#its what anduin deserves

[ach-sss-no]

SH liveblog ch 3

First chapter & explanation | Previous chapter

Boromir 🏯💪💍😲

I remembered I still have the outline I used for this fic on my PC! (I used yWriter if you were wondering- it's a free and somewhat stripped-down Scrivener-alike.) From now on when making these posts I'm going through and writing commentary on the chapter first, and then going back, looking at the outline, and adding anything from it that's of interest. Such as maybe the scene titles for each chapter. This one is just:

My yWriter project file also includes deleted scenes! Here are two fragments that appear to possibly go along with chapter 1, or maybe they were just cut at random and plopped at the beginning of my fragment pile, I don't know. I'm posting them here because I missed them in the other posts and because there's nothing deleted from Chapter 3 to put here instead.

Here is the reward I would suggest for you, Sméagol, and I suspect that others beside myself have already thought of it and had it in mind for you, because you have been given the means to achieve it when that ought not to have been possible. Once your body has recovered, if it can be seen that your mind has recovered as well, as far as it can be, and you are no longer a danger, you should be turned loose to go where you will, without the burden of searching and hiding and sneaking. Without such burdens wandering can be rather pleasant, but I suppose you will find a home for yourself eventually, and I suspect it will be by the Anduin, for you still love pools and streams and in your heart you long for the River. If you turn up elsewhere… you will be noticed. Of course you would be welcome to stay here if you wish but I suspect that a city of Men is not your first choice for a home. If it is decided that you cannot be trusted to have liberty, you will be placed somewhere you can be guarded, and you will have comfort, but not freedom. In either case you will not be punished for your past crimes, for you have been punished already. Does that suit you?" "It will be a different River," Gollum lamented. Gandalf looked at him from under his bushy brows. "It takes longer to change a river than it does to change a hobbit. It will look more like its old self than you do, and it will still be there when you are finally gone. It has outlived the Ring already."

I don't remember at what point I cut this, or why. I think it was early on and I just cut it for flow. But it's a good thing I did, because, spoilers, Gollum DOES choose to stay in Minas Tirith and this bit would have been a distracting red herring.

"Farewell," said Frodo. A dreamy horror came into his eyes as the big Man left, and Sam went and sat close beside him. "No one will ever be fond of him, Sam," he said. "He must know it. He must know he will never be loved. He will never have anything better than pity." "He ought to be grateful for pity, I'd say," said Sam. "It's better than he deserves." For a selfish moment he wished he had let Gollum fall into the volcano, but he knew he had done the right thing- how much worse would kind Mr. Frodo feel if the old sneak had destroyed himself? Even if Frodo might also secretly wish to be rid of him, surely he would not wish to be rid of him that way. "Besides, that Big Person was putting himself out an awful lot for Sméagol, I don't think he could rightly tell that he's not fond of him." "He knows," Frodo murmured.

I don't know where this would have fit in, but I never used Sam's POV in the finished version so it's obvious why it's not in!

And now, for the third chapter for real this time!

I haven't generally been reading the author's notes but this one caught my eye:

Notes:

Eardwulf is an Old English name I grabbed from the Internet. I am fully open to suggestions if anyone has more appropriate names in mind. He's supposed to be vaguely related to people from Rohan because he's good with animals and such, and Rohan has the Old English-ish names... also... Old English names can be easily picked from lists on the Internet...

Yeah this is the chapter where the OC came to life and grabbed me by the throat it was great

The name of the chapter is 'a small thing'- I usually don't like my chapter names. They're kind of random, but this one was more intentional, this one is an allusion to Boromir calling both Gollum and the Ring a 'small thing' in the books.

Chapter starts with Gollum discovering that he's been ignoring the personhood of everyone around him but they aint ignoring him. He's listening to people talk outside his sickroom and has discovered that they're complaining about him.

Gollum was prone to bite and struggle if he was startled, and if he could not bite he complained, and he soon discovered that he was not well liked by all of those who tended him. Which he had expected to be the case all along, of course, but hearing it aloud was a bit different from merely expecting it. [...] The next time he bit, he burst into tears after as if he had been the one injured. "I can't help it," he shrieked, near hysterics, "I can't help it, your hand was in my face, and it moved like a mouse, it did, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." [...] the Men had given up on him not biting, which troubled Gollum a great deal, though he could not have explained why. It was in fact true that he had not intended to bite, and yet he had- and that troubled him too.

Gollum is forming a desire to be more personable only to discover that he has less control over his behavior than he realized. Interesting. He tries not eavesdropping but then a loud man turns up:

"I have been told that Sméagol is housed on this floor." The voice sounded faintly familiar, but he could not put a name or face to it. He knew that the speaker must be large and tall, from the deepness of the voice and the heaviness of his footfalls, although it sounded as if he was also favoring one leg, and there was the clunk of a cane.

This is Boromir. He took an arrow to the knee. And he's faintly familiar because Gollum has stalked him before (when following the Fellowship out of Moria).

It was the voice of a woman who sometimes brought him food, now that he could eat unassisted and no longer needed to be handled by strong Men with thick gloves in order to be fed.

I don't know whether this comes across, but the development of a regular food-delivery person who is not a judo expert or big buff guy entering Gollum's room (alone) is meant to signal that Gollum's been judged by someone in authority to be safe enough that normal people can interact with him and not be murdered.

"If you wish to speak to him, I would humbly suggest that you return an hour after dusk, when he has woken and had a meal. At such times he becomes almost docile.""

but he's still a bit of a pain

"I wish to see him," said the Man's voice. "But I am not certain I wish to speak with him. Perhaps a look will be enough. Will it wake him to open the door? I don't wish to disturb him." Gollum pulled the covers over his head so that he could not be seen.

Gollum assumes he's probably in trouble so he's hiding. Boromir comes in and remarks on how tiny he is.

"It is one thing to be bested in willpower by the likes of Sam and Frodo, but this!" There was something approaching awe in his voice, mixed with a note of despair.

Boromir has complicated reasons for wanting to see Gollum that have little to do with who Gollum is as a person. I think they're all left to be inferred and never outright stated.

He asks to schedule a conversation later (as Gollum has successfully pretended to be asleep)

The woman Boromir was talking to comes back later to feed Gollum. (She is later named, by the way, because she kept coming back and being a character. I was wrong! I thought Eardwulf from the author's note was the first Hello I Am a Guy in this story, but Galil slipped in ahead of him. She stealthed right past me even now.)

I'm quoting the whole conversation because I'm intrigued by it:

"All gone," he said meekly. "A nice morssel, that, precious! [She gave him chicken, which I'm no longer sure is the 'right' food for what's available in the setting but it's too late to change it now.] And they have even taken out the little boneses that break and splinter. So kind to a wretched old creature." [...] The woman stood up and took the tray in her hands. "The Lord Boromir wishes to speak to you later on," she said, rather stiffly. [...] "You will be taken for a bath shortly, and then you shall be given proper dress." [...] "You look weary," she said. [Gollum hasn't been able to sleep since overhearing Boromir's conversation] "Not very weary," he said. The woman still stood there, looking quite torn, and then she said: "I beg thee, speak fair words to Lord Boromir, a man who has suffered much." "Yes, yes!" Gollum had no idea who this Man was or what he might want to say to him, but he was at the mercy of these- what had the nice hobbit called them the other day? Big People? That suited very well. It was just easiest to agree with whatever they said. The woman finally left.

It sounds as if Galil takes some pity on Gollum and interest in his condition because she notices that he's tired, but she seems to find him unpleasant as well and is afraid he will be cruel to Boromir, who she holds in high regard.

Gollum is polite but he's not sounding very sincere.

Cut to some time later, we are going to talk to Boromir, and here's Eardwulf:

"Your strength returns, otter-halfling," said the Man carrying him. "What?" Gollum snapped. "What did you calls me?"

I don't know if the connection is explicitly pointed out, but later, in one of the backstory flashbacks, we are going to see that Sméagol's grandmother called him her otter-lad. I don't know if he consciously remembers that but he seems to resent this near-stranger being so familiar with him.

"You cling," said the Man. "Like a tree-frog." "Yes, yes, Sméagol clings, precious," Gollum said, "like- what- frogses?" [...] "You cling with strength. I shall not drop you." "No, no, he will not drop us," said Gollum, and did not relax his grip, nor did he realize the implication was that he ought to. [...] The Man held him a little tighter, and shifted one hand to better support Gollum's back, which made his perch feel more secure. He relaxed his grip a tiny bit without realizing it.

Boromir's shocked to see Gollum carried in. I think my intention here was that Boromir has been sort of kept in the dark about Gollum and his condition because Aragorn thinks his preoccupation with Gollum is not healthy and didn't want him to visit. So Boromir is surprised that Gollum is considered invalid enough to carry around and a little horrified at the thought that maybe he's not up for this and no one was willing to tell Boromir no, but Eardwulf puts him at ease.

"You're trembling!" Boromir exclaimed. "I mean no harm to you. But how can I expect you to trust me? Your limbs are as splinters next to mine. I am told you have had little cause to rejoice in your past encounters with my kind and that you barely understand what you have done or why our treatment of you has changed." He ran a huge hand over his face. A wild light of wonder was in his eyes. "Small in body but great in mischief, I called you; great in willpower, I should say."

Boromir is completely redoing all of his expectations of what Gollum would be like on the fly as this conversation is happening (starting with noticing how scared Gollum is.) I think if Boromir survived LOTR he would have trauma around scaring hobbits. He's real anxious to reassure the murderhobo.

oh and I see I referenced the canon line this chapter was named after. in case you missed it. in case I was too subtle by quoting it directly and putting it in the chapter title

Eardwulf did not at once set him down. "My lord," he said, "Sméagol has some trouble of the glands, by which I mean he sweats profusely, or exudes something which is like sweat, and is prone to leave damp patches whenever he is allowed to rest on furniture."

I forgot about the thing where I decided Gollum would make all furniture icky due to seepage. I. I can't defend it. I just think it's funny.

"It is a clean damp patch," said Gollum, raising his head. "We have just had a bath."

This is sort of inspired- if not outright cribbed- from a description of selkie children in Island of the Aunts by Eva Ibbotson.

Eardwulf stood up straight, stoic in face. "Ought I to stay or go, my lord?" "I was not planning to discuss anything secret," said Boromir. "What say you, Sméagol?"

Boromir has probably taken the cue that Gollum does better with a handler but might be offended if the issue is pushed too hard.

Gollum looked pleadingly at Eardwulf. He could not make up his mind to ask him to stay, but he did not want to tell him to leave either. "He may do what he likes," he faltered.

Here's, I think, the first time in the fic that Gollum draws comfort from someone's presence and is made to become aware that that's what he's doing (I don't count his frantic obsession with Frodo because it's based more on Gollum's neurosis than on an authentic relationship with Frodo).

Knowing what I have come to learn about Eardwulf he is a crazy man Sméagol's pleading look probably turns his heart to mush.

Sam probably lied, Gollum thought, he does not like us.

This is becoming a recurring theme, that every time someone mentions knowing Gollum by reputation he jumps to 'Someone was spreading rumors that I'm the worst person alive'. I don't think I intentionally set up an arc here, it just sort of came together, but it DOES have a payoff later! I need to remember to point that out when I see it.

"Not a vampire, eh?" "No. Perhaps you are a very short waterfay."

This was the closest thing I could find to a mermaid in Tolkien canon (according to the wiki) (I am no Tom Shippey.) Yeah we have legit vampires that are called vampires but I guess we don't have mermaids

Gollum studied his face. Eardwulf did not look as if he was joking, but then, he never did.

Gollum has a weird relationship with humor in this fic. Part of the reason why he gets along with Eardwulf and Boromir is because they either tell very dry jokes or no jokes at all. Boromir is completely respectful throughout this conversation and makes not a single wry comment.

The conversation continues. Boromir is on a fishing expedition with someone who's reluctant to talk about himself (and Gollum is in this moment coming off as honestly shy). Boromir eventually hits on the subject of Gollum's relationship with orcs. This draws him out, so Boromir pursues it.

"I have long been a military man," said Boromir, "and I have fought orcs almost since I could hold a sword. It must take great cunning for one such as you to evade them for so long, even with the item you held. You must know their ways well."

This is meant to be a touch of subtle flattery intended really only to keep Gollum talking that then turns to a genuine respect for how much he knows when he does keep talking.

"Taken apart lotses of them," Gollum said without thinking, "gollum! Nice orcses," for second breakfast had been delayed far longer than he would have chosen at this point. To him it seemed as if a thick silence fell, waiting to be shattered like glass. (It may have in fact been true that both of the Men knew full well what the diet had been of this thing that had slashing fangs and would only eat raw meat, and it was something quite apart from their calm faces that made Gollum suddenly feel defiled and judged.)

Gollum's self-awareness must be improving because in the last chapter Bilbo said something confrontational about eating babies and Gollum's only response was 'lol wut'

The conversation wraps up (Boromir points out that Gollum is probably hungry. Gollum can probably be expected to be hungry at nearly any point in time so it's possible Boromir was just done talking and being tactful)

If Boromir noticed that Gollum seemed a little more relaxed- his eyes not bulging quite so much as before and the frantic sobbing sounds in his throat less frequent- it is likely that he guessed nothing of these thoughts, and only thought that Gollum had begun to get used to him. This was perhaps also true.

Gollum feels more at ease now because he still hasn't grasped that he's being doctored and fed out of kindness that requires nothing in exchange, he has been wondering when he'll need to pay up, and now he's thinking the Men want information which he has and will readily give. I think I should have established a little more that Gollum is still expecting to be required to repay Aragorn for his room and board, it seems to be 'dropped' at times.

Gollum turned and crawled onto Eardwulf's knees. Eardwulf had been quite silent throughout all of this. Now he took the hint at once and gathered Gollum into his arms, standing up.

He's even gotten more comfortable being carried around now than he was at the beginning of the chapter.

They proceeded down the hall, and as Eardwulf stepped onto the stairs he said: "Was all of that true? About the orcs?" "Yes. We do not lie anymore now," Gollum said, with a touch of coolness. "Sméagol is good as water now, he is. Honest Sméagol." He might lie a little if he had to. If he had to. He did not recall ever having lied to Eardwulf, however, and he resented the implication that he had.

Gollum canonically goes nuclear when he tells the truth for once and someone doesn't believe him.

[tidalhaired]

“But in desperate hours gentleness may be repaid with death.”

“So be it,” said Faramir.

—

To depart without farewell would be a cruelty. Even as the tide of doom rose, and all the world seemed drawn to its bitter crest, the captain found himself compelled to write. In the shadow of execution, he set ink to parchment, adorning it with the elegance of his flowing script.

—

My dearest Elrond,

Forgive this letter, written at the edge of sleep and sorrow. By the time these words find you, my spirit will have departed. Osgiliath is lost, and my father bids me reclaim it, though he sends me with no hope.

What strange solace it is, in the shadow of oblivion, to feel clarity pick the scales from my eyes. You have been, my lord, a light in my life. A friend and guide, yes – but also a mirror, in which I glimpsed not only knowledge but gentleness, patience, and the promise that perhaps I, too, was not made wholly for stern things.

You spoke to me as few others have. You heard the questions no one else would entertain, and you answered with the grace of ages. I cannot tell you how that mended me. I was a boy hewn from duty and silence. You made space in me for wonder.

Your house was a home to me. There I felt seen, known. The weight of my loneliness, the strange inwardness of me – these qualities you bore without disdain. You accepted the sum of me, with all my quiet peculiarities, and in doing so you bestowed upon me a gift too vast to measure.

Forgive me, then, if what follows is clumsy or queer. I have wrestled with a thing nameless, and only now do I begin to see it plain. These last months, my thoughts have strayed to you more often than to food, to sleep, or even to hope. The shape of your mouth distracted me from the wisdom it offered. The movement of your hands, the way they pass over maps and treatises, stirred in me an awe and ache I dared not speak.

At first I believed it a kind of madness. Grief, perhaps, or the last flares of youth burning in the winds of war. It endured, however. It worsened. You have taken shape in my dreams. In every brush of shoulders or hands, my skin remembered you. I feared to name the feeling.

Now, when death stands so near, I find courage.

It is love, Elrond. A love that would end my bloodline, you understand. Yet I would not undo it, even if it was within my power to do so. There may be no altar for such a love, no rite nor ring that could bind us in this world, but I would have stood beside you. I would have said the words. My heart was willing.

If this unsettles you, I pray you set it aside. Let not my confession cast a shadow upon your kindness, which has ever been without condition. You crowned my imagination, Elrond. You gave me the strength to be soft in a world that demanded steel. If nothing else, I beg you hold fast to that.

I understand I am entitled to no acreage of your heart. Rather, I speak only that which was too long buried, to this feeling that has grown wild and bright in me.

When last I walked beneath the boughs of Imladris, you asked me what I sketched. I said it was naught. That was untrue. I could not show you then, for fear bound my tongue. You will find the drawing enclosed with this letter. It is of you, and thus I leave it to your keeping, along with a few worn volumes and belongings of no worth to kings, but precious to me because you gave them meaning. They await you in Minas Tirith, should you wish to receive them.

When I perish, may the Anduin carry me. Next you walk along the sea’s edge, I ask only this: think of me. Let me be the wave that breaks at your feet, the salt that stiffens your curls. Walk with me there a while and, if you can, forgive the weakness of my parting.

I have lived well. My only hope is to die well, in the company of good men who deserve a kinder fate. May your days be long and joyous, on the far side of horror and war.

Le cenithon vi Anor en amarad.

Ever your faithful friend, student, admirer,

Faramir

It was a dark foreboding that had kept Elrond uneasy for the last few days. When a courier arrived with a missive from prince Faramir, hope lifted his troubled mind. The eloquent, warm words from his dear friend would surely put his mind at ease? Faramir spun sentences as beautiful as Telerin silk and their regular correspondences had become Elrond's great joy during bleak days. If only they could spend more time in each other's company, for a different kind of love had begun to bloom in Elrond's heart, like Isildur's first white tree of Gondor. He had even dared to imagine Faramir never leaving Imladris to remain here by his side, knowing it was impossible and a foolish daydream of someone who should know better.

He broke the royal wax seal and unfurled the scroll. No feeling of doom could have prepared him for the words he read. His hands trembled as revelation after revelation was flung at him like boulders on a catapult. Coldness enveloped his form at the description of Faramir's fruitless task in Osgiliath. The prince was being sentenced to death, by his own Sire no less. The thought was unfathomable. It was so bizarre and heartless that Elrond could not grasp it. "No, it cannot be."

And their love? It was shared, but far more complicated than the Elf-lord could have imagined. Eternity allowed for exploration beyond the marital duties expected of one who ought to continue a line. The world of Men was different. Their short lives was lived in the name of duty and they married purposefully. Elrond knew that, and so he had never burdened Faramir with his feelings for him, as the prince would most likely be upset and Elrond feared losing his friendship. He feared scaring Faramir away. To read that not only did Faramir love him back but also feared Elrond would dismiss it and think him lesser for it, it pained him like no strike of a sword could.

By the time he gazed at the drawing talented hands created, starlit eyes were misty with tears. Did he truly look like this? Were his cheekbones this sharp and his dark lashes this long? If there was truly such unbridled affection in his eyes, if Faramir captured his likeness correctly, then it was a wonder the prince never truly picked up on the depth of Elrond's love. A tear landed on top of the art, threatning to smudge the filigree charcoal lines.

Elrond wiped his eyes and sprung into action. He had lost too much already. He was not going to lose Faramir too. Across the yard, he met Glorfindel's splendid and resolute eyes. The famed warrior would keep the valley safe until Elrond's return. The Lord of the Golden Flower may not be a ring-bearer, but he was powerful and fierce. His reputation alone ought to keep the foes at bay for a while. Elrond's voice was steady. "Ready my horse," he commanded, sending servants running to prepare his hasty travel. "Two guards, light provisions. Make haste!" And so he rode, day and night, only stopping to let his mare, poor Gwedal, and the guard's horses rest.

Faramir may already be dead, but deep in his heart, Elrond knew it was not so. He would have known, would have felt it. Half-elf and Man they may be, but they shared Arda's gracious breath and sky, and Elrond would know. And he was right. He arrived to carnage, injured and suffering men, but their prince lived. Barely so and in the process of dying, but his heart was beating and his lungs fought for air in a stubborn clutch to life.

The prince was barely conscious when Elrond had him placed down on a cot and he was unsure whether Faramir saw him and felt him near, but nimble fingers stroked mud-caked, golden-red hair and Elrond spoke to him regardless, voice shaky. "You are not permitted to die." And he began to tend to Faramir's wounds and heal him, his light glowing especially bright as it was empowered by relief, hope and love.

[jainaism]

Prejudice towards Jaina №5356 "She switches several times from i hate the horde to it's garrosh to i hate the horde"

Jaina doesn't forgive the horde neither after the explosion of Theramore, nor after the trial of Garrosh.

“You do not know my heart anymore, Thrall,” she said. “I am no butcher—but I will no longer call for peace at any cost. The Horde you do not lead is dangerous and must be challenged at every turn—and defeated. Then, perhaps, there can be peace. But not before.” I’m not what I was—I don’t burn for vengeance anymore. But… neither am I the woman who longed so much for harmony between the Horde and the Alliance. There… can’t be harmony, Kalec. Not while Garrosh leads the Horde, not after what he has done. I don’t believe peace is the answer anymore. - tow

When she's asked to become a leader of Kirin Tor, Jaina doesn’t know what to do, since it's extremely difficult to be neutral in this situation, but she agrees, while fighting her anger every day.

What if the Horde killed your friends? Your family? Destroyed everything your had. Could you maintain your conviction even then? To be honest, I struggle. Every. Day. Every day, the hard decisions. Every night… the nightmares. But I have a responsibility to preserve the Kirin Tor. - Jaina, mop

Nobody dislikes Garrosh more than me. I wrestle with my anger every day. Anduin, you know more than anyone, it's important to separate the Horde from its people. The Sunreavers still operate within this city. Alliance and Horde work together.  As long as we stay above the war, then there's hope for the world as a whole.  I see our city as a beacon of light, showing the way. If we can trust one another here, then there's hope for the rest of the world. - Jaina, mop.

However, despite this, the sunreavers have a different opinion. They help the horde steal the divine bell from Darnassus, another artifact that could set off a hundred Theramors across the Azeroth. Jaina finds out about it, it enrages her, she losts the shit. That's where her patience ends, and she's learned her lesson.

For too long, I have toiled to mend fences between Alliance and Horde. Time and time again, I've given the Horde the benefit of the doubt - and time and time again, they stab me in the back. I resude to be betrayed again! If the hode intends to use the Kirin Tor as a weapon against the alliance, then they have no place in Dalaran. I've decided. Certain members of the Kirin-Tor have put their allegiance to the Horde above the order, and I will NOT tolerate it. This is nothing short of a betrayal. - Jaina, mop.

The Kirin Tor was betrayed from within. I've handled the situation. You're fooling yourself. Once Horde, always Horde. I see that now. - Jaina, mop.

This has been the worst year of my life: Theramore, destroyed. And a betrayal from within the Kirin Tor. The lesson is clear. From here on out, I'm taking the initiative. - Jaina, mop.

Next, there is a skirmish between the horde and alliance and zandalari. Jaina orders the alliance to switch from the horde to the trolls, and when she and Lor-Themar decide to part peacefully, Vereesa remains unhappy, and Jaina in the one who discourages her ardor, saying that "this battle will not bring her husband back."

During the siege, Jaina wants to first make Garrosh suffer and then kill him, while she just proposes to dismantle the horde, because she saw the possibility of another betrayal. However, Varian is against this, and Jaina, although disappointed, agrees to make peace with the horde.

During Garrosh's trial, Jaina wants him to receive the punishment he deserves, but Kalecgos reproaches her for this and is afraid that after this she will not stop. This upsets Jaina because she has become very attached to him - and mind you, when he was in trouble, she helped him no matter what, and he is just an asshole here. When Tyrande asks her if she would become the same as the horde if she washed away Orgrimmar, Jaina replies that the horde is on Garrosh. Because she keep separeting the horde and its people from Garrosh.

At the end of the book, she is seriously injured, and the Red Crane gives her and everyone else a blessing (temporary), thanks to which she feels herself calm and silently reconciles with Thrall, although they do not become friends again. She doesn't forgive the horde, but also she doesn't see every single orc or elf as pure evil.

Conclusion: “the horde is not garrosh,” Jaina thought exactly that throughout the entire MoP, the only difference being that she stopped giving the horde a “second chance” and began to see it for what it really is. While she wants to kill Garrosh, she despises the rest of the horde, continues to blame it for the destruction of Theramore, does not trust it, punishes traitors, etc, but at the same time she goes into negotiations, stops Vereesa from the battle and only offers dismentle the horde, and not kill every single orc. She releases the elves and prisons to Silvermoon. Jaina helps the horde player, albeit reluctantly, strengthen the ring, and then runs along the broken shore with the alliance and the horde. And everything was fine until the horde betrayed the alliance again, which caused another wave of indignation from Jaina. She didn't forgive the horde then, keep blame them for Theramore and mistrust them because of it, but doesn't want to kill them all as she wanted to kill Garrosh.

The only problem here writing. This story is not well written because Golden sucks, making Jaina too soft, like in dumb Disney movies, but generally acceptable.

[thasdorah]

i'm thinking about actually structuring an outline of sorts of canon divergencies so hm. thoughts, for now

personally, i don't think the way alleria and sylvanas reunite makes sense. sure, during legion there's the excuse, maybe, they were both too occupied fighting to look for each other. but if alleria had time to reunite with vereesa and arator, she would also find sylvanas in whatever brief window of time there was for it. i won't write specifics about how this should go — i'd rather leave it open to plot with sylvanas writers. but i don't see alleria being outright antagonistic towards her for what she became. she carries a lot of guilt for leaving, regardless of her reasons, and that would be much worse because of what happens to sylvanas and her failure to be present and save a sibling for the second time. also alleria would not inherently hate her for being undead. despite her prejudices (most of which come from deeply personal, irrational and emotion-bound places), she tends to be open-minded, and she underwent changes of her own. sure, she's not patient, their reunion could easily derail, but i don't think hatred, distrust and resent are present from the start.

though i don't think they ever sat down to talk about their relationship ever, alleria being the most emotionally closed-off type of person and turalyon being cool with just pretending everything is fine, i think post legion, after they return to azeroth and things settle down, she would officially end anything between them. if a three sisters-esque sort of reunion still happens, in the sense of her gathering the other two to seek what exactly remains of their past bond (which is plausible, even if she reunited individually with each of them before, though it'd likely happen considerably different from the comic), vereesa's commentary about envying her may just be the last push she needs to realize she doesn't think there is anything to be envied — so why is she still in this relationship in the first place? i won't get into specifics again, but i don't think it'd have ended amicably. canonically, turalyon always had an i can fix her attitude towards alleria way before the void. with its influence and his dislike towards it, i just think he'd probably not easily accept this is the decision she's making without any outside influence and that she doesn't need saving or fixing.

arator is her everything no matter what. she'd do all she could to be present and make sure he knew it was never lack of love that led her away. if he wants her in his life, she'll be there. if he doesn't, it'll hurt greatly, but she'll respect it.

she would take a more prominent role in leading the ren'dorei, leaving less of it in umbric's hands, other than the day to day running of whatever it is they do. she cares for them greatly, and would personally do all she could to ensure they'd have the means to not only survive the void corruption but to thrive and use it to their benefit. they have the power to protect azeroth from the old gods and void lords. she'll make sure they're prepared for it, but also that they get to live their lives.

during bfa, i can see her role remaining similar. she'll take part in the faction war and go wherever it seems like she can be most useful. in many ways, war is a refuge — easier to deal with than whatever is going on in her life. that greatly depends on her relationship with sylvanas and sylv's own actions, though, so i'm assuming a more canon-aligned sort of situation.

that is, until n'zoth enters the picture. you cannot convince me the void elves wouldn't focus on fighting that threat. to not disregard wrathion's role, i think they would work together to make the old god's defeat possible and the damage he'd cause minimal.

alleria being anduin's teacher in how to deal with the void influence will always be my favorite i think they both deserve it but also not going to say 100% it did nor make it something that necessarily had to happen for my portrayal. just a possibility.

the bit in bfa where she suggests setting aside the faction war to focus on n'zoth is one i stand by. as much as she may have partaken in the faction war, that's not her focus. it hasn't been for a long time. she knows how much of a threat the void can be — it's why she chose to wield it in the first place, to understand it, to learn its weaknesses. if some orc wants to die for honor that's on him but azeroth has bigger problems.

i also think that, no matter how much she respects and genuinely cares for anduin (and she does! greatly!), she would ditch that fight to pursue void-related threats. alleria has never held great regard for authority; she didn't respect it from anastherian when he was her king and she was still ranger-captain of quel'thalas. i don't think she would respect it in this scenario either. she'll do what she thinks is right, first and foremost.

i'll skip over sl idc shadows rising who hunting her sister down what idk any of that she was uhhhh on vacation or something

anduin leaving stomwind and the alliance makes her greatly question if the ren'dorei should stay there. she knows it's a matter of time until it'll become an issue. she'd look into finding them some place that can serve as a base, though i don't yet know where. telogrus is useful of course, but it isn't in azeroth, and that's where they should stay in her opinion. still debating, but i might just say fuck it and say she also severs their bond to the alliance and goes factionless as of shadowlands.

the dragon isles are there. she won't care unless someone says the black dragons are being old god influenced or that any void influence remains anywhere connected to neltharion.

[jerek]

man seeing how wrathion is treated by the writers(and as such, the fans) in dragonflight is so fucking frustrating. like at first i thought they wrote him ooc but when i went to see the cutscenes, he's actually written consistently. its just that he's being written next to these characters old fans go YEAH MY FAVE I KNOW YOU and when THEY tell wrathion he's wrong and insensitive when they themselves are to him, it's like.. insulting? idk. Like he's never wrong or unreasonable and yet people say he is, and they play dark music in the background when he's reasonably upset and people go OOUUHH DEATHWING oh shitttt And NEVER do they consider helping him while he helps everyone all the time, literally everything he does is to help and ensure a future. He went for raszageth on his own to save everyone. like BITCH?? i feel like im going crazy when i see comments about him being evil or bad or mean and aaaaaAAAUUGHGHGH wrathion deserves to be free from world of warcraft, let him OUT

you are so real for this kisses you.

Idk what I can say that I haven't put in the wrathionposting tag lmao. He's.

Anduin Wrynn, feeling a deep sense of guilt for young men and women going off to war under his banner, for his kingdom, tells Jaina Proudmoore in the novel Shadows Rising:

"It isn't fair. It should make everything stop. The whole world should stop and point at that, but it doesn't."

I think of that line almost every time I see Wrathion. I've described him before as a 'walking humanitarian crisis.' He's inherited a role just below the living, physically incarnated creator gods of the universe. The Titans created Azeroth, and when they left, they left his father and his father's comrades in charge. For almost all of his life, he's been trying to assume this same responsibility. Acting as if he already IS the guardian of Azeroth.

He was transparently terrified in Mists of Pandaria. He might still be terrified, or he might be overwhelmed by the need to prove himself now that he's not just been the son of Deathwing, but a fugitive of Alliance justice (after the events of War Crimes.) I'm glad he seems confident enough, but...

Is there literally anyone on Azeroth who can care for him without insulting him? I wonder if there isn't a sort of built-in martyr complex in dragon culture too, explaining why Dracasia is a drake and a broodmother, Wrathion's a drake and a potential Aspect, and somehow none of this seems strange to someone like Ebyssian.

I do think there are tragedies like this probably built into the fabric of Azeroth itself. That's why I write my rogue, Midha, as having joined Wrathion's cause at around 13. There are few residential buildings in Stormwind because so much of the Alliance population is made up of travelling adventurers: soldiers with no rank. Same for Orgrimmar. Their leaders have no responsibility for them, and no reason to take responsibility, and the history of Azeroth is only recorded in terms of great heroes.

They're training up new, young heroes almost as fast as they're killing them. Isn't that something? Shouldn't the world stop and point at that? Imagine what the wider fanbase could say about Wrathion and other characters like him if they weren't so solely committed to either vilifying or sexualizing them.

[esperanta-dragon]

You shouldn't feel any shame for not wanting to continue your comic, playing the game and everything in between.

You have no obligation to finish it, not to us nor yourself. Art projects should be about enjoying yourself, and with how Blizzard has conducted themselves over the years and the subpar content they produce these days? You have every right to feel the way you do.

At this point in time, if you feel burnt out and feel the need to drop the comics and other projects? Then go right ahead. If you ever muster up the muse to come back to them? Then good on you. If you choose to leave them forever, then you deserve kudos for keeping them going as long as you have.

You should not have to dedicate your time or effort to an IP that doesn't respect its player base anymore. If it doesn't make you happy first and foremost, then what's the point of making art in the first place?

I will die on this hill: Shadowlands was a sloppy hasty re-write. Put Bolvar in Sylvanas' place. Put Darion in Bovlar's. Make Sylvanas an unwitting pawn in Bolvar's (and by extension the Jailer's) schemes to bring more souls to the Maw thanks to subtle influences of the Lich King's crown. Which would explain the unhealthy attachment Sylvanas has to Anduin in 'canon'.

Recast that relationship as Bolvar and Anduin, and you have an irritated impatient teacher trying to get through to their student. When Zovaal 'returns' the soul that Bolvar was missing, Bolvar is all about that redemption train and more than willing to go to the Maw himself and retrieve the souls he knowingly damned.

(framed that way, doesn't it all sound... better?)

Truthfully, the writers of today aren't the creators of the lore, they're just custodians - accountants trying to make a quick buck.

To reiterate, don't feel guilt or ashamed or like a failure. It sucks to come to that crossroads and burning out; but if its time to move on then its time to move on.

My bad habit (at least I think it's a bad habit) is that I can't abandon my projects. Especially not those I wanted to do for years. Somehow, I found energy and motivation again to rewrite the book about sir Zeliek. After 8 years. I started writing fanfics again. But now I need to find the strength and motivation to continue on the comic(s). Because if I leave this behind, there will be something hanging over my head until end of my life and it will drain ever more energy.

And about Shadowlands... I gave up on fixing it, trying to keep as much as possible and only switch characters. I don't want Jailer. I don't want any cosmic war. I want something more simple which resonates with Warcraft. I gave up so much on Shadowlands that I just want to recycle and take what was good (like 5%) and throw everything away and rebuild everything: - how Shadowlands work - how they look like - how the souls "live" there - how you can get there - I even want to rebuild the plot completely This is how much I am done with Shadowlands. I always wanted to go there. But not like this. I am not sure how to fix it. Yet. How to build a plot so it's not just some addon or some pyramid scheme again.

I was always scared that when I focus on WIII-WotLK era, people wouldn't care and I should keep up with lore.

Shadowlands proved me wrong. People want to go back in time and enjoy old stories when Warcraft was still Warcraft.

And I can only hope that I did not lose time or the time window when it's still relevant and people would not care about WotLK comic anymore once I get my energy back and I will start releasing again.

[drakeneo]

Like yeah, onyxia was doing some political bullshit that was basically a coup, and yeah she made a personal army out of the labor force when the Monarchy and the other nobles were like "Fuck you, you expected to get pay?", but really what's a little extra toll on your roads when compared to the shit the Royal family continues to pull on the population basically every two years.

I'm surprised they havnt seceded and just said "Fuck you, were making our own country" yet.

technically westfall was doing better under the rule of the evil anti union dragon who was actively trying to destabilize the region than they were when varian or anduin was in charge. like getting terrorized by the defias in your house wasn’t fun but in the onyxia days people in theory had housing and weren’t getting mass conscripted. y’all think there’s onyxia loyalists kicking around somewhere

[errruvande]

The Blood on My Hands (Éomer x Reader)

Summary: During the Battle of the Pelennor Fields, some enemies made Éomer vanishes into the void of his own mind.

Word Count: 2,876 TW: light description of dead bodies and blood, angst

AN: I wrote this in the beggining of May, when the ending of WW2 is celebrating. On the wave of tonns of russian war movies I ended up writing this...

The war had brought its worst. Elves and men, young and old - the bodies were lying everywhere, as far as you could see, from the high walls of Minas-Thirit to the Anduin. They all fell, like puppets whose strings were cut off. Horses were running in chaos, frightened, in search for their masters to soothe them.

Those who fell had been brought to the lazaret, bodies drained in blood were flying in front of your eyes without ceasing, so you couldn’t keep up with the number of patients who you would be carrying for. You were there for extra help, as were all your friends. All healers were gathered from all around the Gondor and Rohan to service in this war, and you kept your mask of hopefulness and courage to the very end of your shift (though there wasn’t a thing like shift that night, other healers were send you off to get some rest, since you were on your feet since morning).

You were puffing when you finally made your way to the doorway, squeezing through the wounded soldiers on your way, that only had increased in number by the time you took a step out of the building that was holded as a lazaret. The night breeze felt like a well deserved reward for your labour in the room with lack of air, where the whole being smelled like warm blood and broken bones. Your eyelids were so heavy, you took an effort to keep them open and overlook the scale of that disaster.

“So many lives are wasted…” You exhaled bleakly, shaking your head in disbelief.

You were bouncing on your weakened legs, trotting down the leader, when you felt a strong grip on your shoulder.

“You’ve done great today, Y/n, thank you.” The soft, admiring voice fell off the future King’s lips, but all the way his words sounded muffled.

You slightly turn your head to be able to hook his being with your eyes, giving him a weak, exhausted smile. “Where are the others?” You sounded concerned, it was rare, if at all, when Aragorn was apart from his friends, and you wouldn’t be giving too much attention to it in different circumstances, but now every uncommon thing was encouraging the pernicious feeling of desperation. “Are they fine, do they need my attention?”

Aragorn soothed you, lowering his voice. “They are all fine, Legolas and Gimli are deep in the city now with Gandalf, Merry and Pippin are--”

“I saw Merry, he got wounded.” You cut him off, without meaning to be arrogant, you just were at your highest state of tiredness and weren't able to control yourself. “It was bad, but he will soon be fine.” You hadn’t known hobbits for that long as Aragorn, though your heart hadn’t needed much time to form an attachment to these two naughty boys. You caught your breath and murmured in question. “What of others?”

Aragorn went blurred for a minute, trying to get together his thoughts and memories, he signed. “I haven’t seen Éomer since he found Éowyn on the battlefield, but Éowyn is in the main House of Healing.” In a matter of seconds your face became covered in shadow and confusion. Your breathy voice cracked into whine, and your body required a stable hand to grip on. “No, Y/n, I believe Éomer is alright, he’s probably somewhere with his men, cheering them up.” Aragorn tried to sound easy and reverent, knowing that your body wouldn’t make it through another stressful night.

“I need to find him,” your gaze was terror-striken and the grip on Aragorn’s hand only tightened, giving Strider’s wrist a numb feeling. “Where are they resting?”

Aragorn overlooked the field, placing his hand over his eyes to save them from the moonlight. “There, but be careful, you are too tired to walk now.” He pointed at the little firelight not far away from the city wall.

You’d gathered all the remaining strength and headed up to the little camp. You were huffing under the weight of the working days, and your eyes already were half-covered, when you stumbled across the rohirrim’s conversation.The bunch of voices you heard: familiar and unfamiliar - but not the one you were searching for. Your heart dropped to your toes and you almost fell, catching yourself before you smashed the ground.

“Guys!” You approached the camp and greeted them, some of them didn’t even lift their eyes on you, pretending you weren't there, but some stood up, or, at least, tried to. “Where is Éomer, is he with you?” None of them said anything, shaking their heads and signing.

“Nay, we hadn’t seen ‘im yet, but Firefoot is here.” One of them whistled and then ran the huge horse and neighed, seeing a familiar face. “Poor lad, he got some wounds himself, but not too harsh.” So what of Éomer then? Is he still behind, in the field and without a horse? What if he is wounded? He wouldn’t make it to the city without a horse if he’s wounded

The thought in your head gave you no rest. You approached Firefoot rapidly, took his reins in your hands and jumped on him. “Please, love, we need to find Éomer. Off you go, as fast as you can!”

And you vanished into the darkness of the field.

Riding for not less than an hour, your legs started to betray you, leesing they grip around Firefoot's body. You were sliding off the horseback from time to time, managing to hold your seat with a huge effort. But the strength wasn’t there anymore, it almost left you, when Firefoot suddenly stopped moving, stood as he planted roots into the ground, and neighed. You were long gazing into the darkness, even slid off the horse (not gonna lie, you wanted to stretch your legs long ago), took his reins in one hand and made an effort to take some steps forward, but Firefoot was serious in his intention to stay on that spot.

“Cursed head!” You slapped yourself, when you remembered you had a torch and some flint to fire the torch up. “I might use this earlier, Gods help me!” You lit the torch and made a few steps to the side, still too many corpses were laying on the ground. To tell the truth, you immediately lost the desire of having a torch to light your way. In the light of the fire the corrupted faces of orcs and men were frightening, shimmering in red and orange, they lay motionless and stared at you.

The desire to put the fire out vanished as soon as you saw a hunched up figure in front of you. The helmet was off and the sword was laying near the said figure, his breathing was slow but audible and monotonous. You fell on your knees, when you passed him round and saw familiar face. The face, your face, dear face. You weren’t able to control your emotions, so soon enough your face became wet and you cupped Éomer’s face in your hands and kissed him on the lips with the last bit of strength you still had.

But Éomer wasn’t there. He didn’t answer your kiss, didn’t move his head or arms, anything. He was staring into the void, with gloomy, blurred eyes. You toppled over on your back and then crawled to him, placing your palms on his hips. For a second you thought he was dead, pierced by the sword through his back and been left here sitting motionless, waiting for his hour.

“Éomer, please!” You fell on your booty, waving your palm in front of his face to bring his mind back to reality. “Eome-er!” You crawled back a bit to see the full picture, even if the close-up of his face is something you would die to look at for the rest of your life, you needed to see his body. Is he wounded? No. There’re some scratches on his face and wrists, but he’s not wounded. Still, his face is weirdly pale… Why why why??

“Éomer, that’s me, Y/n, please…” You begged his motionless figure to look at you, to say something to you, but all in vain. It seems his heart was still beating but his soul wasn’t there.

By foolishness, or because you were too tired to think about essential things, you left your pouch of medical stuff at lazaret, and were completely sure you would return there later that night. Little you knew how handy it would be here, now, a bit of pipe-weed extract to bring Éomer back to sensation would be precious, but you had none of that.

You fell on your back and tears rolled out of your eyes and down your cheeks, you couldn’t make it stop, you were too scared and confused because of Éomer, and fatigue did not allow you to think about it properly.

You were at the point of no return, when Éomer moaned out a smoky growl. His jaw dropped and he left out an inaudible sigh, moving his lips in an effort to say something to you. Thrilled up by the actual sign of life in him, you, surprisingly even for yourself, jumped on your knees and untangled a flask with elvish water elven healer gave you back at the Helm’s Deep. You watered his lips in it, trying to fill his mouth with the yellow liquid.

Suddenly, Éomer moved his gaze on you, though his eyes were still veiled with smog. You let out a huge breath, mixed with laughter as shaky as your mental health was at that moment.

“You scared me to death!” Your desire of touching him and kissing him was crossed by the awareness of hurting him, so you sat yourself down and waited.

“That- that day…” Shaky, dry words, his voice sounded like a squeak, but you let out an uplifted sigh. “was different,” he lifted up his hands, trembling was sharp and Éomer glued his eyes to it, you saw every muscle of his arms fidgeting. “these men… they almost killed me, they were furious, fierce and wanted me dead,” Éomer swallowed the tears, lifting his eyes back on you, his speech was macabre and distressing. “men…” He repeated grievously.

You didn’t quite follow the train of his thoughts. Also ‘men’? What of them? Éomer, slowly crawling out of the blackout, wrapped his fingers around your chin and turned your head to the side, guessing your confusion.

“Look, Y/n,” he whispered near your ear. “Haradrim.” You turned your face, hiding it behind your hand, though Éomer’s fingers still were keeping you facing the direction in which the dead man lied. “No, look harder,” you couldn’t force yourself to open your eyes. There wasn’t anything you hadn’t seen in lazareth, but you weren't ready for that at that moment. His face was corrupted from pain and anger - the dagger of Éomer was stuck in his throat, so the man gagged on his own blood. You looked at Éomer frightened, still the question remained in your wide open eyes. “They are just like us,” the monotonous voice of his only planted the more fear in you, and, averted the eye from the dead body, you caught yourself studying Éomer’s arms. He was rubbing his right hand, wiping the blood that marked his left palm on the pants. His moves were sharp and anxious, and you completely lost the point of his odd behavior. It was a huge question for you - Éomer is a mighty warrior, what happened on these fields that he lost his confidence? “Now, I’m up to the elbows in human blood.” His lips shaked and rubbing moves became even more psychotic, he scratched himself ‘till the tiny drops of his own blood didn’t appear on the arm.

Looking at him, suddenly something clicked in your mind and everything fell into place. Being a mighty warrior for the last ten years, he saw many deaths, he killed many times, but he never killed another man. That day covered him in the blood of other people, for the first time in his life he felt red thick liquid spill out into his face when he cut his foe’s throat, blood of human, not of an orc or goblin, but of human, of the same flash and the same blood as Éomer himself. Of course he has seen people dying from other human hands whether in a drunk fight or from them being executed, but his hands were clean. Until that day.

You crawled to him, wrapping your fingers around his palm and pulling it away from the hand he still was rubbing the blood off of. “That’s not your fault you had to fight them, my love.” Pulling yourself closer to Éomer, you carefully embraced his torso, watching his reaction. “Don’t blame yourself, you did what you had to. Otherwise they would have you killed.’ You slowly moved to his lap and connected your forehead with his, feeling Éomer’s shaky breath on your face.

“I know we have a rather problematic past, but why now? Shouldn’t we have been fighting together against him, not against each other?” Despite being muffled, the words themself were strong and powerful, and you only tightened the embrace, pressing yourself closer to him.

Keeping holding him in your embrace, you drawling. “They didn't have wise leaders to follow, it wasn’t tough for him to lure them to his side.” Éomer shivered from the warmth you gave him while speaking near his ear, and his hands landed on your back. Grazing Éomer’s cheek with your fingers gently, you lifted his chin up and pressed your lips to his in a timid kiss. “Let’s ride back, you do not need to be here any longer.” Your eyes were shimmering with tears as you watched him rubbing his cheek on your palm.

You stood up, not desiring to tear your palm off Éomer’s face, but the urge to leave this place and save Éomer’s sanity was greater. So you called for Firefoot, and while he was trotting to you, made sure to help Éomer to stand up. He was barely standing on his feet, so you wrapped your arm around his chest, a bit lower the armpits, and steaded him. “Lie down, Fire.” You implored the horse, your back was already bending down from the weight of Éomer in full armor. When Firefoot lay down on his forelegs, you carefully placed Éomer on the saddle and then walked back to grab his helmet and sword.

It was tough to keep Éomer on the horseback, though Firefoot’s walk was smooth and delicate, Éomer didn’t have any energy to press his tights to Firefoot’s body, or to hold tight on his mane. “We are almost there, my love, do you see the lights? The camp of our men is there.” You put your chin on Éomer ’s shoulder and pressed a small kiss on his neck. It seemed to soothe him a bit, and the rest of the way he sat still, resting his back on your chest.

When you were close enough to the camp, you slid off the horse, offering your help to Éomer , but he refused, pulling one of his legs to the side and jumped off Firefoot, almost falling down when his weak-kneesed legs smashed the ground under his weight. He overlooked the camp - the majority of rohirrim was already asleep but those, who were still enjoying the night, stood up and walked to greet their future King. Suddenly, counting second to the moment his men would be standing within arm's reach from him, Éomer took your upper arm and pulled you closer to his anxious self.

“Y/n, please, do not mention what happened there,” Éomer furrowed his brows, muffling. “they do not need to know that their future king has weakened before the face of death.”

The exhale you let out was admiring, though you trotted to hide you both behind Firefoot. Placing the hand that wasn’t in Éomer ’s grip, on his jaw, framing it smoothly, the moumour of yours rolled out off your lips and soothed him. “That doesn’t make you weak, Éomer . Quite opposite. You are going to be the King who cherishes human life, isn’t that beautiful and powerful?” Cupping his cheeks in your hands you tilted his head down. “I am sure with Aragorn you will improve the friendship between your people and Haradrim, and we will never again end up in a terrifying situation like this. All human folks would live merely because of yours and Aragorn’s doing and that I promise.”

You saw him mumbling your name, “Y/n,” Éomer’s lips drew, and he sighed, idolizing you for your words that made his heart slow down its beating and stop criticizing himself for being too sensitive about the whole situation. “I’ve never felt more lucky to have you, than now.” He let you pull his face lower and pressed your lips to his. Éomer lingered on the kiss, tearing his lips off yours only when he heard a couple of rohirrim chattering beside you, mocking you two for such an intimate move.

“So, er, Éomer, where have you been?”

“We thought something bad happened to you…”

Éomer glanced over you, offering you a simple smile of admiring. “Mourning.” He said thoughtfully, cutting his men’s chattering off.

AN: Thank you for taking your time and reading this, I love y'all 💖 If you liked it, that would make my day if you reblog this and let other people see n' read this story 😘

Forever tag: @bonjour-rainycity @fucking-with-elves

Fic tag: @simbxlmyne @moriamithril @cottage-writings @hadesx97 @emptyspace008 (I also thought you @wishingtobeinadifferentuniverse would be interested in it 👉🏼👈🏼)

[sigurdjarlson]

Most spicy Medivh and Khadgar thought, go!

Hhhh so many

One thing I dig is Med being super possessive of Khadgar. I just think it would be very sexy of him.

I like to think it’s not too much of a jump given how possessive Med is of his tower and everything within it. Always a small part of him that’s an only child who doesn’t want to share. A bit selfish perhaps. Surely he’s given so much he’s allowed to be selfish about something?

And this man is desperately lonely, and now he’s got this boy who looks at him like he put the stars in the sky and he simply..doesn’t want to give him up.

Khadgar who’s love is so pure.

Medivh is either feared by others or used by them. (There being a few exceptions like Anduin, Llane, Moroes)

But his bond with Khadgar is unique in its own right.

Khadgar who sleeps by his bedside when he’s ill so he won’t be alone and Khadgar who seems to want nothing from him but his attention and time.

Khadgar who’s brilliant and so inherently good.

And who does Khadgar belong to if not him? The Kirin Tor? They threw him away. (They have no idea what they’ve thrown away but he knows, he knows how much potential Khadgar has)

And frankly they do not deserve him. He knows he doesn’t either but he has him and he’s not letting go.

How can he not want to keep him all to himself?

(I like my Med a little unhinged even without Sargeras’ influence okay)

Because the thought of him looking at someone else that way feels like a dagger to the heart. The thought of him

He’s oddly insecure.in a way, waiting for Khadgar to turn around snd run from him like most do but he never does.

He’s intellectually his equal in a way that few are and he’s just so damn precious to him. How can he not want to incinerate anyone who thinks they can take him from him? Or if they’re particularly foolish, tries to take him from him.

His relationship with Khadgar even before they have sex is just.something unique to them and it’s already intimate. To understand and know someone so completely. (Soulmates if I do say so myself). To have this unwavering trust (hehe) in one another

He’s a lot of things to Khadgar. His mentor, his father figure, his everything.

And Khadgar is precious to him. His apprentice. His boy. His Khadgar. His Young Trust. His equal, his future successor. His downfall?

He loves him. He understands him. Surely no one else can give Khadgar what he needs quite like he can. (Arrogant much Med lmao).

He wants to be needed by him because that means he’s not going anywhere and at the same time it terrifies him because he’s scared of what he wants from him. That it will end up hurting him. He doesn’t want to hurt him. He’s scared of what he’ll do to him.

Is it really so shocking it turns to physical lust? He’s not blind after all and Khadgar is lovely. Med is a horny little shit.

But he does try to keep himself from crossing that line. It’s something he won’t be able to take back and die something that has the potential to destroy him and not in the “I want to break you down, see all of you, and put you back together again” way he wants to.

So he tries. But even just as they are he’s possessive of his apprentice. Delighted every time Khadgar proves himself loyal to him,

Scared because what won’t Khadgar do for him? Realistically there should be limits right-

The inherent eroticism in their dynamic.

And Khadgar relishing and craving that attention because he has never been wanted. And yet there’s this man he thinks the world of that almost seems to want to covet him like he’s something good, something precious, something worthy of love.

Khadgar is someone who’s been starved. Starved for affection, for validation, and most of all starved for love.

And so I love fics where there comes to a head but I see Med as someone who acknowledges his feelings are..dangerous in more ways than one.

Khadgar is only seventeen/eighteen. The nature of their master/apprentice dynamic demands some level of obedience. He’s dependent on him for..everything since Khadgar lives with him. He’s desperate to please, would he even be able to say no if he didn’t want to? Would he swallow his own discomfort to please him? He knows the answer is yes and thats what keeps him from acting on it.

And for all his wants he does not want to hurt him, especially not like that. So he abstains if only for Khadgar’s benefit but Khadgar wants as fiercely as he does. (Something he makes sure of before when he finally takes him because he’s not that kind of monster)

And just okay I promise this is getting to the smutty stuff I’m so sorry.

But he wants to. God, does he want to.

And what is sex if not intimate? To be inside someone is the closest you can physically be to another person. Even more intimate to allow yourself to be emotionally vulnerable during it, to lay your body and soul completely bare before another person is to trust them with it all.

And Khadgar trusts him, it’s both touching and terrifying to see how much he completely and utterly trusts him.

In a darker way, it could be seen as a claim. A physical manifestation of that desire to possess the other person. You’re mine, I’m inside you (or you’re inside me) and it’s so satisfying.

And oh, does Med get off on the fact Khadgar is a virgin. It’s not necessarily just the innocence (but if anyone is going to corrupt said innocence it’s going to be him) but the knowledge he’s had him in a way no one else has or ever will. Because well he was the first.

No matter what happens from there on, if Khadgar finds lovers after he dies, he will have been there first. The first to touch him, to be inside him and to see him come undone.

The first and the best. He’ll make damn sure of that. He’ll ruin him for anyone else.

And he doesn’t like to think about that because frankly he’d prefer no one else ever touch him but the reality of their age difference and general situation is he will die first. (He can’t imagine anything else)

And he couldn’t begrudge Khadgar for moving on if he dies right? But he will at least die satisfied in the knowledge he was his first and best and Khadgar will always be his.

He owns him in a way no one else ever will and ever could. In more ways than one. (Because Khadgar’s heart is his above all else)

And Med is someone who hm..is known for his promiscuity and openness sexually…but when it comes to Khadgar, nope. Do not touch his boy. Do not.

Because Khadgar is his and his alone.

No one else gets this gift Khadgar gives him every time he trusts him with his body, his heart, his soul.

And..does he not give Khadgar the same gift? He trusts him. Knows Khadgar would never hurt him. Never use him. Never betray the trust he’s placed in him.

And that’s precious to him. Because Med knows he can be vulnerable with him in turn. That’s something rare for him. He can trust Khadgar to take care of him too.

And Khadgar always does.

(“I need someone to guard the guardian.” - TLG)

Not to shove this in here randomly but these lyrics will not stop bouncing around my head. Like Khadgar’s POV, baby

Everybody wants to know bout how it felt to hear you scream.

They know you walk like you’re a God, they can’t believe I made you weak.

Ahem anyway.

Khadgar is beautiful. Inside and out. He’s not the only one to notice and he realizes quickly he doesn’t like it.

There’s this child in both of them always begging don’t leave me alone.

Possessive Med is just SO good.

Mm one thing I love is Khadgar kind of picking up on Med’s possessiveness and that being what clues him into the fact his feelings really aren’t unrequited after all.

But Med is still stubborn because again, he’s trying to protect Khadgar from him.

And Khadgar petty little brat he can be starts pushing it. He’s not good at flirting but it’s not like the man he’s pressed up against cares if he is or not,

And poor Medivh is just furious.

Like ohoho he is NOT having it. He tries but no he’s yanking Khadgar out of the room before that hand on his leg gets any closer to his crotch.

And all Khadgar can think is ‘yes, yes, yes’ when Medivh pins him against a wall and snarls at him.

Khadgar is a bit hilariously delighted because he does care. He wants him, he wants him. God, no one has ever wanted him at all let alone this much.

And sometimes it’s sweet to see him submit immediately but also baiting him further because he’s still not quite past the point of no return, already feeling guilt for this.

And really he can’t seem to stop himself tonight and isn’t it just intoxicating to have that power over his Master? To be that special to him?

Khadgar’s hands grasping, pulling him closer, so desperate to touch him. Touch him all over, touch him everywhere.

So greedy. Always wanting.

(He loves it because he feels the same)

And Med just..sucking and biting marks onto his throat while Khadgar desperately humps his thigh that he shoved between his legs.

And I won’t lie I’ve got a weird thing for Khadgar coming too soon or in his pants. Just the..’I need it so badly I can’t help myself’ aspect I suppose.

And so does Med because he’s satisfied that Khadgar and also he’s just fucking vain that way lmao.

And that hint of vague humiliation as Khadgar comes down and realizes he just fucking came in his damn pants, humping his Master’s leg like a dog.

But oh Medivh is honestly over the moon about the whole thing. And fuck him shoving a hand down his pants just to feel the mess he made, and make Khadgar squirm in embarrassment. Teasing him about it although never cruelly.

Licking it off his fingers and watching Khadgar’s eyes widen and ah, there it is. He’s hard again. He’s seventeen. A particularly powerful gust of wind could probably set him off so this? Oh, this is definitely doing it.

Khadgar looks at him with this expression, desperate for some kind of approval. So he gives it to him, “Good boy.” and oh, he’s absolutely fascinated by the reaction he gets from that. The way his body jerks as he nearly he comes again, his name on his lips.

He needs that from him. That validation. He’s happy to give it to him.

He’s on the edge himself and isn’t that embarrassing? He’s how old and how much more experienced and he feels like he’s about to come then and there.

And fuck, he’s had countless lovers in thousands of ways but none of them have ever quite made him feel the way Khadgar is making him feel now.

Every clumsy, inexperienced touch is better because it’s his Boy now and oh his enthusiasm makes up for it. He can’t get enough of how much Khadgar can’t get enough.

(Khadgar is a very quick study too)

He shouldn’t touch him. He shouldn’t but he can’t stop, the only thing they could stop him once he’s begun is Khadgar himself (and he doesn’t want him too)

He can’t bring himself to object when Khadgar drops to his knees.

And it’s not like he hasn’t imagined Khadgar on his knees a hundred times before because he most definitely has. Those plump lips are just made for sucking cock and look just as perfect wrapped around him as he always imagined.

The way he’s clearly never done this before but god damn he’s so eager. He probably has to stop him from gagging on him too much, trying to force his cock down his throat when he can’t quite yet, so he assures him they’ll get there but for now it’s fine to just stroke what he can’t fit down his throat.

He’s not ready yet but he will be. Train that gag reflex right out of him.

He’ll teach him to take all of him in time. And isn’t that a lovely thought?

And fuck does Khadgar love it and that’s..well, that’s beyond arousing. How much he just wants to please him. How he reacts when he’s told he is.

And I’m personally weak for someone getting off on giving oral. Like there’s nothing not to love about that. ‘I’m getting off just from making you feel good.’ How is that not just delicious. Someone moaning while they’re giving it like they’re getting pleasure too and in many ways they are. (How some people don’t get off on giving pleasure is in fact baffling to me. It’s just so good to make someone feel good)

And Khadgar does get off on sucking him off (or well pleasuring him in any manner), if he plays his cards right he can have him finish while he’s between his legs, squirming, embarrassed and beautiful.

And he’s gentle when he goes to take him, he doesn’t want to hurt him, ignores Khadgar’s whining about the slow pace because Khadgar is clueless about such things. No, he’s not going to just fuck him without any preparation. Hush, boy.

And Khadgar does because his Master knows best right?

He’s patient, making sure he’s ready even if all he wants to do is pound him into the mattress, till he’s a screaming, broken mess.

Ultimately he’s very glad he had Khadgar suck him off first because there’s no way he would have lasted more than a few thrusts otherwise. (And he’d rather that not be Khadgsr’s first experience with him fucking him LMAO…as if Khadgar would care, he’d love it anyway)

He doesn’t make it easy even now though, especially when Khadgar is moaning, squirming, trying to fuck himself back on his cock. Just desperately demanding more and more. He has to pin him down to keep him from ending this too quickly.

He’s so empty. He’s been empty for so long. Fill him, please.

He begs him to come inside him and if that isn’t one of the hottest fucking things he’s ever seen/heard he doesn’t know what is.

So much of Khadgar is his now except..hm one thing.

Khadgar poor thing is so dazed and blissed out he doesn’t really register what Med is up and doing after they’ve laid there for a while. He’s not quite asleep but he’s basking in the afterglow. He whines a bit when he gets up but is easily soothed by an assurance he’ll be back.

He lets him rest for a little while he busies himself with…hm something else.

Getting Khadgar hard again is embarrassingly (for Khadgar) easy. He’s certainly not complaining though, as he strokes his cock and oh his hand all slick and wet? Is that the stuff they used earlier-

He really doesn’t get much time to think about anything because he’s being pounced on, straddled and Medivh is smirking at him smug as always as sinks down into his cock. Already slick and open for him him.

‘So that’s where he was’ he thinks and he has a petulant moment of “hey, I wanted to help with that..or at least see” but that little bit of resentment does not last long at all. He’s riding him and Khadgar’s brain exe has stopped working.

And he’s well aware Khadgar isn’t going to last long and he’s honestly fine with that. It’s enough to feel Khadgar inside him. To see Khadgar gasp at the sudden tight heat enveloping his cock. Looking at him with an odd sort of awe like he never expected to be given this, like it’s a privilege.

Khadgar is an overstimulated, emotional mess beneath him but despite some silly reservations he has to dispel about hurting him, he’s thrusting up inside him now, desperate and needy. At least on top of him he can control a lot of it, make sure his cock is pressing right there.

He feels his nails rake down his back, Khadgar staking a claim of his own. His hands fist in his hair, pulling and well, he can’t help himself, spilling out onto both of them. (Med likes his hair pulled in bed you can’t convince me otherwise)

He’ll feel horribly guilty in the morning but for now he’s satisfied, curling up around him and keeping him close and safe against his chest. Khadgar clinging to him like a lifeline.

And guilt doesn’t mean shit at this point. He feels it, oh, does he feel it but he knows he’s fucked now. He’s had him and he cant fathom letting him go now.

Letting him go to what? Be touched by others who have less regard for his pleasure, his happiness? No, no. It’s better he be the one to do this in the end. At least he’ll take care of him. Make him feel good and loved. Or maybe that’s just what he tells himself so he doesn’t feel so guilty

They have a lot to talk about of course he needs to make sure Khadgar knows he has as much control as he does (if not more) even if they play like he doesn’t. Because all he’d have to say is stop and he would stop. The concern he has is that Khadgar won’t say it at all so that’s something he’s intent on examining closer, to make sure he doesn’t end up hurting him.

But yeah I just love possessive Med. can you tell?

And it’s good as a catalyst but also good even once they’re together.

Like gimme someone flirting with Khadgar? The more explicitly the better. And Med tries not to be that guy but it’s pissing him off more and more.

Khadgar maybe being a little more permissive than he should be because it excites him knowing what’s going to happen the minute Medivh gets him alone. (He’s a naughty little thing. Maybe he needs to be spanked I mean what)

Women are not exempt from this obviously either. It’s usually dudes that make a character in a mlm relationship jealous in fics and that’s delicious in it own right but also…. I mean yeah that’s his hole and his mouth but that cock belongs to him too.

*Danny Devitio voice* “Back off bitch”. His ass is better than her pussy thanks. Tbh Medivh is a bigger bitch about this then anyone else could be. Khadgar is happy to tell him who his cock belongs to when they’re back in their room and Medivh is riding him.

He likes when Med gets like this. He loves it actually. It makes him feel so very wanted, so very loved.

And if he’s feeling particularly bratty he eggs him on. Which just makes him take him harder and fuck, Khadgar loves it.

He maybe shouldn’t indulge this part of himself he knows but he can’t help it when Khadgar’s underneath him, demanding it.

His. All his. In every possible way.

And in return he’s of course Khadgar’s in every possible way (And that’s something that never fails to get Khadgar off) and he finds that he’s honestly perfectly satisfied with that.

He’s slept around plenty, played the field. Yet it never left him feeling complete like this does. Yes, he’s happy with this, with his boy.

Hmm what else do I got for ya..

And he loves seeing his come leak out of Khadgar when he’s done with him. And Khadgar loves being filled with it.

He wants to be filled, makes him feel complete, full, snd just the intimacy he craves it. And isn’t that just perfect, his soft whines of harder, deeper..the way his head lolls back in pure bliss when he’s all the way inside him.

Med comes off to me as someone who likes to watch (not with anyone else, no no no) I mean putting him in positions where he can clearly see his cock sliding in and out of him. Khadgar is so flustered the first time he does this because it’s just so..that’s his most, you know, private place. It turns him the fuck on to be exposed to him like that.

He also isn’t above wanting a show from Khadgar I mean who wouldn’t? It’s cute how he’s Amaya’s a little nervous at first but once he gets into it he’s shameless filthy and well, how long his self control holds varies.

Med likes his come on him too. His face, his chest, hell even on his cock if he feels like tormenting him. It’s always such a deeply satisfying sight for him. It’s filthy and lovely and just for him.

Sometimes everything about Khadgar just screams take me. Claim me. Make me yours.

And part of him enjoys the aftercare if he’s honest. Seeing Khadgar all blissed out and limp, and hilariously I feel like some wires have gotten crossed in Khadgar’s brain over the years and being taken care of turns him on. He’s really just wiping the poor boy down and he’s hard again.

No one has ever taken care of him before.

Well, alright Med’s happy take care of that too. Even when Khadgar whines about it too much, too sensitive even though he’s pushing his head down when his mouth is on him.

He loves it. Overstimulation yesss

Let’s be real Med has a mental high score board of how many times he can make this poor boy come in a day. And damn it he’s always happy to try to one up his own score.

And Khadgar is young, his refractory period is not long whatsoever. When it comes to sex he’s young, dumb and full of come horny as hell all the time.

Medivh despite being older can keep up with him just fine thank you very much Khadgar playfully insinuating otherwise never fails to irritate the hell out of him…and make him make it a point to prove otherwise.

And you know if he had to there’s magic that could help with that..but he doesn’t have to…

And Khadgar always makes his own claim in his own right. Just by seeing him lose control, by knowing he makes his Master feel so good and knowing he satisfies him..

And Med would be a damn liar if he said a part of him doesn’t get off on the possessive way Khadgar clutches him, or how he seems to also loves the same things he does.

Because Khadgar wants him. Needs him. Is intent on keeping him. Like something precious and like someone that actually deserves pure, devoted love.

and neither of them believe they do.

He can almost pretend he does when Khadgar comes, ‘I love you’ falling from his lips again and again.

They’re both so determined to prove the other deserves love.

Showing love through mutual possession 😳 sex is about as close as you can get to someone’s (unless Med is performing surgery on him in his spare time skkdsjdj) and damn if they haven’t found exactly what they need in each other

They’re both broken in their own ways but they fit together perfectly.

(Soulmates. Blizzard sort of indirectly said it not me. Okay I guess Bonds of fate doesn’t necessarily mean..no no it does I’ve made it canon and there’s nothing Blizz can do about it)

[schrijverr]

Promises You Made to Me

Chapter 2 out 3

Aragorn falls for Boromir on their journey. When they realize they share their affection, they also know that the time is not now to act upon them. Both promise to share love once they see the quest done, a promise that long seems a broken oath. Still, the horn was heard in more lands and the Elves have not yet forsaken this world

A Boromir lives AU where they fall in love before Boromir falls at Amon Hen, but Aragorn only learns of his survival after the defeat of Sauron.

On AO3.

Ships: Aragorn x Boromir

Warnings: mourning and Aragorn's bad coping

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 2: Can’t Promise You Kind Road Below

Aragorn did not want to think about the dying face of Boromir, how he had clutched to his clothes in desperate regret, nor how he had looked as if their doom was impending and there was no stopping it.

He hated how when he recalled the image of Boromir, he could only see that Boromir, chocking on his own blood, confessing his sins. He wanted to see Boromir in the flickering light of the fire, his eyes when he talked, but he could not.

Through Rohan, he ran himself ragged trying to find the little ones Boromir had died to protect and when even that task was his no longer, he worked to ensure that the world of men would not fail.

As they rode to Helm’s Deep, he was aware of Éowyn’s eyes on him, but he knew it was not love, for he knew what love looked like. She loved him for the things he could bring her, not for his tales of mischief or his tracking in the wild, just war and valor.

He would not engage with her meaningful looks hoping that they would go away, before he had to deal with them. His soul was smarting still and the affection in her eyes instead of his, hurt more than he could have thought.

When he went over the cliff edge, a small part of him hoped that he would see Boromir again, but instead he saw but an image of him, kissing his forehead as Aragorn had done on Amon Hen, before pulling him up, urging him to fulfill the oath he had made.

Brego trotted slow enough to not jostle him, but it would not have mattered for his mind was consumed by his empty arm and the shadow a smile long gone.

Arriving he heard Gimli through the crowd: “Where is he? Where is he? Get out of the way! I’m gonna kill him!” Then he saw him and hugged him close. “You are the luckiest, the canniest and the most reckless man I ever knew!”

Aragorn hugged back, but he did not have the time for this. His mind had been made up, he needed to save Rohan and then Gondor, for Boromir. It was a truth he had already known, but seeing Boromir in his mind’s eye, pleading with him again, made it a reality once more. He could not give up now. “Gimli, where is the King?”

Legolas also stopped him before he could reach Théoden King, however. “Le ab-dollen,” he frowned and scanned him over. “You look terrible.”

It was a relief, somehow, to have Legolas there, insulting him as of old. The Elf with his long life had more familiarity with grief than most and he tried his best to keep Aragorn on his two legs. A smile broke out on his face.

Then something leathery was pushed into his hands. Boromir’s bracer. It had been torn off during the fight with the Orc and he had felt its absence ever since, holding it in his hands once more made swallowing harder than it needed to be.

“Hannon le.” It was not enough to express all the thanks he had to his friend for saving and protecting this object while he could, even if he did not know whether Aragorn had made it and even if there was no one to return it to. Yet, he hoped his face showed all the gratitude his soul held.

After that he walked on to the King and so he stood and fought for Helm’s Deep, for mankind.

It was a pity that the Elves send to their aid were from the Western border of Lothlórien, instead of the Eastern, which had collected Boromir, since now neither knew that Boromir lived still.

Gandalf prevented him from marching directly through to the White City once the battle was over and the warning had to be brought, while Aragorn’s heartwas eager to march on.

Waiting was more agonizing than Aragorn had expected. When there were no longer marches that lasted days on which the silence was oppressively present or battles that went through the night, the emotions he had tried to hide from crept into his mind once more.

There was no description in any of the tongues he knew for the way his heart hurt. No words for the way it was hollow yet so heavy, nor for the way his mind replayed that day and all the things he could have done differently, if he had only seen.

He spend days sitting alone with his pipe.

Legolas understood. The Elf would sit next to him in silence, watching over the plains for someone, who would not appear on the horizon. Gimli, as well, would hold him company, on the long nights wherein sleep seemed the enemy more so than the darkness.

This night he was alone, however, gracing the halls of Edoras with his drunken mumbling filled with grief. His mind had called upon him to write a song for the loss and glory of Boromir, something he had been turning in his mind for many days.

There were reproaches to himself also for not giving him some sort of ritual send off that he had deemed as too time-consuming, if he was to fulfill his promises, and had regretted ever since. He should have bore Boromir to one of their boats and let the Anduin take him home, yet he had not.

Softly he swished the ale in his mug, looking into his reflection that looked more pitiful than a King should look. But he was no King here, just a broken man and quietly he murmured:

.

“Through Rohan over fen and field where the long grass grows The West Wind comes walking, and about the walls it goes "What news from the West, O wandering wind, do you bring to me tonight? Have you seen Boromir the Tall by moon or by starlight?" "I saw him ride over seven streams, over waters wide and grey I saw him walk in empty lands until he passed away Into the shadows of the North, I saw him then no more The North Wind may have heard the horn of the son of Denethor" "O Boromir! From the high walls westward I looked afar But you came not from the empty lands where no men are" . From the mouths of the Sea the South Wind flies, from the sandhills and the stones The wailing of the gulls it bears, and at the gate it moans "What news from the South, O sighing wind, do you bring to me at eve? Where now is Boromir the Fair? He tarries and I grieve" "Ask not of me where he doth dwell – so many bones there lie On the white shores, on the dark shores under the stormy sky So many have passed down Anduin to find the flowing Sea Ask of the North Wind news of them the North Wind sends to me" "O Boromir! Beyond the gate the seaward road runs south But you came not with the wailing gulls from the grey sea’s mouth" . From the Gate of Kings the North Wind rides, and past the roaring falls And clear and cold about the tower its loud horn calls "What news from the North, O mighty wind, do you bring to me today? What news of Boromir the Bold? For he is long away" "'Neath Amon Hen I heard his cry. There many foes he fought His cloven shield, his broken sword, they to the water brought His head so proud, his face so fair, his limbs they laid to rest And Rauros, golden Rauros-falls, bore him upon its breast" "O Boromir! The Tower of Guard shall ever northward gaze To Rauros, golden Rauros-falls, until the end of days"”

.

“That was beautiful, my Lord. I knew not that a lament had been written for the grievous loss of Lord Boromir.” His private sorrow was interrupted by Éowyn, who could not know how deep the grief ran in Aragorn’s heart.

“It is not,” said he. “I wrote it.”

“Did he go down the Anduin, my Lord?” she asked. “We heard fairly little of the demise of our trusted ally of many years, only that it had happened.”

Aragorn’s teeth clenched, a steady breath leaving his nose at her innocent question. “He did not. We had not the time and I have regretted it ever since I turned my back to the place where he fell. He deserved more honor.”

Éowyn fell silent, then gently sat beside him. He knew not whether to be grateful for her company or upset at the intrusion, which it could hardly be called inside the public halls of her home.

She laid her hand on his arm. “You cared for him,” she observed. “He was not just your brother in arms, I can feel the grief in your voice and I see the bracers of Gondor upon your arms. Though it might not be a comparison, Théodred is a soul dearly missed by me. He rode into battle with Éomer, but it was me he comforted in the night when the nightmares got too strong. He was my brother more than my cousin.”

He heard the pain in her voice and while it was not a lover she had lost, it had been a loved one. She had not looked at him before with the compassion born of something other than love and in that moment, he appreciated the understanding she brought him.

“I promised I’d protect him, that we both might live to see the end of our quest.” His gaze wandered to a far off place that was unseen to other eyes. “I found him too late and save him, I could not. For all the Elven healing I have learned, I was not enough. I failed him.”

“You have not failed him, for if Boromir was to be failed, he would be failed by no one but his own,” Éowyn spoke fiercely. “I knew Boromir for many winters passed and he was proud and bold. He knew his sword better than his body, leading the charge and ending every fight he fought. He was a great warrior and I will not have his name tarried by your claim that he needed your protection. If he fell, he fell with the honor of a Soldier and a noble man, fighting until he could do so no more to protect what he held dear.”

Aragorn fell silent.

While Legolas and Gimli had many times told him to not carry the weight of Boromir’s death on his shoulders, it was Éowyn that defended Boromir in removing his guilt.

Boromir valued his honor and he had told him that he had kept it. It would not do to take those words back in his mind, to carry the guilt of Boromir’s death that was more Saruman’s fault than his own. Still it was easier to speak the words than to take the message to heart, yet it eased his mind, for he had felt he could not grieve that which he had caused, allowing himself to only feel the pain when colored by blame.

“You are not responsible for Théodred either, my Lady. Saruman’s magic lies in his voice and his arm reached far, do not blame yourself for there is not blame to be laid,” he said, not knowing how else to respond to the kindness she had shown him.

There was the same shock of the confirmation that it was okay to rest that had been upon his face moments before. She swallowed, then stared ahead: “I still have to atone for not doing more, for taking one of our greatest Captains in times of war when he could have been saved.”

“You do not have to replace him, my Lady. Dying in honor is not worth it to repay a debt that isn’t owed. Why should you atone for Gríma’s and Saruman’s crimes? Who will be here to protect the home that Théodred died for? If we fail, who else will hold steady here?” He knew her urge to fight, but he hoped she would see that times of peace were more valuable and that everyone had their own part to play in getting there.

She did not take kindly to his comfort, nor his advice. For all her wisdom to Aragorn, she had little for her own heart, little to soften the blows she dealt herself. Her lips pulled into a thin line and her hands clenched, before she swept out of the room, leaving Aragorn once more with a mug of ale as his only company.

Aragorn was still churning their words in his head the morning after. Both trying to find the right words for the ones that had been misplaced by her mind the day before as well as trying to come to terms with hers.

On the horizon a light flickered.

He rushed up many stairs and through the town he flew into the great hall of Edoras, where he panted:“The beacons of Minas Tirith! The beacons are lit! Gondor calls for aid!”

The hall fell silent in awaiting Théoden’s answer and while Aragorn had already decided that no matter the word of the King, he would ride, taking whoever was willing with him, he still longed to know the King’s answer.

“And Rohan shall answer,” the King decided. “Gather to Rohirrim.” The words loosened the weight inside Aragorn’s chest. An army would do more for Gondor than a lone man.

He would come to Gondor’s aid, he would not abandon Boromir nor his home. There was a little hope for Gondor now and Aragorn found himself eagerly awaiting the return to his Kingdom, even if there was a chance he would find it in ruins.

In the end his return alongside Rohan would not come to pass. Seeing Elrond was a respite he did not know he needed, but when the older man shed his hood, Aragorn’s knees nearly buckled as a sense of safety and home consumed him.

“Estel?” he questioned when he saw Aragorn. “You are not the man that left Rivendell. You have lost something, a part of yourself. Where is the Evenstar brooch?”

“I- I gave it away,” Aragorn confessed, voice less steady than a hut during an earth quake.

“To whom?” Elrond wore the face that he often did when the human character of Aragorn managed to baffle him, even after all the millennia he had walked this earth.

Aragorn knew not whether he wanted to confess to the man, who had been like his father, to whom he had given the star of his daughter, but it felt unfair to keep it from him and yet it was hard to speak the name. “Boromir.”

“The brooch was not all you gave to Boromir.” The statement was an inquiry, but it might as well have been a knife. There was no judgment in Elrond’s voice, just a quiet understanding that came with all the losses he’d had.

He nodded in reply, for there was no more he could say to Elrond, save: “I swore to him that I would not see Gondor fail, Ada. Yet, my heart tells me Rohan will not be enough.”

“Your heart speaks truth, you ride to war not victory. Sauron’s armies ride on Minas Tirith, this you know, but in secret he sends another force, which will attack from the river. A fleet of Corsair ships sails from the South. They will be in the city in two days. You’re outnumbered, Estel. You need more men.”

At Elrond’s words, Aragorn’s heart sank. He had known this was a futile attempt to stem the tide of the darkness, thatthey would need even more men, men that did not exist or could not be spared. The promise he made to Boromir, was an oath he could not keep. “There are none,” it was a desolate fate to realize there in the night.

“There are those, who dwell in the mountain,” Elrond’s suggestion was one they could not count on and he wondered when the counsel of the Elves had turned to hopeless last efforts that would not be fruitful.

“Murderers, traitors. You would call upon them to fight? They believe in nothing, they answer to no one.” Did Elrond not see that it would be his end?

“They will answer to the King of Gondor. I am here on behalf of someone that I love, Arwen begged me to bring this to you healed before she left to the Grey Havens,” said Elrond, revealing a sword that had been concealed in his coat. “Andúril, the Flame of the West, forged from the shards of Narsil.”

With near reverence Aragorn took the sword, by whose shards he had first seen Boromir so many nights ago. The rhyme that foretold his duty came to fruition as a tale from old.

It seemed poetic that it came to his hands now that he marched on the City he had sworn to protect in name of the man, he had met next to that very same sword. How it came to him healed, only after Boromir had named him King and he had proven himself in battle.

“The blade that was broken shall return to Minas Tirith.”

While he knew his duty, he could not easily do so without the entire encampment knowing. He made his goal clear, but all thought it a foolish quest that would rob them of a leader in the battle that was to come. “Why are you doing this? The war lies to the East. You cannot leave on the eve of battle, you cannot abandon the men.”

“Éowyn,” for that was who had spoken and Aragorn hoped that his tone would convey all that he tried to say to her, knowing that she was not susceptible to listening.

“We need you here.” Everyone seemed to need him, but he knew where he was needed and it was not here, it was with a deadly army marching on Minas Tirith from the South.

“Why have you come?” he asked instead of all he wanted to say to her. He knew her reasons, but he needed her to understand that what she wished could not come to pass, for he did not think he could ever fully heal from the grief of Boromir. He was not right for her.

“Do you not know?”

“It is but a shadow and a thought that you love. I cannot give you what you seek.” The glance she send to his bracers told him she understood, yet she did not want to believe and the blunt rejection still hurt her as she backed away.

Aragorn knew that he should have felt more guilt about hurting the maiden, but he could not find it in him, for he was hurting too, yet there was no one right for him either, except the dead. He would find company there.

He also found company in Legolas and Gimli, glad for his friends that had been a steadfast presence by his side.

There were no finer companions to march with, for they had been there through it all, not once leaving his side and trusting him with their life, even when his judgment had cost them one of the Fellowship’s. They had not blamed him and stood by his side with more understanding of his conviction than he could have hoped for.

A dark path later, he finally gazed upon the White City. It stood high and mighty still, yet the magic with which Boromir had described it fell flat as the lower levels burned and the streets were overrun by Orcs and Trolls.

Boromir’s words in Lothlórien echoed through his mind: ‘Still, my heart tells me that I will not see my home as it is now ever again and my fears would have me believe that the next time I see it, it will be in ruin.’

Had he known then the omen of which those words spoke, he would not have thought so lightly of them.

Yet those were demons for after the war was won, for the end was only staved off and the Houses of Healing were filled with people, who did have a chance to see their home restored, should they live through this.

Aragorn worked tirelessly, remembering Boromir telling him off the time he had ended up here with a broken arm after he had fallen of a horse as a youngster. Boromir had recalled how the nurses had more resembled a beehive and how the busy hands had distracted him from the pain.

It was strange how his memories came alive amidst the dying soldiers of his City. He tried to work through it and many citizens saw him there, working so tirelessly as to be the hive Boromir had told him off by himself.

His people spoke, rumors of his deeds in the Houses of Healing spread through the City. Yet, no one spoke of the King that had wept at the sick bed of Faramir, Son of Gondor, now herCaptain and Steward, who resembled his so brother closely.

For days he found himself beside Faramir, looking at the man with an aching guilt. He wondered if he knew his brother was dead, if Pippin had told him, if he knew that Boromir would never again hear the silver trumpets call him home.

He knew not how Boromir had carried so much upon his shoulders for the many years he dwelt here and he felt deeply how the burdens he had seen in the eyes of Boromir, were the burdens meant for him. So, he set to work again, trying not to think of it more.

And it was in the Houses of Healing that Legolas found him, gently washing Faramir’s wounds with athelas water. He laid a hand on Aragorn’s shoulder. “You need to stop, Aragorn. You will not save Boromir by saving his brother. He is in safe hands here, you can do no more but rest.”

Aragorn tried to ignore him and went back to what he was doing, but his hands were shaking and his eyes were drooping. He knew Legolas to be right, yet it was hard to tear himself away from caring for the family of the man that held his heart.

“We have a counsel about our next move come morning. You cannot protect Minas Tirith if you’re exhausted. Please, sleep.”

The fact that Legolas spoke truth made it all the more frustrating. Faramir looked so much like his brother that it was sometimes easy to pretend that he had been on time to save him. But he had not. Every time he glimpsed features that were not Boromir’s that revelation came to him again.

Still, he knew that Boromir had cared for his brother, with many tales of their adventures both as young lads and soldiers proved that. Aragorn would never forgive himself if Faramir died under his care. He would do anything to protect Minas Tirith.

Slowly he stood up, vision going black for a moment as Legolas steadied him. Gratefully, he leaned on the Elf and let himself be led to a bed. He could not remember falling asleep, but it was the first full sleep he had in weeks, through virtue of pure exhaustion.

The debate for their next move had gathered in the Citadel and Aragorn walked the halls where he was meant to rule and where Boromir had grown up. He should have been there as well, to decide the fate of his City and people, but he was not and Aragorn would try his best in his stead.

He deeply understood Gandalf’s fear and blame of himself, when he talked about Frodo and the heavy shadow in the East, as he stated: “I have send him to his death.”

“No.” Aragorn would not let Gandalf fall into his own mistakes, he would not let the Wizard give up when he had just hardened his resolve to do what he must. “There is still hope for Frodo. He needs time and safe passage across the plains of Gorgoroth. We can give him that.”

“How?” asked Gimli and Aragorn explained the plan that had been growing in his mind: “Draw out Sauron’s armies. Empty his lands. Then we gather our full strength and march on the Black Gate.”

“We cannot achieve victory through strength of arms,” Éomer rightfully critiqued, but he did not yet see the full picture. The real goal.

“Not for ourselves,” Aragorn agreed, “but we can give Frodo a chance if we keep Sauron’s eyes fixed upon us. Keep him blind to all else that moves.”

“A diversion.” It clicked for Legolas and he saw in the Elf’s eyes that he thought him mad and genius at once. He knew then that he would have Legolas by his side.

“Certainty of death, small chance of success,” Gimli summarized and Aragorn hoped the Dwarf would be on his side as well. The three of them had journeyed so far and it would hurt to see his friend abandon ship at the end. Yet, his heart knew that Gimli was more stouthearted and loyal than that, which was confirmed by the Dwarf himself: “What are we waiting for?”

“Sauron will suspect a trap. He will not take the bait,” Gandalf voiced what Arargorn had also realized, but he had an idea. He grinned and said: “Oh, I think he will,” before explaining what he meant to do.

Before he could do so however, Pippin stopped him. He looked at the Hobbit curiously, it was not the same Hobbit whom he had left Rivendell with. There was a weight on his shoulders and a wisdom in his eyes.

“Promise me I can come with you to the Black Gate,” he asked. “Boromir gave his life for me and Faramir has shown me great compassion despite my involvement in his brother’s death. I would be ashamed to not protect their home.”

“It is not up to me to decide who goes,” he said and he saw Pippin’s face fall, so he added, “It is up to the heart of every man. I will not force anyone to come with me, but every man is welcome. Still, you should not feel like a debt is owed, because you were the bringer of the news of Boromir’s death to his kin.”

He knew how Boromir cared for the Hobbits – Merry and Pippin especially, since they reminded him of the youth untouched by war and he had hoped to save them of the harsh, dark hands of violence. Another place where Aragorn had failed him. Boromir would not want them to unnecessarily endanger themselves.

“That is not why I want to fight, Aragorn. I want to help Frodo and Sam, I hope to see my friends again and I wish to fight for their good fortune,” Pippin said. “And it was not me, who brought the news.”

“It was not?” Aragorn frowned. He did not know how else the news could have come to the White City.

“No, it was his cloven horn that was found in the river, which told the people that Boromir would not return, I merely confirmed the loss already felt,” Pippin explained.

A cold hand gripped Aragorn’s heart. How had the horn ended up in the river when last he had seen, it had been next to it’s bearer far from the water of the Anduin, lying on the forest ground? Who had moved the horn from it’s resting place?

“Aragorn?” He had been quiet fortoo long and Pippin’s brows formed a concerned look. He failed to smile reassuringly as he said: “I’m sorry, Pippin. I was distracted. It is a noble cause to fight for your friends and your blade will be welcome.” Then he quickly left.

The fear and guilt in his heart was a familiar mix and he had not the time to examine the revelation too closely, for there was something he had to do. Though his mind kept straying.

Looking into the Palantír, he saw the dreadful eye that had haunted them through their journey across Middle Earth. It writhed and hissed in Black speech, things he could not understand. He unsheathed his sword and told Him: “Long have you hunted me. Long have I eluded you. No more! Behold, the Sword of Elendil!”

Immediate was the reaction of the Dark Lord, who showed him the body of Boromir, defiled and dismembered by a pack of Orcs. His fair face was no more, his horn tossed into the river with all that was left of him. The Evenstar trampled and left in the dirt.

Aragorn felt sick as he dropped the Palantír.

He knew not whether the stone spoke truth or if the Dark Lord had looked into his heart to confirm his deepest fears. Yet a part of his mind could not help but think that it had come to pass and that his actions had led to Boromir being desecrated like that after death.

When he had decided to leave Boromir there, it had been purely selfish. He wanted Boromir to be given the chance to be buried as the Kings of old as he had deserved. He had not wanted to dishonor Boromir as well as giving himselfthe chance to be buried alongside him. But the had not been the time to dig a grave with the trail of Merry and Pippin growing cold every second, he could not fail what Boromir had started.

So the body had been left and now he had a broken horn that should not have been in the river and an all seeing eye that confirmed what he had feared.

The bile rising in his throat felt almost as bitter as the taste of regret that coated his tongue. It seemed like he was only failing Boromir. His city lay in ruin, he would march her last soldiers to their death by the Black Gates and now the decisions about the death of Boromir felt foolish and was causing an anguish and doubt in his heart when Gondor needed it least.

He could not let this stop him, however. Boromir had turned his back on helping Frodo for a moment and it had led him onto a road of ruin and Aragorn had swore to do better by him. He could not abandon Frodo, not now. No matter if his heart wanted him to hide and cry.

Thus it came to pass that he marched steadily on the Black Gate with too small an army and a sun rising in the sky that he might never see setting again.

Aragorn spoke to his troops, to the brave men that had followed him in spite of knowing the foolish quest that it was. “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 all bonds of Fellowship.”

Even as he spoke the image of Boromir haunted his words. His attempt to take the Ring colored his mind, yet Boromir had the courage to turn back, to not forsake his friends and neither would the men in front of him. “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!”

He saw encouragement in the eyes that looked up at him as he heard the voice of Boromir: ‘I have not yet seen you in a proper battle, nor with men under your command,’ and he hoped that if Boromir could see him, he would be proud. That he would have provenhimself worthy of the throne that lay waiting for him, should he return.

“By all that you hold dear on this good earth, I bid you stand! Men of the West!” Around him weapons were unsheathed as men readied themselves to fight with Aragorn joining them on his horse.

No one could stop him, he had to fight. Fight for Frodo, for Gondor, for Boromir and the promises he had made to him. He would fight for the memory of the Elves and the legacy of men in the new age. He might perish on the field of battle, but he would do so with honor. For if he fell, he wanted to join there were Boromir dwelt.

~~

A/N:

Shout out to me for using a bazillion (9k) words for FOTR only to breeze past the rest of the franchise in record speed (5k). Well, maybe not record speed, but pretty fast if u compare.

Also I adore the Lament for Boromir (and I cry every time, very hard and long, lets not talk about it, anyways), but that does not just come to you and I wanted to explore writing it for Aragorn, so it had to be included and is straight from the books. I am quite sad that Legolas didn’t get to sing his part though :/

In the movies more so than the books, I feel (which is up for interpretation), Aragorn’s journey is shadowed by the death of Boromir. It is Boromir that convinced him of the courage of men and how Gondor needs him, who accepts him as King first and shows Aragorn what his absence has caused. So, I really wanted to explore all the places where Aragorn would meet Boromir’s shadow when he thought him dead and was mourning.

[itsclydebitches]

Since you're probably the only person I follow here who plays WoW, I'm wondering; what do you think about the writing of Sylvanas in BFA and Shadowlands? A lot of people seem to be very unhappy with how the character has been handled.

Throwing these all together! It took me a while to get around to WoW asks because I was... playing WoW lol.

I'll be straight with everyone here: I'm probably one of the worst players to question about the narrative aspects, just because I've always been more focused on gameplay over story — or at least the in-depth story gained by listening to all the conversations, watching all the cutscenes, reading the tie-in novels, etc. MMOs are weird (and fascinating) in that it's so easy to be immersed in them while simultaneously bypassing 99% of the nuance. Do I know the basic setting, conflict, and goals? Sure. Do I know that such-and-such character yelled out this line as a callback to a fight three expansions ago? Not really. The non-linear experience of an MMO — dropping the game for large stretches of time, coming back in halfway through an expansion, doing new content before old content, exiting out of cutscenes because you've got somewhere to be, etc. — has created the unique ability to say, "I've played this game since its release and no, often I don't know wtf is going on." (Something that got even worse for me during Battle for Azeroth, actually).To put it in RWBY terms, I'm the happy fan entirely ignorant of the drama about Team RWBY's moral downfall, or the badly handled themes, and is just sitting in her isolated corner going, "That fight was so fun!"

All that being said and based on my established-as-shaky knowledge... yes, I'd say the backlash is very deserved lol. I haven't done the raid myself yet, but I've watched the cutscene and... what the fuck is going on with Sylvanas?

Her entire arc lately has been a bunch of cryptic BS that has little to no explanation attached. Honestly, I'd put money on at least part of my inability to follow the logic of certain arcs, or figure out what a character's motivations are, is simply because said logic and motivations don't exist/contradict/have plot holes/etc.

She suddenly decides that maybe genocide and enslaving everyone ever is a bad thing after the Jailer has basically made himself into an unstoppable god? Also, why is one of the least trusting characters putting so much insane trust in him, conveniently right up until the final hour when it's WAY too late?

HONESTLY, SYLVANAS, WHAT WERE YOU EXPECTING?

ZOVAAL WAS NEVER GONNA REFORM THINGS IN A GOOD WAY

HOW WAS THIS NOT OBVIOUS

I straight up want to revoke every writer's right to redemption arcs until they figure out how to actually do one properly

Between Emerald and Sylvanas I am slain

Her random change of heart results in her shooting the slowest, most telegraphed, useless arrow I've ever seen

It, shockingly, does nothing

So everyone is dead now, right? The Jailer has our heroes bound in chains, under his control, all set to take them out. He'll kill the only people capable of stopping him now, right?

Lol of course not because that would be smart

Instead he just leaves and also gives Sylvanas the piece of her soul back because? He's grateful???

Idk what's going on. It's all stupid. Lovelies in my inbox keep comparing RWBY to Final Fantasy, but let's talk about the writing similarities between RWBY and WoW: stupid villains, instant redemption, crazy high stakes with no real depth or payoff... it's a mess. The cinematic has 15k downvotes on Youtube against 4.6 upvotes. I felt vindicated upon noticing this.

WoW, I think, is good at small storytelling. I'm loving Shadowlands and (since the core gameplay rarely changes) a lot of that stems from my environment and short-term goals. I love gaining Ve'nari's trust and hunting down other cartel members for her. I love chatting with Theotar and sharing tea. Breaking into a hell-esque prison and helping unfortunate prisoners along the way? Excellent. Even the larger concept of an afterlife in need of reform, but that is ultimately threatened by the Jailor's idea of change, assisting and protecting souls in the four definitely not Hogwarts Houses afterlives is fantastic. It's just when WoW gets bigger and more ambitious that stuff really falls apart. Which, ultimately, is one of the reasons why I haven't put forth the effort to catch up on all the lore. I like the simple concept of being the Maw Walker, assisting friends and acquaintances with their immediate needs; less so the convoluted mess of whatever is going on in the cinematics.

... well, Anduin is the exception now. I need the raid to rescue my boy lol.

[thiswaycomessomethingwicked]

Aragorn and Boromir: one of them was late to/forgot about an event for the arguments thing!

Alright! They didn’t argue-argue because they REFUSED. Idiots. But they did have some weird emotional conversations so that’s as good as we’re going to get. I hope you enjoy! 

Title: Sweet is the Air

Pairing: Aragorn/Arwen/Boromir - basically. 

Summary: Set in the same time-line/AU World of Naming the World & My Land is Bare. So, Boromir survived Amon Hen, to everyone’s great joy. The main plot-points remain mostly the same. Barring some people living who died in the canon. 

This is post-ROTK. Denethor remains alive, the ghost at the banquet. 

--

‘Did you forget?’ Aragorn asks.  

‘I didn’t,’ Boromir says. 

Aragorn repeats: But did you? It’s alright if you did.  

‘I didn’t,’ Boromir insists.  

Aragorn wishes the man would just admit to it. Yes, he forgot. How hard is that to say? Yes, it slipped his mind that they were going to have a Talk with Denethor about The State of the Stewardship. Or, more truthfully, Yes, he forgot because he wanted to forget because he doesn’t want to talk to his father about The State of the Stewardship. 

‘Do you know how hard it is to corner your father?’ Aragorn asks, attempting to not be annoyed. Because he isn’t annoyed. This is only the third time this has happened, after all. And the first occurrence of Boromir’s lateness to the Denethor Conversation had a legitimate cause; the second - well it could be argued to be legitimate. A third time though? 

But he’s not annoyed. 

(Arwen, last night, You’re annoyed. Aragorn, insistent, I am not annoyed. Arwen raised an eyebrow and therefore looked eerily like her father, For some reason I remain unconvinced. Have you told him you’re annoyed? This made Aragorn scowl and so he therefore looked like a statue of one of his dead relatives, Why should I do that? I’m not annoyed. There’s nothing to talk about. Arwen, I’ll tell him if you don’t. To which Aragorn tried to forcefully declare: You will do no such thing but that merely prompted Arwen to pantomime opening a window and hollering out, Boromir, your king is frustrated with your inability to manage your father. Aragorn became horrified, You wouldn’t dare. At which Arwen smiled and said, Just watch me.) 

‘I promise I didn’t forget - it was only, I was tied up,’ Boromir states. 

Aragorn swallows: well that is a terrible excuse. Because that is not a kind thing to say. It is not a worthy thing to say. Boromir deserves better than Aragorn being missish. Because they are no longer on the road. Because the Fellowship is over. The Four Hunters has long been disbanded. 

Gods, Aragorn thinks bleakly, I’ve been king for ten months now. 

‘Well, it’s terribly difficult to force him to have ten minutes of time. Your father is wily.’ 

Boromir nods slowly. Picks at his nails. Looks at the sad bushes, the dismal remains of summer roses, jasmine climbing up columns, the naked trees. Aragorn isn’t sure how to proceed. He should have practiced. Arwen told him to practice. Aragorn despairs. 

‘He is,’ Boromir finally agrees. ‘He is very wily. A puppet master. I don’t -’ he stops. Aragorn waits with great expectation. Boromir works his jaw for a bit. Does more scanning of the environment so Aragorn can’t see his eyes resting still for more than a second. Aragorn worries Boromir is going to leave. He does this when he wants out from a situation. When he wants to disappear into captain-hood and slide sideways from duty as, essentially, regent-steward.

‘I can’t do this,’ Boromir finally whispers. 

‘You have to.’ 

‘I can’t, Aragorn. I really can’t. He’s my father.’ 

Aragorn makes a sympathetic face. He wants to say that he understands but that would be a lie so he keeps quiet. He cannot imagine Elrond no longer firmly grasping the world in front of him. He cannot imagine Elrond forcing this situation upon himself. There is no dignity to it. Aragorn cannot imagine Elrond without dignity. 

Boromir is silent which causes Aragorn some small anxiety. 

‘It would be a kindness, I think, in the long-run,’ Aragorn tries after another minute of muteness from the future-steward passes. 

‘Yes. It would be. It is.’ 

‘No one need know the reason of why he is being set aside.’  

Boromir looks at him with a sidelong expression. It is almost a sneer. ‘Everyone knows.’ 

‘Is that what frightens you? That people know and will think less of you for your father’s - um-’ 

‘Madness?’ Ah yes, here is a Boromir sneer. ‘Insanity? Lack of mental stability? Gone off with the birds?’ 

Aragorn nods. 

‘No, that doesn’t frighten me,’ Boromir says. ‘I can handle it well enough. It’s more that - well, it’s demeaning to be relegated to old, doddering man. It takes a person’s pride from them and gods, I feel like he’s lost so much already. All the things that matter, too: his position, his son to a certain degree, his father’s affection, my mother. I think, in many ways, pride is all my father has left.’ Boromir draws breath to continue only to deflate. Aragorn wants to comfort him but isn’t sure this is the time or place or, indeed, the best approach. 

It’s hard to know how to handle Boromir. He has more walls than Aragorn can fathom, at times. When he thinks he’s through one, there will be another five he didn’t anticipate. All of this alongside Boromir’s dislike of receiving reassurance. Comfort. Vulnerable affection, as Arwen calls it. There is such a deep fear of being seen as weak or, Aragorn thinks, being thought to be a burden. 

Aragorn tries, ‘Your father has more than that. And he hasn’t lost you.’ 

‘I was speaking of Faramir.’ 

‘Ah.’ 

Boromir’s humourless smile. ‘It’s all a bit of a mess, isn’t it? I’m not sure what I thought would happen after the war, but it wasn’t this.’ 

‘It’s hard to know how people will take things. And, I mean,’ Aragorn shrugs helplessly. ‘There were extenuating circumstances. No one knew about the palantir.’ 

‘No.’ 

‘And, well -’ he stops. Shrugs. Boromir raises an eyebrow, but otherwise he is still as stone. As a king of old, the ones whose names are lost to time but their faces are committed to rock with paint, with chisel. To Aragorn, Boromir has always conveyed more of the regal air he thinks is expected of a king. That he, himself, should display. 

What a thing, to walk into a room of foreign dignitaries, have the King of Gondor be announced and everyone looks at Boromir. Which Aragorn cannot blame them for, because he too would look at Boromir. Honestly, he thinks not for the first time, their roles should have been switched. Boromir should be king, Aragorn can be steward. 

‘Yes?’ Boromir prompts. 

‘I was just thinking, is your father truly mad or merely desperate?’ 

Boromir opens his mouth then closes it. 

‘Sometimes, it can look like the same thing,’ Aragorn continues, gently. He is so desperately trying to be gentle. ‘It’s as you said, he has his pride. He was raised to be Steward of Gondor. To be the sole ruler of this land and then I went and showed up. He’s desperate to hold onto what is, at the end of the days, is rightfully his.’ 

A dismal nod from the future-Steward. 

‘Perhaps there can be a compromise--’

‘No,’ Boromir shakes his head. ‘Not over this. It’s all or nothing with the Stewardship. I know my father, he does not share power.’ 

‘But you always seemed to have a position of influence --’ 

‘Of his making and of his control,’ Boromir shrugs. ‘So, you will either have him as Steward or me. It won’t be both.’ 

A bird’s screech ricochets through the courtyard that is empty and feels so desolate, like they are in Hollin or on the empty steps of Emyn Muil. Boromir has turned and begun a slow, meandering tour around the garden. He pauses where an arch looks out over the city, the River Anduin snakes its silver body through the eastern land of Gondor. Osgiliath shines in the distance. Boromir’s back is to Aragorn and the Future-Steward who is essentially acting-Steward, rests a hand on columned archway. Robes drape in such a way that he is a shadow against white marble, dappled grey. Aragorn wants to go to him but suspects it would be unwelcome, at this exact moment. 

‘My father once told me that he couldn’t remember what happiness was and I said that there would be brighter days yet, that he would live to see them. And he has, there is sun and the clouds of Sauron are gone, but he is not better.’ 

Aragorn thinks that a monstrous thing to tell one’s son. To say: I can’t know warmth, so light the fire and if you do not, then all my coldness is your fault.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says instead. He suspects Boromir won’t take kindly to having his father be called monstrous. 

‘Why?’ 

Aragorn stalls in thought then just shrugs and says that he is sorry because that is a lot to say to a child. 

‘I wasn’t a child.’ 

‘Still,’ Aragorn says, if a bit lamely. 

Boromir sighs, turns to face Aragorn. ‘I can’t do it. I can’t be the one who tells him that he is being pushed aside.’ 

‘Would you be able to be present?’ 

Boromir’s lips thin out into a line and his unhappiness at the prospect is a wave how it rolls from his shoulders. But he nods in agreement, as Aragorn knew he would. Still, it is a relief to have a firm agreement. 

Or, as firm an agreement as he is going to get at this juncture. 

He had asked Faramir: What should be done about your father? And Faramir had gone a little wide-eyed and said, I don’t know. What do you mean? And Aragorn had sort-of motioned as if that could contain everything that had happened. Faramir had then shaken himself out of whatever place it was he went when the question was posed and declared that the person to ask is Boromir. Boromir always knows how to handle our father, Faramir said with confidence. If you want to get Denethor to do things he doesn’t want to do, you have to have Boromir do the asking. 

Later, Aragorn relayed this to Arwen who said, What family have you gotten us tangled into? And Aragorn had replied, primly, I’m absolutely sure it’s worth it. And Arwen had laughed and said she agreed and that she trusted him. It’s just, really, that was what said? 

‘I’m glad you’ll be there,’ Aragorn says. ‘I’m happy to do the talking it’s only, your father is quite fearsome. Like a tempest. Or a sandstorm.’ 

‘Don’t be mean.’ But Boromir said it with a smile so Aragorn feels he can continue. 

‘Just, this time, don’t forget.’ 

Boromir mocks becoming affronted. ‘Excuse me, your royal highness, I did not forget. I got tied up in other very important affairs of state and therefore was merely late. By just five minutes, mind you, and you had already scarpered.’ 

Aragorn takes his arm and steers them towards the covered archway that will slowly weave back to offices and studies and rooms of state. ‘Tempest,’ he says. ‘Remember that.’ 

‘Right. Or sandstorm.’ 

‘A deluge.’ 

‘I’m going to make a record of these.’ 

‘You don’t need to do that.’ 

Boromir grins, ‘I absolutely do.’ 

Aragorn shakes his head, ‘If this is the sort of treatment I am going to receive from you I shall pass you over in favour of Faramir.’ 

‘Oh thank the gods,’ Boromir dramatically sighs. ‘Finally, the man has a good idea. The first time I’ve heard one from him since we met.’ 

‘I wouldn’t go that far -’ 

‘Let us run across Rohan for a week, he said. It’s a good idea to chase two thousand Uruk-Hai with only four people, he said. Trust the former-traitor-witch of Rohan to be of aid on the paths of the dead, he said. Let’s hike across a mountain in February with no firewood, he said.’ 

‘These were all brilliant ideas, I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ 

Boromir laughs, then, a full one. And Aragorn grins because it is a pleasant sound to hear and these are sunny days. Despite the shadows that linger in them and the ghosts of still living men who haunt the halls of this palace, there is sun and there is warmth and there is, at the end of it all, something like hope for a new start.

[saintheartwing]

Jesus Christ, Lily, Why Do You Keep Bastardizing the Main Characters?

You know, I didn’t have any problems with “The Gathering” beyond going “Why don’t they just TELL Anduin and the others “Sylvanas and I are happily married and she just likes to do kinky stuff sometimes”. She said “Where’s the drama in that”. Okay, fine.

But then at the end of the story we get THIS line.

“You actually cared for Arthas Menethil as a child?” she asked. “That… must have been a particularly cruel irony for you.”

“Not really. And ‘cared for’ isn’t really the word I would use. The boy was a self-entitled brat. His father seemed to put it in his head that he was entitled to own Jaina when they grew up,” Anevay said, her brow furrowing. “Having been the pawn of nobility marriage politics myself, I came down very hard on him for that. When the initial rumors about his betrayal went out I wasn’t really surprised. Jaina on the other hand was absolutely adorable at that age.”

“I see,” Calia’s lips pursed into a thin line. “Perhaps if you simply had more time to challenge what he was brought up to believe, things might have ended up differently.”

Okay...NO. Do you know why this doesn’t work? CALIA MENETHIL IS ARTHAS’S SISTER...and SHE WAS FORCED INTO A POLITICAL MARRIAGE. Her dad arranged a marriage between her and Daval Prestor. Calia was distraught by the decision and she told Arthas he should marry for love rather than politics.

So ARTHAS HIMSELF wouldn’t have been like “I’m owed Jaina”. Not ONLY because he and Jaina genuinely LOVED each other, had been best friends for years and years and there’s nothing in canon to indicate he was a self-entitled brat, only slightly headstrong and confident, which isn’t the same as being an entitled asswipe, AND they’d fallen in love naturally on their own, he never thought he deserved her or was “owed” her, in fact, the idea would have been REPUGNANT to him because HE SAW HIS OWN SISTER FORCED INTO A MARRIAGE SHE DIDN’T WANT, AND SHE SPECIFICALLY TOLD HIM “YOU SHOULD MARRY FOR LOVE”. 

This passage is insane. It’d be like saying “Luke Skywalker was a childhood bully!” Uh...no! There’s nothing we’ve seen of his past or his personality or in canon to indicate that. 

The idea that HIS OWN SISTER would react to what Anevay said with “Oh yeah totally” or something like that when SHE would know Arthas better than Anevay...AND the whole “political marriage forced on me thing” is TREMENDOUSLY out of character.

Naturally, I pointed all of this out in a comment.

And, of COURSE...Lily Orchard deleted it. Because God forbid I point out major out-of-character-induced holes in the story that make no sense when you actually stop and think about them. 

Can you not do ONE story without the main characters from said fandom acting super OOC? You keep doing this in the Sith Resurgence. Now we’ve got even more of it in your Warcraft stories. All you had to do was just end the story there. But noooooo, you HAD to throw in that dig at Arthas because f--k him, even though Sylvanas did worse shit than him when she was in full control of her faculties than Arthas ever did. Oh, but she gets a free pass for her atrocities because you wanna fuck her.

How  is that ANY different than people who overlook what Kylo Ren does because they think he’s dark/sexy? It’s the same bloody principle. You’re giving a character you like a pass for their evil shit because you think they’re hot. You’d be tearing your hair out if somebody was trying to excuse Kylo Ren’s BS, but because its Sylvanas, you don’t care. 

You had ONE JOB. Just make a cute story about Anevay and Sylvanas and their relationship. You couldn’t even do THAT right. 

[esperanta-dragon]

Art by: @artofalassa​ Got a question a few days ago why people started shipping Anduin and Darion. If you know Darion only from the game and you don’t focus on background and lore in books and comics, you will probably miss most of it (same goes for Anduin, although he has more in-game lore than Darion). I wrote few posts about this but I would love to do a new one with more details.

Just a disclaimer, ship doesn’t mean only intimate relationship. It can be any kind of close relationship. These two have a potential to work perfectly as close friends, diplomatic connection, advisors to each other, etc. I’ve learned not expecting anything from Blizzard. Not even expect them to see connection between two characters. You can’t expect anything from company that ruined its own lore beyond repair. So I don’t care anymore what happens in the game. What I am saying is: these two deserved some time on screen or in books or comics. Not as a couple. But with kind of excentric friendship. This will never gonna happen, not from Blizzard. But I am sure people will do stuff. Me included. You can count on that.

WHY THESE TWO

There are ships when you have no clue why people started shipping such characters. I saw ships which started because the characters had one thing in common. Or they had the same hair color. These two? They have way too much in common, it’s so incredibly obvious for people with good lore knowledge. And with Chains of Domination? You think Anduin is similar to Arthas? Well, nope, Blizzard copied Darion’s story arch. You don’t believe? Ok, let’s take a look. 

WHAT THEY HAVE IN COMMON

Never met their mothers

Anduin - Tiffin was killed when he was a small baby

Darion - Elena died right after his birth

Fathers incredibly powerful, living legends

Anduin - Varian was a gladiator and became Lo’Gosh, a legend

Darion - Alexandros Mograine called The Ashbringer killed thousands of undead alone, legend even during his life

Lost their fathers at a young age

Anduin - lost Varian when he was 17

Darion - I write Darion that he died when he was 17, Alexandros was most probably killed the same year when Darion died (timelines are confusing, Blizzard is unable to keep track themselves but people agree that was not older than 20 years)

Experienced life-threatening situation as kids/teenagers

Anduin - Onyxia and Divine Bell

Darion - The Scourge attacked Lordaeron when he was still a kid, he almost died in Stratholme when he was a teenager

Huge, almost crushing responsibility at a young age

Anduin - he ruled the kingdom along with Bolvar and Katrana Prestor when he was around 10 afterter his father was kidnapped. He was made king at age 17 after Varian’s death and he is the youngest faction leader among Alliance and Horde

Darion - considering he died when he was 17, Light’s Hope probably happened when he was around 22 years old, took over the whole order of death knights and instrumented Lich King’s downfall (dude, I was happy I had a stable job and had something to eat when I was 22). Oh and he forged Shadowmourne, which was almost as powerful as Frostmourne.

Underestimated by many because of their age, turned out they are capable of things others, even older can't do

Anduin - During Legion, you can see how many people, even they love Anduin, doubt that he can protect them, he is underestimated by both his allies and enemies because he is calm and choose diplomacy over fight

Darion - This is probably my headcanon and because I work with Ashbringer version of Darion. He looks very young, he is probably the youngest death knight. When he is incognito as Ebon Watcher, it’s easy to consider him as an ordinary death knight and no threat.

Both on a high position, the fate of the world rely on them (multiple times)

Anduin - King of the Alliance during the Burning Legion invasion, then Fourth War and now Shadowlands. Boy doesn’t have a break

Darion - War in Northrend, without the Ebon Blade, war would be most likely lost. He was chosen by the Lich King to take over Eastern Kingdoms. If he and his knights would not break free at Light’s Hope, we would have a big problem. He also leads us to Shadowlands. And he would be pretty significant in Shadowlands too if Blizzard was able to work with more than 5 characters.

... both are blond (despite their fathers are not)...

Anduin - I know how genetics work, but some people don’t. So there are theories that Anduin is not son of Varian, because he is blond.

Darion - fortunately, nobody doubts that Darion is not son of Alexandros, because Mograines are just Mograines (crazy people with no concept of what is not possible, they do it anyway)

...and thanks to that, their fathers saw their wives in them

Anduin - Anduin was actually raised by servants of Stormwind castle, because Varian was crushed and depressed by death of Tiffin. And it did not help that Anduin reassembled her so it was even harder for Varian to talk to him and have a healthy relationship

Darion - The reason why Alexandros was so overprotective of Darion was that he reassembled Elena, not only physically but also with mindset and personality. Losing him would be losing her over again

They actually look similar

This point and 2 points above work only if you are working with Ashbringer version of Darion, not with his ginger in-game model with beard. But maybe you start to see why I love to work with Ashbringer version so much. But if we take Ashbringer version, they are now physically around 20 years old, Anduin is already physically older now. They are both blond, I would say they have similar face features.

They did not follow their fathers footsteps

Anduin - Varian was dissapointed that Anduin is not tough, he doesn’t want to be warrior and instead he is soft, lighthearted, kind and choose diplomacy over fight. They made peace not so long before Varian’s death.

Darion - Alexandros was a powerful paladin but the Light never spoke to Darion as much as it did to his father, he was not able to wield it and use it as him. Luckily for him, Alexandros was not dissapointed at all because of that. But we can actually say Darion followed his father’s footsteps afterall. He became death knight and wielded the Ashbringer for some time. According to timeline and the time between the end of Ashbringer and beginning of WotLK, Darion was in the Scourge for a few years. And just because Kel’Thuzad told him he is taking him as a replacement for Alexandros, there is a huge possibility he was one of Four Horsemen for this period of time, just like his father. Not a footsteps you want to follow. 

Caring and would die for the right thing

Anduin - He doesn’t care what it takes, he will risk a lot to do a right thing and make it happen. Divine Bell was a perfect example. And he doesn’t seem to regret that. And it doesn’t seem his mindset changed - he wants to achieve peace so there are no wars and people can live peacefuly, there will be no suffering

Darion - He already died for person he loved and he thought he is doing a right thing. Then he took over renegade death knights and gave them place where to stay and safe space where they can return. It was shown perfectly in Legion Class Hall Campaign, in Shadowlands starting questline in the Maw AND especially in We Ride Forth how deeply he cares for his knights. Mess with his knights, you mess with him.

Savage as hell

Anduin - Ok, he seem to be soft and fluffy. But if you are reading books and comics, you can spot he can be actually pretty savage and sharp. He is a diplomat and a royalty. But he is savage. You can look at Battle for Undercity final cinematic or Sylvanas Choice. He can be pretty snarky.

Darion - Do I have to say something? Read We Ride Forth. I mean, there is more but you can see it here the most how determined, stubborn and savage he is.

Bolvar!

Anduin - You can actually say that Bolvar most probably raised Anduin. Varian had a hard time and didn’t spend much time with him and then he dissapeared. Blizzard did not show it properly but you can see bits and pieces that Bolvar adopted him as his own and he was significant to Anduin.

Darion - Darion was the only person on Azeroth trying to find a way how to relieve Bolvar of his duty as the Lich King. It was said in WoD when he goes to Draenor searching for Ner’Zhul’s writings in Shadowmoon. And it was confirmed in We Ride Forth. (”Bolvar, we must talk. Now. Bolvar, I made you a promise. Do you remember? I swore I would not let you become like Arthas.”)

Do I have to continue? Anduin is almost Darion, except... he stayed alive. But wait, we are not finished. Because... CHAINS OF DOMINATION!

Ok this was lol for me. And I even made funny sketch for that. People say that Anduin is becoming Arthas. Hell no. If you read stuff from above, you can see a pattern. And this pattern continues here.

Fell to darkness

Anduin - Anduin is now mindcontrolled and acts as a vessel for the Jailer. Powerful priest and servant of the Light turned to darkness and destroying what he holds dear.

Darion - Killed himself with the Ashbringer, was raised as a death knight without free will and memories, destroying what he hold dear.

Corrupted sword of his father

Anduin - We are talking about Shalamayne. The sword and a compass is the only thing was what’s left of Varian. And guess what sword was tainted and turned into a mournblade?

Darion - Ashbringer is not a mournblade, never was, but it was kind of runeblade when it was corrupted and the Scourge had it in possession. Whose sword was the Ashbringer? Yep, Alexandros, Darion’s father was the original wielder.

ETERNITY’S END

I don’t want to write much about what is happening in lore, because Danuser is a Fu**ing donkey of a story writer and I can’t believe he is this stupid and is proud and happy about it. But yeah. They definitely copied Darion’s story arc for Anduin. Because, you know, they have no clue they have the same character. Actually in the Shadowlands. And forgot to... you know point that out or actually work with Darion.

Souls of their fathers trapped in the sword

Anduin - Varian died, we were told he is completely dead, but he was in Shalamayne the whole time, waiting for the right moment to save Anduin from domination and damnation. Where have I seen this before?

Darion - Tried to save his father, failed, had to kill him, his soul escaped into the corrupted sword.

Their fathers saved them from the damnation

Anduin - Exactly as written above. Where I have seen this before? Oh I know.

Darion - Damned himself to serve the Scourge until his father’s soul showed up and helped him break the chains of servitude, giving free will back to him.

Blizzard... YOU HAVE THIS CHARACTER ALREADY.

I mean... I think I wrote everything. If I forgot something, you can let me know ( @jaakkola​ is an expert ). But here are the reasons why Anduin has more from Darion than from Arthas and why people started to write fanfics and draw pictures of them together, hanging out.

So yeah, if you didn’t know why this ship makes absolute sense, you are welcome. And as I said, friendship is absolutely ok, that’s also ship in its own way (queer platonic, ace and demi relationships are so underrated). I am working with these two intensively only for 1-2 years (worked with them before, but not this much) and I am discovering new things almost every time I come back to them.

As a bonus, some Mogrynn pictures.

Some spicy stuff here. Because I am not gonna do it if you are not ready for this ship.

[teaandinanity]

Stories you want to write…

… but for some reason you haven’t yet.

Tagged by @ravenclawnerd (thank you!). This will probably be hideously long so I’ll put it under a cut. I’d tag people but I honestly have no idea who’s amenable to playing silly meme games at this point or who has already been tagged. >.>

Dragon Age: I would love to finish ‘Apotheosis’ but I honestly do not know where to take it. I’ve attempted the next chapter like five distinct times - as in, I didn’t rewrite, I reread what I’d already posted and started from scratch - but at this point I would also need to replay all of Inquisition to get back in the headspace for it. /sigh I mean like, I WANT to dig into the lore! I WANT to make up weird shit about the ancient elves! I want Ghilan’nain to be a horrific Tzimisce fleshcrafter who everyone was too scared of to even write down most of her atrocities! I had so many cool ideas but I just could not make them Be A Story, for some reason, probably because I usually write one-and-done shortfic. Possibly the answer to this is I should write springboard meta and dump my ideas into the fandom sea and see if they find a new home somewhere else.

Seven Kingdoms: The Princess Problem: I wanna write the Horrible Persuasion AU for Calanthia where she succeeds at Katyia’s Legacy and everything is beautiful for the Kingdoms and she watches her friends make plans for what to do next and then she goes home and pines for six years (while also taking a hammer to the world to fix a few last things that bug her) and spends the final year of the Summit cycle AGGRESSIVELY campaigning to be a chaperone so she can go back to the Isle and see Jasper again. Because writing this involves spoiling literally everything about W6 and W7 and all the secret chains, I cannot write it yet.

Seven Kingdoms: The Princess Problem : I wanna write the Horrible But Not AU fic for post-Summit Valya (this not being an AU is ENTIRELY your fault, Tina). I mean, it’ll end happily and no one dies! ... that’s a lie, one person dies, but in keeping with the death in the game because they are not a nice person and they deserved it and it’s plot-important. It’s not MAJOR character death, anyway. This ALSO has spoilers coming out its ears and can therefore not be written until the spoiler ban is lifted.

Star Wars Crossover: I still kinda wanna write the Sequel Trilogy (lie I have still only seen two of them) PacRim AU I outlined but also outlining it appears to have killed the actual Urge To Write It so that will probably never happen.

World of Warcraft: I'm noodling around with the idea of Wrathion-centric BFA fic because I’m just like ‘you are such a fucking disaster and I love you so much but you need to work through some shit’ so it would be a lot of him being like 'what is this feeling? it’s awful. I hate it.’ (It starts with Anduin being mad and Wrathion making Surprised Pikachu face and carries on from there, I love them both SO MUCH). Also there was a sequence of drabbles no not ficlets actual 100 word drabbles yes I am a fandom old and YES I WILL DIE ON THIS HILL but I’m not a good enough writer to post those b/c my writing requires padding or you can see all the problems so clearly that I die of shame.

Detroit: Become Human: I desperately want to finish the sequel to my DBH fic ‘Comforts’ because I LOVE NORTH SO MUCH and she deserved better but the fic I set out to write involves understanding tactics and strategy and writing a battle and I can’t even write a fight with three people and have it be interesting so that’s a whole lot of NOPE. It’s been I don’t even know how long and I still have not figured out a way to not write that part but also I really needed to fix canon with a hammer because the ‘good’ route is ridiculous and would not actually have worked, it’s like eight deus ex machinas in a trench coat which WHILE APPROPRIATE FOR THIS FANDOM is also something that makes me grimace so there does, in fact, need to be some war shit which unfortunately I am not equipped to write.

Pillars of Eternity: I think I am ALMOST to the point where I’ve processed enough of my fury at Obsidian that I can try to do a soft Eder-mancing rewrite of all of PoE2. Almost. Maybe. I’m not there yet. Honestly though they were so fucking MEAN about it that I will never be out of salt even when I stop being full of rage.

Changeling: Haunted Housewarming fic with Nora and William mostly grown up and moving into a fixer-upper that happens to be haunted as heck and/or be a genus loci. I have been debating whether I want the spirit to fixate on Nora rather than William because it would be hilarious. This would not be a horror fic, it would be silly fluff with ghosts.

Red Embrace: Hollywood: This is another entry in the ‘by god if you won’t give me a happy ending I will write it myself’ fic sweepstakes, because I am a simple creature with simple needs and you don’t get to say something includes romance if there are NO happy endings damn it THAT IS NOT WHAT THAT WORD MEANS. Anyway yeah I want my little not!Malkavian to clue in enough to avert major disasters and then to be like ‘fuck this shit I’m out~ fuck this shit I’m out NO THANK YOU~’ except also to try to convince her boyfriend to go with her. (Based on Randal’s path with Saorise’s ending, I feel like that’s in the realm of possibility but also I am still feeling kind of sadface about the No Happy Endings thing so it hasn’t gotten done. Like Obsidian, this felt like an authorial choice to be deliberately cruel and I’m gonna have to get past my desire to bite people before I can write anything soft and fix-it-y.

Star Wars: The Old Republic: cultural miscue mutual pining slowburn with Arcann and Hylira because that is my JAM and the in-game romance is rushed because most of Knights was rushed but there was Potential and that potential lodged in my brain. I started this last year and occasionally flail at it but the problem is that I don’t want to BE WRITING it I want it to be WRITTEN.

Star Wars: The Old Republic: Honestly also I just wanna rewrite Knights so it irks me less. Senya and Vaylin had a Force-bond (I am prepared to fight about this) and it makes everything more fraught and also makes the way they ‘fridged Vaylin about twenty times WORSE except they never actually dealt with that or paid it off at all. I will most probably never even try to write this one, I just want it to spring into existence from my id.

Original Fiction: The thing that’s lived in my head since high school and is therefore unlikely to ever get written. I do still like it, though. Also I’m proud of baby me for going ‘--and the elves are imperialist fash dickheads who commit war crimes’ because apparently I’d picked up on enough of the racist tropes in the fantasy I inhaled on the regular to be like ‘except we’re calling all of that out as bad because it is.’ Like, good job, baby me.

[warwaged-archive]

The first time Tyrande is mentioned in the book, and most notable other than the two scenes she actually appears in, is this one:

Tyrande and Malfurion had fled to Nordrassil, and all of his missives went unread. A messenger had returned that morning with his letter to them unopened. The man looked shaken, more so when Anduin told him firmly to leave, return to Nordrassil, and try again.

Which is only confirmation of what we already knew of her by the end of BFA rather than new information, both in that Tyrande does not accept the peace treaty and is not really in agreeable terms with Anduin

Anduin: The armistice is signed. At long last, the Fourth War is over. Tyrande: No. Not while the Black Moon still cries out for vengeance. Not until the Horde has answered for its treachery. Anduin: Further bloodshed will not bring back the fallen. We must renew our hope and forge a future for those who survived. Tyrande: And when the next warchief musters an army, will hope save you if it is Stormwind that burns? Anduin: I know it's difficult to trust, but there are signs of change within the Horde. Anduin: In place of a warchief, there is now a council led by Baine, Thrall, and the others. I believe they can-- Tyrande: Your faith is naive, lion son. I will sign no treaty unless it is written in the Banshee's blood!

and that she’s left for Nordrassil, as she notes she will do in a conversation with Shandris following the above one

Shandris: You spoke harshly to King Anduin, Tyrande. The kaldorei can ill afford to shun the Alliance. They have provided aid and comfort to us in these dark times. Tyrande: The young king is foolish to trust our enemies. Harsh words should be the least of his fears. Shandris: The Banshee Queen no longer leads the Horde. Those who do seem more inclined toward peace than war. Tyrande: If the wolf is rabid, it matters not who rides it. Sooner or later, the beast will bare its fangs. Shandris: You are dearest to my heart, Tyrande. I beg you, let go of the Black Moon's rage and embrace the mother's light once again. I could not bear to lose you to darkness. Tyrande: Know this. My hunger for vengeance will not be sated so long as Sylvanas Windrunner remains free--and until I know why Elune abandoned her children. Shandris: Tyrande! Do not say such-- Tyrande: I will tarry no longer in this city of men. Let us leave for the boughs of Nordrassil. Tyrande: From there we will dispatch the Sentinels to every corner of Azeroth. Let no one rest until the Banshee is found!

What happens with Anduin by the beginning of Shadows Rising, then, feels only like a natural continuity from that, in that he’s trying to reach out but she’s uninterested and won’t hear of it. In my opinion, that’s not only coherent, but also justified; she feels like the Alliance has failed her people, repeatedly -- both in denying them help in Darkshore, and now in agreeing to peace before giving them justice -- all the while uniting their forces to aid the Horde solve their problems with the Warchief. 

We don’t hear from her again until Thrall is discussing a visit to Nordrassil, in order to investigate the unrest the shaman are feeling with the spirits. Yukha, who’s been negotiating the meeting, tells him she agrees on the condition Thrall “must bring what is owed” and that he would know what she means. He doesn’t. Not entirely. He knows Tyrande and Malfurion will want retribution for Teldrassil, but he doesn’t know what he can give them, but he goes anyway, choosing to bring Baine and Calia with him. And then, when he actually goes, we finally see Tyrande. (And I liked a part of this one so much ! For the most part I liked it initially -- except for the very ending).  

Tyrande is there, sitting with Malfurion, Maiev and Shandris behind them. While Malfurion stands upon the Horde’s arrival, Tyrande does not. Thrall and company bow and he begins to speak of what brought them there, and he’s rather unsettled by the cold reception and lack of response, noting that Tyrande locked eyes with him and did not look away, and that as he spoke, none of them did even blink. He starts to feel impatient and insulted (lol thrall) and tries to hold back from answering poorly.

He looked into Tyrande’s eyes once more, into the hypnotizing aura of darkness in the never-cool embers of her eyes. That moment in Nagrand returned to him, when he tasted smoke and sensed a far-off pain. That pain was not so far off for her, it was constant and as potent as the day Teldrassil burned.

I like this quote in particular a lot, in spite of it apparently being a tiny thing. It brings to light how although those close and far may have felt sorrow and pain when the World Tree burned, Tyrande carries it with her the entire time. Others may be moving on, concerned with other matters, but she isn’t, and how could she? It may have been a day or three hundred, it is still recent to her, still fresh, constantly fresh, not something she can set aside, not something she can let go of, and not something she would let go of, given the choice --- it is what she owes those who burned, and it is what she owes those who lived. I like this bit, and the initial part with Baine, Calia and Thrall arriving, because to me it did a good job of showing that. To everyone, it’s a great tragedy, it’s horrible, but they’ve moved on. Calia and Baine arrive there taken by the natural beauty surrounding the World Tree, and are initially quite insensitive to the aura of mourning still surrounding the Night Elves. To them that pain is still real. It isn’t something they can just let go of, specially when they have yet to get any justice that may give them some closure.

“I brought what you wanted, what is owed,” Thrall said, and at last he saw a spark of life in her eyes. “I bring you the sincere apology of the Horde. We are not a single voice now spoken through the mouth of a warchief, but a whole host of voices. We have formed a council, so that never again will one take power and abuse it as Sylvanas did. As…as Sylvanas used that power to slaughter your people.”

Then Thrall says he brought her what was owed, and Tyrande demonstrates some interest, but what he brings is apologies and excuses and a bunch of “we’re trying to do better” stuff that isn’t what the Night Elves deserve after what they suffered. He speaks of Baine opposing Sylvanas, of Calia and Lilian trying to do better by the Forsaken, but throughout it all, Tyrande is unmoved.

Was he speaking to a wall? Would nothing move Tyrande? Even Malfurion gave him the smallest nod of understanding, perhaps only indicating that he was listening.

Although Malfurion’s willingness to in the least hear shows (and side note: I do appreciate how in this moment and later on Malfurion is portrayed as, while no less imposing, considerably gentler, because that’s what I’m here for), it is Shandris who then removes her helmet and speaks to Thrall and tells him it’s hard not to be distrusting of promises when even allies have failed to come through with them. Maiev, then, is her counterpoint, proceeding to tell her to listen at her peril, because she’ll end with daggers on her back. 

Although Tyrande doesn’t speak, Maiev is clearly more of her voice, here. It is when she says that that Tyrande shows some reaction again, an almost smile that suggests she’s in great agreement with Maiev’s distrust, with the voiced believe no matter what the Horde will end up betraying them again, hurting them again.

Maiev makes some very valid points, after that. That Sylvanas did not, in fact, act alone; that she acted for the Horde and spoke for them, that they are trying to disperse the blame and “hiding behind cowardly revisions of a history that will not be forgotten". This will be important later on, in comparison to Tyrande’s own stance on the matter.

The Horde gives the “mUsT iNnOcEnTs DiE fOr It To Be JuStIcE tO yOu” excuses a bit, although Thrall acknowledges Saurfang did indeed take part in planning the attack, if not burning the World Tree, but he is now dead by Sylvanas’ own hand and there’s nothing they can do in that regard. I like that it is at very least acknowledged, though, after we spent so long ignoring he had anything to do with it and blaming everything on Sylvanas aksjndfkajsndfkj

Shandris continues to be the most moderate voice from the Kaldorei side, suggesting they do not absolve the Horde for their crimes, but make a temporary understanding as to deal with the more urgent matters. Maiev continues to argue against her. Then we have this:

Tyrande, it seemed, still did not care to speak. 

The elf began plucking her lute again, but Tyrande slammed her hand down on the owl-shaped arm of the bench, demanding a return to silence. Had the moon grown bigger in the sky? Was it somehow closer? Threatening? 

“It was not yet time.” Malfurion’s grave baritone filled the clearing. He leaned down toward his wife, placing a furred, clawed hand on her shoulder. “This was folly. Let them go.” 

Tyrande uncrossed her legs and sat back on the bench, shaking off her husband’s hand with a tight grimace.

Here we have what I mentioned before, of Malfurion being portrayed as gentler of the two. When he notices her reaction, he tries to appease her even before Tyrande has indeed said anything, intervening on behalf of letting the Horde people go, but she’s clearly displeased by then, and very much unwilling to listen even to him, as her reaction shows. And then we have the very best part:

And then, all at once, she cared very much to speak. 

“When you have washed the bodies of a thousand kaldorei burned and broken, when you have fallen to your knees and kissed the feet of a thousand mourning souls, when you look into their eyes and tell them ‘our Horde has changed’ and they believe you, only then will I accept your apology and treat you as my equal.” Tyrande’s voice, edged as steel, pulled the air out of the clearing. “My brethren here may be willing to entertain your empty pledges of justice and aid, but I know better. I have learned better.” 

Then she stood, and Thrall worried that the moon might truly fall from the heavens and crush them at Tyrande’s command. Her eyes, though black, somehow glowed, Elune’s fury blazing colder and brighter along her skin with each word. The glade itself grew gray and almost dead, as if by her will she had sapped the life out of everything around them, withering the trees and obliterating the flowers and grass to dust.

“How many orphans did your Horde create that day?” Tyrande sliced the flat of her hand diagonally across her body. “Those children will grow, they will wake each morning tasting ash, and one day they will come for you. Oh, they will come for you, and they will make you taste that same ash, and then you will know their justice.” She sat down again, as if winded. Light returned to the clearing, and the plants around them were green and vibrant once more. 

“Quickly,” Yukha muttered, trying to gather them. “We must go. This was a mistake; I should not have brought you here.” 

Baine and Calia allowed Yukha to corral them back toward the path of glittering solid water. Thrall remained, only taking slow, careful steps, never showing Tyrande his back. For his trouble, Tyrande directed her final words to him and only him. 

“You will find that justice less sweet than the sorry excuse for punishment you faced, and when this justice comes, there will be no armistice to save you.”

Again, I love how it’s done because of how clearly it portrays that there is no healing for the Kaldorei as is, but I like Tyrande’s words most of all because of how they clearly say “You don’t get to decide what is enough justice. The victims are the only ones who can decide what is enough for them.” Apologies mean nothing to her, because she has no reason to believe they will hold true, and because even if they do, is it enough for those who suffered? Is it enough for those who survived, damaged and broken, their loved ones gone? Is it enough for those who burned? It may all be very honorable and just in theory, but what about practice? What did the Horde’s honor do to stop Sylvanas’ decision to burn the World Tree? If her own allies failed to heed her request for aid, why should Tyrande believe the promises of those who stood on Sylvanas’ side, and turned only when her actions begun to harm the Horde itself?

But even then, Tyrande’s mindset and her words are never about herself. It isn’t about her. Of course she mourns, and of course it wounded her; she is the leader of the Night Elves, and she failed to protect them. It is them, her people, her charges, they who matter --- those she failed, be it because they are dead or be it the survivors left with an everlasting mark and everlasting absences. 

And because of them, because she cannot fail them like that again, because she’s so hellbent on doing right by them now, apologies just won’t do it.

I love how the atmosphere surrounding them reflects Tyrande’s feelings, the moon closer and fiercer, her tone so sharp as to take the air from the clearing, her fury so searing as to appear to suck all life from a place previously praised by its nature and vitality. 

What she speaks next still carries very much the intent behind her former words. How can she accept apologies? Will apologies soothe those children who lived through it but lost so much and will have to live their entire lives with the memory of an unspeakable horror such as that? It won’t leave them. Apologies aren’t enough that they won’t remember the torment of hot flames, the taste of the ashes in their mouths. Apologies do not give them justice; but they’ll never stop wanting for it, needing it, to be able to, indeed, move on and perhaps heal. Until justice is done, however, that can’t be done. They can’t heal without it. There’s no moving on without it. And apologies are not justice. Promises of change are not justice.

She’s not making a threat. In a way, it is a promise, but not a threat. She’s not vowing to kill them all; she’s promising that they can pretend it’s all well and fine and they’ve done enough, but they haven’t and eventually that will catch up to them. 

And it will, Tyrande has no doubt of that. A council instead of a Warchief may prevent the same of happening again, but it doesn’t change what was done, it doesn’t erase it, it isn’t paying for what was done and doesn’t give them compensation in any way. Calia and Lilian leading the Forsaken in a different way may mean a different future for the Forsaken, but it doesn’t help the Kaldorei’s future, it doesn’t help them heal, it isn’t paying for what was done, it doesn’t give them compensation in any way. Baine trying to oppose Sylvanas well after Teldrassil burned may have been a step on the right direction, but it doesn’t change that when Sylvanas gave the order, that the Horde burned the World Tree, that they stood by her even after, that they only changed sides later on; it isn’t paying for what was done and it doesn’t give them compensation in any way. The Horde thinks it did enough, punishing the loyalists and setting up the means to prevent it from happening again, but to the victims at Teldrassil, how can that be justice? The Horde deciding the punishment their own should face, the victims having no voice, the victims receiving no compensation in any way, nothing that would give them closure? Of course it won’t be enough. Of course there won’t be closure. And of course they’ll eventually try to take it themselves, armistice or no.

Lastly, we have the scene closing with this exchange, that follows Thrall’s realization he was (an idiot) wrong to think apologies would be enough:

“I will bring what is owed, then. I will not bring words or promises, I will bring you the head of Sylvanas Windrunner.” 

The faintest trace of a smile appeared on Tyrande Whisperwind’s face. “Do it, then, or never seek to speak with me again.”

I don’t like it, because Thrall isn’t the one who has to kill Sylvanas. And here, I think it’s off that Tyrande would agree to these terms when it’s clear all throughout the previous part that it is important to her that the victims acknowledge it as justice, or it won’t truly be justice, and that the Horde doing it themselves isn’t it. Still, I don’t think her being agreeable is what’s wrong; I think it’s very much in accord to her stance throughout it, that she’d be agreeable to a promise she actually, truly acknowledges as possible justice for her people. If Thrall had promised her Sylvanas would face the Kaldorei’s justice, that he wouldn’t return empty handed not because he’d bring her head, but because he’d give the Kaldorei the opportunity to take it, then I think it’d be more coherent that Tyrande agrees to it.

And imo, if he really does it, meh. He shouldn’t be the one to do it, if Sylvanas does die. Nevertheless, my disagreement on that aside, Tyrande’s agreement is important: it shows she’s not unreasonable. She’s not refusing all compromise, refusing all chance to talk, vowing not to rest until every single Horde member is dead. She’s angry, and rightfully so; she’s terrifying, but she never threatened the Horde group there. She’s resentful and distrusting, and she does want blood, but she’s not after innocents, and she’s not even after those who could be implied alongside Sylvanas. Maiev earlier argued that Sylvanas didn’t act alone, and while I think she’s right, and while I think Tyrande thinks she’s right, Tyrande never voices that. Her desire for justice focuses on those who are to blame and unrepentant; spoken or not, this denotes she acknowledges the Horde’s attempt to change, in spite of her disbelief, and instead of focusing on the entire Horde as being guilty, she seeks justice to be taken from those who were direct cause, and who have taken no steps to make amends.

And I think that speaks a lot of her not being oblivious to Shandris’ point, that they need to not lose themselves, and that they need to heal. Tyrande is relentless in her pursuit for justice, and unwilling to let go of it, because that’s what the Kaldorei need. But her agreement that Sylvanas paying for it should be enough for her to be willing to talk to Thrall denotes that she knows they can’t pursue vengeance forever, that blood isn’t always the answer, that they need justice to heal but once it’s done they need to, indeed, try to move on and heal. (And I’m not talking about forgiving here, but merely turning away from bloodshed to focus on mending their own wounds).

Tyrande appears again in one more scene, by the end of the book, after the battle is done, and the Horde captures Sira, who Thrall then sends to Tyrande. It’s funny that here, he does pretty much what I said I think he should have promised in regards to Sylvanas: he captured her, yes, but he didn’t impose the Horde’s justice, and instead gave her to Tyrande so Tyrande did with her what she thought was suitable.  

But yeah, she gets to Stormwind with Maiev and Shandris, who “had insisted on coming along, perhaps sensing that Tyrande should not be left alone" which I think it’s pretty understandable since they didn’t know what the ‘gift from the Horde’ was, and what reaction it may cause, specially when in spite of not being unreasonable before, there is something of volatile in her now, perhaps due to how the power she has received impacts so heavily Tyrande but also her surroundings. 

They get there, see Sira, Tyrande recalls Thrall’s letter saying it isn’t yet what was owed but he hopes it’s a start, Sira rages and says Tyrande is a coward who does nothing even with the Night Warrior’s rage and power.

“I wish I could have done more to protect you,” Tyrande said, cold. “But some natures prove too evil to curb. Too ambitious to abide. Sylvanas has such a nature, and I will not forget that. You are her servant now, Sira, I have not forgotten that, either.”

This is a very important point because everyone else does not, apparently, care that Sira chose to serve Sylvanas.

Before I move on to that, it’s nice to notice that Tyrande shows no guilt in regards to Sira’s fate, which, in my opinion, is entirely understandable because of the before mentioned reason. She’s failed Sira, yes, and she wishes she could have protected her, yes, but Sira chose to side with the one who caused them all of that in the first place. She knew the horrors Sylvanas had already done, and she still followed. She knew her crimes were unforgivable, and she worked to further her plans. And because of that, Tyrande has no pity left for her, even though she was one of them before, even though she regrets her inability to have aided her in time. 

But Maiev and Shandris disagree and have plenty of pity left for Sira, and both make a plea for Tyrande’s compassion, Maiev citing an occasion when she had witnessed it before, accompanied by her stubbornness to give up on something she believed could still be saved. Tyrande replies she failed.

“How long did you try?” Maiev asked. “And would you try again? If you continue down this path, Tyrande, you will find yourself no better than Sira. She is in pain, can you not see it? She is in agony. The only relief comes from spilling blood. Is this what you want? To find your only comfort in the suffering of others?”

“And so I should do nothing?” Tyrande seethed. 

“That is not what I suggest and you know it. Listen, Tyrande.” Maiev went to stand beside Sira, a warden she had considered more than a friend. A sister. “I have lived as one consumed, and though there is no great love between us, Tyrande, I would not see you become what I was. What Sira is now. You are more than just rage and vengeance, you are more than simply the Night Warrior: you are a priestess and a leader. Can you not, as a priestess, take pity on this creature?”

I think Maiev throughout that scene sounds off, in that not only there’s this gentleness I have no idea where came from but just overall she definitely doesn’t sound like Maiev and her dynamics with Tyrande are also??? but other than Maiev, I have several issues with how this is played. The plea for compassion becomes a comparison between Tyrande and Sira, as if it was somehow comparable that this is the path she’s in, when the previous scene the book showed us, the meeting with Thrall, does not speak of it at all. Like I said, then she’s not portrayed as unreasonable, she’s portrayed as relentless in her pursuit of justice, disillusioned with promises, unwilling to forget, filled with righteous anger, but never unreasonable and lost to a dark path of blood and vengeance. Here, somehow, Maiev and Shandris argue that she is, because of her initial choice to end Sira --- ignoring that Sira, although a fallen comrade, became a willing follower of the one who initially caused them so much misery, the one they wish to bring justice to, the one who caused Sira to be what she became. Sira shows no remorse at all throughout the book, and is, in fact, considerably vicious and bloodthirsty, delighting in cruelty for the sake of it, only wishing for the death toll to be as high as possible (much more so than, for example, Nathanos, who should wish for it if only for how it strengthens Sylvanas, but never goes out of his way for the sake of killing or cruelty). 

She doesn’t kill Sira, but she gives her a cut, and we have this:

She was the Night Warrior, revenge made flesh, but now with that one shallow cut, she felt suddenly, horribly alive again.

Which is???????? I don’t even know, given that the book itself shows Tyrande is clearly feeling, and not simply anger. How isn’t she, when you have Thrall himself notice her pain for Teldrassil never left, that is is as fresh as when the World Tree burned?

I think the pleading her for mercy, specially coming from Shandris, could be valid. I think Shandris showing concern that Tyrande is losing the softer side of her would be very valid, if it was coherent with what we saw of Tyrande so far speaking of it also. Speaking to her, asking her to look at things as a priestess, to remember how compassionate she was, would all be very valid; I just think this wasn’t the situation to do it, not how it was done, and not with the previous scene. Towards someone different, I may agree, but Sira has plenty of crimes of her own, beyond the fate she didn’t chose, and to say Tyrande’s decision here accounts for her loss of compassion doesn’t seem fitting at all, specially when the other scene has her willing to talk to a representative of the Horde and accept his offer of justice (no matter how much I disagree with that). 

In spite of it, she shows herself very much capable of mercy still, and doesn’t strike Sira down. Again, her attitude is not that of one lost to a dark path of vengeance; she heeds those that are with her and ask her to be compassionate, even if her first impulse is not to be. She allows Shandris to take away her weapon, and ultimately turns away from the prisoner. 

And given there is reason for her to feel about Sira as she does, I don’t know to which point her reaction can be blamed on her being the Night Warrior. Maiev remembers her compassion, in that scene, but forgets her ruthlessness; Tyrande has never hesitated to shed blood, specially in defense of her people or commitment to the course of action she believes right.