An ambassador? Lindir, I am a singer. My role is to compose and sing the songs of our heroes. The ones who live, the ones who die. I am simply their storyteller.”

“Yes, but the people respect you for your role in Thorin’s company. You represent a great position amongst other races. I am not naïve to assume that your voice does not have sway too. You could be the connection between our races.”

She gave Lindir a look. “Something tells me, you wish me to stay in Rivendell more than anything else.”

Lindir swallowed thickly, took a deep breath, and admitted, “I…have been hoping that you would come back to Rivendell.”

“Oh?”

His cheeks warmed. “Meleth nîn…”

“Oh, there are those words again,” she teased. “Lindir, if I didn’t know any better, I would think you have not been thinking I would return so much as you have been thinking about kissing me.”

Lindir looked like a startled deer, red cheeks, a bit frazzled if she were honest and he tried to splutter out some form of a reply but ceased when her laughter reached his ears, like twinkling stars and he gave her a heartfelt smile when she scooted a bit closer and leaned closer to him, nuzzling his cheek.

“If it soothes your wild heart, I have long thought about you, Lindir.”

He turned slightly, their noses brushing, and he murmured, “I have been talking to Lord Elrond about your possible staying here if you ever returned.”

“Uh huh, and what did he say?”

“He would think about it.” Lindir blinked. “That answer usually means yes.”

“How do you know?”

“Because that’s what he would tell Lady Arwen when she was a child and she asked for something only to give it days later.”

“Oh? So, my stay is already promised?”

“I truly enjoyed your singing.” He cleared his throat, adding, “we all enjoyed your singing.”

She smiled at him, gently pressing her lips to his cheek, and she said, “Well guess what? You get to hear it whenever you want.”

“You will stay?”

“If you’ll have me,” she chirped and Lindir’s face split into a handsome smile.

“I would have you with me forever.”

“That sounds like a marriage proposal.”

“I…had planned on trying to court you…if you ever returned.”

She blinked, staring at him, then she shifted across the bench and laid down, putting her head in Lindir’s lap. “I think I would enjoy that greatly, Lindir.”

“O—oh?” he replied, fumbling with himself on where to put his hands until he settled for resting one on her hip and the other gently in her hair.

“Mhm…a lot.”

“I’m glad,” he said, smiling down at her as the tension began to ease from her expression and body, eyes slipping shut as they enjoyed the setting sun together.

[rey-jake-therapist]

Hey. I simply wanna share my thoughts on this with someone. Not a Tolkien fan myself, I have always ignored everything Lord of the Rings related, tried to watch the movies and failed, everything seemed boring, even though I love dark fantasy, folklore, adventures and stuff. The only thing making me interested right now is the ROP portrayal of Sauron (am I a bad person? yes), so the controversy with the show also caught my attention and here's my useless take:

People of the fandom has been there for so long they literally turned “lore” into something sacred and holy. Sure, a lot of things there are inspired by Christianity (as a Christian, I quickly recognised it all after checking out the main worldbuilding points) but it's not the Bible! These books are fiction and it's nothing wrong with interpreting some events differently. Had to watch Galadriel scenes from the movies btw, and her “greatly desiring” the ring and then opposing Sauron in her dark form... makes much more sense if they previously had a personal story going on. So I see no problem here. But fans! If Tolkien himself returned from the dead and said Galadriel 1) isn't Mother Mary figure, more like Mary Magdalene 2) had loved Sauron in a twisted way and that's why she wasn't chilling with other elves in the elvish Eden those guys would never believed him and kept bitching. Ofc, they are free to do so, I just pains me.

Same happened to my favourite show, which made me evaluate a lot of things and change my life for the best, and most of “fans” hate it because it's against the idea they had it their heads for years. What's funny is that my show doesn't have any book source material, it's just a — unconventional a bit — biopic about a rock band frontman, produced and controlled in EVERY ASPECT by his best friend and soulmate. Who new him better than any of the fans. The show is brilliant and nothing like that has been done in our country before, yet 70% of what it gets is childish criticism.

So yeah, seeing ROP mistreated in a similar way makes me sad. I can't even tell my friends about the cons of this show, as most of them have already written on their blogs how awful and unworthy of anyone's time it is. Ugh, thank you for listening.

I hear you ! The most infuriating is that most of these people didn't even bother to watch the show. They just heard some YouTuber or TikToker trash the show and repeat what they hear.

I've also noticed that much of the criticism is made by haters who claim to be Tolkien fans, but who are really just fans of P Jackson's movies, and are certain that HE gave a faithful interpretation of the books while it's just... Not true ! Sauron was never described as a giant eyeball in the books, for a start, it was just the easiest way that P Jackson found to represent the fact that Sauron could see everything everywhere.

By doing so unfortunately he ripped off Sauron of everything that made him a fascinating character, and now those morons use the movie's depiction of Sauron to decide that Sauron always was a one dimensional character and completely ignore the fact that in season 1, he was in a repentance phase, hence not entirely manipulative and dishonest towards Galadriel.

And the same happens with Galadriel. The only person I know in real life watched it, but hated it saying she "can't forgive them for what they did to Galadriel", because she refuses to admit the idea that she can have been a warrior, with tendencies to be reckless and a tad immature. She wanted Cate Blanchett's Third Age Galadriel and won't have it any other way. Why ? Again because of PJ's movies. She didn't read the books ! When I told her that PJ invented the scene from the Hobbit where Galadriel faces Sauron in Dol Guldur, she was surprised but didn't care because at least it was Cate Blanchett looking beautiful and ethereal.

What is the show you mention in your ask ?

[sotwk]

Consider that was where Celebrian - her daughter - was held and possibly tortured... I think we can excuse a little excess rage power on Galadriel's behalf. Like the whole adrenaline-lifting-a-car-off-a-person kind of response rather than just being generally over powered.

Hi Anon!

Well, Celebrían was held and tortured in the Misty Mountains rather than Dol Guldur, but I can see your point about the Superpowered Mama Bear. :) After all, I'm a mom myself and I would unleash unspeakable horrors on whoever might hurt my children.

Your comments were in response to my vent about why it took Galadriel so long to act and help Mirkwood/Thranduil take down Dol Guldur. She stepped in only in the end to "cleanse" it after Sauron had been vanquished.

Honestly, Galadriel's seeming lack of action throughout the history of Middle-earth is baffling to me, and I consider it one of the flaws in Tolkien's works (sorry, Professor!). We're told she's extremely powerful and one of the greatest of the Noldor Exiles. But we have no clue what she actually did during the Wars of Beleriand, or the Second Age, other than traveling a lot and giving advice to Celebrimbor, and taking Nenya (Rings of Power tried to wager guesses, but most fans hated the show's take). She probably saw the most action during the Third Age, but even so, even the little that is mentioned of Thranduil sees him going to war for his people and effectively Middle-earth. Galadriel seems to have mostly stayed in Lothlorien to give advice and defend her own territory.

So yeah, I guess what I'm saying is that is was rather a waste of a character to have her act on Dol Guldur just at the last minute, and we're not given a sufficient explanation why it took so long.

[tanoraqui]

(AO3)

There are no books banned from the Great Library of Tirion. There are, however, books which are generally agreed to be dangerous to read. There is a section for them, officially called “Unadvised” and informally called “Cursed Knowledge”, “Shelves of Spiders”, and “the Things The Valar Don’t Want You To Know section.”

There are no spiders in it, Dark or natural; the library staff are careful of that. There are many tomes, scrolls, and other writings which are literally cursed.

There is a slim, perfectly natural volume bound in pale grey leather like any other publication from the Metaphysical Studies department of Tirion University. It is notable only in its contents, described by its title:

The Craft of Necromancy

A study of the manipulation of fëa in life, death, the terrible neither and the tormenting both.

A note from the single author on the fourth page, after the title page and publication information, reads,

On sources and citations in this volume:

This is, I must confess, an unusual study. For one thing, while I wrote it for classic philosophical principle, that knowledge closely held ought be shared instead, I also wrote it for the relief of that sharing, as advised by acquaintances wise and well-versed in healing. To my loving advisors: I was perfectly fine before, but I do feel even better now. I’m glad you’re satisfied.

I do not believe this affects the rigor of the discussion herein. I only share it because context is always part of knowledge that ought be shared, to maximize understanding.

More relevant to the question of academic rigor is: where possible, I have included standard citations of other works on the topic, academic, biographical, and other. However, most of my knowledge on this topic was gained firsthand, either through personal experience, tutelage, or both (demonstrations upon my person, patiently explained before, during and after), and I can provide no verification save my own memory and the reputation of my primary tutor.

My memory has been confirmed to be clear by nurses of the Gardens of Lórien. My tutor has been known by many names, among them, Gorthaur, Lieutenant of Angband and Lord (and creator) of Werewolves; the Necromancer of Dol Guldur; the Lidless Eye; and Sauron the Deceiver.

Despite the last, I have perfect confidence that he was not lying to me anymore by the end. He enjoyed showing off too much for that.

With that in mind, I hope you will forgive my academic negligence in referring to him henceforth only as “a source.” It is a matter of not humoring his ego, even after his dissolution.

All that said, I have endeavored throughout this study to clearly distinguish not only between fact and theory, but between facts which I can verify through personal experience (eg, the trapping of a fëa within its hröa past the reasonable point of death), facts which were expounded upon to me at length but which I cannot confirm beyond my certainty of the source’s genuinity in his intentions to taunt and/or tempt me (eg, the warping of a fëa to suit a hroä other than that its natural own), and facts which were told to me, or to others of my association, in contexts of deception but which were later re-examined for truth (eg, on the binding of one fëa [or ëala] to another). As with any work, readers are encouraged to take the knowledge enclosed herein and make their own interpretations—though I do NOT advise practical experimentation with these matters.

This study should be taken as my final word on the matters therein. While I usually applaud curiosity and thoroughness in investigation, do not seek me out with questions.

Additionally: in light of the sober and sometimes disturbing contents of this study, I have been advised by my editor to reassure the reader (somewhat redundantly, I would argue) that I did, in fact, escape the captivity of my primary source, and I am thoroughly and happily recovered from the various torments, betrayals, etc. inflicted upon my person. My source (and tutor, creative collaborator, friend…) is confirmed to be, at the time of this publication, reduced to a scrap of a shadow soon to fade utterly from the world that is, thanks in large parts to the efforts of others. For accounts of those heroes, I recommend “The War of the Ring: A Hobbit’s Very Extended Journey There and Back Again”, B. Baggins, F. Baggins; “Nine-Fingered Frodo and the Ring of Doom”, trans. B. Baggins; and “Garden Plants of the Western Shire”, S. Gamgee.

I recommend the last particular for aspiring gardeners. My floral and herbal window-boxes are all flourishing with the advice of Mr. Gamgee.

Yours in scholarship,

Celebrimbor Curufinwë

The volume is about 100 pages, mostly text with a handful of illustrative drawings scattered among the chapters. In the space in the back pages reserved for commentary from early readers, there is only one comment:

Concerningly accurate throughout.

– Aulë