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mimilind · 1 year ago

Text

Stranger of the Falls - Part 7

Pairing: Boromir x Reader

Rating: T

Chapter Word Count: 3900

Parts: [ < Previous Part ] [ Next Part > ] [ Masterlist ]

Full story: [ AO3 ]

※※※

7. Free

More days passed. You went on with your work, checking on Maja’s little sister and her mother, changing the bandages of an old injury on one of the returning men, seeing the elderly and telling them the good news about the war. You withheld the bad news about the decoy attack and the very slim chance of ever beating the Dark Lord.

At least Cair Andros was free; you need not worry about orc attacks any longer, nor keep nightly watches.

You saw Boromir sometimes but only exchanged brief nods. He kept training Svarten, and then a few foals Vidar wanted broken in. But most often you saw him standing at the outskirts of the village, leaning on his cane, eyes set on the eastern sky.

He was looking at Mordor.

One day you gathered your courage and joined him. “How are you?”

He gave his crooked grin without taking his eyes away from the horizon. “Fine.”

“How is your chest? Still healing nicely? No tightness of the skin?”

“No. Do not trouble yourself; I really am well.”

“And the mobility on your right side?” you continued stubbornly.

He opened and closed his hand a few times. “As good as it ever will, I think. I can do almost everything I could before, but not with the same strength, and I still need a cane when I must walk more than a few steps.”

“I see. Keep exercising.”

“I will.”

You could not think of any more questions and fell silent.

His gaze returned to the ominous clouds, the perpetual darkness that had lingered over the Mordor border all your life.

What was happening there? Had the decoy worked? Was the secret mission completed? Or had it failed?

You were certain Boromir was asking himself these same questions too – over and over again.

“If that halfling succeeds – what will you do then?” you asked.

He did not answer right away. Then he sighed, looking more dejected than you had ever seen him. “I do not know,” he said, barely audibly. “I cannot see the future… I see only darkness ahead; impenetrable, frightening. And there is a heavy weight in me… in my heart.” He glanced at you. “I believe that is why I cannot bond with others like I used to, not form friendships or… other connections. Not until I know what will happen…”

You thought you understood what he meant. He was talking about you, trying to explain why he kept a distance. Somehow, his words lit a tiny hope in your chest. If you won, if the dark Lord was defeated…

But he swiftly crushed that.

“I have no hope the halfling will succeed. Maybe if the rest of the Fellowship had been with him…” He broke off, glancing at you again, a blush creeping up his cheeks. “It is my fault he must walk alone,” he whispered. “Do you recall the secret weapon I told you about? My dream? I had dreams of that ilk frequently. The Ring whispered to me… spoke to me… showed me visions. It became so precious to me I wanted to have it.” His hands were shaking and he clenched them. “First I sought to convince him, urging him to give it up, and when that failed I tried to wrestle it from him! I, a man of Gondor, twice his height. Unbelievable…”

You wished you knew what to say, but did not, so you just stood there. Silent.

“Frodo – that is the name of the halfling – ran away alone. That is why Aragorn must go on this suicide mission now. If he perishes, that is on me. If Frodo does, that is on me too. It will be my fault alone.”

“I do not think–”

“Do not try to excuse what I did. I was weak, and I fell, and countless lives have been spilled because of it. I should have been there.” He pointed south, toward his homeland. “If I had, my father would still be alive today. My brother might not have been injured.” He gave you a look full of self-loathing. “I am sorry, but I am not the hero you and the rest of the village believe I am. I am not strong, or brave. I am a coward. And what is worse…” He clenched his hands again. “Even now I want it. Even now a part of me hopes Frodo will fail so I can claim it.”

Without another word he limped away.

※

After that conversation you became rather distracted in your work. All the time your thoughts lingered on Boromir.

You needed to figure out the complex man that was him.

With a few sly questions to Torsten and the others who had been to the war you tried to find out more of his background. You asked many questions about the quest he had been a part in when he was presumed killed, and you also pretended an interest in the new heir to the throne who had shown up, which brought on the topic of the ruling stewards who had held the power for centuries in the king’s absence. It helped you figure out more details about Boromir’s early life.

Putting it all together, you concluded his actions were completely understandable.

Boromir was born the eldest son of the steward – basically a prince. Raised to be a leader and politician, to always do what was best for the people. Not allowed to have his own dreams or goals.

He became a warrior and captain, trained to lead others into battle, and was likely encouraged to seek an honorable death, if worst came to worst. All his life Gondor had been the only country trying to defend against the darkness of Mordor, the only army trying to hold the last forts and cities, sacrificing their lives to do so while the rest of the world did not know or did not care what happened.

You were one of them. You, a Rohirrim, had never realized what an impossible task Middle-earth had assigned Gondor. How selfishly you had continued your business as usual.

Then Boromir had been sent to aid a halfling, who had no particular skills, strength or powers, to carry the most dangerous and powerful item in the world from Rivendell to Mount Doom in Mordor and destroy the ring there, right under Sauron’s – its maker and owner – nose.

And Boromir had failed because he believed the ring could be used better by him or his father in Gondor.

You could not blame him for that.

※

Boromir was standing alone, looking east as usual. You observed him, debating with yourself whether to try to talk to him again. Tell him to be less hard on himself.

But you had a feeling he would only be angry if you brought it up.

Suddenly Boromir began to shake violently and fell to his knees. He was clutching his chest.

You immediately ran forward. Was his heart troubling him?

“What happened? Are you ill?”

Still trembling, he turned his head east. “Look,” he whispered.

You looked. A gray pillar was rising into the sky, like smoke from a huge chimney. Beneath it the sky was a bright orange.

“What is it?”

“It is gone. The Ring… I no longer sense it. He must have destroyed it.” He slowly rose to his feet, wiping moisture from his forehead.

“Are you certain?” Could the quest really have succeeded against all odds? You did not dare believe it.

“That smoke… Frodo was going to throw the Ring into Mount Doom; perhaps it erupted as a consequence.” His voice was steadier now. “Either way, I know it is gone. All this time, I felt it. A heavy weight; a steady pull on my mind. But I no longer do.”

“How are you feeling?” You were still worried.

“Good.” A surprised half-smile formed on his lips. “My heart is light. I feel free.”

It struck you he looked like several years had been removed from his face; the perpetual worry lines were eased out. Slowly, gradually you were starting to believe him. It had to be true. Nothing else could have affected him so positively.

He caught you in an impromptu hug. “The victory is ours! The enemy stands no chance with the Ring gone!”

You clung to him, wanting to be in his arms forever. Relief and happiness flooded your chest, nearly choking you. There would be a future ahead that was not completely dark.

Maybe you could even dare hope for love.

※

You were about to prepare dinner when there was a knock on your door. A bit puzzled you went to open; nobody knocked around here. They just barged in.

Boromir stood outside, looking different somehow. It took you a heartbeat until you realized why: he had shaved, leaving only a short, neat beard. His hair was slightly damp as if he had just taken a bath.

He was so attractive you could hardly breathe.

“Good evening. I have not told anyone else about the ring; I find it difficult to explain how I can be so sure it is gone, but I want to celebrate the upcoming victory. Will you join me?” He held up a flagon. “I have mead.”

Your head spun. Was this the same man who had so carefully kept you at a distance before?

“Of course,” you said, not letting your voice betray your surprise. “Let me make myself ready first.”

You hurried back inside, suddenly very conscious about your appearance. You washed your face and hands, wishing there was time to take a bath. You put on scented oil instead.

Then you hauled out your nicest clothes and brushed your hair until it shone.

A bit breathlessly you went out.

He regarded your appearance appreciatively. “Lovely.” Something about the way he looked at you made your heart beat faster.

Boromir took you to the roof you had been using as a lookout tower before, spreading a blanket for you both to sit on.

It was not very big, and as you sat down you felt the heat from his body and a whiff of his scent. He must have used perfumed oil as well.

“Time to feast. Here, have a cup. Vidar promised me it is the strongest mead he has.”

You drank in companionable silence first. The evening was cool; it was still only late March, but you thought you felt the smell of spring in the air. The column of smoke over Mordor had a pink hue from the setting sun.

You did not quite dare look at Boromir. Again he felt so much bigger than you, so much stronger, and it intimidated you.

After a while the drink began to affect you, filling you with courage. You discreetly peeked at him from the corner of your eyes.

You admired his profile; his straight nose, dark eyebrows, his clear eyes glittering in the evening light. How was it possible for a man to be so handsome?

He must have dressed with care. The cloak he wore was new, lined with rabbit fur, and you did not recognize the tunic.

“New clothes?” you asked, trying to hide your fluster with conversation as was your habit.

“Vidar let me choose between his spare ones; he said he still owes me for the belt. Your influence, I presume.”

Boromir had chosen well; the tunic was elegantly cut and suited him perfectly. You recalled that his other clothes and his boots were also very nice. Suddenly amused, you realized he must be a bit of a coxcomb.

“I was not aware you were a man of fashion.”

“I am a man of many talents.” His lopsided grin made your heart throb.

“Indeed, you are,” you let slip.

“You are a person of many talents too.” He took your hand. “I was fortunate to be saved by such an attractive healer.”

You found no words to reply; your mouth had grown too dry.

Still looking intently at you, he took your hand and brought it to his lips. They were cool and burning hot at the same time.

You had his full attention and charisma directed at you. It made your limbs feel weak. You could not move, not breathe. Time stopped. As if he and you were alone in the world.

He took another sip from his mug and released your eyes; the tense moment passed. A small smile lingered on his lips.

He must know how he affected you. He played you like a fiddle.

But you did not mind.

“More mead?” As he refilled your mug, his fingers brushed against yours.

You moved closer. “I am cold,” you mumbled as an excuse. It was a lie. You were burning hot, set aflame by your emotions.

His smile widened. He knew.

He put his cloak around you both, pulling you close. The rabbit fur was soft against your chin.

He was so warm. You felt safe and protected with his strong arm around you. You leaned into him, rested your head on his broad chest.

He put the mug down to stroke your hair, a bit clumsily because it was his right hand. You did not care. His fingers were chafed and calloused. You did not care about that either.

You slid your own hand around his waist. His frame was lean and hard. You pressed your nose against the hollow under his neck, drawing in the scent of his warm skin. Your heart beat fast and hard, the sound of it filling your ears.

You felt his pulse beat fast too.

He held your cheek in his palm, turning your face up. He had such large hands. His eyes were dark, drawing you in.

He was looking at your lips. You looked at his.

Then you kissed.

※

It was late when Boromir escorted you home. The kiss still burned on your lips, the memory of it repeating itself in your mind. You had never been kissed that way before. With such passion, yet so gentle.

Even in this, Boromir showed what a kind man he was. He did not push. He did not go too far. As if he wanted to revel in the moment, to share a kiss without pressure for more.

You had expected he would ask you out again soon after that night, or perhaps ask to move back in with you, but he did neither. He stayed with Vidar, continuing his work training horses.

Yet there was a huge difference in his behavior toward you.

Now, when you met, he always smiled, and never failed to exchange a few words if there was time. And whenever you were in his vicinity you often felt his eyes on you.

If only you were brave enough to make advances, but it appeared you had caught a spell of unusual shyness around him.

Then one day when you were heading home from a visit to Sigrid and the baby, he fell into step with you. “Will you walk with me?”

You noticed his hair was damp again after a bath, and his cheeks smooth and freshly shaved. Your stomach fluttered. You had not stopped thinking about the kiss. Longing to repeat it.

As soon as you were some way from the village he took your hand. Yours nearly disappeared in his. It was warm and strong. You squeezed it and he squeezed back.

Then you just walked. Admiring the spring flowers along the path, discussing what kind of birds you heard, enjoying the afternoon sun on your faces. Taking breaks now and then so he could rest his feet. Walking was still taxing for him.

When you were back at your house he kissed the top of your hand. “Sleep well. Will you walk with me again tomorrow? I enjoyed it very much.”

“I did too.” Your heart felt so full it overflowed.

From then on, you took daily walks together, and sometimes rode out on horseback. It felt like you explored the surroundings and saw them for the first time – because to him, it was the first time. You showed him all your favorite places, told him anecdotes from your youth, and he shared similar tales from his own childhood. He had been up to quite a lot of mischief with his brother it seemed, and whenever he shared those memories his eyes grew soft.

“You miss him.”

He nodded. “I do.”

You hoped one day the brothers would be reunited.

Some days later a rider arrived with more news and an invitation. Sauron was dead, the ring destroyed – exactly as Boromir had known. All the Dark Lord’s minions had been swiftly defeated afterwards. And what was more, against all odds Lord Aragorn had survived the decoy attack, and so had all the rest of the Fellowship. Gondor would soon have a king again after so many centuries without, and everyone was invited to his coronation, especially the men who had taken part in the war.

“What will happen to the steward’s son?” asked Boromir, clearly feigning only a slight interest in the matter.

“He will become Prince of Ithilien. And he is engaged to marry one of ours! Éowyn, niece of Théoden King. Everyone saw them kiss at the city walls.”

Boromir relaxed. “Good for him.”

That day, Boromir was unusually quiet as you left the village on your walk. He seemed melancholy, but who wouldn’t be? The news from the south must have reminded him of where he came from, of his old life.

Did he think of going there? Perhaps attend the coronation? You felt a pang at the thought of him leaving you.

Maybe you could ask him to take you with him…

But no, you belonged here. What would the villagers do without their only healer?

Repressing a sigh, you took in the surroundings, trying to enjoy the beauty around you. It was a mild spring day and the pastures had become green. Everywhere you saw signs of new life: the lambs bouncing around their mothers, the new foals, Sigrid and Torsten’s baby napping in a basket.

You felt a huge wave of gratitude that all of it was still there. Other villages had been wiped out in the war, but not this one.

Your steps had taken you in the direction of the river, and you realized you were almost at the place where you first found Boromir. It felt strange that only two months had passed since then.

Boromir silently regarded the roaring waterfall. Probably recalling the events of that day. His betrayal. The orc attack. Waking up afterwards unable to use his body.

“The halflings survived,” he said, nodding at the Falls. "Frodo’s friends. It was them I tried to protect in the orc attack, and all this time I thought I had failed. But I saved them. Funny that.”

“Yet you seem unhappy,” you said, taking his hand and squeezing it. Holding hands with him felt natural now.

He sighed. “I suppose I am, a little. I keep regretting I was not there… I could not follow through. The war is over and I did not help. Aragorn had to do everything.”

“How can you say you did not help? You saved us. Me. This may be a tiny corner of the world, but it is all we ever had. Because of you, we still do.”

He looked like he was going to object but you would not let him.

“As I once said, this world needs more good men. Men like you. And do not say I do not know you for now I do. You showed your kindness and virtue even when you tried to take that… thing – no, hear me out! – for you did not hurt the one who carried it. I have seen you fight; you could have sliced his head off in the blink of an eye. You could have taken the ring so easily. But you did not. Because you are good and kind. Because you could never hurt a friend, ever.”

He stared at you. Then a mist appeared in his eyes and he turned his head away. “I have not thought about it that way.”

“But it is true, is it not? You could have killed him.”

“I could.”

“And if the tales are true, you were hardly the first man to be corrupted by the power of that ring.”

“I was not.” His voice was toneless.

“Boromir,” you said earnestly, squeezing his hand again. “It was not your fault.”

“It was not my fault,” he whispered. Slowly he turned his eyes back to you, allowing you to see the tears pooling in them. “It was not my fault.”

He wrapped his arms around you and pressed his face into your hair. You hid your eyes against his strong chest. You were crying too now. For him, for everything he had been through, all the heartache and guilt. For the loss of his father. For the loss of his strength and mobility.

“I am so sorry for you,” you sobbed.

“Thank you.” Then he suddenly chuckled, and added in a broken voice that was at the same time happy and sad: “I would never have thought I would be grateful for someone’s pity. But I am. So, thank you.”

“Not pity; sympathy,” you said firmly.

You kept the hug for a long time. Allowing one another to calm down and collect yourself. Then you sat on a soft patch of grass by the river.

“Middle-earth is at peace. Will you return home?” you asked.

You were afraid to hear his reply but had to know. If this, whatever it was between you, should turn into something more, then you needed to know.

“I miss my brother, but the way things are I feel my return would only complicate things. I know he will be a good prince and leader, whereas I… well, I am a cripple.”

“You are not a cripple!” you objected.

Again he chuckled, blessing you with the genuine warmth of his laughter. “Not entirely, I suppose. And perhaps one day I shall visit Faramir. Let him know I am alive. But if so, I would not go there to stay.” He planted a kiss on the top of your hand. “Do you know what I want to do most of all?”

You mutely shook your head. Your heart was beating faster again.

“Stay here.” He nodded at the calm river and the reeds waving in the mild breeze. “In this beautiful place, with the river and the open, quiet plains. Among the horses and the sheep. I grew up in the bustle of the large city but now I have fallen in love with the peaceful, slow life and ways of the village.” He gave you his beautiful half-grin. “My father would think I had lost my mind if he could hear me now.” His smile swiftly waned. “But he is gone. I loved him, but I was never like him.”

“Would you not get bored? You enjoyed yourself on the battlefield, anyone could see that.”

“No more than I enjoyed breaking in Svarten and his foals. The thrill of galloping over a field is no less than the thrill of chasing an orc. No, I will not be bored. I will be happy.” His gaze grew soft as he met yours. “With you, if you will have me.”

“Of course,” you replied, fresh tears filling your eyes. Happy tears.

Softly he kissed them away, one by one. Then his lips found yours.

This time he did not stop after one sweet kiss. And this time he wasn’t only gentle.

You both knew what you wanted and where this was heading. For – you were his and he was yours, until death would part you.

※※※

A/N:

The next chapter is an Explicit bonus chapter that can be skipped.

※※※

Parts: [ < Previous Part ] [ Next Part > ] [ Masterlist ]

Full story: [ AO3 ]

#boromir #boromir x reader #boromir x oc #boromir lives au #lotr #lotr fanfiction #boromir fanfiction #lord of the rings #hurt/comfort #healing #heroism #Stranger of the Falls

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mirkwoodshewolf · 1 year ago

Text

IATCOD Chap. 24; The siege of Gondor

*Author's note*

So after a couple of days this chapter was finally able to come together. I apologize in advance if the battle sequence towards the end as well as the ending feels rushed but I hope you all enjoy it nonetheless. Now idk when I'll update the next chapter since my vacation time is over and I'll be going back to work, then my work will transition into new work hours so idk how my updating schedule will be like but I'll try to get the next chapter done as soon as I can cause we're gonna include my all time FAV scene, 'The battle of Pelennor fields' in Cain's POV. But that's in the next chapter, for now not really much warnings except for Denethor's madness truly shining now and some graphic battle sequences.

NEXT CHAPTER

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things

@waddles03

@psychosupernatural

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels

@queen-paladin

@gay-and-ready-to-cry

@thats-s0-ravenn

____________________________________________________________

*Cain’s POV*

We rode through Dunharrow and I could already hear so many heartbeats of both men and horses. The sound of iron clanking on metal forges and tents being pitched up for the night. As we rode along, the men of Rohan acknowledged and announced their King’s arrival while Theoden raised his hand in greeting.

“Grimbold, how many?” Theoden asked.

“I bring 500 men from the Westfold my lord.” Grimbold answered to my right.

“We have 300 more from Fenmarch, Theoden King.” Proclaimed another man.

“Where are the riders from Snowbourn?” asked Theoden but another man told him.

“None have come, my lord.” Replied another man.

“We’re going to make camp just ahead on top of the mountain cliff’s. If you feel the altitude will be too much for your heightened senses, Theoden King will understand if you wish to stand at the ground level here.” Aragorn said as he rode up next to me.

“I appreciate the visual aid Aragorn, but I will be fine. It took some time for me to adjust but I’m able to rest on top the highest mountains Harad has to offer. The journey up the cliff’s will not deter me.” He hummed in acknowledgement as we rode up the steep cliff’s side all the way to what I assume is the King’s cliff’s where only the King of Rohan and his council members would rest while the rest of the army makes camp here down below.

When we got to the top and the men started to make camp, I stood with Theoden alongside the edge and fully counted the number of heartbeats that stood before us.

“6000 spears.” Theoden voiced my answer as Aragorn came and stood beside us. “Less than half of what I’d hoped for.”

“6000 will not be enough to break the lines of Mordor.” I wouldn’t give up hope Aragorn.

“More will come.” Theoden assured him. As he walked away, he stopped as Aragorn said.

“Every hour lost hastens Gondor’s defeat. We have till dawn, then we must ride.”

“I’m afraid he’s right Theoden King. With the four days we’ve lost since their departure, who knows what damage Gondor has already taken. Plus the three days ride from here to there. We cannot wait anymore.” I told him. Theoden turned to me and nodded and that’s when a cold shiver ran up my spine and I could sense a presence nearby.

A dark, unrestful presence. And I could sense from Aragorn that he was feeling the same thing I was. I could also hear how the horses were starting to panic.

“Theoden, where exactly does this camp stand?”

“Just a few yards straight ahead of you Master Cain is the road to the Dimholt. The—”

“Door under the mountain.” I finished.

“You know of it?”

“Yes. And I know it’s story. Hela was involved with its making and it’s curse upon the souls who dwell there. Perhaps it’s best she hadn’t come with us.”

“All the years she and my ancestors had made camp here in previous wars, I never did understood why she never settled up here.” Theoden muttered.

“And now you know. The spirits here would not have welcomed Hela with open arms after what she did. I dare not speak ill of the dead but it’s not like they didn’t deserve what they got.” I walked away from Theoden and headed towards the horse stable where I heard Wisteria in a full panic. Huffing and stomping her hooves with high levels of anxiety.

Slowly I came around to her and calmed her down in Elvish. Cautiously approaching her from the side instead of head on like most of these men have been doing.

“Fæste, stille nú. Fæste, stille nú. Shhh. Shhh. Nú. Nú. Stille nú.” I took her reigns and she whinnied anxiously and frightenedly. “Steady girl, steady big girl. All is calm, all is calm.” I gently stroked up her muzzle with the back of my fingers as she let out a huff. “I know, I know big girl. But you have nothing to fear, not while I’m here. You trust me right?” she let out a soft neigh as I softly smiled, “Then nothing shall harm you whilst I’m here.”

She lowered her head down to my chest and I hugged her, stroking up and down her powerful neck.

“That’s my brave girl.” I gave her neck a couple of pats before rubbing it in soothing circles once more. “We’re a team, you and me as one. I will keep you safe, if you keep me safe.” She nickered as she gave me a soft headbutt to which I placed my forehead up to hers.

“It’s almost as if you know exactly what she is thinking.” Éowyn’s voice spoke from behind me. I turned to her and said.

“Celestials have always had the gift of knowing animals emotions. It’s not like I can precisely know what she’s saying but I can sense how she feels based on her emotions.”

“Merry is currently being suited for his Esquire attire, he wishes have you be there for him when I bestow his armor upon him.” I smiled.

“And I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Lead the way my lady.” I held my arm out and she took it as she guided me to where Merry was.

“Master Cain you came!”

“As I told lady Eowyn, I wouldn’t miss my young pupil getting fitted for his position as Esquire of Rohan.” He ran up and embraced me and I embraced him back.

“When will it be ready?” he asked Eowyn.

“Armor and helms take time to mold and size out, be thankful they were able to take your measurements the second we arrived.” Eowyn told him. The way Merry’s heart raced, it reminded me of when Yvaine and I would take the children on a surprise picnic and they couldn’t wait any longer.

“Could you maybe check and see how it’s coming along?” asked Merry.

“Be patient Merry, these things can’t be rushed. It’s better to have an armor that is steadily prepared and fits properly rather than sloppy and unusable. You wouldn’t want your chest plate to come off and allow a sword to pierce right through you, do you?”

“No. That wouldn’t be good.” He said.

“I can still check to see how it’s coming along. With an armor your size, maybe it wouldn’t take as long to forge.” She stood up and I grabbed her wrist and whispered to her.

“You don’t need to if you don’t want to.”

“It’s really no trouble lord Cain.” I released her wrist and she left the tent.

“Now I’ve read what Esquires do in books back in the Shire, but does that also mean I’m also a knight of Rohan?” Merry asked me.

“Esquires can be knighted into knighthood by the King but that’s only if the King commands it. For now you will do as the King commands and be at his side until the battle is near.” Merry nodded.

“So is it like what you’re doing in Hela’s stand?” I smiled.

“Hela was the chief founder alongside the first king of Rohan in founding their kingdom. As such she was given the title Celestial Knight. A position in which only she can obtain. She not only helps serve in times of great war, but also acts as head of council to the king and his descendants till the end of time.”

“Hela always shared with us stories of her times serving alongside great Kings of Men. But she always held such praise whenever she talked about the two kingdoms of men, This one and Gondor, where she, Pip and Gandalf are.”

“She had a good connection with the mortal beings. Even when Ikaris and Thranduil tried to advise her on the warnings of associating with mortals, she didn’t care. Like me, she knew it was better to form as many friendships as you can in one’s life, than to never have taken the chance at all.”

“The armor is ready.” Eowyn said as she came in and I could smell the leather and metal of the buckles enter the tent. Merry’s heart exhilarated with excitement and she continued, “Let’s test it out to make sure it fits you properly.” Merry stood up and together he and Eowyn started assembling his armor.

It took the span of the rest of the day but bit by bit Merry received his armor until finally his helm was ready. Eowyn was just finishing adjusting it onto his head before finally saying.

“There, a true esquire of Rohan.” She stood up and I could hear and smell the excitement that was radiating from Merry. His hand went to his belt and he exclaimed as he quickly withdrew his sword.

“I’m ready!” almost nearly slicing Eowyn across her chest. She jumped back with a gasp before laughing softly and I told him.

“Easy up there young warrior. Don’t want to hurt the Lady of the house you serve.”

“Sorry, it isn’t not all that dangerous. It’s not even sharp.” He muttered the last part sadly.

“Well that’s not good, you won’t kill many orcs with a blunt blade, right Lord Cain?” she said to me.

“Indeed not.” I replied. “Come along, my own weapons could do with a proper sharpening too.” I stood up and exited the tent first followed by Merry who was practicing swinging his sword from the techniques I taught him.

“To the smithy with Lord Cain. Go!” Eowyn urged him and Merry raced on to catch up with me as we headed towards the smithy to get our weapons sharpened before war.

“Do you think after we get our weapons sharpened, we can train some more tonight?”

“Perhaps. But it cannot be a long training session I’m afraid. We have until dawn then we’re leaving for battle.” He nodded as he presented the blacksmith with his sword whilst I gathered my own weapons. I then soon picked up another heartbeat that was currently making the climb up the cliff’s but it was not a Man’s heart, but Elven. A heartbeat I had not heard in a long time, not since it had been nearly an Age since my own exile and he was still under the service of Gil-Galad.

I could also taste in the air the taste of freshly forged silver. So the legend is finally being fulfilled, The blade that was broken, shall return to Minas Tirith in the hands of the Returning king.

“Cain? Master Cain?” I snapped out of my thoughts as Merry’s hand was on my arm. “It’s your turn for your weapons to be sharpened.”

“Right, sorry Merry.” I presented the blacksmith with my daggers and knives.

“You were pretty deep in thought, is everything okay? Are we in danger?” Merry whispered the last part.

“Not here no. Just….hearing of a legend finally being put into motion.” Merry looked at me confused. “Nothing you need to worry yourself over.”

“Here you are Lord Celestial.” The blacksmith said. Merry took my weapons and handed them to me one by one whilst I places them around my belt and the two of us walked off to find an area to train when I heard Éowyn’s heart starting to break.

From the moment I first came here, I knew she had harbored some feelings towards Aragorn but he had to tell her that what she felt wasn’t real and that he cannot love her the way she wants him to. Rejection is a harsh, cold reality that hurts worse than a steel blade cutting through you or even getting a punch from Gilgamesh.

I hope that she can one day find someone who will truly love her.

“Merry, why don’t you find us a space to train? There’s something I need to do.”

“You sure you don’t need me to come along?”

“No, no. You go on, practice those combos I taught you back at the Golden Hall with your newly sharpened sword. I won’t be long.” He nodded then he left my side whilst I honed in on Aragorn’s heartbeat along with Gimli’s and Legolas’ who were standing at his side. I came around a few tents to hear Gimli say.

“You might as well accept it, we’re going with you laddie.” I smiled. Those three truly have formed such a bond of friendship and brotherhood throughout this entire quest.

“You should be grateful to have friends such as these Aragorn.” I said making myself known to them. “Such loyalty in friendship has only ever been strong amongst my own kin that we tried to teach all those who came to Middle Earth.”

“Am I to assume you also are hoping to partake in our journey to the Dimholt?” Aragorn asked me. I chuckled softly.

“Fortunately for you, I won’t. Someone has to stay behind and look after things on this end. I only came to see you three off, and to give you warning.” I walked up to Aragorn and he placed his hand to my shoulder whilst I did the same for him. “The place you are about to enter is a place far worse than even the dark spell of Mordor can muster. A dark veil between our world and the unseen world, cursed by the Celestial of Death herself. The dead do not bargain with the living for they have nothing to lose. But hold true to your purpose, do not back down from your offer. And they will fight for you.”

“I’ve seen how Hela works her ways with the great beyond and she too has taught me how to speak with them. I’ll heed both yours and her teachings.” I smiled as our foreheads touched and I whispered to him in Elvish.

“May the grace of Celestial of Death Hela protect you three.” After Aragorn and I separated, he got on top of Brego whilst Legolas and Gimli got onto Arod and I walked beside Aragorn, guiding them towards the road to the Dimholt.

As we walked, I could hear the men muttering about why we were leaving on the eve of battle. When we got closer to the entrance of the mountain, I stopped and released Brego’s reigns and felt the three of them disappeared within the darkness. The men tried to call out to Aragorn to ask what he was doing but he didn’t give an answer as he disappeared.

“Lord Cain, what is the meaning of this?” asked one of the men. “Why does he leave on the eve of battle?” I didn’t give a response until Gamling spoke up, hopelessness clearly ringing in his voice as he spoke.

“He leaves because there is no hope.”

“He leaves because he must.” I told him as I turned to face him.

“Lord Cain speaks the truth.” Theoden soon came forth aiding my statement.

“Too few have come. We cannot defeat the armies of Mordor.” Gamling said again. There was deaf silence in the air as Theoden admitted to them.

“No….we cannot.” I could hear several of the men’s hearts drop in fear and hopelessness, that was until Theoden said to them, “But we will meet them in battle nonetheless.” A soft smirk came across my lips as I nodded in agreement with the King. That alone began to light a spark of hope amongst the men once more.

As promised, I soon found Merry and together the two of us worked on his combinations as well as some basic horse training since he’ll be needing to know just how to handle his horse in battle. After only two hours of training, I told him to get some rest for we had a long journey ahead of us in just a few hours from now.

Dawn approached into the sky and the sparrows began to stir, the morning dew seeped onto the flowers and grass, and the horses began to awaken. Both on the upper cliffs and down below the riders were quickly packing up camp, dousing out all the fires and saddling up their horses for departure.

I was with Wisteria and saddled her up with my pack underneath her saddle and she let out a soft whinny.

“Yes big girl. It is time. I know this is a lot to ask, but I’ll need you to be my eyes whilst we travel and when we arrive at Gondor. I am unfamiliar with these lands and I’ll need every bit of help when Theoden gives the command, can you do that for me?” she let out a proud huff and stamped her hooves twice. “Thank you Wisteria, you’re a brave girl.” I kissed her muzzle and mounted on top of her.

“Lord Cain!” Théoden’s voice cried out to me. I heard his horse ride up towards me and he said, “You ride with me at my side opposite of Éomer.”

“Yes Theoden King.” I told him as I urged Wisteria on and she followed right behind Théoden’s horse. But all too soon he stopped as we came up to Merry and I was surprised to hear Theoden say to him.

“Little hobbits do not belong in war Master Meriadoc.” There was no condescending tone nor insulting demeanor to his tone, it was as if he was doing this for Merry’s own good.

“All my friends have gone to battle. I would be ashamed to be left behind.”

“It is a three day gallop to Minas Tirith and none of my riders can bear you as a burden.” Merry’s heart broke as he tried to persuade King Theoden.

“I want to fight!” Theoden was silent for a moment before he told him.

“I will say no more.” Then he rode off. I turned to Merry and I knew he was looking up at me desperately.

“Master Cain, please.” I looked between him and where Theoden had ridden off to as Théoden’s voice called out to me.

“Lord Cain!” I sighed heavily and told him.

“It is beyond my control Merry. Even Hela would say the same thing. But take heart Merry, there might be a rider yet to bear you hence. I am too close to Theoden King to do so myself.” I urged Wisteria onward and she ran to catch up beside Théoden’s horse as everyone began to move out.

“Form up! Move out! Form up! Move out!” Éomer proclaimed to one and all as we rode through the fields of Dunharrow.

“Ride! Ride now to Gondor!” Theoden proclaimed. Soon the armies of Rohan rode away from Dunharrow and on the path to Gondor.

*My POV*

I sat there in the tombs of the Kings and Stewards kneeling before the grave of Ecthelion, Denethor’s father.

“I just don’t know what to do anymore old friend. Your son has completely lost his mind. Nothing will get through to him now. This great city is at its dire hour. And I’m afraid that not even my powers will be enough to defend its shining glory.” I solemnly spoke. I felt the soft graze of wind at my face.

‘You will have the strength to defend our home Hela.’ I heard Ecthelion’s voice say to me.

“Not according to your son.”

‘My son will need you now more than ever Hela. I know you and he never saw eye to eye. And that blame falls upon me. But soon he will see the truth. For now you must help another of my heirs.’

“What do you mean?” I asked.

‘You know of whom I speak. Reach out and hear his heart ring true.’ I then felt his presence leave me and I was once again alone in the tombs. I closed my eyes and reached out with my own powers and could hear a single heartbeat coming closer to the walls of the city. It was faint and weak but it still beat with life. I let out a gasp and whispered.

“Faramir.” He’s alive!

“Hela! Hela!” I turned to see Pippin racing towards me.

“Pippin? Have you come to tell me about Faramir?” he stopped before me and had a look of shock and confusion on his face.

“He’s alive?”

“Yes. Hurry I’ll explain it on the way hurry!” I picked him up then using Makkari’s speed we raced towards the courtyard where the White tree stood and being brought in on a gurney by several guards was Faramir gravely wounded but his heart rang true.

I set Pippin down and raced up to Faramir and helped the guards set him down. I touched his forehead and could see that like his brother, he had two arrows lodged in his body one near his shoulder, and the other near his lower gut. Thankfully the guards were smart enough to not try and pull the arrows out completely otherwise he would’ve bled out.

“Faramir, Faramir can you hear me?”

“My lady he is dead.” Said one of the guards.

“No, he’s not. I can still hear his heartbeat. It’s faint but he’s still alive. We need to get him to a healer immediately!”

“Faramir?” we turned to see Denethor running out of the palace and across the courtyard. He pushed me out of the way and knelt before his son weeping, “Say not that he has fallen.”

“They were outnumbered. None survived.”

“That’s not true! We can still save him!” I tried to speak up.

“My sons are spent…..my line has ended. The house of the Stewards has failed……” Denethor tearfully whimpered as he staggered away from Faramir. I then saw Pippin go up to Faramir and he too saw what I had seen.

“He’s alive!” Pippin vouched for me.

“Please we must do something there is still hope. Denethor listen to us! Your son still lives!” I proclaimed.

“She’s right my lord he needs medicine.” Pippin agreed.

“My line has ended!” Denethor cried out tearfully. I clenched my hands into fists and stormed towards him but my anger soon turned to horror at what I saw before me.

A full battalion of orcs spreading out far and wide across the entire Pelennor fields. Not even the force that Saruman had sent to Isengard was as great as this. It was as if the entire fields had been covered in a blanket of shadow.

“Rohan…..has deserted us.” I heard Denethor mutter under his breath. I watched as the trolls readied the catapults with heavy boulders and they were soon fired by the orc launchers. The stones flew high towards the towers and I could hear the panicked screams of the people, not only guards but women and children. “Theoden’s betrayed me!” Denethor sneered under his breath.

No. No that’s not true! If anyone it’s your fault Denethor! You could’ve called out earlier but you had to resort Gandalf, Pippin and I to do your work for you like you’ve always had. I’m sorry Ecthelion, I truly am.

“Abandon your posts! FLEE! FLEE FOR YOUR LIVES!!” Alright that’s it! I suddenly appeared before Denethor and knife chopped him in the neck. He let out a gasped groan as he grabbed his neck. I snarled and then using Makkari’s special move, I used my index and tall finger to disable Denethor by hitting all of his pressure points to paralyze him.

It may have looked like an overkill but by the time I was done with him, he looked like a writhing mess on the floor and all that could be heard from him was a choked gurgle.

“PREPARE FOR BATTLE!! RETURN TO YOUR POSTS!!” I used my Celestial voice to boom across the entire city to make sure that the guards knew where they stood now. I turned to Gandalf who was also looking down at Denethor with disgust but when he looked at me, he nodded firmly.

I shifted to Ikaris’ uniform and flew off to help prepare the soldiers for battle. I landed along the walls at the Gate and told the soldiers.

“You will either take orders from me or the White Wizard. Your Steward has chosen to abandon your city. You are all soldiers of Gondor! Will you flee and allow your home to burn and your families be slaughtered or will you stand and fight!?” the soldiers all withdrew their bows and arrows readying for the attack I would give them.

My hands slowly glew with star bolts and I flew just a few feet from them and I told them to ready themselves. As the orcs drew closer I told them to hold, hold, hold until I shouted.

“RAIN FIRE!!!” The archers then unleashed a rain of arrows down upon any and all orcs that came near the gates while I fired my star bolts at them. This time (and from what I’ve seen of my Starlight kin in the past), when I fired my star bolts it was like an explosion had been set off from underneath their feet. “Don’t you dare let a single one of these foul creatures get one scratch on those doors!” I proclaimed as I kept firing a rain of star bolts upon each and every orc that came near the gates.

Suddenly I felt a burning sensation from behind my eyes. I grunted and tried to rub the feeling away but it kept getting burning brighter and brighter until finally……ZAP!! Star bolts came out of my eyes right at one of the towers which exploded underneath my power.

The burning sensation soon went away and I had recalled. Only Ikaris and Cain were able to do this special move and together they were an unstoppable pair whenever they were able to do this move. They had called it ‘Starlight’s Gazer-beam’. A beam of powerful light that comes out of both eyes but it was as powerful and deadly as dragon-fire.

I smirked deviously and turned my attention back to the orcs. I could hear most that had witnessed what I had done, their hearts racing in fear. My entire body glew brighter but that’s when the sounds of the Nazgul came from above.

This time all nine of them had come to battle, including the Witch King himself. I turned to the guards and proclaimed to them.

“Show them no mercy!” I flew towards the sky and felt my eyes burning once more and I shot a starlight gazer-beam right towards Angmar himself. He swerved his fellbeast aside completely dodging my attack by a hair and turned his attention towards me.

The dark aura of his very spirit had my entire body shaking but I had to do this. I knew he was the greatest threat to this kingdom, so if I take out the head of the snake, we’ll have a slight advantage without his dark magic affecting this city. Plus this fight was personal, he already took Anor I wasn’t going to let him take Gondor too.

The Witch King and I stared each other down as my body continued to glow and shimmer like a star as both fear and rage boiled inside of me like an unknown mixture of stew. I then flew towards him at great speed as I let out a Celestial battle cry which echoed through the entire sky. While at the same time, Angmar urged his fellbeast towards me, screeching out his agonizing shriek wielding his Morgul blade.

I crossed my arms sending out a beam of light towards him, stirring him off course and fired a star bolt right at his back. He turned and urged his fellbeast to follow me. I took them high above the city but down towards the orc armies. As low as I could go whilst exploding through the orc armies to hopefully give Gondor a fighting chance. Angmar used his fellbeast to try and grab me but I fired multiple star bolts right into it’s mouth and face which forced it to rear itself inward and I took off flying back up into the sky.

A few seconds later, Angmar reappeared through the clouds with his flaming sword in hand now and I readied my own attack. My eyes once again feeling that burning sensation until I fully let it out and it hit straight at Angmar’s flaming sword. If I could somehow destroy that, it should lessen some of his powers. If you had to ask me for most powerful weapons, in order I’d tell you it was his famed Morgul blade, followed by his Flaming sword and then his mace.

He blocked himself with his flaming sword, just like I had hoped he would. I increased the power of my Starlight gazer-beam, crying out in rage, regret, and sorrow at all the lives he had taken back at Anor. However I could feel, the power of his sword starting to push my power back towards me.

My body shook and trembled but I tried to push on until finally with a flash of light I was sent falling back towards the city where I had crashed through the White tower of Ecthelion. I slammed through one side of the tower and actually came out the other side until I was skipping and going across the upper courtyard near the palace.

“HELA!!” I let out a groan as I felt small hands grip onto my shoulders. “Miss Hela? Hela?!” I opened my eyes to see Pippin hovering over me and he said in relief, “You’re okay!” he immediately embraced me and that’s when I saw Gandalf running up towards me. Fear suddenly took over me as I told him.

“He’s too powerful. Not even with Ikaris’ power can I stop the Witch King.” Gandalf and Pippin looked at me in despair and horror respectively.

“You will help us with the orcs and trolls. The Nazgul—will have to wait. These men need a commanding officer. They need you Hela.” Gandalf told me. I nodded and grunted in pain as I stood up and returned to my own Celestial armor and summoned Aeglos to my hand.

“Pippin, you wait here and guard the palace. If there is a breach, the city will need you to defend it from harm.” I told him. Pippin nodded and withdrew his sword showing me that he was ready to do his duty as Guard of the Citadel.

“Be careful Hela.” I nodded then both Gandalf and I raced off to command the soldiers of Gondor throughout the battle.

By the time the sun was setting in the West and the first signs of nightfall were upon us, the battle was still raging onward. According to Gandalf the lower levels had been breached, now my main objective was to get the women and children up to the second level. Using Makkari’s speed, I grabbed as many women and children as possible to race them out of harms way before the orc armies could flood into this part of the city.

Once everyone was through, we barred the gates of the second level and I said to some of the guards.

“Gather every bowmen you’ve got left and get them into these buildings, the orcs won’t suspect a surprise attack from the tops of civilian homes. And make sure they barricade the homes once there inside.”

“Yes my lady Celestial.”

“HELA!! HELA!!!” I heard Pippin’s voice calling out to me. Through the panicked crowd I couldn’t see my young hobbit friend but as I pushed through them I finally caught sight of him.

“PIP!!” I called out to him. He raced over to me and cried through the panicked screams.

“Denethor has lost his mind! He’s burning Faramir alive!” my eyes widened.

“Tell me where and hold on!” I picked him up and using Makkari’s speed, we quickly raced to where Denethor had taken Faramir to be burned. But we were stopped by a few guards who sported armor with anti-Celestial runes. I narrowed my eyes and reverted back to my normal armor, my hearing coming back instantly as the leading guard said to me.

“You cannot take another step Celestial Hela, by order of the Steward of Gondor.”

“Clearly you can see that your Steward has gone completely mad! His son is alive and you’re willing to let Faramir be burned alive?! If not then you lot are about as mad as Denethor has become.”

“Hela,” Pippin said to me but I shushed him.

“If you choose to fight us we’ll have no choice but to use extreme measures.” Said the leading guard.

“Hela.” Pippin now began tugging on my trousers like a child demanding attention.

“I’ve fought with worse beings than you lot.”

“Hela!”

“What Peregrin Took!?” I snapped at him.

“There’s something you need to know about these guys.”

“If it’s about the Celestial runes on their armor I can see that Pippin.”

“No, it’s about Haldir.” I froze. I looked down at Pippin and whispered.

“You can’t say his real name here Pippin.”

“Hela, they already know. Haven’t you noticed how he didn’t come to help aid in the fight?” I thought back. Now that he mentioned it, I hadn’t even been able to detect Haldir’s heartbeat within the city at all. “I’m sorry Hela, but—they somehow found out and took him.”

“And you’re sure it was these men here?” I asked lowly.

“I saw it with my own eyes. I even heard someone else’s voice. It was—it frightened me. It was both warm yet unsettling and I swore I saw Haldir’s eyes glow red at one point.” Red eyes? Deimos! I turned to the men and demanded.

“What have you men to say against these allegations? Are they true? Did you apprehend an Elf earlier today?”

“We have no idea what you’re talking about.” Said the leader. Oh they want to play this game, okay I’ll play along.

I lifted my hand as it glowed black with my own magic and all the men lurched forward in agony as they gripped their chests in pain.

“Don’t make me ask twice!” I threatened in a low, menacing tone.

*3rd Person POV*

Over at Minas Morgul, now that the Witch king and the armies of Mordor had finally cleared the fortress, there was no one left but four people. Nergal who was sitting with a Morgul blade in his hand, Perses who stood along the balcony with his arms crossed looking outward towards Gondor, and Deimos stood with a blood stained dagger in his hand and standing right before him in wires was Haldir.

His upperbody stained with blood, bruises, and scars. The wires Haldir had been bounded by were unlike anything he had ever seen or heard of before. With each struggle or even movement he made, the wires would dig into his skin like a knife causing not only pain but discomfort. And they also seemed to get tighter with each movement he made.

“I’ll admit, I’ve had my fill but now I’m growing bored, why can’t we just kill this Elfling and be done with him already?” Deimos said.

“What good is he to us if he’s dead? We want him alive for Hela’s arrival.” Nergal said. That’s when Perses’ brow rose up and he moved toward the balcony and he said in a low menacing growl.

“It’s happening.” Deimos and Nergal turned to him. “Can’t you feel it? She’s finally giving in.” Deimos smelled the air and exhaled pleasurable and said with a menacing grin.

“He’s right, I can smell her rage from here. And she’s close, so very close to spilling that blood in raw rage.”

“Seems you were right Perses, all she needed was that extra little push.”

“Soon the Celestial of Death will arrive and she’ll be at our mercy. Then all of Middle Earth shall bow before us.” Perses then let out a menacing cackle which echoed through the mountains surrounding Minas Morgul.

Back at Gondor, Pippin stood there terrified at seeing Hela, the woman he came to admire as a sister figure suddenly become this raging, terrifying deity who didn’t seem to show any mercy. The men had now been submitted to unspeakable torture thanks to Hela’s own magic.

They were all now writing in agony on the floor as it had felt like they were burning from the inside out.

“You tell me where he is now!?” with a flick upward of her wrist the men were now levitating upside down, the blood quickly rushing to their heads but they also felt their own hearts slowly stopping as Hela’s hand slowly closed into a fist.

“ALRIGHT WE’LL TELL YOU!!” proclaimed one of the other guards.

“YES WE’LL TELL YOU ANYTHING! PLEASE HAVE MERCY ON US!!” exclaimed another guard. Hela put those two men down and as they let out a long gasp of air before coughing, they were suddenly dragged forward towards Hela and she gripped their throats and demanded.

“Talk.”

“Lord Perses suspected of an Elf being in this city. He had ordered all of us to be on the lookout and if we were to find it, we had to surrender it to them.”

“Haldir is not an IT!” Hela’s voice got low before growling menacingly as she squeezed the guard’s throat tightly.

“My apologizes my lady!” he choked out.

“Where did you take him?!” she growled.

“To Minas Morgul.” Said the other guard she had in her grasp. “He said if we found the Elf, to take him there. We don’t know what they had planned for him there! We swear!” Hela released their throats and stood still. As the men coughed and quickly ran as fast as they could away screaming in fear, Pippin looked up to Hela.

“Hela? A-are you—okay?” suddenly the ground began to shake. The men Hela still had hanging upside down, had finally been released from their spell and called out a retreat. The whole city soon began to shake as if an earthquake was about to bring the city to the ground. Pippin turned to Hela to see her hands had clenched up so hard, that her knuckles not only grew white but blood was dripping from her palm.

Her hair began to raise up and wave like a banner and her eyes suddenly glew a pure white and she let out a scream. Like when she had her ‘Celestial roar’ back during the Battle of the Five armies when Thorin betrayed her trust.

However unlike before when her power was nulled, this time the full wrath of the Celestial’s roar could be heard. And with Hela’s powers increased tenfold since then, it shook the entire kingdom of Gondor.

And when both men and orcs heard her scream, they thought at first it was a Nazgul scream however unlike theirs, it was more raw, more painful, and more angrier than theirs. Everyone had no choice but to cover their ears less they wish to have their very ears explode off their face.

Her black magic began to surround her like a hurricane as she was lifted up into the sky. Pippin held on for dear life as he watched in heartbreak and horror at Hela’s powers become erratic and unstable. He let out a grunt as he tried to walk towards her through the powerful winds that her magic was bringing about.

When he found her, he reached up and grabbed her ankle as her head immediately faced towards him, a contorted face of pure rage stared down at him, almost like she didn’t even recognize him. But Pippin held firm as he pulled on her leg till she came down, when she came to her knees he immediately embraced her as tight as he could hoping that it would bring her out of this rageful state.

Then as quick as it had occurred, her magic vanished and all went still and quiet once again. Hela’s glowing eyes reverted back to her normal eye color and said wept.

“It’s all my fault.”

“Go after him.” Hela turned to the young hobbit. “I understand now. Back in Lothlorien, why you were away from us that whole time we were there. And what you had told Merry and I when we rested near those falls about your failed relationship. It was him wasn’t it? Haldir is the elf you love and still love.”

“I can’t go to Minas Morgul. That place it—they know that’s the one place I can never go to.”

“But you love him, and he loves you. Otherwise he wouldn’t have come back to you, right?” Pippin wiped away her fallen tears. “A Celestial goes to where they are needed, and that right now is with Haldir. Go after him.” Hela embraced Pippin and he gave her a kiss on her cheek. “I’ll find Gandalf, thanks to what you did you might’ve spared us some time. Not even Denethor could’ve ignored that.” Hela softly chuckled but then stood up and turned to Minas Morgul. She shifted into Makkari’s armor and she quickly raced out of the city and ran towards Minas Morgul.

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frodothefair · 1 year ago

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꧁ The Flowers of Mordor ꧂

Chapter 8 - Of Lembas and Hydrangeas

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SUMMARY : Sam knows he cannot tear himself in two, but Frodo's struggles after the quest are worsening. Marigold Gamgee gets a job at Bag End, and grows close to its enigmatic master. J. R. R. Tolkien meets Jane Austen meets Tess of the D'Urbervilles. CHAPTER SUMMARY : Frodo recalls certain details of the quest, and loses touch with reality. Sam helps him find his way back. PAIRING : Frodo/Marigold Gamgee, Frodo/Sam secondary GENRES : hurt/comfort, angst, slow burn romance, slice of life, girl next door WARNINGS : PTSD, depression, panic attacks, eating disorder, eventual spicy scenes RATING : M

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“But you are here, Mr. Frodo. You’re here. In the Shire. With me. Your Sam.” Tears thickened in his voice with every word. “It’s – No… The past – that’s – that’s gone. You’re here now. Safe. We’re safe.”

“I know, Sam.” Frodo nodded. “I know.”

Sam began to massage again, wiping a tear with his fist.

“You’re here,” he repeated. “We’re here. In Bag End, Mr. Frodo. It’s August. The tomatoes and the squash have come in, and the melons. We’ll be having some for dessert soon.” His voice cracked. “And today, the sun was very warm. I was sweatin’ buckets, and they were makin’ hay in the fields.”

His fingers were rubbing small, yet insistent circles into tired flesh, coaxing blood to Frodo’s skin. He made his way up to Frodo’s shoulders once again, and then over his torso – avoiding old wounds.

Summer bloomed on, and soon August was on the wane. It was still warm, and Sam wore a thin shirt and breeches as he worked in the garden, while Marigold had not yet exchanged her under-dresses for the ones with long sleeves. Inside Bag End, it was pleasantly cool, and as crop after crop came in of lush peppers, fragrant tomatoes and crisp cucumbers, they continued to eat salads with every meal, and Marigold began to talk of canning.

One warm, late-summer day, Frodo was sitting closer to the windows than usual, and looking out at the greenery past the wine-colored, translucent cloth. Passing by with the laundry, Marigold paused in the doorway and said, “You know, Mr. Frodo, we really ought to get you outside more. It’s such a fine day.”

And before he knew it, he replied that he would not be averse, though the brightness might rather hurt his eyes.

And to that, Marigold responded by disappearing into one of the clothing rooms and emerging with a wide-brimmed hat that he had quite forgotten he owned – for he himself did not garden often.

And so they stationed Frodo outside on the bench, book in hand, in shirtsleeves and hat and in plain view of Sam, toward later in the afternoon when the sun had tipped over the zenith and had spent some of its heat.

“Just a few minutes at a time – that ought to do a body good,” Marigold had said, and disappeared.

She even left a cup of water for him.

Frodo watched Sam hilling the potatoes.

The air was balmy and sweet, and the rich smell of earth and of fresh cut grass filled his lungs. Beyond the hills and the roofs of other hobbit holes, he could, if he squinted, see the glistening Water, and thought of how pleasant it might be to run over the soft, thick grass, stretching his limbs, shaking out the fatigue and plunging straight into the cool river, to the head-shaking and muttering of hobbits walking past. That is, if his body would still obey him, it would have been a fine thing to do.

“May I smoke, Mr. Frodo?”

It had not taken long to get lost in thought, and he had not noticed Sam take a seat beside him.

Sam stretched his legs, putting his arms over the back of the bench, and threw back his head.

Frodo nodded. He liked the flowery, dark smell of pipe weed still, though smoking it now made his heart race.

Sam extracted a pipe from his knapsack, which he had left on the bench before Frodo had gotten there, and struck a match.

The two were silent for a spell.

Whereas Marigold was always fain to comment on things and ask questions, with Sam there was often no need for talking. Having lived and traveled together as much as they had, there were moments when their minds were all but one, forming a cloud that enveloped them away from the world.

“This is what we saved the Shire for, isn’t it, Mr. Frodo?” Sam pulled contentedly at his pipe.

Frodo could not disagree. A cart moved slowly down the road, away by the horizon, and a hobbit in a yard nearby hailed his neighbor. The two then came together to speak over a fence. A goldcrest began to warble in a nearby tree. The mild breeze caressed his skin.

He recalled how he and Faramir had sat, not long ago, on a sunlit wall in Gondor in much the same way, with the stern, proud beauty of the White City rising up behind them. Faramir had spoken with such love for his native land that Frodo could not help but long for the Shire, but also to comprehend just how alike the peoples of Middle Earth really were.

“More than the Shire, Sam,” he mused. “More than just the Shire.”

“True, very true, Mr. Frodo.” Sam nodded. He put aside his pipe, and unwrapped something in a piece of paper.

“You know, Mr. Frodo,” he said, “The mallorn tree is right beautiful now. It would be a fine thing to see it. Just like the ones in Lothlorien, it is – bark smooth and silver-gray, and the leaves shimmerin’ in the breeze, green and silver. I’m sure you would like it. We can go together.”

He withdrew a thick, white wafer from the wrapping.

Had it truly been that long? Frodo had first heard of the mallorn flowering in April, and he had told himself many times that he would go see it, and now it was nearly September.

He nodded. “I should like that very much, Sam. Perhaps tomorrow.”

Sam extended the wafer to Frodo.

Frodo shook his head.

Sam took a bite, and closed his eyes. Then another, and another. A sweet, elated feeling spread over his face. He ate, more quickly with every bite now, and by the end, he was eating so fast that his teeth could barely chew and his throat could barely swallow fast enough. Still, when he finished the loaf he looked disappointed, and picked off the crumbs from his chin and the paper, consuming them too.

Sam ate like that often these days – it seemed that where Frodo’s appetite had diminished, Sam’s had correspondingly grown, and he ate each meal like it was his last. Still, Sam’s enjoyment of this particular bread had eclipsed even his usual gusto.

“Sam… what is that?”

Frodo’s curiosity, despite his stomach’s melancholy state, had been aroused.

Sam looked up from folding the paper, and smiled sheepishly.

“Oh, this?” He chuckled. “I’ve been tryin’ to make lembas – and now Rosie and my sisters have joined in. We’ve made it a game of sorts.”

“Lembas?”

Sam picked up one remaining crumb, and licked it off his finger. His elated expression returned.

“Mind you, it’s nothing like real lembas. Just the taste and the feel of it that we’ve been tryin’ to make. But this im’tation is passing fair, I’d say. I think it’s Marigold’s, in fact. I’ll bring more next time so you can try it.”

“My dear Sam!”

Sam placed the paper back in his knapsack.

“To tell you the truth, Mr. Frodo,” he went on, “I couldn’t stand the sight of anything that looked, or felt, or even smelled like lembas at first. I thought I’d eaten enough of it for one lifetime. But lately I’ve been getting a hankering for it, and now it’s all I want. Same as I can’t stop eatin’ whenever I sit down – it’s unnat’ral, I tell you, even for a hobbit. I’m sorry I didna leave you any.”

Sam looked down at his hands – a habit that he shared with Marigold, Frodo realized. They both did it when they were embarrassed.

“It’s alright, Sam,” Frodo replied. “I said I didn’t want it. And you were hungry. We were both hungry.” He looked at Sam significantly. “More hungry than any hobbit had ever been, or likely will be. That’s not a thing you soon forget.”

He reached out toward Sam, and Sam’s hands came to meet his – the rough and brown cradling the smaller and less calloused. But Frodo readjusted his hold, so that their fingers were intertwined.

Sam shifted toward him, and Frodo leaned his head onto his shoulder. And for a while they were those two hobbits once again – huddled together on the side of a dark mountain, a rough, treacherous staircase leading up its side, the wind’s cold, hard fingers prying underneath their cloaks. Gollum was lurking nearby. The two hobbits were eating lembas, its sweet, dry texture caking their tongues.

Frodo felt a coldness in his chest, despite the summer day. His throat tensed up, and he felt dizzy and faint. Sam’s hands, the picket fence, the sky above – they all felt very far away.

“I’m sorry, Sam.” He rallied the last of his strength and got up, unlacing their fingers. “I’ve got to go. It’s getting too hot.”

“Sam, do you have any notion of why Mr. Frodo came in from the outside, made straight for his room and hasn’t been seen since – and it’s been more than an hour?”

Sam looked up. The hilling of the vegetables done, he had been hard at work mending the rabbit-proof fence, which had turned out to be less rabbit-proof than hoped.

“What – what do you mean?” He squinted into the sunlight – balmy and outlining his sister’s figure, her hands at her hips.

“I mean just that,” Marigold replied. “He does that sometimes. Gets up and disappears with nary a word. Stays in his room for an hour or more, then reappears – at times like nothing’s happened, and at times with an odd look in his eye. So that’s why I wonder, did somethin’ happen just before that made him do it? I don’t know him so well as you, so I wonder, was he like that before? When you were doin’ for him at Bag End?”

Sam blinked, wiping the sweat from his brow.

“Well, no, not that I remember. Did you try knocking?”

“Of course I did.” Marigold clicked her tongue. “But he won’t answer.”

“Won’t answer?”

“Won’t open the door, won’t say a word. But I can hear him breathing in there, and the floorboards creaking, so he can’t be asleep. And he’s not crying or moaning, so I s’ppose he’s not so badly off, but it’s queer. And I wonder if there’s anything we ought to be –”

Sam got up with a decisive start.

“And you didn’t think to just go in?”

“He’s a gentlehobbit, Sam. I can’t just go into his room without permission – leastwise not unless I know there’s an emergency. That’s why I thought –”

But Sam was already walking away, shaking the dirt out of his foot hair.

For it had indeed seemed odd that Frodo left so abruptly, though at first he had tried to pay it no mind. This was Frodo, after all, and Frodo liked to wander off to parts unknown, both in body and mind. But he would always come back, and out of respect, Sam might have done what Marigold did at first, and let him be. But over an hour and no response was another matter entirely. And apparently this was a pattern now, of literally shutting people out?

The Frodo he knew would not do this.

Sam stood outside Frodo’s bedroom, and could feel his heart in his chest.

“Mr. Frodo?”

Silence.

Sam knocked.

“Mr. Frodo?”

Silence again.

Sam brought his ear to the door and thought he could hear some shifting around, as well as a drawn breath – and he let out the breath he was holding.

The door stood hulking between them – a ponderous, heavy door, much like the one to the Mines of Moria, though that one had a clever riddle for a key.

Speak Friend and enter.

A friend would know what to say, but for once in his life Sam was at a loss.

In truth, in the months that followed their return, Frodo had developed an increasing reluctance to speak about his troubles. The closest thing was when he offered Sam and Rosie to come live with him, but even that was couched in a comment about “Number 3 not being made of rubber.” And Sam wasn’t blind – he had seen Frodo and Bag End deteriorate by the day as the deep fatigue and indifference took hold – so had he moved in, caring for Frodo would have been all he wanted to do. But his life was rapidly changing. Not only was there Rosie and their future to think of, but there were many others who suddenly wanted and needed his help, much to his surprise – and he was not adept at refusing. He found himself increasingly being torn in two – or even three or four, so short of actually splitting himself apart, sending Marigold to Bag End was the best thing he could think of. Some even said that, had Marigold been born a lad, she and Sam would have been two peas in a pod.

But there were some things Marigold could not do – at least not yet. So Sam took a breath, and pushed open the door.

“Mr. Frodo, begging your pardon, I’m coming in.”

No guessing of riddles was needed.

Frodo was sitting on the floor against the wall, his legs at sharp angles like the vault of a pitched roof. There was a vacant, faraway look in his eyes.

Sam rushed to his side, falling to his knees and grabbing hold of his hands.

“Mr. Frodo. My dear. What’s the matter? Say something, please.”

Frodo’s hands were cold, like his whole left side had been when he was convalescing from the witch-king’s wound. He looked paler than usual, too, and his pulse was thin.

He did not reply immediately. In fact, despite Sam’s quickness, and despite his hands being in Sam’s, he was still very slow to face his friend, and slower yet to meet his eyes.

“I… don’t quite know, Sam…”

It was like all signals had been slowed and warped. His own voice came from very far away, and he felt Sam’s touch as if through a thick blanket.

“This… sometimes happens… I don’t feel… quite here?”

Sam’s face looked anxious – but his panic was starting to give way. Speaking took some doing – he could not vouch for his own tongue – but the melting of the fear in Sam’s eyes was well worth the effort.

“Oh, Mr. Frodo…” Sam rubbed his master’s hands, and brought them to his lips. His face quaked.

“I’ll be… Alright… Sam... Don’t worry… It’ll pass…”

Of course, “not quite here” did not at all do it justice, but Frodo thought it best not to elaborate. Its hold was slowly lessening, but whenever it began, everything would fall into shadow, and a cold pall would settle over his limbs. His heart would be seized by a nameless fear – and at times he would hear whispers, lose his vision or hearing or speech, and feel like really he might cross over into another realm and not come back… The only thing to do in such moments was to hide, lest he actually lose control and frighten those around him.

In fact, he had frightened a few people when he was mayor of Michel Delving. One of his first spells came on during a meeting with the sheriffs, and his tongue had ceased to obey him altogether. He had managed to play it off as a bout of indigestion, but it was also, in part, why he had resigned as quickly as possible.

But just then he felt too tired and weak, even, to pull his hands out of Sam’s grasp – in fact he could barely feel own hands, or Sam’s. He could not tell Sam to leave him be, either – his tongue felt like tar, and Sam was still plainly worried – so Frodo kept still.

“Well, Mr. Frodo,” Sam finally said. “Let’s not have you sitting on the floor, at least. Let’s get you in bed.”

And before Frodo could protest – the bed, in fact, had not been a place of pleasant memories – Sam lifted him up – far more easily than he had done at Mount Doom, and carried him over, thankfully, to the side of the bed where he slept less often.

As Sam put him down, he lingered for a moment, holding Frodo in a gentle embrace, then let him rest against the pillows.

“Goodness, Mr. Frodo.” He shook his head. “ I know Mari’s been tryin’, but we really ought to get you eatin’ more. You’re right skin an’ bones, an’ so light to carry…”

He sat on the bed and rubbed Frodo’s forearms. He looked like he might have kissed Frodo on the forehead – which, Frodo had to admit, would not have been unwelcome. As the cold feeling ebbed, it left an orphan’s yearning to be held.

Sam furrowed his brow, and peered into the other hobbit’s face.

“Mr. Frodo” – his hands methodically, tenderly traveled up his friend’s arms and over his shoulders. “When you say you don’t feel quite there, what do you mean? Is it faint or weak? Or is it somethin’ else?”

Frodo shook his head.

“No.” He squinted – the curtains were not fully drawn, and a sliver of bright light had made its way in. “It’s not… just faint and weak. It’s – hard to explain…”

His eyes fell on a vase of flowers atop the dresser. Blue hydrangeas, cut and brought in by Marigold – their round, downy heads bent over the sides of a wide-lipped, oval vase.

“I feel like I’m… disappearing, Sam… That’s the best way I can explain it. Like I’m fading… And everything’s far away.”

His lips and tongue were still obeying him only reluctantly, and his usual felicity for words was nowhere to be found. Sam’s speech still sounded warped now and again, and it was hard to tell how far away things were – Sam seemed, by turns, both near at hand and a thousand leagues away. He tried to focus on Sam’s face; the rest of the bedroom was, for the moment, less distinct.

“Oh, Mr. Frodo… Even still?”

Sam stopped massaging and took up Frodo’s hands again.

Frodo nodded.

“I feel like I did back then... It happens… When I remember. But not every time.”

In fact, if it did not happen during his and Marigold’s lessons, it was only because he had more control – he could paraphrase past some of the more jagged parts, he could inform, smile, and pause, and used each of these tricks in turn like railings to keep himself upright. But with Sam, his imagination had no such protection: what had happened had happened, and they had shared in every painful part of it.

Tears glimmered in the gardener's eyes. He squeezed Frodo’s hands tight between his.

“I know, Sam.” Frodo nodded. “I know.”

Sam began to massage again, wiping a tear with his fist.

He paused. His look was less tearful now, and he seemed to have an inkling of an idea.

“But tell me, Mr. Frodo, what do you see? Right here, in this room.”

Frodo looked uncertainly around him. His skin was feeling warmer, and by dint of Sam’s efforts, he felt less like he was wrapped up in a blanket of numbness.

“I see… My bed?.. My dresser?”

Sam nodded, encouragingly.

“Do you remember what the dresser’s made of?”

Frodo tried to remember, but his thoughts did not move fast.

“Mahogany, I think?”

“And what’s on top of your dresser?”

Come to think of it, what was on top of it?

He squinted. Ah, yes.

“A mirror… Blue flowers in a vase.”

“Do you remember where the flowers came from?”

“The garden. We have… a hydrangea bush.”

Sam nodded along to each of his answers.

“And I see you, too, Sam. You’re wearing a linen shirt… And your hair is lighter from being out in the sun… And your hands… They smell like the garden, still…”

With some effort, Frodo raised his hands and put them on top of Sam’s.

“And Marigold... I don’t see her, but I know she’s around here somewhere….”

Sam felt a catch in his throat. Suddenly, he was not so keen on Frodo thinking about Marigold.

He extracted his hands, gently, from underneath Frodo’s, and covered them with his own.

“That’s good, Mr. Frodo. Very good. Now tell me some things you feel. Meanin’ with your body. How do my hands feel, for instance?”

“Your hands, Sam?”

Frodo paused. He looked down.

“Your hands feel good, Sam… Very good. They feel heavy. Warm.”

“And the bed?”

“That feels good too. Soft.”

Frodo suddenly wanted to be under the covers, ensconced away from the world, as if in a cocoon.

He closed his eyes, letting himself feel the warmth, the heaviness, the softness.

It would have been pretty to think, if a world could consist of just such things: of heavy, warm hands, of flowers and dressers, of hay being made in fields – a world populated by Sams and Marigolds and other such kind people. What a beautiful world it would be.

And yet, so much depended on such a world.

Sam drew a quilt around him – a small quilt that had been folded at the foot of the bed.

“And how does this feel?”

Frodo opened his eyes, and ran a hand over the piecework surface. Neat, orderly triangles in lavender, blue and green, the threads running like dashes under his fingers. His mother and his Brandybuck aunts had made it, and it was one of his possessions that had followed him to Bag End.

By Elbereth, Sam knew how to keep things green — how to tend to things in danger of falling apart in the world. If not for Bilbo’s influence, he might never have been one for elaborate flowers, or bushes of complex and delicate rarities, but the garden he kept at Bag End was always spectacularly, gorgeously alive. He knew the immediate wisdom of small truths, how the tiniest details could keep things tied inexplicably, marvelously, together.

In the garden, it was good, clear water, perfectly timed with the sun. It was peaty, wormy dirt, and it was good, thick shade where it needed to be. On their long walk to Mount Doom, it was elvish rope, simple knots, and an outrageous, almost contrarian hope.

And here, hovering above him, it was this earnest string of questions. Which flowers? Remember? Which month? Remember? How does it feel, this quilt?

Small things. Trivialities, really. But they reached out to him from the world on thin, thin strings, then touched him, stitched themselves into his thoughts and bore him up.

Sam could have grown lily-pads in the snow.

“It feels… like someone worked very hard on this,” Frodo replied. “It’s so… intricate.”

Intricate!

A Frodo-word if there ever was one, and not wrenched from him by necessity like “mahogany” and “hydrangea” had been… The felicity for words was coming back.

“And you know who that someone was, don’t you, Mr. Frodo?”

“Of course… I do.”

But he did not want to speak of her. A silent remembrance was enough. He wanted, instead, to think only of this day. He wanted Sam’s hands, and Marigold’s flowers. Intensely, fiercely so, like he had never wanted anything in his life.

He clasped Sam’s hand.

“Mr. Frodo,” Sam asked, “Do you think you could do this? When you feel poorly, I mean? Name the things you can see, hear, touch, and smell? No need to go anywhere ‘cept the place you already are – but methinks, you could feel more here.”

Frodo nodded.

“I think I could. If I start early enough.”

He closed his eyes again.

Hear. They had not done that one yet.

He listened for Marigold clattering with dishes in the kitchen, and for her footstep on the floorboards in the hall, but the house was quiet.

“I hear the birds warbling outside,” he said, “And the wood settling, and you breathing, Sam.”

“Oh, Mr. Frodo… My dear…”

Sam suddenly looked as if his strength was spent, and he bent his head low, coming to rest by his beloved master. Frodo wrapped his arms around him.

“My dear Sam.”

He kissed Sam on the forehead.

Sam’s shoulders shook.

“Sam… I am so grateful to you… For everything. Rest a bit. You work so hard.”

He brushed back the soft, sun-blonde hair, and Sam opened his eyes. He looked at Frodo like there was something he wanted and needed – something he could neither understand nor name – but so it went. It was not the first time that Sam had looked at him like that – and in truth, they carried each other. He carried Sam’s pain, too, though in many ways, since it was Sam, it was surprisingly easy. He had only to reassure him with a kind word or a press of the hand, and Sam was quickly glad and strong again, and stubbornly ready to carry enough for two.

“Just… no lembas for me for a while, alright?” Frodo added, his knuckle running over a stubborn cowlick. “Just maybe some blackberries instead?”

Sam had told her to stay nearby, and he would call her if he needed. So she lingered close to the bedroom in the hallway, close enough to hear voices but not close enough to know what was being said. Sam had not fully shut the door behind him, and at first, she had tried not to look – in fact had pointedly looked away – but then she heard what could only have been Sam picking Frodo up off the floor and carrying him to the bed. Her curiosity got the better of her, so she inched closer, and witnessed Sam leaning over Frodo, massaging him desperately – tenderly, as the two spoke in hushed tones. Her heart descended, momentarily, to the pit of her stomach – would Sam be angry with her? Should she have sounded the alarm on Frodo’s behavior sooner? The Mrs. Bracegirdle who still lived rent-free in her head began to chide her for her carelessness, and she had to screw her knuckles into her eyes and shake her head until the imaginary midwife – who was quite a bit taller in Marigold’s racing mind – had gone quiet.

When she looked up, Sam and Frodo were lying down together and Frodo was hugging… Sam? Had one of them been a lad, and the other a lass, Marigold would have thought the scene was not one she should be witnessing – but they were two lads, undoubtedly. Good, inseparable friends. But oddly enough, Sam was the one in pieces now, and it was Frodo’s turn to be sincerely concerned, stroking her brother’s hair.

Indeed, there had always been a special intimacy between those two – going back to the days when they would tramp around the Shire and Frodo would join Sam pottering around the garden, and Sam would only pretend to work while the Gaffer’s back was turned. They seemed to understand each other at half a word, and moved like there was an invisible string between them. They even had a way of communicating not just with the eyes and facial expressions, but without doing or saying anything at all.

And despite her childish love for Mr. Frodo, Marigold had never especially been jealous of it all. It seemed silly to be jealous of something so ineffable. Even if it was her in Sam’s place, what Frodo and Sam shared could never be replicated, nor would she want it to be. In fact, in her love for Mr. Frodo, it was part of why she was often content to watch from afar. It was extraordinary to see how Frodo could be with other people. How he could be with Sam.

But now, it would have been a lie to say that she did not wish for it to be her – that she did not wish for her and Sam to trade places. She imagined Frodo close to her breast, the mild weight of his head upon her shoulder. She thought of how it would be to rub his cold, pale limbs to bring the blood back where it belonged, talking to him softly, making her his safe harbor. She touched fingertips to her cheek, then her clavicle – where she might have cradled his head – and felt a prickle over the roof of her mouth and behind her eyes.

Oh, Frodo. Poor Mr. Frodo. What evils have you seen?

She had a feeling that the story she had heard was only the fireside, young ones’ version of the truth.

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hopecomesbacktolife · 1 year ago

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thinking again of Theoden’s reply to Saruman in The Two Towers (book 3, chapter 10, The Voice of Saruman) and how it’s still one of my favorite parts in all of lotr ❣️

(the quote below is slightly abridged as the full scene in the chapter is a bit too long for a single text post but. yeah. it’s so good ♡)

“… ‘But you, Théoden Lord of the Mark of Rohan, are declared by your noble devices, and still more by the fair countenance of the House of Eorl. O worthy son of Thengel the Thrice-renowned! Why have you not come before, and as a friend? Much have I desired to see you, mightiest king of western lands, and especially in these latter years, to save you from the unwise and evil counsels that beset you! Is it yet too late? Despite the injuries that have been done to me, in which the men of Rohan, alas! have had some part, still I would save you, and deliver you from the ruin that draws nigh inevitably, if you ride upon this road which you have taken. Indeed I alone can aid you now… what have you to say, Théoden King? Will you have peace with me, and all the aid that my knowledge, founded in long years, can bring? Shall we make our counsels together against evil days, and repair our injuries with such good will that our estates shall both come to fairer flower than ever before?’

Still Théoden did not answer. Whether he strove with anger or doubt none could say. Éomer spoke.

‘Lord, hear me!’ he said. ‘Now we feel the peril that we were warned of. Have we ridden forth to victory, only to stand at last amazed by an old liar with honey on his forked tongue? So would the trapped wolf speak to the hounds, if he could. What aid can he give to you, forsooth? All he desires is to escape from his plight. But will you parley with this dealer in treachery and murder? Remember Théodred at the Fords, and the grave of Háma in Helm’s Deep!’

‘If we speak of poisoned tongues what shall we say of yours, young serpent?’ said Saruman, and the flash of his anger was now plain to see. ‘But come, Éomer, Éomund’s son!’ he went on in his soft voice again. ‘To every man his part. Valour in arms is yours, and you win high honour thereby. Slay whom your lord names as enemies, and be content. Meddle not in policies which you do not understand. But maybe, if you become a king, you will find that he must choose his friends with care. The friendship of Saruman and the power of Orthanc cannot be lightly thrown aside, whatever grievances, real or fancied, may lie behind. You have won a battle but not a war – and that with help on which you cannot count again. You may find the Shadow of the Wood at your own door next: it is wayward, and senseless, and has no love for Men.

‘But my lord of Rohan, am I to be called a murderer, because valiant men have fallen in battle? If you go to war, needlessly, for I did not desire it, then men will be slain. But if I am a murderer on that account, then all the House of Eorl is stained with murder; for they have fought many wars, and assailed many who defied them. Yet with some they have afterwards made peace, none the worse for being politic. I say, Théoden King: shall we have peace and friendship, you and I? It is ours to command.’

‘We will have peace,’ said Théoden at last thickly and with an effort. Several of the Riders cried out gladly. Théoden held up his hand. ‘Yes, we will have peace,’ he said, now in a clear voice, ‘we will have peace, when you and all your works have perished – and the works of your dark master to whom you would deliver us. You are a liar, Saruman, and a corrupter of men’s hearts. You hold out your hand to me, and I perceive only a finger of the claw of Mordor. Cruel and cold! Even if your war on me was just – as it was not, for were you ten times as wise you would have no right to rule me and mine for your own profit as you desired – even so, what will you say of your torches in Westfold and the children that lie dead there? And they hewed Háma’s body before the gates of the Hornburg, after he was dead. When you hang from a gibbet at your window for the sport of your own crows, I will have peace with you and Orthanc. So much for the House of Eorl. A lesser son of great sires am I, but I do not need to lick your fingers. Turn elsewhither. But I fear your voice has lost its charm.’”

#major lotr feels rn #book quotes #tolkien #god I love this scene. so much.#<333 #it’s so good !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#rohirrim my beloved #the two towers #the voice of saruman #we will have peace #god I just. ♡THÉODEN♡

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frodo-with-glasses · 3 years ago

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More Reading Thoughts: The Passage of the Marshes

Gollum has a very distinct gait in my mind. Sort of like a bent-over run (Naruto Run LOL) that occasionally transitions into an all-fours gallop and then back up again on two speedy little legs. If I were any better at animating, I’d be able to show you all.

Lots of descriptions of Gollum’s eyes: the eerie gleam in them when he mentions fish, and the way they bug out and give a greenish light when Frodo asks if he’s hungry. I wish I could think of a way to draw these things.

Sam whispers to Frodo. Frodo answers out loud. Both of them know what Gollum can hear them and deal with it in exactly opposite ways. Tag yourself, I’m Frodo.

Gollum: Promises not to throttle you in your sleep but totally would. Sam: Promises he will throttle you in your sleep but actually wouldn’t.

“He restrained the thoughts of his sword and the rope that sprang to his mind, and went and sat down by his master.” Next paragraph: “When he woke up…” Me: *SPITS DRINK*

It really do be like that sometimes LOL

“Don’t think of any of your Gaffer’s hard names.” So question: when Sam told the whole story to Frodo, did he mutter under his breath “my old Gaffer would have a thing or two to say about…”, or did Frodo just know that Sam was internally calling himself ninnyhammer? Because both are fantastic.

“But Samwise Gamgee, my dear hobbit—indeed, Sam my dearest hobbit, friend of friends—” *lies on my face* *lies on my face* *LIES ON MY FACE* *LIES ON MY—*

“He took his master’s hand and bent over it. He did not kiss it, though his tears fell on it.” *lies on my face and SCREEEEEAAAMS*

(I got so worked up over this that I accidentally published this post instead of saving it in drafts and I had to delete it and write the whole thing over again LOL)

MY BOYS

MY LADSSSSS

LEAVE ME ALONE I’M EMOTIONAL

THEY LOVE EACH OTHER SO MUCH I FREAKING D I E

Also this just solidifies for me that Frodo’s love language is “words of affirmation” and Sam’s are “acts of service” and “physical touch”. And like. Wow. Could you choose a more potent combination to absolutely kill me on the spot.

I’m gonna have to scream about this more in another post otherwise this one will get too long

Gotta say, based on the description in the book, I think the movies captured the Dead Marshes really well. Maybe a bit too well.

*Gollum voice* No, no nice crunchable birdses.

Frodo. Frodo why is there slime and water on your hands. Frodo we’re in the Dead Marshes. Frodo what did you do.

“Three precious little Gollums in a row we shall be, if this goes on much longer.” Sam’s sass is the only thing keeping me going right now.

Not me looking up Tolkien Gateway and comparing dates to see whether it was an Eagle that scattered the clouds above the Dead Marshes. (Spoiler: No, no it probably wasn’t.)

But that does raise the question: Can the Ringwraiths control the weather? Already we had one appear along with a storm while Frodo and Sam were on the Emyn Muil, and now we have one that comes with a change of the wind. Coincidence?? Who knows??

Boy, this is a bleak chapter. I’m running out of funny or clever things to say. I think I’m beginning to feel as sapped as Frodo does….

“Lord Sméagol? Gollum the Great? The Gollum! Eat fish every day, three times a day, fresh from the sea. Most Precious Gollum!” It’s simultaneously adorable and horrifying that eating fish all day is Gollum’s highest dream and aspiration, and yet he’s still the most pressing and immediate danger to the hobbits and the fate of Middle Earth. I’m taking mental notes that the most dangerous antagonist doesn’t have to be the one with the biggest ambitions.

Man, I almost wish they’d included the “diseased, poisoned” field between the Marshes and Mordor in the films. I’d want to see how they’d capture it. I’m seeing something like the Spike Field of the Long-Time Nuclear Waste Warning Messages, pocketed with steaming pits of gasoline.

“Gollum welcomed him with dog-like delight. He chuckled and chattered, cracking his long fingers, and pawing at Frodo’s knees. Frodo smiled at him.” This after he was arguing with himself whether or not to kiLL FRODO. NOPE, NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE

#gollum #frodo baggins #samwise gamgee #lord of the rings #lotr #my writing #assorted thoughts #this post is the one that was gonna have the invisible long-time nuclear waste warning messages text #settled for a drawing instead

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bisexualbumblebee-writes · 2 years ago

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Of Princes and Witches Chapter 18- Legolas Greenleaf x OC

Legolas Greenleaf x Alphine Barrowes

Description: The Fellowship travels to the Black Gate to cause a distraction while Frodo and Sam grow nearer to Mount Doom. And it works.

Word Count: 2.4k

A/N: Guys, we are now only two chapters away from finally ending this series :( I almost don't want it to end. I had so much fun writing this. I honestly may write another series with an oc insert for either The Hobbit or Lord of the Rings after this haha. But, we must get through this and the next two chapters, so enjoy!

Alphine sat atop Talysan outside the Black Gate to Mordor. What was left of the armies of Gondor and Rohan were behind her and the rest of the Fellowship, who all sat on horses of their own (aside from Gimli, who rode with Legolas, Merry who sat with Aragorn, and Pippin, who rode with Alphine). The gate was closed to the rest of the world, with no life sounding on the other side. Everyone watched it in silence, waiting for something to happen, but nothing did.

“Where are they?” Pippin asked nervously. Aragorn glanced at the Hobbit, sharing his unease (albeit subtly), before riding towards the gate. Gandalf, Legolas, Gimli, Eomer and Alphine followed him.

“Let the Lord of the Black Land come forth,” Aragorn shouted at the gate. “Let justice be done upon him!” As if on cue the gates opened just a sliver, forcing the horses to back up a bit. Out came Sauron’s Lieutenant, whose face was little more than a large mouth with disgusting yellowing teeth and a helmet atop his head. A shiver shot up the Witch’s spine. He was horrific to even look at.

“My master Sauron the Great bids thee welcome,” he started, voice hissing like a snake grew vocal chords. “Is there any in this rout with authority to treat with me?”

“We do not come to treat with Sauron, faithless and accursed,” Gandalf responded. “Tell your master this: the armies of Mordor must disband. He is to depart with these lands, never to return.” The mouth laughed, and what a horrid sound it was.

“Old Graybeard! I have a token I was bidden to show thee.” He held up what looked to be a silver shirt to the Wizard. Was that…

“Frodo,” Pippin gasped. It was Frodo’s mithril shirt. The mouth threw the shirt to Gandalf, who caught it with ease.

“Frodo!” Pippin repeated, more panicked now.

“Silence,” demanded the Wizard.

“No!” Merry cried out, receiving the same response from Gandalf. Alphine’s arms wrapped around Pippin in an attempt to calm him down as the mouth spoke.

“The Halfling was dear to thee, I see. Know that he suffered greatly at the hands of his host Who would’ve thought one so small could endure so much pain? And he did, Gandalf, he did.” The Witch’s eyes clenched shut in order to not tear up at the thought of Frodo being in any amount of pain. She bowed her head, nearly burying her face in the Hobbit’s hair.

“And who is this?” Asked the mouth. “Isildur’s heir? It takes more to make a King than a broken Elvish blade.” Alphine heard the sound of a blade swinging, and when she opened her eyes Sauron’s Lieutenant no longer bore a head.

“I guess that concludes negotiations,” Gimli muttered. Aragorn looked at the mithril short that still sat in Gandalf’s hands, then shook his head.

“I do not believe it. I will not.”

“What do we do now?” Alphine asked, voice nearly cracking before she cleared it. She’d been desperately hoping that Frodo was okay, but now she wasn’t so sure. Aragorn didn’t have an answer. They sat there for a few minutes as they attempted to figure out what to do, but then the Black Gate began to open again. Thousands of Orcs began marching through, which admittedly made the Witch gasp.

“Pull back,” Aragorn instructed. “Pull back!” The five horses rode back towards the army they brought, the Orcs following them. The soldiers looked uncertain (borderline scared) at the sheer number of their enemy.

“Hold your ground!” Aragorn yelled, beginning to ride across the front of the army to address them. “Sons of Gondor, of Rohan, my brothers. I see it in your eyes, the same fear that would take the heart of me. A day may come when the courage of men fails, when we forsake our friends and break all bonds of fellowship, but it is not this day! An hour of wolves and shattered shields when the age of men comes crashing down, but it is not this day! This day we fight! By all that you hold dear on this good earth, I bid you stand! Men of the West!”

The soldiers unsheathed their weapons and stood ready, looking much more encouraged than they were before. Aragorn nodded in approval and wheeled around on his horse to face the oncoming enemy. No one moved as the enemy surrounded them, all waiting for Aragorn’s instruction. Soon enough they were completely surrounded. Alphine stood between Merry and Legolas, trying to keep herself calm as her eyes grazed over the many Orc faces.

“Never thought I’d die fighting side by side with an Elf,” she heard Gimli grumble from the other side of Legolas.

“What about side by side with a friend?” The Elf suggested, glancing down at Gimli with a smile. The Dwarf looked up at him, a small smile forming on his face.

“Aye, I could do that.”

Alphine smiled at his response as her hand reached out, brushing against Legolas’. He met her the rest of the way and gingerly grabbed her hand, interlocking their fingers and giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. They shared a weak smile, and Alphine felt much better knowing that if she died, it would be with him by her side. Aragorn stood in front of the army, pausing when he heard a hissed whisper of his name.

“Aragorn…” It was the Eye of Sauron. “Elessar…” The Man’s sword slowly dropped to his side as he stepped forward, almost as if mesmerized. He snapped out of it quickly however and turned to look at Gandalf. The Wizard didn’t speak and instead held up Frodo’s mithril shirt for Aragorn to see. The Man smiled.

“For Frodo,” he announced softly. And with that he raised his sword and ran forward towards the Orc army. Merry and Pippin were the first ones to shout and run after him, their own swords raised. That was enough to kickstart the Gondorian and Rohan army to follow them with their own battle cries. The two armies collided in a fit of slashing swords and clanging metal and the battle had begun.

Alphine fought with a newfound vigor. Gone was her exhaustion and nervousness about the prospect of dying and was replaced with the willpower to at least go down fighting tooth and nail until her last breath. She once again harnessed as much of her power as she could manage to take out as many groups of Orcs as possible (though she’d since learned how to moderate it so she didn’t get as exhausted quickly). Between her bouts of magic she slayed Orcs with her sword.

Screams and screeches rang from above, which made her look up. Ringwraiths had joined the fight from above, attacking as they did so in Minas Tirith. She lifted her hands and shot various spells at them to at least slow them down, but with so many Orcs surrounding her on the ground she couldn’t focus on them for long. Thankfully she no longer had to worry about the Ringwraiths as another screech was heard. It wasn’t a wraith this time, however, but an Eagle who intercepted a Ringwraith who was aiming for Gandalf.

“The Eagles!” Pippin exclaimed excitedly from somewhere she couldn’t see. “The Eagles are coming!” And, just like he said, more Eagles flew into battle and engaged with the fell beasts that the wraiths rode on.

Out of nowhere the Eye of Sauron flared, looking around desperately. Everyone in front of the Black Gate stopped to look at it confusedly. The Eye began screeching and groaning loudly shortly before the tower of Barad Dur began to collapse to the ground. Just before the Eye hit the ground it exploded in a ball of fire, sending a shockwave through the armies. Frodo was alive after all, and he had done it.

“Frodo!” Merry exclaimed excitedly as Alphine gasped in both shock and delight.

“He did it!” She cheered jovially, Gimli shouting gleefully afterwards. The Black gate began to collapse. The army of Orcs tried to run away, but the ground below them gave way and they were destroyed. Only the land that the peoples of Middle Earth stood on were spared.

Alphine watched the chaos with an oddly overwhelming sense of joy, but it was abruptly halted as Mount Doom erupted. Immediately all noise ceased except for Merry and Pippin, who began to cry for their friends. The Witch covered her mouth in horror, tears springing to her eyes as she watched lava begin to flow steadily out of the volcano.

“No.” Her gaze was quickly broken when she heard Gandalf’s exclamation. She faced him just in time to see him mount one of the Eagles.

“Gandalf, what are you doing?” She asked worriedly.

“I am going to find Frodo and Samwise. There is hope for them yet,” was all he had time to say before the Eagle took off with two others (one for Sam and the other for Gollum, who they knew was supposed to be leading them through Mordor), heading straight for Mount Doom. She watched them fly into the distance worriedly, beginning to pick at her nails absentmindedly. It was only when another hand grabbed hers that she stopped, looking at the hand’s owner. She wasn’t surprised to see Legolas standing beside her, though his gaze was also on the three Eagles.

“Eomer, take them back to Minas Tirith to recuperate,” she heard Aragorn instruct from behind her.

“What about you?” The new King of Rohan questioned. The Man didn’t answer, though it seemed that Eomer didn’t need one as he instructed his men to get the wounded on horses and head back to the White City.

The only ones left were the members of the Fellowship, who were waiting for what very well could have been a miracle. Alphine bided her time by making sure no one was hurt and comforting the Hobbits. She knew that it may have been in vain, but she held onto the hope that Frodo and Sam had survived it. And her hope was proven right when she noticed three Eagles flying towards them after what felt like hours (though she knew it wasn’t).

“Look! The Eagles!” She exclaimed, pointing them out to the others. All heads turned, and Merry and Pippin began celebrating when they realized that two of them held none other than Frodo and Sam.

“To Minas Tirith!” Aragorn yelled, climbing onto his horse. The rest of the Fellowship scrambled to their horses. Alphine wasted no time in helping Pippin up once she was seated on Talysan. She barely allowed him to get comfortable before she clicked the horse's reins, forcing him to gallop off. The others followed immediately after. They rode under the Eagles’ shadows, heading straight for Minas Tirith.

Alphine hadn’t been this happy since long before she met and agreed to join the Fellowship of the Ring. It had been a few days since the Ring was destroyed and the battle concluded after a long, difficult and terrifying fight. While she waited for Frodo to wake up, Alphine opted to help with healing wounded soldiers. Of course she agreed to do so, and in between healing she helped clean Pelennor Fields. Things had been coming along wonderfully thus far, and she couldn’t have been happier. Well, she could be, but for that to happen, Frodo would have to wake up. Until then she was content with her work as a distraction.

After nearly a week passed, Alphine stepped out of the Hall of Healing. She’d been working since dawn arose, so she figured that it was okay for her to take a break. She sighed softly as she closed the door behind her, leaning against the wall beside it as she reveled in the peaceful moment. Well, at least until she heard her name being called.

“Lady Alphine,” a Gondorian guard she’d come to learn was named Irolas called as he jogged up to her.

“Yes?” She responded confusedly, standing upright as he reached her. “Is everything okay Irolas?”

“Very,” the Man responded with a smile. “I’ve been told to inform you that the Hobbit, Frodo Baggins, is awake.” The Witch’s eyes widened at the information. She barely had time to offer him thanks before she was running down the hall towards Frodo’s temporary room. Gimli, Legolas, Aragorn and Samwise stood outside the door, all turning to face her when they heard her approaching.

“Is it true?” She asked, trying to contain her excitement as she came to a stop.

“Aye lass, he’s awake,” Gimli answered for them. Alphine’s smile widened (if it were even possible) and she moved to walk in, but was stopped by Legolas grabbing her hands.

“Hold on,” he muttered, which made her look at him in bewilderment. “Gandalf wants us to go in one by one so he does not get overwhelmed.” The Witch sighed, though she understood his reasoning.

“Oh, fine,” she huffed. Just then Gandalf’s head poked through the door and he said Gimli’s name. It seemed that was the Dwarf’s cue to walk in. He did so, stopping in the doorway to spread his arms out and yell jovially.

“Gimli,” Alphine heard the Hobbit yell happily, which brought a smile to her face. \

The Wizard smiled then gestured for Alphine to come inside. She wasted no time in doing so, the smile on her face becoming wider when she saw Frodo sitting up in bed with Merry and Pippin on either side of him. He looked much better than he did when he first arrived back in Minas Tirith. He had been bathed (well, as well as he could be while unconscious) and it took both Gandalf and Alphine to heal what they could of any injuries he had. Seeing him so clean, lively and happy brought tears to her eyes as they met his.

“Alphine!” He said, almost relieved to see her. She laughed softly and wiped a stray tear from her cheek as she walked closer to him. Just a moment later she felt a presence beside her, and an arm wrapped around her waist. She leaned her head on Legolas’ shoulder as he and Frodo shared a smile. Aragorn was next, then finally Samwise. The six of them sat there, basking in each other’s presences and being happy that all of it was finally over.

#lord of the rings #lotr #lotr imagine #legolas greenleaf #legolas imagine #legolas x oc

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warrioreowynofrohan · 3 years ago

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Inspired by @tolkienfeels’ post [edit: actually a reblog, post is by @frodo-with-glasses] quoting Aragorn at the start of The Two Towers:

Aragorn: “An ill fate is one me today, and all I do goes amiss.”

Later in the chapter, after Boromir’s death, he repeats this:

“You give the choice [of what to do next] to an ill chooser. Since we left Lothlórien [my note: or passed Sarn Gebir? my separation from my books is causing problems] my choices have gone amiss.”

What goes amiss?

1) The Fellowship is broken. Frodo tries to go to Mordor alone; Sam goes with him.

2) Boromir is killed.

3) Merry and Pippin are captured.

The death of Boromir is undoubtedly tragic. The separation from Frodo and Sam, and the capture of Merry and Pippin, also seem like a severe ill fate on that day. But as it transpires, Frodo could not have built the rapport with Gollum that is crucial to all later events, permits him and Sam to find an (albeit very dangerous, and treacherous on Gollum’s part) way into a Mordor, and ultimately leads to the destruction of the Ring, if Aragorn had gone with them. Gollum’s hostility to Aragorn (and the fact that Aragorn rather than Frodo would in practice have been the leader of the group, due to having greater experience and being more used to leadership) would have prevented it. Plus Aragorn wouldn’t have been able to aid in the defence of Minas Tirith.

And the capture of Merry and Pippin by the Orcs, while horrible for them in the short term, is what (as Gandalf later observes) brings them to Fangorn with extraordinary rapidity, leading to their meeting with Treebeard, the rousing of the Ents, and the march on Isengard, without which Saruman would have retained his fortress and the armies of Rohan might well have been destroyed at Helm’s Deep.

And Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli’s pursuit of the hobbits, though it does not find them, is successful in bringing them to Fangorn at exactly the right time to meet Gandalf. (Gandalf says something to this effect to Aragorn when he first meets them again.)

So what seems, rationally, very mich like an ill fate at the time, in the end works out to more good than any purposeful plan of Aragorn’s, even if executed perfectly, could have accomplished.

This ties in with the section on “Fate and Free Will” on The Nature of Middle-earth. The gist of the passage, as far as I can tell, is that people’s purposeful, deliberate decisions and goals are through their own free will. But Fate (or Providence) can operate through ‘chance,’ things that seem like coincidence at the time, actions that are taken with no especial knowledge or purpose. Bilbo going on the Quest of Erebor is his own free will (strongly nudged by Gandalf, as a consequence of a chance/Providential meeting with Thorin); him finding the Ring is Fate/Providence. Éomer choosing to pursue the Orcs, which speeds up their pace, is free will; Merry and Pippin and Treebeard all happening to go to the right part of Fangorn to meet each other is Fate/Providence.

The other element that I think the NoME section is drawing in, is that when we make decisions based on good values and with good goals (such as Aragorn choosing to place rescuing Merry and Pippin above other practical considerations - above either following Frodo or going to Minas Tirith) we leave space for the operation of Fate to good ends, even if those ends are not the ones we have foreseen.

#tolkien #the lord of the rings #nature of middle earth #nome #aragorn #free will

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justarandomgirly · 3 years ago

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The writing in Loki is so bad I cant even find words. Lets only talk about very last scene. Tom said some crap about Loki being sort of a hero at this point (I guess he ignores Loki always was but alright).

So he is hero at this point. But a hero is a person who changes things and drives the plot forward. He didnt. It was Sylvie. Because of her the multiverse opened and the series ended with a cliffhanger.

Now Loki. He is back at TVA, weak without magic, tries to tell Mobius that Kang is coming, but it has no effect because Mobius doesnt remember him. Mobius turns around and keeps talking to people there.

Loki is now standing, looking around and the camera moves to statues of Time keepers. The end. But that makes Loki look like useless side character that was defeated and their story is over. A hero would have to do something that has impact on the plot,for example if Loki obtained Tempad and the last frame would be him looking back at TVA, then taking a deep breathe and leaving, we dont know where, to search for Sylvie.

That would be a heroic thing to do. Viewers would know that he, Loki, the protagonist, has a plan and already started working on it and... that he is actually doing something. While in reality, the series ends with him standing like a weak defeated idiot with no plan, staring at Time keepers.

Makes me really wonder if Herron ever directed anything. (I know she did) But I really question it when I look at this mess. And Waldron. Does he know how to write an ending to a character, who as he claims, is hero by the end? Because that last scene, that aint hero. When youre watching finale of a season, youre supposed to see that the hero will clearly do something to drive the plot forward. What I saw at the end I could have easily interpreted as a very last sight of Tom's Loki. Defeated, with no place to go and no friends or family. Its over. Sylvie is the future now. Finale should make me be concerned about hero's future fate. Meanwhile, I couldnt care less.

I would end the series with one last shot at Loki. It should be him we see in the last frame. Maybe Loki holding Laevatainn (I dont even know which sword he is supposed to have in series,unexplored) and stealing a Tempad, putting on his determined face, opening a door to some timeline(uncertain where to keep the mystery alive) and series ending with him disappearing, implying he is doing something about Sylvie, Kang and whole multiverse. Because series ended with him doing nothing.

As A good example I can use Fellowship of the ring. At the end, Frodo and Sam look at mountains in the distance and then climb rocks, clearly moving towards Mordor. You cant wait to see if they reach it. You see them, the heroes, as they continue on their quest.

Force awakens. Rey gives Luke his old lightsaber. Makes you excited for the next chapter. Curious how Luke will react cos you waited decades to see Luke Skywalker. Rey, the new hero, found the old hero and new and old sagas join. You cant wait for how it turns out.

I hope you understand the point Im trying to make because Im not english speaker.

Waldron failed as writer failed to delivered any of that, failed at the most basic things. And Herron failed as director. I am stunned by the imcompetence Marvel showed when they were chosing people who were going to be in charge of Loki series.

#loki #loki series

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ghost-proofbaby · 1 year ago

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asking about so mordor it is during 24/7 hype is like asking the teacher if there’s hw at the end of class HAHA

nooooo never!!! mordor is my baby

i will be honest — i’ve been avoiding asks about it due to a few unkind ones i’ve gotten recently where people haven’t been the… nicest in the way they expressed wanting an update (but most of you are lovely who ask!! even simple “hey how’s mordor going” is welcome <3). i just haven’t known how to respond i guess.

the short answer is: it’s going! i wish i could give a more definitive answer regarding the next update because i love writing that fic very dearly, but i’ve just worked the last few days and haven’t gotten the chance to sit down and finish the final scene for the next chapter. 😭

the longer answer, which it’s not specifically you that has mentioned this nonnie, but others, is that my process with mordor just takes longer than 24. it’s more involved. when i say i’m working on mordor, it means i am rewatching the show, i am meticulously researching, i am rereading shire and going over my plot specifically for mordor. it’s just a lot more brain power required, which i fully brought upon myself and don’t mind because like i said, i love this fic and getting to write it and share it with you all!! it just means there’s a lot more happening behind the scenes with it on my end. i know it may not seem that way to all of you (as some people have expressed), and i know that maybe some don’t find the writing reflecting all that effort/being up to par, but at the end of the day… i’m trying my best and i’m most worried with my enjoyment. if i’m not enjoying it anymore, then it’ll show in the writing, and that just… isn’t what i want for my fic, y’know?

i really am sorry that updates on mordor take longer, and i am so endlessly appreciative to those of you who are patient enough to wait it out and still show so much support <3 i love y’all. thank you for taking a story that has turned into a very vulnerable part of my heart, and for treating it with care. 🖤

also i’m so sorry for picking on you specifically nonnie you’re just one of the nicer asks i’ve received recently regarding it and i’d rather extend an answer to you then someone being rude!!! <3 thank you for reading and thank you for being excited about it haha ily <3

#basically this is me gently asking to certain anons to not tell me my writing sucks #or that it’s overhyped #or other unkind things i’d rather not ruminate on rn #things like that don’t motivate me as a writer at all #it makes me wanna delete all my work and disappear into a hole lol #which is a tad bit dramatic but oh well #just pls be kind #because i was actually planning to update it very soon now that i have tomorrow off #thank u ily #mordor #AGAIN IM SORRY FOR PICKING ON YOU SPECIFICALLY NONNIE YOU DID NOTHING WRONG IN THIS ASK!!!#it made me laugh!!!#sorry that answer was a lot and really long #it’s possible i’ll delete this later #i sound like a whiny crybaby hahaaaaaaaaaa #also i have gotten a several asks that ARENT rude on anon!!#if you sent in questions about mordor this isn’t about you unless you’ve sent me a whole essay 😅#the rude asks were significantly longer so please know this isn’t about the short and simple and sweet ones!!!!

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katelyn--renee · 4 years ago

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Out of the Fire (Part two)

Title: Out Of The Fire (Part two)

Fandom: Supernatural AU

Main Characters series: Reader, Lieutenant Firefighter!Dean Winchester, Lawyer!Sam Winchester, Jessica Winchester (Moore), Nurse!Lisa Braeden (Formerly Winchester), Ben Braeden-Winchester, Harper Winchester (OFC), Charlie Bradbury, Firefighter!Benny Lafitte, Firefighter!Jo Harvelle, Firefighter!Castiel Novak, Claire Novak, Mechanic!John Winchester, Firefighter Captain!Ellen Harvelle, Mechanic!Bobby Singer, Doctor!Arthur Ketch, Nick Vaught and many more!

Pairings: Dean x Reader (eventual), Dean x Lisa (past), Reader x Nick (past), Lisa x Ketch (current), Sam x Jessica (current)

Word count: ±2200 words

Series summary: A slow burn romance. Reader is trying to get away from her troubled past and start fresh; a new name, new town, new friends, and a new job. A clean slate. After years of planning and saving, she is able to open her own business. With the help of her best friend and business partner, Charlie Bradbury, and her new flirty firefighter friend, she is hopeful, even when disaster strikes and her past threatens to catch up with her years later.

Part two summary: Flashback to when you first met your green eyed hero and their budding romance.

Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fire or mentions of fire, fluff (so much fluff), angst, eventual smut, mutual pining, alcohol abuse, alcohol intoxication, mentions of domestic abuse (physical, verbal), mentions of miscarriage, mentions of adultery/cheating, mentions of death, dangerous or life threatening situations, stress, descriptions of injuries, blood, hospital scenes, character death.

Author’s note: Here is part two! I hope you enjoy this chapter and all it’s fluffy goodness! :)

A special thank you to @that-one-gay-girl and @deanwanddamons for being the wonderful beta’s that you are! Your feedback is always appreciated! Check out their awesome work and spread some love!

All graphics and dividers done by me! :)

If you like this story, please don’t hesitate to leave a like, comment and if you’re feeling extra generous, share! Your feedback gives me live and motivation! If you would like to be tagged in the series, please don’t hesitate to ask!

Thank you and let’s enjoy this ride together!

<<-- Read part one, here!

Out of the Fire Masterlist!

Interested in more of my work, check out the link below.

Masterlist

About five weeks ago.

The shop was busier than usual, but being the final days of summer, it was expected. It wasn't anything you or Charlie couldn't handle, of course, but it sure did make for long days and even longer nights of cleanup.

"Charlie, table two needs refills, table six never got their vanilla lattes, and table four is ready to pay." You announced as you joined your partner behind the counter with a handful of dirty mugs and plates, having just made one of many rounds through the seating area.

The two of you danced around each other gracefully, moving in harmony as you switched from one task to another. “On it.” She acknowledged, already preparing the missing drinks and throwing in a complimentary pastry for the mistake.

You set the pile of dishes down into the sink before turning to the next customer in line, flashing him a friendly smile. “Yes, hi, how can I help you?” You greeted urgently, looking up to meet a set of stunning green eyes. You faltered slightly, taken by surprise by his strikingly good looks.

He smiled, almost bashfully, as he began to place his order, seeming not to notice your hesitation. “A round of coffees, black, for me and my buddies ,” He motioned toward the booth near the large bay window which was occupied by three other bodies; two men and one woman, all of whom adorned matching uniforms. “Cream and sugar on the side. Oh, uh, larges… or eh, talls?” He added with a sheepish chuckle, clearly unfamiliar with the coffee house lingo.

You couldn’t help but giggle at that, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth to prevent yourself from smiling more and potentially embarrassing him. “Venti.” You corrected him playfully. You saw the confused look on his face, his head cocking like a confused puppy, before adding, “For our ‘large,’”

You used air quotes to emphasize your point, rolling your eyes at the technical terminology. “It’s venti.” You saw it the moment he understood what you were telling him, and he chuckled again, not missing the way he ducked his head to hide the slight flush to his freckled cheeks.

“Never too old to learn something new.” He chuckled again and winked at you, the gesture setting butterflies loose inside of your stomach. It was your turn to look away this time, your face hot with a blush. He fished his wallet from his dark blue cargo pants, looking at the assortment of baked goods.

“Throw in a few of those bagels and croissants, too, please.” He added, casting his gaze down at the display case once again. “Oh, and a piece of that cherry pie.” He added almost dreamily, pulling out a couple of twenties.

Upon further inspection, you took notice of the soot and ash that dirtied his face and darkened his hair in certain places. He had dark circles under his gorgeous eyes, too, clearly exhausted after a long shift. You glanced in the direction of his crew members, finding much of the same. “Long night?” You asked, trying to be friendly as much as you were curious.

“I look that rough, huh?” He teased, a look of mock offense accompanying his handsome features.

You shook your head, a smile still curving your lips at the corners, “Oh no, I didn’t mean it like that.” You clarified hastily as you calculated his order into the register, making a point to leave off the coffees; it was the least you could do for him… eh, them, right?

He winked again and laughed, the sound deep in his chest, assuring you that he was only teasing. “I know you didn’t,” The corner of his mouth turned up into a smile, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, watching your face and the way you tried to suppress your smile. “How much do I owe you, sweetheart?” He asked, glancing down at the display screen.

The term of endearment made your heart flutter slightly, and you couldn’t keep the smile from creeping onto your face again. You swallowed the feeling down, pressing the enter key before you read aloud his total.

“That’ll be $19.94, Mr. Firefighter.” He rose a questioning brow at the total, glancing up at the menu prices. “Coffee’s on the house.” You added quickly with a closed-lip smile, your eyes sincere. “It’s the least I can do for your services.”

Several emotions seemed to make their way across his face, contorting it briefly before settling on gratitude. “Thank you.” He said, his voice genuine. He held out one of the twenty-dollar bills, paying for his order. “That was really kind of you, truly.” He smiled softly, glancing down at the name tag attached to your apron. “(Y/N).”

A smile formed on your lips before you could stop it, and your cheeks flushed at the way he said your name, your eyes finding the name embroidered onto the left side of his dark blue button-up shirt, opposite of a silver badge over his heart. Red patches were on either sleeve, proudly showing off the station they serve. “It’s no trouble, Lieutenant Winchester...” You promised with a sly smile.

He laughed, appreciating your observation. “Dean.” He insisted as you accepted the bill. Your fingers touched, brushing against each other softly. The touch, however slight, was like an electric shock, igniting every part of your body.

There was an annoyed grunt behind the firefighter, but the two of you paid little attention to it. You put the money into the till and collected his change, but Dean insisted that he didn’t need it. He walked backwards to his table, his bottom lip drawn up between his teeth. The two of you couldn’t seem to stop watching each other, nor did you want to, silently flirting with your eyes.

You giggled when he bumped into an unoccupied table, watching as he almost knocked over its contents and awkwardly fumbled with the accompanying chair that nearly fell over. He rubbed the back of his neck and chuckled self-consciously, trying to conceal his embarrassment. He ducked his head when he got back to his table, his friends giving him a hard time.

He hid his face in his palms as a dark-haired man with scruff and blue eyes clapped a hand against Dean’s shoulder, booming with laughter. “Smooth,” You heard the blonde female tease, snickering at her partner. You watched them as you gathered up their order, blushing when you caught him stealing a few glances your way. When finished, you brought their order out to them personally, earning you another wink from the fireman.

The rest of the shift went by in a blur, unable to get those emerald eyes out of your head. Charlie had seemed to notice your distraction and, in perfect Charlie fashion, commented on it as you were closing up shop. “That fireman sure left his mark on you, huh?” She teased, a knowing smile drawing her lips up.

You scoffed at her and tried to play it off like you didn’t know what she was talking about… and failing. “W-What? No - No, I - Who? I don’t know what you’re talking about, Charlie.” You muttered, locking the doors and placing the keys into your pocket.

She looked skeptical and cocked her hip, propping a hand there. “Uh-huh, sure.” She stated, waving her hands. “And I’m not the Queen of Mordor.” She said sarcastically, “Oh wait, I am.” She said exaggeratedly with her hands thrown in the air, referencing her extracurricular activity of LARPing.

You rolled your eyes fondly at your best friend; she’d dragged you along to her LARPing weekends on more than one occasion, and you’d humored her, going along with it because it made Charlie happy. “You can’t fool me, sista, now spill the beans.” She insisted, following behind you with the broom as the pair of you cleaned up.

You sighed, wiping down one of the tables and the chairs that joined it, already knowing that you wouldn't win this battle against the feisty redhead. “I don’t know…” You hesitated, chewing on your bottom lip as you thought about the encounter. “I can't explain it, I don’t know how to explain it… but there was just something about him… y'know?" You recalled, picking up one of the chairs and putting it on the table. "I just… I can’t quite put my finger on it…"

Charlie giggled, "Bet you wish you could." She teased, clearly hinting at more than she said. You gasped and feigned innocence, throwing the towel at her. Charlie laughed more, catching the soiled cleaning cloth before it collided with her face. "Oh, come on (Y/N)! I know that look in a woman's eye. I’ve seen it dozens of times! You want him. Bad!"

She threw the cloth back, and you caught it with ease. "Jeez, you make me sound so desperate." You grumbled, not denying Charlie's observation, despite the dramatics.

Charlie hadn't missed a beat, and she grinned, a cocky sparkle in her eyes. "So you do like him." She chimed accusingly, clearly happy to be right.

You rolled your eyes again, moving onto the next table as Charlie continued sweeping under the one you'd just cleared. "Okay. Yeah, fine." You admitted, "I thought he was cute and charming and sexy in that uniform,"

Charlie made an ‘I-knew-it’ face, but you continued before she could make a sly remark, "But it doesn't matter. It's not like I'm ever gonna see him again." You stated with a reluctant sigh, spraying down the next table with the cleaning agent, trying to hide the disappointment lingering in your voice. You began to scrub at a stubborn spot on the table, trying to distract yourself.

Charlie frowned sadly, reading into your mood, and leaned the broom down against the table before closing the space between you. "I'm sorry for being pushy. It's just that you work all the time. When was the last time you did anything for yourself?" You were about to answer when she held up a finger, "Other than this café. This doesn't count, this is work."

She had a point. You couldn't remember the last time you'd done anything that didn't involve this little shop. "Exactly. I just wanna see you have some fun and that," She thumbed over her shoulder toward the door, referring to Dean, "was fun." You chuckled softly, your cheeks getting warm at the thought.

"You deserve to live a little,” She put her arms on your shoulders and squeezed affectionately, “Especially after what that snake put you through." You frowned at the reminder, dread coiling inside of your stomach and a frown pulled at your lips at the mention of your ex, Nick.

Like always, Charlie didn’t let you get too lost in your thoughts, "And who knows, maybe he has an equally attractive sister for me." She added with a playful shrug and a giggle, effectively distracting you. "Fate works in mysterious ways, sista; you never know what she might throw your way." She added mysteriously, wiggling her eyebrows for added effect.

As it turns out, Charlie was right. Fate did work in mysterious ways because, in the weeks that followed, Dean continued to show up, sometimes with his crew, but mostly by himself. The times he showed up varied, depending on his work scheduled, which you soon noticed was quite busy. Regardless of the hour, he always showed.

It wasn't long before you memorized his order by heart; a venti coffee, black, and a slice of pie; whichever flavor was baked for the day's special. The flavor never seemed to be an issue for the firefighter, but it didn’t take you long to realize that cherry was clearly his favorite, with pecan a close second.

The pair of you flirted and subtly got to know each other as time went on, teetering somewhere between acquaintances and friends. He’d flirt. You’d flirt. But it never went any further than that.

Charlie teased you about it the whole time, of course. She wouldn’t be your best friend if she hadn’t. You’d just roll your eyes or shake your head every time she’d urge you to "grow a pair and ask him out already."

You wanted to. Of course, you wanted to; you’d be an idiot not to want that.

But you didn't, of course, because you were too embarrassed and too afraid to act on your feelings. You'd done that once before already, and you paid one hell of a price for it. Hell, in a way, you still were. Nick left such a nasty scar on your heart; you weren't sure if you could ever love again. You were in a constant state of fear, afraid of being hurt again.

Charlie, being the wonderful best friend that she is, always tried to remind you that love… true love… would never hurt you. That real love was the stuff of magic and fairy tales. That what you had with Nick wasn’t love. It helped, a little, but that fear never truly went away, you just sort of learned to live with it.

Maybe someday you’ll feel differently.

And there you have it. Part two is complete. I hope you enjoyed that chapter as much as I did. Awkward/adorable Dean is one of my favs. Haha.

As always, thanks for reading!

Read part three, here! -->>

Taglist!

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@akshi8278

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@vicmc624 // @anotherspnfanfic // @krazykelly // @compresshischest09 // @thefamilybusiness

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mimilind · 1 year ago

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Stranger of the Falls - Part 4

Pairing: Boromir x Reader

Rating: T

Chapter Word Count: 2400

Parts: [ < Previous Part ] [ Next Part > ] [ Masterlist ]

Full story: [ AO3 ]

※※※

4. Convalescence

From then on, Lord Främling steadily improved. It was as if when he agreed not to starve himself, he also decided to get well as soon as possible. Already the next day he was sitting up, propped against a pillow, and spent every waking moment exercising his legs, arms, hands and fingers, stretching and lifting them without respite, forcing the unwilling limbs to cooperate. Especially his weaker side.

One of the first things he wanted to do, apart from eating without being spoon fed, was to get rid of the bedpan and use a cane to limp to the outhouse. The first time he nearly fainted, and when you had to help him back he looked so mortified you thought he was going to hide under the blanket in shame.

But he did not, insead he resumed his exercises with renewed frenzy.

The arrow wounds began to heal, and so did the gash in his forehead. It would leave a scar, but his long hair covered most of it.

His left side was soon almost back to normal mobility and strength, but his right side was far behind. He explained it felt like he was a baby learning to walk for the first time, as if his right limbs had forgotten how to do things.

His speech became clear and he no longer slurred on the words, but he still did not say much. You thought that he probably had been a quiet person even before the accident.

Instead of talking he worked out, limped around the room, did pushups, practiced fine motor skills. He mended his shirt and tunic, painstakingly sewing neat hems and pulling up the thread to start over whenever he wasn’t satisfied.

When he was done you could hardly see where the rift had been.

The pure doggedness he demonstrated was both impressive and a bit frightening. Was he in such a hurry to heal because he wanted to be released from your care so he could end his life? You wanted to ask him, but did not know how to bring it up.

Your house was too small for an extra bed, so he still shared yours. At least it was wide and comfortable, and it was easy to get used to the added warmth of an extra person. Though spring was on its way, nights were still cold.

One night you decided to be blunt and just ask what was on your mind, using humor to make it seem less serious. “So… It is true we agreed that as soon as you are healed, you are free to choose death, but how will you go about it?”

Unsurprisingly he appeared a bit baffled over your choice of topic. “Pardon?”

“Will you fall on a sword, perhaps? It could be just like Túrin in the legend…”

“Too untidy. Very rude to whomever found my corpse.”

You smiled, relieved that he had replied, and in the same flippant tone. “I forget what a gentleman you are.”

“Also, I have no sword.” You could almost hear the silent ‘…anymore’ he left out.

“Can you swim?”

“Yes.”

“That is unfortunate. You could have leapt into the river. Hm… Maybe charge headfirst into a band of orcs?”

“I already tried that.” He no longer sounded amused.

You drew a sharp breath. Was that how it all happened? “You tried to kill yourself that time? You paddled your boat to a group of orcs and then ran it down the falls because you wanted to die?”

“No,” he snapped. “Absolutely not! I tried to save… someone.” The anger ran off him and he sounded very tired. “I failed.”

“I am sorry. I should not have brought it up.” You put a soothing hand on his shoulder.

He stiffened at first, but then relaxed, allowing you to softly stroke him over his shirt.

“Do you wish to talk about it?” you asked.

“No.”

“Oh. Well then, let us return to the previous topic. You could… go to Mordor and challenge the Dark Lord? I am certain it would get you slayed swiftly and efficiently.”

“One does not simply walk into Mordor,” he mumbled, but you could hear he was smiling.

“I am aware. That is the idea: you try and fail and hence you die.”

He put his hand over yours and gave it a light squeeze. “Truly, I understand and appreciate what you are trying to do,” he said softly. “But it is pointless.”

You felt a strange fluttering in the pit of your stomach. His hand was much bigger than yours and felt strong.

“I am not doing anything,” you replied a bit breathlessly.

“You endeavor to talk me out of it.”

The flutter vanished, replaced with a sinking feeling. “Well, I suppose I am,” you admitted. Your voice became pleading. “Please stay.”

“Why?”

Because I like you, you thought, but of course you could not say that. “I just feel this world is already so full of monsters and evildoers. We need good men like you for balance.”

“I am not good.” He removed his hand. You felt cold where it had been.

“I think you are.”

“You do not know me.”

“I feel like I do.”

He did not reply, just turned his back on you and was silent.

※

As if your talk of Mordor had brought the war closer, the next day dire news reached you – old news, which was often the case this far east. Théoden King’s only son and heir had been killed, caught in a trap by the river Isen in the west. Saruman of Isengard was said to have been behind it, but the king had avenged his son and defeated the wizard’s army at Helm’s Deep, and later turned Isengard into ruins.

Now there was to be a great muster of riders. All able men were to gather at Dunharrow for further instructions.

The news affected your patient in a strange way. When the young men left the village he became increasingly more restless. He would take walks around it, limping surprisingly fast, and often stopped to look at the sullen crimson tint on the clouded sky that marked the border to Mordor, his fists helplessly opening and clenching.

As if he wanted to join the riders and lamented that he was still not able to do so.

He slept fitfully, and one night he woke you up with a strangled cry.

“Dark dream?” you asked.

“Yes.”

“Will you share it?”

“No.”

“Please, I am curious.”

He was silent briefly, then turned toward you. You felt his thigh press lightly against yours and stopped breathing. You hoped he wouldn’t pull it back.

He did not.

“I dreamt I had a mighty weapon. A magical weapon that was the most powerful in the world. I became invincible. I used it to defeat Mordor. Sauron. All his underlings. Everybody fell before me… I slayed them effortlessly.”

“That does not sound like a nightmare.”

“It was.” He took your hand and put it over his chest. You felt how hard his heart was beating. “For, after I won… I sat myself on his throne and everyone bowed to me, did my bidding. On my orders people were either killed or enslaved. I took his place. I became him.” He drew a shaky breath. “It was appalling.”

For once, you lacked words. He had never shared anything even remotely personal with you before. And he was so close, the moment so intimate. His hand over yours felt burning hot.

Your heart was beating faster too now, but for a very different reason.

“I am not like that,” he continued. ”I never sought such power – or any power. All I ever wanted was for my people to be safe. My friends. My family. My home where I grew up.” His voice cracked and he drew a few breaths. “But I failed. How can I continue living when I am so weak? A failure, easily led astray by… my lack of restraint.”

“You are not weak! How can you even think that? I have never seen anyone with your strength. You were almost completely paralyzed only weeks ago and now you are up and walking, regaining more function every day. And as for restraint, you nearly starved yourself out of pure obstinacy. It was impressive. Foolish, but impressive.” You forced yourself to sound calm. Most of all you wanted to hug him but you did not know if he would appreciate that.

Besides, it would be highly inappropriate.

“That had nothing to do with strength. I merely realized everything was lost and I might as well–” He sighed. “What will happen if Mordor prevails? To my home… to a peaceful village like this? To you? What would you do?”

His skin was warm and soft under your hand. His heart had slowed down into a steady beat.

The feeling made it hard to think. “I… I do not think Mordor will gain victory, but if so, I reckon I would… continue healing people, carry on with my life? Perhaps join a rebel force.”

“You sound very calm about it.”

“Well, why burden yourself with speculations about the future? Neither of us knows what it will be like.”

He did not reply to that.

“Thank you,” he said at last. He was still pressing your palm against his heart, now he slid his thumb over your hand, back and forth in a gentle caress.

“You are welcome. But… but for what?”

“For being there. Listening to my midnight ramblings.”

His touch filled you with butterflies. You wished you knew what he meant with it, if it was just his way to say thank you – or something more.

“Do not kill yourself,” you blurted. ”Even though you can, please… do not.”

His thumb stilled. “I will not.”

Relief filled you like a tidal wave. You were certain Främling was a man of his word; had he said he would continue living then he would do so.

He released your hand and turned away. Only partly. His thigh still touched yours. “Good night.”

But you could not sleep, not after that. Your palm tingled where it had been resting on his chest, and you still felt the ghost of his thumb on top of it. He would live. Your work had not been in vain.

※

You were a bit awkward around Främling the morning after his nightmare, but he did not mention it and acted normal, as if nothing special had happened. You didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed over that.

In the afternoon, more news reached you. A band of unusually big and strong orcs that had been sighted running across the plains a while back. You guessed it must have been them the shepherdesses saw the night before you found Främling, and you wondered if it was they who nearly killed him.

All talk of war made everyone nervous and careful. The village was badly protected with only Vidar left to guard the palisade gate, and a few other old men to protect the rest of it. All younger men had rode to join the king. The shepherdesses kept their herds within sight of home, ready to run back to safety at short notice, and the farmers hesitated to begin plowing the fields.

When Främling heard the news, he expanded his exercise and began doing weapon routines, using a long stick for a sword. He held it in his left hand and supported himself on a cane, yet managed to appear strong and fearful. You wouldn’t want to meet him in battle.

The next day he went out after breakfast, and when he returned a couple of hours later he told you he had bought Svarten, Vidar’s malicious black, and a rusty sword that looked to be about the same age as Rohan itself.

“You did what?” you asked incredulously. “Why?”

“I needed a weapon and a horse.”

“What for?”

In the brief, frightening moment before he replied you thought it was so he could ride away. Leave you.

“To fight. I am too slow on foot. When the war is upon us, you require more men to protect the village. After your kindness to me, it is the least I can do.”

His words frightened you almost as much as the thought of him leaving. He had said ’when’ as if it was a certainty the war would come.

“You are not yet strong enough.”

He frowned. “You need not remind me of that. But even in this state I can best a few orcs, particularly on horseback. I am fairly decent with my left hand too now.” He speculatively flexed his fingers.

“They will not come this far. There are no hiding places out in the plains and they are afraid of sunlight,” you reminded him.

“Not all orcs,” he said bitterly.

The rest of the morning he spent sharpening and polishing the old sword until it shone. Then he commenced to train Svarten with the same stubborn grit that had driven him for as long as you had known him. Aided by young Kalle, he mounted the vicious animal and rode him around a small paddock, round and round and round until the stallion was so exhausted he did not even have the energy to bite his rider when he dismounted at last.

“How did you pay for it?” you asked when he returned to you, weary and sweaty and ravenously hungry.

“I gave him my belt.”

“You what? But it must be worth a fortune! Yet you only obtained a mangy, evil horse and a rusty sword! That damn, greedy old–”

A very unusual sound interrupted your indignant speech. Främling was laughing heartily.

“War draws near and all you can think of is whether I paid too much for my horse?” He was still chuckling.

His rumbling laughter and warm smile melted your heart into a puddle. His smile was slightly lopsided from the accident, and you adored it. You wanted to tell him he should laugh more often, for he had the most wonderful laugh, but he was right, these were bleak times. When the war came, all smiles would wane and all laughter silence.

His face grew serious. “I will protect you as best I can,” he promised.

That night you were afraid of the future for the first time and you crept closer to him, letting his strong, large form comfort you.

As if he understood how you felt he put an arm around you, just holding you.

When you woke up he had not removed his arm.

※※※

A/N:

The golden belt mentioned in this chapter was a gift the stranger had previously received from a certain elf Lady in Lothlórien (book canon).

※※※

Parts: [ < Previous Part ] [ Next Part > ] [ Masterlist ]

Full story: [ AO3 ]

#boromir #boromir x reader #boromir x you #boromir x oc #boromir fanfiction #lotr #lotr fanfiction #lotr fanfic #lord of the rings #hurt/comfort #healing #heroism #boromir lives au #Stranger of the Falls

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frodothefair · 1 year ago

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꧁ The Flowers of Mordor ꧂

Chapter 7 - The Lockholes

READ ALL ON AO3

SUMMARY : Sam knows he cannot tear himself in two, but Frodo's struggles after the quest are worsening. Marigold Gamgee gets a job at Bag End, and grows close to its enigmatic master. J. R. R. Tolkien meets Jane Austen meets Tess of the D'Urbervilles. CHAPTER SUMMARY : Frodo learns about Marigold's time in the Lockholes. PAIRING : Frodo/Marigold Gamgee, Frodo/Sam secondary GENRES : hurt/comfort, angst, slow burn romance, slice of life, girl next door WARNINGS : PTSD, depression, panic attacks, eating disorder, eventual spicy scenes RATING : M

Frodo thought back to that day in November – after the battle of Bywater, when the hobbits imprisoned by Saruman and Lotho had been freed. Marigold had been among them, and she had looked, as expected, very bedraggled – her hair matted, her features smeared with dirt, having lost much of her buxomness. But she had also staggered out propping up another hobbit, and while Sam had wept like a child when the two were reunited, she had also been the one to wipe away his tears, and to ask almost immediately who had been hurt and what help was needed.

They started to read every day, poetry mostly, putting it to song and copying it over into the new leather-bound notebook Marigold had started for the purpose. She was amazed to learn just how much Bilbo wrote, and dismayed to hear that he did not think highly of his own poetry. Sam walked in on them several times, once as Marigold intoned in her diffident, unpolished voice, “Past eyes of pale fire, black sand for my bed, I trade all I've known for the unknown ahead” (1) – and remarked with a laugh that he thought Frodo was teaching her spelling, not singing. Soon, Frodo was looking forward to their lessons each day – a brighter spot on an otherwise dreary canvas. He enjoyed putting his mind to work understanding how her mind worked – differently, to be sure, but not necessarily slower. It was rather that she had more to sift through with any given task, and saw words and texts as parts rather than wholes, which did hold her back at times, but also provided opportunities. And she was a maximalist, too, in all respects. When she found out there could be different meanings to words and poems, she tried to come up with as many as she could.

In the evenings, their conversations were full of “what if” and “how about.” And soon, by the time they had jokingly agreed to disagree whether a composition was about dragons, or garden snakes, or perhaps birthday parties, Frodo would be too spent to reach for his customary cup of New Winyard.

One might have thought foregoing his nightcap would have hurt his sleep – but the first night was not just his imagination. He still could not sleep deeply, and the nights still piled insults on top of injuries – but he was now acutely aware that he was only waking up three or four times each night, and this was quite a bit better than five, or six, or even twelve.

In his younger years, of course, Frodo had enjoyed sleep almost as much as any hobbit enjoyed food. Come what may, it was a respite he could always count on, going back to his days as a young, orphaned lad at Brandy Hall.

Before he and Sam left the Shire, too, he had enjoyed long, beautiful dreams, and was known for a curious ability to fall asleep anytime, anywhere – even in the company of friends when the conversation dragged and no one spoke to him in particular. (He still opened his eyes straight away when addressed, of course, which saved him from accusations of rudeness.) This ability served him well early on in the quest – even as Sam complained of the hard ground and painful twigs in his back, all Frodo had to do was close his eyes, imagine being in bed at home, and drift off to sleep.

But soon the Ring took hold, calling out to him at night and making it preferable – sweet, even – to stay awake. He would sit up all night watching it, even as his body ached and his mind was so tired he could barely tell what was real. And the dreams! When they did come, they continued long and vivid, but the beauty was gone; there was only terror and pain. He dreamt of dark shadows, tall figures with swords, losing the Ring, and always something seeking – relentlessly seeking him in a darkness where he lay, naked and afraid.

His sleep never really returned. He could lie in the softest bed in Gondor or in the Shire, and still it eluded him. If he slept, it was in hour-long spurts that he started out of, groping for the Ring in the sheets, drenched in sweat like he had been running. In Gondor, the healers gave him draughts that put him in a dreamless haze, but that came at a cost – he felt dizzy and drugged in the morning, and got headaches that lingered long into the day.

Even now, fatigue as heavy as boulders was not enough to overpower the fear that had taken hold in his bones, and that ripped him out of his sleep, surely and methodically as the cruelest executioner.

No – given the sad state of affairs, it would take more than a bright, lively lass, more than engaging conversation, and more than the lavender milk, honey-infused and gently warmed, to bring him peace. But somehow, while his mind was on her and on their studies, his fear of the night did lessen. He wondered how he had never truly noticed her before – she was always Sam’s sweet, unassuming little sister – and yet it was sad to think that such a gem could have languished so long unheeded at Bagshot Row.

If he had to explain why he had not noticed her, it was perhaps that he had started to feel… thin was maybe the word, and it had started quite soon after Bilbo’s departure. He had begun to feel restless, too, and was loth to put down roots, so he stopped associating much with lasses, and did not have the wherewithal – nor indeed the desire – to add to his inner circle.

But now, he found himself wondering why she had quit midwifery – a subject he had not given thought to much before. And he wondered if he ought to do some writing of his own, and to add to Bilbo’s account of the War of the Ring – for even though revisiting some of the particulars still filled him with dread, he was inclined to think that in addition to his friends, there was at least one other who might like to read it: for the more they delved into the epic and the legendary poetry, the more questions Marigold had about what caused what, and who was related to whom, and she even asked if he and Bilbo had made family trees for the elves and the dwarves after the hobbit fashion. She even asked if she could see some of his uncle’s wrinkled old maps.

To say that Marigold liked their lessons would not have been doing it justice. She chided herself for it, but now and again she actually found herself rushing through her work so they could start sooner. She did not only like sitting close to Mr. Frodo – though who would not? Though visibly older and more tired, with new wrinkles framing his eyes and mouth and a thinner, more angular countenance, he was still so handsome that no lass would have been immune. And he smelled nice, too: no longer of pipe weed, for he had done what no other hobbit had done before him and inexplicably quit, but of clean clothes and clean skin – of his own warm, musky scent like cinnamon and cloves, but also – she knew it now, the enigmatic fragrance she’d sensed all those years ago: of books with leather bindings.

She also liked to see him trace the letters, which he did skillfully and with elegant ease, even though he was missing a finger. In fact, watching him do so was still more fascinating for the lack.

But no, she didn’t just like sitting next to Mr. Frodo, or listening to Mr. Frodo, or watching Mr. Frodo – with whom, whatever her past embarrassing feelings, she felt unashamed to be herself.

She was starting to like reading. It felt less like chewing rocks, or banging her head against a wall. Approaching the material from different angles – speaking, singing, writing, discussing, putting words into categories – it all made it easier to remember and to understand.

But it was still hard going. And a number of difficulties remained.

For one, even with the use of a bookmark, her eyes still liked to jump from line to line on their own accord, and if she read too long the lines would start to shake, and she got tired far sooner than she would a year ago – when she was still training under Mrs. Bracegirdle and would revisit her books from time to time.

And she would also get headaches. Headaches that cut down her time with reading and with Mr. Frodo.

One such headache came when they were poring over a poem about a dwarf named Durin, another one of Bilbo’s recordings from his time with the company of fourteen. Marigold was imagining the bright din of hammers, the stately halls and the ponderous columns encrusted with runes. Frodo had drawn her a picture of the Mines of Moria, complete with how small people looked beside the great pillars of stone. Outside, the late summer sun was not yet waning, and through the curtain she could see the outline of apple tree branches, rocking in the breeze. The branches were heavy with fruit – a sight, sadly, that Durin and his folk would rarely see, spending much of their lives underground.

Did they ever get despondent, living so long without the sun?

A pain had begun to form behind her eyes, and the words were starting to dance, so she had hoped to keep it at bay by looking at the distance.

Not so.

In fact, she ought not have looked outside: even with the curtain tempering the sun-rays, they had been too bright for her. When she returned to the page, the words wobbled worse than usual, and the pain began to spread and intensify. It had been a busy day, and when she had eaten and drank, it had been in a hurry, and not enough.

She closed her eyes.

“Are you alright?”

She kept her eyes closed.

“Yes. Just a headache. I get them sometimes.”

“Do you want to stop? We should stop. You need to rest.”

But she shook her head, pressing her fingers to the corners of her eyes. Her head felt like a bucket, with water sloshing around inside.

“I’ll be alright, Mr. Frodo.”

But she wasn’t alright. The dull fullness, paired with a vice-like grip, grew steadily, and before long she felt like she might lose what food she had eaten. She got up and moved to the couch, and put her face in her hands.

Darkness. Deep breaths. That ought to set her to rights.

She felt Frodo take a seat beside her.

“Would you like to lie down? Or would you like me to walk you home?”

She shook her head again. Bagshot Row was noisy from dawn till well past sundown, and noise was not her friend at such times.

“No, Mr. Frodo,” she said. Her words came out slowly, like sap from a cut in a tree. “I just need to sit here for a spell, and then I’ll brew some willow bark tea, and I’ll be right as rain. I’m sorry to be an in-con-venience.”

“Oh, you’re no inconvenience, Mari.”

She felt him get up and a few moments later, the cushions shifted again as he sat back down.

“Might you have some willow bark in here?” She opened her eyes to see him holding her bag. “If so, I can brew it for you.”

The pain in her head was spreading and taking a hold in her neck, shoulders, and arms, and she did not have the wherewithal to protest.

She nodded.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Frodo,” Marigold said, as she sipped the tea.

Frodo had done well in brewing the bark, particularly for one with no apothecary experience. The brew was thick without tasting like the plant had been scalded or over-steeped, and there was not a trace of dirt or dregs - just warm, thick, golden-brown liquid. It was spreading quickly throughout her body, numbing and relaxing wherever it found hurt, helping her breathe a little easier.

“I’ve been getting headaches since the Scouring,” she added, not quite knowing why.

Frodo sat by her side, a look of concern over his lovely features.

“But it’s getting better,” she went on quickly. “The first few weeks my head hurt all the time. It’s a wonder I knew what was what from one minute to the next. But now it’s only here and there.”

“Marigold… That’s — not right. Maybe you should go see Dr. Boffin.”

She shrugged, looking at her reflection in the tea.

“I know what it is. My brains got rattled pretty well when I was down in the Lockholes. There’s nothing for it now, except time.”

“Your… brains got rattled?”

Come to think of it, he had never asked – did not think it was his place – what she had done to get imprisoned in the Lockholes. As far as he could tell, the Lockholes had been reserved for those who actively resisted Lotho and Saruman’s rule, but it was hard to imagine the docile and obliging Marigold actively resisting anything – though he supposed, just as with Sam, that a stolid and patient nature could have easily hidden a passionate heart.

“Rattled is the word,” Marigold replied matter of factly. The headache was loosening its grip, and so was the moribund, heavy feeling that came with it – a feeling that whispered and lied, sinking invisible claws in, promising no end in sight, no way of feeling well or happy ever again.

“They beat me almost daily in there. It was sure to happen e-ventually.”

“They… what? But why?!”

He knew conditions were harsh – many hobbits could barely walk upon coming out, while some never walked out at all – but this was another order of cruelty. He recalled Sam’s statement that if Lotho had not already been dead, he might have killed him all over again – not that Frodo approved of killing anyone for anything, even still.

Marigold took another sip. The willow-bark was working famously, which made her glad on a number of counts.

She stood up, straightening her skirts, and rolled her head this way and that, stretching her back with her hands on her waist. She looked out the window – thankfully, the sun was going down and a thin blanket of clouds had stretched across the sky. It was no longer bright enough to hurt her eyes.

“Why do you think, Mr. Frodo?” she said dispassionately, shrugging. “Because they could. Because people, if you give them power, like that kind of thing, if you get my meaning.”

Of course, she knew exactly why they did it, though she did not want to say it in so many words. The guards must have been under orders – they did not touch her that way, which was surprising at first, but roughing her up was a daily occurrence. The degree varied depending on the guard and his mood that day – at times it was a cuff to the side of her head, at times she was thrown to the ground and had the breath kicked out of her.

A few of the other hobbits, including the former mayor, Will Whitfoot, had tried to stand up for her at first – “Leave the girl alone, for heaven’s sake!” – the mayor had boomed, when he still could boom – “Whatever is the point of this?!” But it had only garnered him the same treatment, and he was starved for a week into the bargain.

The guards seemed to be under orders to avoid her face, too, and she knew why that was as well.

For those not privy to certain facts, it may have been odd that they targeted her that way. After all, there were many good looking lasses, though her reputation for goodness might have made her a particularly attractive object for defilement. Had she simply refused to do as she was told, she might have been passed around by Sharkey’s men and then discarded. But in a rare moment of righteous passion, and in front of the ruffians no less, she had found her voice and said something so cutting to Lotho — something only longtime residents of the Shire would know — that she earned herself a more elaborate punishment.

Frodo stood up beside her. He looked abjectly horrified, like he could barely keep his own feet.

“Marigold…” He wanted to touch her arm, but refrained with some effort. “How… How can you be so calm about this? Should you even be working? You need to rest, to heal. And those – those –”

He ran in his mind a list of hobbits who had been party to Lotho’s, and “Sharkey’s” regime – those, indeed, who were still alive and had not fled. He had but to say the word, and Sam and the other farm lads would deliver justice of the pitchfork and fist variety. But how would that help Marigold now, and would she even want such things done in her name?

An eye for an eye made the whole world blind. (2)

“But I am almost completely well, Mr. Frodo.” Marigold looked at him earnestly.

And it was true, too – the headache was melting away, and she was quickly coming back into her own, the Marigold that bounced.

“And I get plenty of rest, as well” – she added – which she did, at night, since waking up from the dreams of getting brutalized was growing less frequent – “And I like work,” she went on. “It makes me feel like all is well in the world, if you get my meaning. Even if I’m hurting all the time, and even if I have to repeat everything to myself twice over, I don’t think I could be happy sitting still.”

Frodo regarded her, quietly, and opened and closed his hand a few times – as if exercising his joints, or recalling the weight of some object.

“But how did you get through it?” he finally asked. “I mean – well, you know what I mean.”

Marigold thought for a moment.

How had she gotten through?

The first thing that came to mind – and she had asked herself the same question, many times – was Mrs. Tunnelly. She was an older hobbit lady from Frogmorton, who had shared her cell, and had been kind. She would hold Marigold, and rock her to sleep and sing to her when she was hurting, and told her she had a daughter just the same age. She offered Marigold her rations, which Marigold staunchly refused, and had died in her sleep only a few days before the liberation.

But it wasn’t just Mrs. Tunnelly, as Marigold had realized with time. There was something else that had made it materially different from the other thing – from well before – that still haunted her and made her ill.

“I got through it because I had to, Mr. Frodo,” she replied. “I knew it would be worse if I didn’t. It was a simple choice, really, as far as choices go.”

And, suddenly, it felt like a simple choice, too, to tell him what had happened — all of it. He looked at her with such soulful feeling in his eyes – with a hint of admiration she did not deserve, but also more: a sort of luminosity and perceptiveness, echoing through each line of his rapidly aging face. Had their relationship been different, their arms might have reached toward one another, and they might have embraced.

“And Mr. Frodo, I could’ve kept company with the enemy, too, if you get my meaning,” she went on. “And I could have been safe that way for a while. But that would have meant I con-doned what was happening, that I con-doned the Shire and the others being ill-used, and people would have spat at me in the streets for it, and would have been right to do it. But Mr. Frodo, I knew it couldn’t go on forever – I knew Sharkey and Lotho would never win. I knew we would be rescued in time – and we were.” She looked at him significantly.

It was simple, really.

Simple.

There it was again. A word not in his lexicon, however comforting it was at times.

Marigold took another breath, and turned from side to side, her arms following her shoulders, her skirt fanning out like a bell.

“Well, Mr. Frodo, I’m feeling better now,” she said, almost joyfully. “Shall we go back to our letters?”

Frodo shook his head in wonderment and sighed.

The Gamgees, it seemed, were made of truly strong stuff. Far stronger than he was, anyway, and perhaps their secret was just that: a pure and simple heart – such a rare thing in this world, but also essential to not fall prey to its evils.

It was people like them who tended the light, simply because they could not conceive of anything else.

This is from “Wandering Day,” written by Bear McCreary for the TV show Rings of Power, a song that easily could have been part of hobbit oral tradition and passed down to the time of The Lord of the Rings.

“An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind” is, of course, a quote attributed to Gandhi, but Frodo would not know this.

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the-great-middle-earth-read · 3 years ago

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TTT Book Three: Chapter One - The Departure of Boromir

The fellowship have been separated as they fight off the Orcs. Boromir is killed and Merry and Pippin are taken by the Orcs. Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli lay Boromir to rest and learn of Sam and Frodo’s departure. They decide to follow after the Orcs to save Merry and Pippin and let Frodo and Sam go.

Chapter Notes

I’m always a little startled at the sudden change of POV to Aragorn even though I know it is coming. This is the first time we are actually not looking at things from a hobbit’s POV for an extended period of time. And I have to admit, the first half of Two Towers does feel different to Fellowship.

Boromir’s death is far less emotional than what the film portrays. It’s rather shocking when I think about it. Gandalf’s death really lets you sit with not only the grief but what the loss of Gandalf means for the fellowship. But with Boromir we’re not really given a lot of time to linger. Yes, we get a moment where Aragorn and Legolas sing of Boromir but there’s not a lot of time to stay in this moment - Merry and Pippin are in danger and they quickly become the focus. It just feels a bit odd - he was one of the main members of the fellowship and to see him be pushed off to the side so quickly feels rather wrong for me.

“Maybe there is no right choice” - this line, spoken by Gimli, really stood out to me when I was reading this chapter. I’ve mentioned earlier that there seems to be a bit of a them around fate vs free will with Frodo making the choice to take the ring to Mordor and how important that was and here again we see the concept of choice being brought up. I love how, when faced with all these decisions - Frodo choosing to leave, Sam choosing to go with him, Aragorn trying to decide who to follow and doubting all his earlier choices we see Gimli speak of this idea that maybe none of their choices are the right ones. Choosing between Frodo & Sam and Merry & Pippin is an impossible choice and maybe there wasn’t a “right” one but I think it really shows how difficult the decisions they are trying to make are. There is so much riding on this quest and they are surrounded by enemies - how are they supposed to choose? It just really made me stop and think about all the decisions they’ve had to make and I love the idea that they are just don’t know what is right for them to choose anymore and yet they still make choices - they don’t give up.

So Boromir is laid to rest with a few items in the boat. First mentioned is his elven cloak and the belt given to him from Galadriel - the things from his time in the fellowship. I particularly love that the cloak is used to try and cushion him - the cloaks almost became a symbol of the fellowship, or at least the brooches on the cloaks did, and it is with this that they try to offer some form of comfort to him. Next went his helm, the cloven horn and the shard of his sword - the symbols of his home. Two of them are broken - his weapon and how he raises the alarm. Only his helm - that which defends him - is left in one piece. This reminds me of someone that I can’t yet mention because of spoilers but I think it’s important that it reminds me of him. Lastly, the swords of his enemies are placed at his feet - the victories and deeds he accomplished in life. I think it all says a lot about Boromir - his friendship and loyalty, his home, and his status as a warrior.

And then to finish off we get the formation of the three hunters. I think these three really cement the importance of the fellowship and how they are different races working together. We’ve seen several times throughout this book how people from different lands have viewed one another with mistrust and even derision and now we see three of our main characters band together and set off to save their friends - they can accomplish more together than they could apart.

#lord of the rings #the two towers #boromir #the fellowship #the three hunters #gimli #aragorn #legolas #chapter notes

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lizziestudieshistory · 3 years ago

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Books of 2021 - Words of Radiance by Brandon Sanderson

It’s probably time to admit what is probably my most unpopular opinion about the Cosmere: I hate Words of Radiance. It’s the book I have to slog my way through to get to Oathbringer. Part of my dislike is heavily linked to my disillusionment about Shallan… However, I do think the big moments in this book – most notably the duel scene and final battle – cloud people to the genuine faults in it. It is a technical step up from The Way of Kings, but there are huge parts of this book that are unnecessarily slow to read and there is a huge thematic drop that starts in this book that I cannot forgive Sanderson for. I also dislike a lot of the individual plotlines, major characters are barely in this book, and a lot of the big reveals/developments feel unearned because they had to happen in this book so we could get on with the more important conflicts in the rest of the series.

This review has spoilers for The Stormlight Archive, you have been warned.

Structure and Plot

I don’t want to touch on the structure too much because a lot of my niggles for The Way of Kings continue into Words of Radiance. All of these books have too much fat around them – the interludes continue to feel irrelevant; the main bulk of the book is drawn out slightly too much; and the flashbacks are merely okay, they haven’t reached the level of Oathbringers’ flashback sequence yet. However, Sanderson does make some serious improvements in this book.

Shallan, our focus character, does have a much more interesting backstory and the flashbacks have slightly more bearing on the present-day plotline. However, for me, they lose interest on subsequent rereads and there are slightly too many of them that don’t add any new information once we’re aware of how terrible her family life is. They are an improvement on Kaladin’s, and I like them a lot more, however, considering how much we STILL don’t know about Shallan (as of Rhythm of War) Sanderson could have utilised them better in this book. Saying this, I do remember really liking the flashbacks on my first read, so I really do think my current negativity is a product of having read this book one too many times? I’m going to hold off on Sanderson for a couple of years after this reread so (if I remember) I’ll come back and reevaluate how I feel about Shallan’s flashbacks with a fresher eye.

Sanderson also gets us into this book a lot quicker than he did in The Way of Kings. Jasnah’s prologue is one of my favourites in the series so far, and part one does hit the ground running. It sucks the reader back into the world, refamiliarised with the essentials of the story, as well as introducing the next leg of the plot. It’s a fabulous introduction and it’s one of the strongest first parts in the series as a whole.

Unfortunately, the pacing doesn’t reflect this strong introduction – once Shallan loses Jasnah’s guidance, and Kaladin is established as Dalinar’s guard the book dramatically slows down. Kaladin’s chapters, while slow, have some differentiation to break them up with Bridge Four learning how to be guards. Shallan’s turns into an interminable slog across the countryside. One of the things I loathe in fantasy are the long journeys with nothing going on – sometimes they can be done beautifully. For example, I love Sam and Frodo’s section in The Two Towers, but Shallan’s is just painful. Sam and Frodo’s journey is so fascinating because of the internal struggle they are going through (together and separately), it’s atmospheric and powerful because of its character work. Yes they are trying to get to Mordor, but the goal isn’t what matters here – it’s whether Sam and Frodo can survive the journey, and what state they will be in when they get there.

Shallan’s journey is clearly a way to get her to the Shattered Plains in the right circumstances and it shows. We’re journeying from A to B, with a few obstacles thrown in. There is some development from Shallan as she learns the basics to being a conwoman from Tyn. However, again this is something thrown in to keep Shallan’s point of view interesting while she’s riding through the countryside. It’s not vital character growth that can only be done at this point in the journey. If we’re going to slog it through the wilderness there needs to be a point to it that can only be learnt from showing such a long journey – otherwise cut down Shallan’s chapters in this section and only show the necessary highlights, while hinting at the longer journey through her internal reflections.

I’m also just going to throw out that I was bored in part three – the end of this part is phenomenal, and contains the famous duel scene with Adolin and Kaladin, which is one of the highlights of the whole series. However, the build up to this scene is repetitive and a bit dull in places? It’s possibly because I’m not a huge fan of Shallan and Kaladins’ arcs in this book. I’ve never liked the Ghostbloods plotline (and it’s only gotten worse with the Thaidakar reveal in Rhythm of War), Shallan’s romance with Adolin is slightly cringey, and I’m going to have a rant about the Kaladin/Moash conflict when I get to writing about Kaladin’s character. The main plotlines in this book are a bit…painful? They scream filler for a lot of part three – I don’t necessarily mind it; I actually like the conflict between Adolin and Kaladin because it does make sense for both characters. It doesn’t do much except build a camaraderie between them and develop their characters, but there are a few too many scenes of it, along with the painful romance scenes. Sorry, romance isn’t Sanderson’s strong point…

Prose

Still painful, still don’t love it. I do think there is a slight improvement between The Way of Kings and Words of Radiance because there aren’t any egregious moments that stand out to me in this book. Some moments, such as Kaladin’s first flight through the chasms and then when he’s flying with Syl over the Shattered Plains, even stand out as highlights for Sanderson’s writing – I really feel Kaladin’s joy and sense of freedom. There are some lovely moments in this book, and it does mark an improvement in Sanderson’s writing style! However, I’m still not a fan of Sanderson’s prose as a whole, it still feels clunky in places, and I’d prefer it to be a little bit more refined. This is very much a personal preference complaint though, as I stressed in my The Way of Kings review.

Magic System

I should probably discuss Sanderson’s magic system in the Stormlight Archive at this point, especially as it’s becoming more and more relevant as we continue into the series.

So, for those of you who are reading this without having read the book (why?!), Stormlight is dominated by a hard magic system called Surgebinding. Human Surgebinders (I’ll probably discuss the Singer’s surgebinding abilities in a later review) are members of one of the ten orders of the Knight’s Radiant: Windrunners, Skybreakers, Dustbringers, Edgedancers, Truthwatchers, Lightweavers, Elsecallers, Willshapers, Stonewards, and Bondsmiths. Each order possess the ability to manipulate two of the ten surges using Stormlight to power their abilities:

Windrunners: adhesion and gravitation

Skybreakers: gravitation and division

Dustbringers: division and abrasion

Edgedancers: abrasion and progression

Truthwatchers: progression and illumination

Lightweavers: illimitation and transformation

Elsecallers: transformation and transportation

Willshapers: transportation and cohesion

Stonewards: cohesion and tension

Bondsmiths: tension and adhesion

They also gain magical armour and weapons known as Shardplate and Shardblades, although when each order gets their plate and plate depends on the order and spren/nahel bond. The order of the Radiant will depend on what oaths they swear and what type of spren they are bonded to:

Windrunners: honorspren

Skybreakers: highspren

Dustbringers: ashspren

Edgedancers: cultivationspren

Lightweavers: cryptics (“liespren”)

Elsecallers: inkspren

Willshapers: lightspren

Stonewards: peakspren

Bondsmiths: the Stormfather, Nightwatcher, or the Sibling (I don’t think we have a spren category for these three)

In Words of Radiance, we get the most insight into Windrunners and Lightweavers through Kaladin and Shallan, respectively, so I’m going to focus on these orders. This does actually work well because the Windrunners and Lightweavers can represent the two “styles” of orders quite well, each one being fairly structured or esoteric respectively.

Kaladin’s Windrunner powers are the most stereotypical magical ability – using gravitation Kaladin can fly, well technically fall in any direction, but the effect is the same. We see him using his powers to soar through the skies above the Shattered Plains, and run on walls. The effect is incredibly cinematic to read (although I suspect it would look ridiculous if poorly adapted into a visual medium) and enhances Kaladin’s status as an ‘action hero’. His other ability, adhesion, is slightly less dramatic – at least when it’s used straightforwardly. He can stick things together, or draw objects towards something else, including people, with magical superglue.

However, Kaladin’s, and the rest of the Knights Radiants’, powers are connected to the oaths he swears and his bond with Sylphrena (Syl). The Knights are granted the ability to surgebind and control their powers through 5 oaths, each order has different oaths but the first is universal: ‘Life before Death, Strength before Weakness, Journey before Destination’. In Kaladin’s case his oaths are connected to protecting others, which does slightly excuse Kaladin’s “saving people thing” and inability to let it go if people he cares about die. Whether Kaladin keeps his oath depends on whether Syl, his bonded Honorspren, best friend, and a tiny piece of divinity in her own right, agrees whether he is keeping them in spirit – something we explore at length with Kaladin’s plotline in this book.

Shallan’s Lightweaver powers are also incredibly visual, especially as she spends all of this book focusing on illumination, which gives her the ability to shape Stormlight into realistic illusions. Her abilities are particularly useful for subterfuge and lies as Shallan can use them on herself to change her appearance, or on their own to make it appear as if something is there when it’s not. Her other ability – soulcasting, the surge of transformation – still hasn’t been explored as of Rhythm of War. Soulcasting changes one substance into another, but exactly how it works and the extent of its power is still uncertain. However, from what we’ve seen through Jasnah, who also has the ability, it is overpowered and very cool.

Shallan’s oaths are less obvious than Kaladin’s and it’s hard to tell what oath she’s on by the end of the book – although this is also heavily linked to Shallan’s backstory and developments in her character in later books,Shallan is definitely a non-standard Radiant! Her oaths, after the initial oath, are made up of truths about herself. She speaks her truths to her spren, Pattern, in order to progress as a Radiant. Her oaths also force her to develop as a person, which has been a painful process because Shallan has been lying to herself since she was a child and doesn’t want to admit what she’s done.

The magic system is clearly very complicated, and we still don’t know everything about it, six of the ten orders haven’t been explored through their specific books, and even the orders we have seen a lot from through our viewpoint characters are shrouded in mystery – I’m still not entirely sure what Bondsmiths do despite having the Bondsmith book (Oathbringer) because the order is so esoteric. It’s well drawn and compelling, especially as Sanderson uses the progression of the Knights as a mystery throughout the books. Despite not being that interested in hard magic systems the magic in this book is interesting and I really like the structure around the Radiants – it also makes for interesting discussion, debates, and Harry Potter style quizzes in the fandom, which is fun!

Characters and Plotlines

Kaladin, Syl, and Moash – Unfortunately, my new found love of Kaladin was tried in this novel because Kaladin REALLY gets on my nerves in Words of Radiance. It’s not because I disagree with Kaladin per se… I actually agree with a lot of Kaladin’s anger, resentment, and sense of injustice with the social system in Vorin/Alethi society. Kaladin has a right to feel angry and seek retribution for what was done to him, and Bridge Four.

However, Kaladin walks around with a massive chip on his shoulder in this book, particularly in how he talks to and thinks about Dalinar and his immediate family. His motivation I can understand and sympathise with, but the impression of ‘I’m so hard done to, the world is against me’ that Kaladin radiates in this book feels completely at odds with the reality of his situation. Yes, Kaladin has a right to be angry. Yes, he has a right to seek justice. But there is no reason he should be so personally antagonistic towards everyone because of their social position. He is in a position of power, he’s outside the social hierarchy to a large extent, and in control of his own life (and the lives of the ex-Bridgecrews). Kaladin is angry at everyone and everything, but he’s losing the justification for a lot of his resentment, particularly when it’s expressed towards Dalinar and his sons.

In particular I have an issue with Kaladin’s main plotline around Moash and the attempt to assassinate Elhokar. Aside from the fact I hate Moash, to the extent where Moash could be dropped from the books without resolution and I wouldn’t bat an eye (sorry Moash fans - I’ve never liked him…), this plotline just doesn’t feel right for Kaladin’s character. It actually feels like a betrayal of the character we got to know in The Way of Kings and continue with in Oathbringer/Rhythm of War. I can’t see a world where Kaladin Stormblessed is okay with murder or assassination.

Kaladin’s whole deal is honour and justice - justice as in what’s morally right (legality is another thing entirely!) He also wants to protect everyone, including Syl - Syl perhaps above everyone else as Tien is dead - but this plot is something she explicitly isn’t comfortable with and is concerned about. I CAN see a world where Kaladin pursues a plan to see Elhokar removed from power, but not assassinated. The argument about Elhokar’s removal being like removing a gangrenous limb (or whatever the exact metaphor was) doesn’t hold up for his character.

What makes this whole plotline worse is it doesn’t really lead anywhere, other than placing Moash on the opposite side to Kaladin in the upcoming war. All that we really get from it is confirmation that Kaladin is a Windrunner to the core (which we already knew) and Moash is on whatever side Kaladin isn’t because they’re foils for each other. However, the only real outcome of this entire 1,000 page plotline is Moash is maneuvered into position for his arc in Oathbringer, and Kaladin gets to swear his third ideal. Yet Kaladin’s perspective doesn’t radically change and quite frankly working out the third ideal could have been done in another way, without betraying Kaladin’s character for two thirds of a book. It was there to conveniently get a few characters where they needed to be for the next book, and to let Kaladin have another superhero moment. I love Kaladin superhero moments as much as anyone else - I just wish it wasn’t prefaced with this plotline.

One thing I really don’t understand - and is why I dislike this plotline so much - is why we’re stressing so much on a Kaladin-Moash friendship anyway. They don’t feel like friends! Honestly, this is a larger problem with Bridge Four as a whole - their friendship with Kaladin doesn’t feel earnt. Well no, Rock, Teft, and Lopen do. But the larger part of Bridge Four feels like they’re just there? They definitely feel like they’re friends with each other, but not necessarily with Kaladin.

I’ve already confessed that I’m not the biggest fan of Bridge Four at the best of times because they feel like a sports team underdog narrative, which is honestly my worst nightmare of a storyline. However, I DO want to see Sanderson actually show Kaladin being friends with them, especially as they are such a huge part of his motivation to protect. We have one scene - the bar scene - with a few of them acting like a genuine friendship group. Yet this doesn’t make for a genuine friendship, we need more little moments throughout the book, including Kaladin.

Sanderson does improve on the Bridge Four dynamic, Oathbringer and Rhythm of War make me feel like Bridge Four are genuine mates a lot more than Words of Radiance does. However, for this book we do need to see Kaladin and Moash as real friends, maybe even as close as brothers, for the Elhokar assassination plotline to work. But we don’t! It’s easier for me to believe Adolin and Kaladin’s friendship than Moash and Kaladin! And Adolin and Kaladin spend most of this book bickering…

I think the real issue with this plotline is the execution. The way Kaladin’s character has been established, the lack of page time spent on Bridge Four as a whole and Moash in particular, and ultimately small outcomes for this plotline makes it feel tedious and slightly pointless. Sanderson needed to increase the REAL stakes - there was no way Kaladin was really going to lose his status as a radiant, just for narrative reasons - and work on the emotional impact. We need to believe Kaladin would really go through with the assassination, and his friendship with Moash before getting to this plotline. But as we don’t, or at least I don’t, feel this so Kaladin’s anger and it’s consequential plotline ends up frustrating me to the point where Kaladin is on thin ice for a lot of this novel.

Shallan - Okay, I’m going to address the elephant in the room later - the elephant is Shallan and the “Boots scene” if you weren’t aware. However, I do have a few other complaints about Shallan in this book.

My main issue with Shallan, excluding the classism I’m addressing later, is that a lot of her character feels unearned (in this book specifically not as a general rule.) Not in the sense that her powers feel unearned, or her backstory isn’t believable (which I really love), but her achievements and relationships in Words of Radiance feel cheap. There are several moments that stick out to me as being particularly annoying.

Firstly, Shallan’s ability to control Tvlakv, Tyn, and the merchant caravans. Personally, I find this whole situation ridiculous when I think about it. I can go along with Shallan being able to get to the Shattered Plains miraculously meeting the slave trader who sold Kaladin. However, the fact Shallan is apparently capable of manipulating Tvlakv into taking her there with very little conflict is ludicrous.

Shallan’s a shipwrecked, fairly middling noble with few resources at her immediate disposal, and a somewhat shy (if on later acquaintance bubbly) personality. It doesn’t make sense to me that she can have this influence over Tvlakv. Yes she’s been taught by Jasnah, and yes she does have some confidence/authority from her own position as a lighteyes. However, I’m really struggling to believe that, at this point in her story, she is a good enough actress to pull off an aloof lighteyed woman of significant enough rank to make Tvlakv do what she wants, especially when they’ve met in the middle of nowhere and Shallan has no other options.

My second issue with this is with Adolin and Sabarial. Adolin also falls into my larger complaints about Sanderson’s romances, which are by far the weakest elements in any of his books. However, let’s start with Sabarial:

So… Why the hell does Sabarial take her in? It makes ZERO sense. The ‘because it annoys Dalinar’ argument just doesn’t cut it, and neither does the ‘Sabarial is so weird’ perspective. As bonkers as he appears on the surface, we know Sabarial is a shrewd businessman. He’s lazy, but also a clever and manipulative leader, he doesn’t do anything without getting something in return. However, he doesn’t get anything from taking Shallan in except the satisfaction of getting one up on Dalinar? She doesn’t even do his accounts properly! It feels like an inconsistent character move that is only there to suit the storytelling and give Shallan more freedom, rather than demonstrate Sabarial's motivations.

Okay Adolin is both better and worse than Sabarial. I can genuinely understand why Adolin likes Shallan so much and vice versa. I love the relationship they have once it’s been established - they’re good for each other (well I think Adolin is better for Shallan than she is for him, but the point stands.) However, it’s just so insta-lovey! They just meet and it’s like the heavens aligned, and a perfect relationship blossoms. It’s not quite that fast, but it’s pretty quick. And I just don’t buy that initial push into their bond.

I just find this initial meeting and first couple of dates unbelievable? It’s also very cringey… I can’t read some of their ‘banter’ because it’s painful for me at this point - I’m literally Kaladin whenever he has to watch them together. It’s the worst combination of Sanderson’s sense of humour, his poor romances, and annoyingly quirky characters. By Oathbringer I do think they have a good, settled relationship going on, but in this book I really dislike the way it’s sparked. (I’m also questioning why Adolin doesn’t seem to be mourning Jasnah and is going out on dates? It just seems off to me!)

Honestly, I could probably live with both of these aspects if it wasn’t for the final, most egregious issue I have with Shallan in Words of Radiance. Her discovering Urithiru.

I cannot stress enough how much I HATE that Shallan discovered the Oathgate on the Shattered Plains. The other successes feel unrealistic and unearnt but are ultimately small moments that would have to happen in some form - Shallan has to get to the Shattered Plains, and she has to meet/fall in love with Adolin. They’re irritating in how they’re executed but are ultimately okay instagatory moments.

On the other hand, finding Urithiru is one of the biggest moments in the whole series! It’s a significant part of the climax of the whole book! Without it we’d be reading a very different series in Oathbringer and beyond. But giving this huge moment to Shallan is completely out of proportion to the work she’s put in. Yes, Shallan has been looking for it for a few months, she wants to continue Jasnah’s work. However, Jasnah has been slaving away at this for YEARS, literally YEARS. Why does Shallan get this moment of triumph? It’s completely unwarranted for what she’s done, especially as she literally couldn’t have done it without Jasnah’s research. It just pisses me off that we seem to give all the credit to her when, in reality, she drew a map.

I think this annoys me so much because Sanderson went down the ‘kill the mentor’ trope for this book. There was actually very little reason to remove Jasnah in the way he did in Words of Radiance - Shallan could have easily been ignored by Jasnah once they reached Shattered Plains as she’s dealing with the high stakes politics/war effort with Dalinar, leaving Shallan to get embroiled with the Ghostbloods and Adolin. This would have left small amounts of time to see them working together on their scholarship, whilst also giving Shallan room to grow. Using ‘kill the mentor’ AND having Jasnah return from the ‘dead’ felt cheap the first time around (nevermind this one!) whilst achieving very little that couldn’t have been done in other ways.

Overall, I just think Sanderson overplays Shallan’s competence in this book. She’s still a 17/18 year old girl and he’s overdoing it with her abilities that aren’t related to her Radiant powers. The discoveries she makes don’t live up to her reality of character and I find it irritating.

I’ve said a lot that is negative about Shallan - I do get more positive after this book, so that’s something I guess? Nevertheless, I do want to say one thing I really love about Shallan and this book is her backstory. Apart from Dalinar, Shallan has the best backstory out of the main characters we’ve seen so far. The abuse from her father, casual cruelty and neglect within her family, and Shallan’s own darkness is fascinating to read about - if slightly distressing. I don’t have much to say about it as a whole because I think it’s very effective in adding a darker layer into Shallan’s character, as well as being a much more interesting story than Kaladin’s was in The Way of Kings.

Sanderson hasn’t quite mastered the interweaving of the flashbacks into the main storyline in Words of Radiance, then again Oathbringer was exceptionally good in comparison to all the other books for this aspect. However, the Words of Radiance flashbacks are a marked improvement and made for a great way to deepen Shallan’s character past the hints we’d seen in her chapters in the first book. I think it’s a very believable backstory. It’s probably the backstory that’s having the most ‘present day’ impact on the character in question (again Dalinar is a close second but Sanderson dropped the ball with his character growth in Rhythm of War.) Shallan’s past is fabulous and well utilised by Sanderson to make her grow - and I did want to say something positive about Shallan because, despite not liking her, I do think she is a very well written character.

Pattern - I want to say that, despite my apparent vendetta against Shallan, I REALLY love Pattern! He’s so annoyingly sweet, sincere, and genuine! Actually he reminds me a lot of one of my dogs, which might be a contributing factor to my enjoyment of him? Either way Pattern is one of the best spren characters we’ve met so far - he’s amazing!

Dalinar - I’m mainly here to complain there isn’t enough Dalinar in this book and I miss him… I understand why he isn’t as present in Words of Radiance as he is in The Way of Kings and Oathbringer. However, I do think the absence of both Dalinar and Jasnah - my two “problematic faves”, plus Kaladin feeling very off for most of this book, contributes to why I don’t like it very much. Their loss leaves a big hole for my personal enjoyment and attachment, especially on rereads. It’s a very personal problem and comes down to who you read the series for (and whether you like Shallan or not.)

Although, when we get one of the few Dalinar chapters I am ecstatic because they’re all particularly punchy in this book! Chapter 67 - Spit and Bile - when Wit and Dalinar discuss his nature as a ‘benevolent tyrant’ is one of my favourites in the whole series. It’s a real moment of character realisation for Dalinar and gives us some FANTASTIC food for thought before we get to the shocking revelations of Oathbringer.

Kaladin and Shallan, Class Status, and the Boots Scene

Okay, it’s time to address the elephant in the room – Sanderson dropping the ball on his discussion of class conflict. I loved Sanderson’s introduction of class conflict, it’s something I’m particularly interested in as a British person. However, he handles this theme badly in Words of Radiance and drops it completely in Oathbringer, and it was almost a deal breaker for me on this reread. I’m genuinely upset about it.

So, a lot of Kaladin’s arc in this book is centred around him learning to look past his (valid) anger over what was done to him by the lighteyes, and specifically Amaram. Of course, this can’t really be resolved in one book, and I do hope Sanderson listens to the very vocal criticism around his “resolving” of Kaladin’s anger by pressing Kaladin into siding with his oppressors without uncritically examining his choices in books 3 and 4 (as well as making him a de facto lighteyes himself). However, in Words of Radiance Kaladin is very much giving into his anger now he has the opportunity to live, rather than just survive, and Sanderson uses a lot of his interactions with Dalinar, Adolin, and Shallan to show him ‘not all lighteyes are bad’.

I do have issues with the way Sanderson handles this with Adolin and Dalinar - maybe Dalinar not so much because his character has A LOT of other issues going on and his interactions with Kaladin are very much structured by their positions in the army. Their relationship remains largely professional, especially in this book, and Kaladin is shown to trust and respect Dalinar and vice versa. Not to mention that Dalinar is actually prepared to listen to Kaladin’s version of events and do his best to get justice for Kaladin against Amaram - it’s just not an easy situation to prove or resolve, and it can’t be done in the way Kaladin wants.

As an aside for the rest of the series - I do have issues with Kaladin’s long term idolisation of Dalinar as a leader and ‘noble’ lighteyes. We haven’t really seen Kaladin’s reaction to the revelations from Oathbringer (the in-world version) which I do think would change the dynamic between them. After all, the revelations about Dalinar show him to be worse than Amaram in many respects! Kaladin should have a reaction to the morality around Dalinar’s actions in the past, even if he is trying to change, and not just continue as they did before. Although, this issue ties into the larger problems with the series structure and how Sanderson keeps all but dropping Dalinar’s character growth in every other book - we need to address the consequences for revealing his past to the world, particularly with his family and political allies, not just sweep them under the carpet as we did in Rhythm of War!

In contrast to Kaladin’s relationship with Dalinar, he and Adolin are on a slightly more (although not completely) equal level, as demonstrated by their bickering, banter, and eventual friendship. Their relationship begins with Adolin’s suspicions about Kaladin, Kaladin’s hatred for lighteyes, and a mutual grudge against each other, but their relationship grows into a very real friendship after the duel sequence. Their relationship is one that has never bothered me because they had that rocky start. They grow into a friendship of equals, their distrust turns into a genuine bond because they learn to trust each other as they prove to each other that they aren’t what they first assumed.

Most importantly, despite the rocky start, neither of them are actively dismissive of the other based on their social status - Adolin never demeens Kaladin for being darkeyed and once Kaladin gets to know Adolin better his hostility towards lighteyes in general vanishes as they established their personal bond. The only moment you can point to Adolin actively dismissing Kaladin due to his social status is in The Way of Kings when he asks him to take a message to someone in the prostitute scene (sorry I’m not looking up the page numbers.) Adolin never shows dislike of anyone because they are darkeyes and definitely does not toy with those of a lesser social status than himself. Yes, I do agree Sanderson could do a better job of using the relationships between Adolin, Kaladin, and Bridge Four to address some of the subconscious biases Adolin holds. But Adolin is never cruel or manipulative to those with less social status.

This brings me to the big reason why I’ve come to loathe Shallan and the key reason I dislike Sanderson’s mishandling of the social class discussion. It’s not even necessarily Shallan herself that I dislike, it’s the way the narrative frames her character and Sanderson’s dismissal of Kaladin’s anger. I could look past most of the problems I’ve raised against Shallan if it wasn’t for the way Sanderson portrayed her in this book. I still don’t think she’d be my favourite character now but I wouldn’t feel the urge to close the book every time I have to read her chapters.

However, Shallan is probably the best example we have in a point of view character of the minor abuses of the lighteyes against anyone of a lower social class than themselves. I’m not talking about the major crimes committed by Sadeas or Amaram where they show a blatant disregard for life, but I am talking about the subtle abuses of those with wealth and rank against those less fortunate.

Throughout the series we see Shallan casually and absentmindedly manipulate, dismiss, and bully darkeyed individuals. She’s not maliciously cruel, but she is casually abusive. She treats people like Kaladin or the slaves she ends up owning as less than herself, especially when she first meets them. I’m not here to say this is Shallan’s fault per se. She has been taught to do so by her society, she’s been indoctrinated into a system that believes those with darkeyes are lesser than herself because the Almighty has deemed it to be this way. It’s an inbuilt, largely unconscious bias formed by the society she was brought up in. I’d actually like this character trait if Sanderson used it to challenge Shallan and make her grow as a character, like pretty much EVERYONE else has to do with aspects of their character!

But Sanderson doesn’t. Shallan is given a free pass for toying with darkeyes or those of a lower dahn than herself and using them to amuse herself, or even for dismissing them. And it’s not just once she does it, it’s a systematic behaviour in this book. Now, I will admit most of the time this behaviour is used against...unsavoury characters - it’s usually people like Tvlakv, a slave trader, who often fall victim to Shallan’s manipulation. As an audience we don’t like Tvlakv and don’t really care if he’s manipulated and pushed around by Shallan because of his earlier treatment of Kaladin. We like Kaladin, we like Shallan, but Tvlakv? Not so much. But her casual dismissal of Tvlakv’s life and livelihood (putting my loathing of slavery aside for the moment) does show Shallan’s contempt of those beneath her in general.

The better case to demonstrate Shallan’s classism is in her scenes with Kaladin. There are two moments I could use to make my point: the infamous “Boots” scene in chapter 28 and the Chasm sequence in Part 4. In both these scenes we see Shallan, in a position of power, dismiss Kaladin - the “Boots” scene is by far the worst of these two, but the later sequence give us a better glimpse into the problems with Sanderson’s framing of Shallan’s and Kaladin’s past traumas. Shallan’s trauma is validated by this scene, but Kaladin’s very justified dislike and anger is dismissed by both Sanderson and Shallan. There is very little, leading up to the Chasm sequence, that suggests Shallan is a nice person to Kaladin and he has a lot of long-term trauma from mistreatment and abuse from lighteyes in general. Kaladin should be allowed to hold onto his resentment to some extent. Instead he is forced to get rid of it because of Sanderson’s inflexible belief that all anger, even righteous anger, is wrong.

I could elaborate on this scene but as this review is now ludicrously long, I’m going to stick to the Boots scene as it is simpler and I don’t really need to summarise the scene because it’s so well. The basics you need are: Shallan uses her gender, social position, and Kaladin’s relative lack of authority to humiliate him in front of his men and con him out of his boots. And it’s played for laughs.

There is a small hint later on that Shallan shouldn’t have done what she did when Kaladin confronts her about the incident outside the meeting of the Highprinces. Yet, a large part of this was Shallan saving face when she realised he is Captain of the Kholins’ guard and could pose a serious threat to her plans if he felt so inclined. She doesn’t express any remorse for her behaviour morally speaking, nor does she think that she shouldn’t mess around with people who can’t fight back. No, she’s remorseful because it’s convenient for her.

The 'Boots' scene isn’t funny. It’s a clear, if childish, display of the sheer amount of power lighteyes have over everyone socially below them. But Sanderson doesn’t depict it in that way. It’s just there as an amusing scene, and to get Shallan and Kaladin off on the wrong foot. Kaladin was just doing his job, grumpily, and didn’t deserve this treatment from Tyn or Shallan. Especially as Shallan very much knows that she ISN’T a conwoman and she really IS Adolin’s betrothed - she doesn’t need to impress Tyn, especially not this close to the Shattered Plains. So, she has little excuse for acting in the way that she did, and she really didn’t need to humiliate Kaladin in front of his men. As the audience, we know Kaladin’s command isn’t going to be affected because of his history with Bridge Four, and we know he can replace his boots. But Shallan doesn’t and it only shows how little she really considers the lives of those below her. It’s just casual cruelty that served no purpose except to entertain her and Tyn.

The fact that Shallan has never really been called out for this by the narrative/Sanderson, only by Kaladin and more socially aware fans, is outrageous. Anyone else would be - and everyone else has similar issues that narrative insists they work on and overcome. Yet Shallan is consistently let off for this behaviour. On the other end of this scene, Kaladin is forced into letting go of his anger and falling into line with the Kholins and other lighteyes, despite being systematically oppressed and mistreated by the lighteyes as a whole. Sanderson doesn’t allow Kaladin his anger and he’s punished for it throughout this book.

I will say that Kaladin isn’t completely in the right here, he did need to learn that not everyone is the embodiment of evil just because they are born into wealth and privilege. However, neither was it okay to dismiss the complex dilemma around Kaladin and class - where he needs to overcome his prejudice against everyone at the top of the social system, because there are good lighteyes, whilst still challenging that system - by making him a lighteyes. This doesn’t solve anything! His anger is valid and righteous. The Vorin social system does need a complete overhaul and Kaladin should be allowed to take the helm for that social movement - even if this arc isn’t at the forefront of the series (you know because we’re all slightly busy saving the world!)

Sanderson shouldn’t keep allowing Shallan a free pass for deeply rooted and problematic behaviours and attitudes. It doesn’t need to be a major point of discussion, especially as the series has evolved and everyone is more concerned with staying alive. However, this is a huge series, there is space in it to address this issue every now and again in the background of the novel, particularly in non-combative plotlines. It would also help to change the perspective in moments like the “Boots” scene. Rather than showing these as just funny moments, take the time to show that they are symptoms of a serious problem in Vorin society and demonstrations of the casual abuses of power lighteyes can get away with on a daily basis.

At the end of the day, Kaladin is going to be fine - and he does drive me nuts with the huge chip on his shoulder that he has throughout Words of Radiance. His only real consequence from this scene is wounded pride, he’ll recover. However, Shallan shouldn’t be let off the hook for it either and Sanderson does need to pick up this plotline on the abuse of power and class in the series. He introduced a serious discussion on the dangers of a class-based society and it’s a shame (and irresponsible) to just drop it now.

Conclusion

So I think we can all agree I don’t like a lot of this book. I’m in the minority here. There are some fantastic moments throughout Words of Radiance, but as a whole I struggle when rereading this particular entry into The Stormlight Archive. Sanderson drops the ball on one too many issues, and I really dislike Shallan here. I do get on with her slightly more in later novels - well in Rhythm of War - however, having such a heavy focus on her here makes it a slog for me to read.

Still, onward and upwards! Oathbringer is (probably) my favourite book in the whole series, although I’ve only read RoW once so that might change when I finish this reread. Hopefully I’ll have a lot more positive things to say in my next review - and I finally get to make my speech on why I love Dalinar and his backstory!

#words of radiance #brandon sanderson #stormlight archive #cosmere #book review #kaladin stormblessed #dalinar kholin #moash #pattern #not tagging a certain character because last time i had really nasty comments #i still really love this series #just not this book #fabulous sanderlanches here though #the stormlight archive

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