#kind as summer elrond *cries*

[thequeensjester]

S1 • EP8 ➤ In the Forge: Lighting and Film Blocking

I think this shot is one of the story-defining shots of s1. It's often and rightfully praised because of the shadow of a chain leading to Celebrimbor. I think the entire scene is worth revisiting. It's one of Wayne Che Yip's strongest directed scenes.

This scene begins with a close-up on the mithril ore because its use is the source of conflict. I think it's a great choice to have Gil-galad hold the ore because it looks rather ordinary compared to his accessories and clothing jewels. Yet, the ore will change the course of their world.

Yip follows up the shot with this a low angle middle shot. This particular angle helps the tiny ore stand out. The lighting only falls on Gil-galad's body and hands. Yip also uses the set's arches to further frame his hands.

Yip has done this before in a Numenor scene between Pharazon and Kemen.

Now we get to film blocking. Blocking is how and where both the actors and cameras are positioned and moves, in relation to other actors, sets or props. This helps guide the audience's attention to important moments. Blocking helps create those beautiful cinematic shots. It is key to visual storytelling.

Generally, I think blocking in ROP is inconsistent, which is unfortunately more common in media now and not exclusive to the show. However, when it's done well in ROP, it is noticeable.

In this scene, the actors are positioned two on each side with the second actor standing slightly behind. So instead of cutting to a close-up, Yip changed lens focus depending on who is talking. To me, this is neater. This is also setting up Galadriel's revelation later.

The scene progresses to the first of many four-person shots. Elrond, Gil-Galad and Celebrimbor are standing in the shadows. Galadriel is the only one standing closest to the light but only half of her is in the light, which is important when the camera later changes angles. There's also a small light column hovering over Elrond, which will come into play later.

For this particular camera angle, where Gil-galad stands is important—between Elrond, Galadriel and Celebrimbor, who purposes how to use the mithril and that its craft would be placed in Gil-galad's charge. Gil-galad is uneased at the idea of one person wielding that much power. He also believes their time is up.

I also want to point out the costumes. I think the color palette of the costumes mostly match. However, the Lindon gold looks so much stronger in this lighting and it works well with Gil-galad opposing the other three.

We also see the red in Celebrimbor's costume. I believe Celebrimbor wore this costume at the Lindon feast scene with the dwarves but it is striking that this particular costume is worn again after he met with Halbrand. This costume returns in s2 when red is further used as the color of decay and corruption.

When we finally get individual close-ups of Celebrimbor and Gil-galad, the dramatic lighting emphasizes the darkness in Celebrimbor's proposal and Gil-galad's unease.

Then Yip follows up with *the* shot but I think the lighting here reveals even more.

With how Galadriel is blocked in this scene, she also casts a shadow onto Celebrimbor—which I think reflects her choice in bringing Sauron to Eregion. Here we clearly see that half of her is covered in shadow.

This is the most light we see on Gil-galad in this scene. He also looks to be standing closer to Galadriel and Celebrimbor, whereas Elrond is tucked away in the shadows, at the edge of light.

I think there's a status element. In ep1, when Elrond hid in the trees to write, a courtier tells him that he's not invited to an upcoming session with the High-King because only Elf Lords were invited.

So even though the elves needed Elrond to get mithril and now they have it, Elrond is still on the outside but not for long.

This shot marks the first major movement of the scene. Emotions escalate quickly when Gil-galad rejects Celebrimbor's proposal.

Gil-galad's movement now reveals a full light column on Elrond. It's literally his time to shine.

Elrond steps forward to convince Gil-galad. The blocking changes the power dynamic of this shot. Celebrimbor is the closest to the camera but is disempowered by Gil-galad's decision. He also looks further from the other three. We don't even see his face.

The lighting and blocking here also breaks up the group into 3 sections. I think it reflects the separate narratives for Elrond & Gil-Galad, Celebrimbor and Galadriel.

Celebrimbor argues his case (left) and finally mentioned the Unseen World, which grabs Galadriel's attention (right). Yip uses camera lens focus transition and then zooms in on Galadriel—highlighting her concerning revelation.

We go back to a four shot. Now, Gil-Galad stands furthest left and Elrond is closer to Galadriel and Celebrimbor—all three aligned to use the ore.

Except, again Yip uses the set arches in this composition. Elrond is separated from Galadriel and Celebrimbor's shared arch, which is foreshadowing Elrond's mistrust of the Elven rings.

Galadriel is the most illuminated character here because of her revelation from Celebrimbor's words.

Gil-galad orders them to shut down the forge and return to Lindon. When he exits the scene, he walks in front of Elrond. I think this the most practical choice for the audience. He is the High-King and visually, his Lindon gold cuts through the union of the other three.

But, we're not done here. The two harsh light columns on Galadriel and Celebrimbor highlights what we're anticipating.

Galadriel carefully asks Celebrimbor about 'power over flesh.' She stands in the light, trying to unveil the truth but he's in the shadows.

At first, they're facing the same direction but when Galadriel presses further, we get this close-up and Celebrimbor's close-up remains like this until he walks away:

This shot is short-sided—a character's face (and eyeline) is close to one side of a frame.

It can be used to show disconnect between characters or unease, shown here. Celebrimbor is flustered and annoyed at Gil-galad's decision that he can't even look at Galadriel.

Our final shot of this scene is a lingering wide-shot of Galadriel. She is alone in her thoughts. I think it's a great way to use space and lighting to show Galadriel's mental and emotional state without using a close-up. She started the season feeling alone, but certain, in her pursuit of Sauron and this moment brings her back to that.

— credit: cap-that.com

[strange-relics]

When Elrond knelt next to his dying horse in the middle of battle with a look of such devastation in his eyes I nearly cried because the only thing that was going through my mind was:

“Strong as a warrior…and as kind as summer.”

[wordbunch]

The Hobbit re-read: favorites, thoughts and honorable mentions

thank u to my tumblr besties for encouraging me to rant abt this book for a little while, and brace yourselves for a LOOONG post; aka We're Going On An Adventure!

this quote abt Gandalf: "tales and adventures sprouted up all over the place wherever he went, in the most extraordinary fashion" like. THIS exactly is Gandalf to me ✨✨✨

the whole good-morninged sequence (as if he was selling buttons at the door! can you imagine! By belladonna tooks SON of all people!!!) 😱

"a cake or 2 would do him good after this fright" me too bilbo

"he had a horrible thought that the cakes might run short" me too bilbo 🍰

Gandalf constantly selling Bilbo's skills to the company and just hyping him up and believing in him all the time!!!! most excellent and audacious hobbit!!! 😎

"this was thorin's style... if he had been allowed he would probably have gone like this until he was out of breath" aka he is Dramatic and Important

"bilbo was getting excited and interested again so that he forgot to keep his mouth shut" how many times will i write ME TOO BILBO in this post

"THE EXPLANATION DID NOT SEEM TO EXPLAIN" 💯💯💯

gandalf: i found him in the dungeons of the necromancer; thorin: girl what were YOU doing at the necromancer's??? 🧐🧐🧐 gandalf: finding things out as usual O M G like what else would he be doing there 😚

bilbo constantly wishing he was back home as soon as he left

"off bilbo had to go before he could explain that he could not hoot even once like any kind of owl" yall this book has so many funny moments but like in a very chill humor way

the fact that one of the TROLLS is called WILLIAM 😂😂😂

"i am a good cook myself, and cook better than i cook" okay bilbo rizz 😏🔥

"they had not at all enjoyed lying there listening to the trolls making plans for roasting them" you don't say. i love this deadpan humor SO MUCH jrrt snapped

that whole beautiful iconic description of kind as summer elrond

"their clothes were mended as well as their bruises, their tempers, and their hopes" WHEN will i go to rivendell 😩

"there is nothing like looking if you want to find something" thorin life coach realness 👏🏼👏🏼

thoring gesturing at a miserable desolate land: these tRuLy hOspiTabLe moUnTaiNs 😍

then gandalf lit up his wand. oF coUrSe it wAs gaNdaLf, but they were too busy to ask how he got there. 4ever mood

he thought of himself frying bacon and eggs in his own kitchen ME TOO BIL- 🍳

"Gollum brought up memories of ages and ages and ages before, when he lived with his grandmother in a hole by a bank by a river" this kind of made me cry. it brings unexpected humanity to such an appalling character; kinda makes you want bilbo to spare him eventually

and the fact itself that bilbo felt so bad for him he decided to just leave him be

"you would have laughed (from a safe distance)" LOVE how JRRT puts random little comments addressed to the reader

gandalf just being like ok i gotta go do other things now. good luck besties. ✌🏼😚

beorn: what are you, a traveling circus? and he is actually right 🤪

"you have got to look after all these dwarves for me, gandalf laughed" and i cried

bilbo being like hmm how will i get down from this tree (except by falling)

bilbo's song while killing gigantic spiders "not very good...but you must remember he had to make it up himself in a very awkward moment"

the dwarves starting to respect him and bowing down until they FALL OVER is such a comical image to me

the whole alluring magic of the elvish feast in the forest which disappears when they get closer!! a whole fairytale mr tolkien!!! 😍

thranduil is a greedy b <3 and especially VERY fond of wine 🍷🍷🍷

"i will lock you all in again and you can sit there comfortably and think of a better plan" bilbo badass mode and we love to see it 💋

tolkien being like WELL u can laugh but you wouldn't have done any better if u were him. real.

when they're in dale i love the numerous references to "songs and stories of old" and all of them basically being a living legend and turning their stay in dale into a public holiday and spectacle

thorin is cocky af

/freeze frame/ "you are familiar with thorin's style on important occasions so i will not give you any more of it" its ok jrrt, let him be a drama queen 👑

bilbo when he takes some gold from smaug being like "this will show them!!!1!1" 😠😠

sassy bilbo strikes again with "did you expect me to trot back with the whole hoard of thror on my back? if there's any grumbling to be done i think i might have a say" GO OFF KING 👏🏼

i just rly love him okay, he stole my heart in this book like a real legitimate professional burglar that he is

"i am the clue-finder, the web-cutter, the stinging fly" etc. basically this whole exchange btw bilbo and smaug is pure gold (pun not intended) 🤫

talking birds that eavesdrop. enough said.

the descriptions of the arkenstone which make you actually want to have it too. genius. there could be no two such gems, even in so marvellous a hoard, even in all the world." 💎💎💎

the harps (untouched by the dragon who had a small interest in music).. WHY is this so funny to me

bilbo putting on some elvish DRIP and being like ✨✨ i feel magnificent ✨✨ (but probably look dumb 😩)

"this is the great chamber of thror" ok thorin the tour guide king

BARD MY KING i love one (1) man 🎯

bilbo being absolutely against any wars or battles and just wanting to go home BUT also being a sneaky lil shit who takes the arkenstone to bard and thranduil BUT also still not wanting to leave his dwarf buddies

when he gives them the gem "not without a shudder, not without a glance of longing" AHHH i want it!

ambiguous gandalf returning. always love to see it

"if you don't like my burglar, please don't damage him" 🙄 ffs thorin chill

"you are not making a very splendid figure as king" yes gandalf call him out

defeat seems "very uncomfortable, not to say distressing" to bilbo. we love.

the fact that he was just knocked out cold during the battle so thur we know very little abt what really happened?? jrrt genius writing hack. might use this one 🤔

fili and kili deserved a better sendoff than just mentioning that they died. come on.

thorin's last words and reconciliation w bilbo... PLEASE I WILL CRY until i throw up. "it has been more than any baggins deserves." "no! there is more in you of good than you know, child of the kindly west. some courage and some wisdom blended in measure. if more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world."

i might still be crying

"tea is at 4 but any of you are welcome at any time" my heart... ❤️😭 Guess he's no longer scared of running out of cake

bilbo gifting thrandy a necklace as an apology for eating and drinking his stuff secretly, king shit 😉

bilbo having the absolute NERVE to say to ELVES "your lullaby would wake a drunken goblin". wig wig

he deadass borrowed a handkercheif from freaking ELROND 😳

bilbo arriving home to being presumed dead and his stuff literally being auctioned off

"it was a long time before he was in fact admitted to being alive again…" and sackville-bagginses having sm beef with that HAHAHA

he lost his reputation but he lived his best life so who's the winner here 😌😌😌

the closing lines "you are a very fine person, mr baggins, and i am very fond of you; but you are only quite a little fellow in a wide world after all" "thank goodness! said bilbo laughing."

like. THIS. literally embodies everything. he is just a little guy. just some smol person. BUT STILL had a say in how BIG things happened. BUT he remains happy to be just a smol simple person.

overall an incredibly fun read and it was way more genuinely FUNNY than i anticipated. bilbo is a whole mood. thorin is a diva. gandalf is there to start shit and hype up bilbo. jrrt with random author's notes throughout the book gives me life.

[anneangel]

Friendship...

I just love the friendship between Bilbo and Elrond, Bilbo and Aragorn, Bilbo and Frodo, and Bilbo and Thranduil, and I'm sad because I've already read all the little fanfictions about Bilbo's friendship with them!

So here are some excerpts from the books in case anyone wants to get inspired:

“Hmmm! it smells like elves!” thought Bilbo, and he looked up at the stars. … He loved elves, though he seldom met them. … Bilbo would have liked to stay a while. Also he would have liked to have a few private words with these people that seemed to know his names and all about him, although he had never seen them before. He thought their opinion of his adventure might be interesting. Elves know a lot and are wondrous folk for news, and know what is going on among the peoples of the land, as quick as water flows, or quicker. (…) They (the dwarves, Gandalf and Bilbo) stayed long in that good house, fourteen days at least, and they found it hard to leave. Bilbo would gladly have stopped therefor ever and ever.

The master of the house was an elf-friend — one of those people whose fathers came into the strange stories before the beginning of History, the wars of the evil goblins and the elves and the first men in the North. In those days of our tale there were still some people who had both elves and heroes of the North for ancestors, and Elrond the master of the house was their chief. — He was as noble and as fair in face as an elf-lord, as strong as a warrior, as wise as a wizard, as venerable as a king of dwarves, and as kind as summer. He comes into many tales, but his part in the story of Bilbo’s great adventure is only a small one, though important (…) His house was perfect, whether you liked food, or sleep, or work, or story-telling, or singing, or just sitting and thinking best, or a pleasant mixture of them all. Evil things did not come into that valley.

(...) Bilbo heard many stories there (...)

“What are moon-letters?” asked the hobbit full of excitement. He loved maps (…) and he also liked runes and letters and cunning handwriting, though when he wrote himself it was a bit thin and spidery.

“Moon-letters are rune-letters, but you cannot see them,” said Elrond, “not when you look straight at them (…)”.

There a warm welcome was made them, and there were many eager ears that evening to hear the tale of their adventures (…). When the tale of their journeyings was told, there were other tales, and yet more tales, tales of long ago, and tales of new things, and tales of no time at all, till Bilbo’s head fell forward on his chest, and he snored comfortably in a corner. He woke to find himself in a white bed, and the moon shining through an open window. (…) “A little sleep does a great cure in the house of Elrond,” said he.

Weariness fell from him soon in that house, and he had many a merry jest and dance, early and late, with the elves of the valley. - The Hobbit

‘(…) you are the heir of Bilbo, the Ring-finder.'

`Dear Bilbo!' said Frodo sleepily. `I wonder where he is. I wish he was here and could hear all about it. It would have made him laugh. (…)

Gloin looked at Frodo and smiled. 'You were very fond of Bilbo were you not?' he asked.

`Yes,' answered Frodo. 'I would rather see him than all the towers and palaces in the world.'

Elrond went forward and stood beside the silent figure. 'Awake little master!’ he said, with a smile. Then, turning to Frodo, he beckoned to him. 'Now at last the hour has come that you have wished for, Frodo,' he said. `Here is a friend that you have long missed.'

The dark figure raised its head and uncovered its face. `Bilbo!' cried Frodo with sudden recognition, and he sprang forward.

`Hello, Frodo my lad!' said Bilbo. `So you have got here at last. Ihoped you would manage it. Well, well! So all this feasting is in your honour, I hear. I hope you enjoyed yourself?'

`What were you doing?'

`Why, sitting and thinking. I do a lot of that nowadays, and this is the best place to do it in, as a rule. Wake up, indeed!' he said, cocking an eye at Elrond. There was a bright twinkle in it and no sign of sleepiness that Frodo could see. 'Wake up! I was not asleep. Master Elrond. If you want to know, you have all come out from your feast too soon, and you have disturbed me-in the middle of making up a song. (…) I shall have to get my friend the Dunadan to help me. Where is he?'

Elrond laughed. `He shall be found,' he said. (...)

They did not notice the arrival of a man clad in dark green cloth. For many minutes he stood looking down at them with a smile. Suddenly Bilbo looked up. 'Ah, there you are at last, Dunadan!' he cried.

`Strider!' said Frodo. `You seem to have a lot of names.' (…)

`Where have you been, my friend? Why weren't you at the feast? The Lady Arwen was there.'

Strider looked down at Bilbo gravely. `I know,' he said. 'But often I must put mirth aside. Elladan and Elrohir have returned out of the Wild (…).

`Well, my dear fellow,' said Bilbo, `now you've heard the news, can't you spare me a moment? I want your help in something urgent. Elrond says this song of mine is to be finished before the end of the evening, and I am stuck. Let's go off into a corner and polish it up!'

Strider smiled. `Come then!' he said. `Let me hear it!'

(…)

`I was not sent to beg any boon, but to seek only the meaning of a riddle,' answered Boromir proudly(…) He looked again at Aragorn, and doubt was in his eyes.

Frodo felt Bilbo stir impatiently at his side. Evidently he was annoyed on his friend's behalf. Standing suddenly up he burst out:

‘(…) Not all those who wander are lost (…)’. Not very good perhaps, but to the point -- if you need more beyond the word of Elrond. If that was worth a journey of a hundred and ten days to hear, you had best listen to it.' He sat down with a snort.

`I made that up myself,' he whispered to Frodo, `for the Dunadan, a long time ago when he first told me about himself. I almost wish that my adventures were not over, and that I could go with him when his day comes.'

Aragorn smiled at him; then he turned to Boromir again. `For my part I forgive your doubt,' he said.

- The Lord Of The Rings.

And for Bilbo and Thranduil, here, see this post:

[lost-mango]

If We Were Villains wrecked me...I spoiled myself long ago. I had known of James's fate. But nothing could have prepared me for Oliver's grief. Ugly cried for him.

Oliver Marks is amazing. He reminds me of Elrond from lotr. Reading him, I could not help but remember Tolkien's description of Elrond- "As kind as summer," (Tolkien, The Hobbit).

So lovable. Oliver, the side-kick shines over every hero. Incorrigibly dense and unbelievably forgiving.

He had my heart the moment when he jumped into the lake to retrieve Richard's body. Not once does he levy the weight of his trauma over anyone else (God I love him so much).

Oliver, who not once is bound by the hubris of a main character. He who, without a complaint takes the role of a custodian.

Definitely going in for a second read.

[feanope]

A Love Left Unfinished    

My contribution for this year’s Tolkien Secret Santa Advent Calendar Event @officialtolkiensecretsanta, Day 15 (Memories).

Summary:   Whilst everyone in Imladris celebrates the summer solstice, Glorfindel prefers solitude to dwell on memories.

Pairing: past/implied Glorfindel/Ecthelion

Rating: T+

Word Count: 1.2 k

Additional Tags: Memories, Grief/Mourning, Glorfindel is still so very much in love it hurts

~.~

Wind dances through the pine wood, rustling and shaking the golden leaves above Glorfindel’s head, whilst from afar the gushing waters of the river Bruinen can be heard. Glorfindel has long left the zig-zag path which leads towards the valley bottom, fighting his way through dense shrubs and bushes.  

Night has spread its wings over Imladris, and it has become quiet in the surrounding woods except for the sounds of nature.

Quiet—something Imladris currently is not.

Every night, another feast with drinks, laughter, and merriment commences in the Hall of Fire to celebrate the change of season often lasting long after dawn.

That is why Glorfindel is patrolling the forest, just like he had all the years before. Despite eons ago, the memories of his previous life still root too deep in his heart, and always will. And too painful is witnessing untarnished merriment to celebrate spring giving way to summer in the home he has long come to love.

Continue reading on AO3 or below the read more

Granting him leave year in, year out is Elrond’s gift to him; the greatest one he can actually give. Considerate, like everything else the Lord of the Hidden Valley does. To Glorfindel, but also to all the others who found a home in the Last Homely House. That’s why Glorfindel feels guilty—ungrateful even for running away— despite Elrond having told him a hundred times there is no reason to.

He, just like everyone else, knows the reason for Glorfindel’s behavior. How should they not, when Imladris’ library is full of books describing his fate?

On days like these, memories always pull Glorfindel under.

And on days like these, the moon somehow shines brighter.

So do the stars.

Twinkling, and glittering against the dark night sky wherever the pines give way to it.

Sparkling—like the diamonds in Ecthelion’s hair, is all Glorfindel can think.

It’s past midnight and still eerily quiet in the forest, save for the voices in Glorfindel’s head. Phantom voices in a way: whispers, and laughter, drowned out in endless cries. They all blend together in his head into an ugly cacophony of sounds.

Absently, Glorfindel traces the edge of the burn around his throat with one hand. Before he was granted leave from Námo’s halls to return among the living, he was given a choice, although rather a hypothetical question, at least to the one who had asked it: to have his body renewed or bearing scars where once wounds from the Balrog’s claws and whip had been. skin. The question itself had rung like blasphemy in Glorfindel’s ears.

“No,” he had said, and then, when questioned again, he had replied with determination, “Never.”

The audacity of the question still angers him, even now, hundreds of years later. The scars are connected to his memories; to everything he once was—still is.

 And so he had come into the world like this, with memories etched into his skin.

 And yet.

On days like these, it’s all there—the pain, the hurt, and all the misery he still fails to voice and name. Phantom pain, kind of, in the beginning of summer; the days which are meant to be the merriest ones of the year.

     Tarnin Austa    .

The Gates of Summer.

Although the festival has long become legend, it’s still alive in Glorfindel’s thoughts. The fateful day when fire and flame had illuminated Gondolin’s nightly sky; the happy days all the years before, when laughter laced with drunkenness had echoed back from the snow-white walls of Gondolin.

The days around the summer solstice are the only days during which Glorfindel doesn’t wear high-collared robes, although no-one will ever see the ugly scars as he walks the earth alone around this date. To him, it is a tribute to the fallen, to those who still dwell in Mandos’ halls; a love letter to Ecthelion, whom he still loves like nothing else. Irony has it that their love, which once had been born amidst the cruelty of the ice, then when both thought they were invincible had been extinguished by searing fire.

It's not true.

Not extinguished. Never that.

In Glorfindel’s heart, it had survived and lives on, to be never quenched.

But on days like these, it burns brighter.

     Stronger    .

Like the stars.

When Glorfindel sits down at a small stream that meanders through the forest, tears are already running down his face. The tunic he wears, dark with golden lining, hangs open, the way Ecthelion had loved it best whenever they were in private. Laughing, his lips had been glued to Glorfindel’s collarbone; laughing, he’d moved upwards to where now scar tissue adorns his throat instead of golden jewelry.

They’d danced—and in the end, both had fallen. Cut down, saving lives in valiant defense, and not even the sweet smell of the forest can quench the stench of ash and burnt flesh burned into Glorfindel’s memories.

When Ecthelion had sunk in the king’s fountain with the Balrog with him, the world had frozen, and Glorfindel with it.

Afterward, Glorfindel had functioned—mechanical, tactical—moving on, and on. He had functioned because for that he had been trained ever since leaving Aman behind. Questioned later on how he had escaped the city, he couldn’t remember most of it, and of the little he did remember, the memories are hazy at best.

But somehow, he had made it—they had made it out of Gondolin through Idril’s secret tunnel. Alive. Even as the White City blazed in fire, beleaguered without hope.  

Breathless, but confident to have escaped, they were ambushed by a league of orcs and a Balrog. The events that followed have long become legends.

When Glorfindel had arrived in Námo’s halls, he’d felt helpless; as if the earth had opened up under him, as Ecthelion wasn’t there. Anywhere. Nowhere. Not even days later.

There had always been rumors about the Black Foe trying to capture the souls of the fallen; those shattered by death.

What if…

Sometimes, Glorfindel still hears his fëa’s cry of despair in his head; the thought that Ecthelion’s soul could have fallen into the hands of Morgoth—gone forever to be humiliated and much worse—had been worse than dying, and the grief it had provoked worse than anything he’d known.

He had cried, and he had wept, and he had pleaded for mercy to the gods in the twilight of the halls.

In the end, Námo had taken pity on Glorfindel.

On them both, for Ecthelion’s worry about Glorfindel must have been equally terrifying according to Námo’s Maiar.

When a shooting star dashes across the sky, Glorfindel’s heart clenches.

A sign.

Or a promise.

 Maybe, it is both.

Either way, it makes Glorfindel’s lips curve into a smile. Small, but a smile nevertheless. They spent so many nights sitting on Gondolin’s walls. Laughing, hiding, kissing—watching the night become day again, the shooting stars, and the moon.

He’s doing the same now.

Alone, losing himself in memories.

Saying the words he’s never said, for back then, they were meaningless in their world of beauty and bliss; saying them over, and over again, for that maybe, the wind may carry them across the sea.

Heralding the promise, that one day, one way or another, they’ll be reunited again.

He knows they will be for that had been his terms—non-negotiable—to return to Middle-earth again.

And then, he won’t ever be alone again.

 *

[runawaymun]

15 Questions 15 Mutuals

I was tagged by @fenharel-enaste, thank you!!! This looks fun :D

Rules: answer the questions and tag fifteen mutuals

1. Are you named after anyone?

Nope. I was named due to the meaning.

2. When was the last time you cried?

Uh two days ago when the Horrors were upon me.

3. Do you have kids?

Nope!

4. Do you use sarcasm a lot?

Sarcasm is like 98% of my humor and it really gets me in trouble sometimes. D:

5. What’s the first thing you notice about people?

Prev said vibes and I have to second that. It's hard to really explain, but I'm just always paying attention to how someone makes me feel when talking to them. I've got pretty bad social anxiety and a traumatic background so if I find someone who gives off comfy vibes who I feel safe around, that's a pretty big deal. I'm always weighing how safe I am around people.

6. What's your eye colour?

Light blue.

7. Scary movies or happy endings?

Both?

"Happy" endings is a loaded term for me. I don't always need stories to have "happy" endings, but I do want catharsis in some way shape or form. If I don't get catharsis, then why are we even here lol

8. Any special talents?

Mimicking character voice when writing. If we're going to go with a random specific talent. I like to think I have a knack for making characters sound like themselves when I'm writing fanfic.

9. Where were you born?

Portland, Oregon :)

10. What are your hobbies?

Writing (obviously), playing video games (especially survival and RPGs), discussing fiction with friends, DnD when my chronic illness is behaving, reading, making music playlists

11. Have you any pets?

Three cats :) Malka (curly tailed half feral beastie we got off the street), Patrick (orange clinically stupid sweet boy), and Rhaenyra (wee zoom zoom kitten. A menace).

12. What sports do you play/have played?

Literally zero D: we weren't really a family that did "sports" growing up. I did a bit of ballet and some swim lessons. I always wanted to do gymnastics, though!

13. How tall are you?

4'9" or so.

14. Favorite subject in school?

Absolutely any history classes (but mostly any kind of pre 20th century history!), and chemistry.

15. Dream job?

cottage-in-the-woods resident, baker of bread, ideally making enough money to support myself via any combo of my art skills.

TAGGING WITH NO PRESSURE: @robertaramayo @jaz-the-bard @raointean @eldritchteletubbie @softlypause @bananaphanta @creativity-of-death @elrond-kind-as-summer @modernmythic @blueberryrock @valasania-the-pale @themerriweathermage @the-commonplace-book @ichabodjane @ramyun-monster

[naruthandir]

Funny to me how for most people it's a LOTR->Linguistics pipeline but for me it was a linguistics->LOTR pipeline. I never really had an interest in reading Lord of the Rings because the whole thing used to struck me as very boring and I didn't really care but from ages 12-14 I was really getting into fantasy worldbuilding and conlanging "formally" (I did do that kind of stuff before that, but I didn't know it had a name or that there were comunities formed around it) and I said "Look if I am going to be a nerd about this I am going to be a full nerd about this I can't go around life calling myself a Fantasy Nerd™ when all I know about LOTR is that there is a fucked up goblin guy and Legolas has a bow" so I decided to bought the Fellowship of the Ring book in the bookstore because I am autistic and I have a hard time engaging with material I am unfamiliar with so I just picked the safest option and then I read it in a weekend. I came home, I sat down to read, and from the very start I was invested. Because Tolkien had THE BALLS to open his book with an extensive infodump about Hobbit culture and I was so into that. And the chapters in the Shire, they were a genuine delight for me. I thought the book would be boring but it was fun! It was funny! And hobbit culture felt so alive...

And when the final chapter of the Fellowship came I almost cried. Rightly, it was at that moment I realized that this was going to be a life-changing experience whether I like it or not.

Since I didn't have the rest of the books back then (and I wasn't really able to get them for reasons I don't remember) I did the most autistic thing: Right after finishing it, I decided to read it again, because I was that obsessed. I made so much silly cringy art of the characters as I imagined them and it was all I could think about in school. When I finally got my hands to The Two Towers and The Return of the King I decided to refresh my memory by reading Fellowship AGAIN and because it was summer I had the luxury to just sit down and read all day long and it was great.

I went into the books as blind as you could possibly go: I knew there were conlangs and lore, I knew there were elves, I knew the protagonist was named Frodo and the plot was about destroying a ring (there is also a being that calls the ring precious because its like a drug? Idk). But not much else. I didn't know Boromir was going to die. I didn't know about Galadriel or Elrond or Aragorn or Sam. Yes, I didn't know that Sam was a character. I was genuinely surprised at each turn the plot was taking. I was surprised about how GAY it all was (why didn't they tell me about this??) and I was absolutely shaken and emotionally destroyed with the ending. The Return of the King was an awakening of sorts for me, because I was expecting a whimsical fantasy story and instead I got to see The Horrors and I just couldn't believe the comic relief characters were dealing with suicidal ideation, out of all things.

And the last bit of Frodo's journey... Well, the scene in the tower of Cirith Ungol was genuinely rough (when Sam found Frodo, he was naked. And I just closed the book and stared into the ceiling for a while. I just had to take a break real fast) and the struggle with the ring as they got closer to Mordor and I was constantly almost-crying-but-not-quite and I knew, even though I went into the story un-spoiled, I knew Frodo wouldn't give up the ring. And then having him deal with the aftermath of it, and I was so distressed the whole time because finally, someone out there gets it. He sailed off to the west and I cried. I actually cried, right after finishing the book, yes, but for a few nights after as well. It was, well, a lot to process for 14 year old me. It had me looking up the diagnostic criteria of PTSD on Google at three in the morning because this can't be right. It wasn't that bad, surely I'm just being dramatic.

And it is very funny, that I was getting into the books expecting extensive sections of infodumping and lore and LINGUISTICS and I did get that, don't get me wrong, but I also got an emotionally resonant story that complelty re-contextuslized my lived experiences, helped me process stuff I had been shoving down the back of my mind because I didn't have the words to even describe it to myself, and lowkey turned me into a transgender anarchist. I was a changed man (just now fully aware that I was a man in the first place). It blew me away completely.

And it also reinforced my interest in linguistics! I often joke about this, but as a kid, I used to read the dictionary instead of paying attention in class. I liked words. Like, a lot. I liked the way words interacted with each other. I was like 9, perhaps, when I first attempted to create a made-up language, for a race of fictional mermaid race. I was really into My Little Pony at the time and I stole a lot of the story from there (don't forget I was nine) and my attempt at conlanging utterly failed, but still. LOTR felt pretty much tailored to me, when I finally gave it a shot. My favorite appendix was, of course, the one dealing with translation. If I was mildly interested in linguistics before this sent me down a rabbithole. I did my whole final school project for graduating on minority languages of Europe (though, due to the pandemic, I never finished it, which is a shame). I picked the literature course in high-school over the fine arts course because they had a morphology and etymology class. I named myself Beren, for fuck's sake, and I've been going by this name in real life for two and a half years by now. That's how important it was.

I really can't overstate how much this silly little book with silly little fairy people influenced my life. It's. Well, it's cringy, it's awfully, awfully cringy, embarrassing, mortifying. Isn't it funny, that we are shamed and made fun of for loving things so unapologetically? For genuinely connecting with art? Even though that's like, the whole point?

I just want to say. This is important to me. This means a lot to me. I keep talking about it but I can't help myself because it's hilarious. I went into this book out of a sense of responsibility and it completely changed my life.

This post wasn't meant to be this long. Uh. Sorry. I just wanted to make a silly joke about "Tolkien fan goes on to study formal linguistics, but it's not for the reason you think" but it turned into this whole personal rant. This is like a tendency of mine, no I don't know how to stop it. I'm sorry if this is in your dash lmao

[thequeensjester]

Rings of Power ➤ Elrond

Eärendil was my sire, who was born in Gondolin before its fall; and my mother was Elwing, daughter of Dior, son of Lúthien of Doriath.

— credit: cap-that.com

[mai-sau]

prompt 2 with kidnap dads?

thank u so much for prompting!! i hope u like it!

i am so weak for kidnap fam i love them so much... i picture this taking place like maybe 2-3 years into living together. like, long enough that there’s genuine bonds that have grown between them, but still also relatively close to the kinslaying (also i may or may not have referenced the first russingon prompt i did no need for context though!! just gotta... slide in those beloved interpersonal relationships)

i am also. so sorry, this ended up being, almost 2k words, im so sowwy, i hope u enjoy this uninterrupted bout of kidnap fam self indulgence

Prompt: “Please don’t hide from me.”

As any other night since they had arrived, the halls of Amon Ereb were nestled in shadow and silence. At times, Maglor preferred the sorely needed serenity. And at others - like tonight - he found himself staring at his own dull ceiling, echoes and whispers suffocating his very mind as the muggy summer heat did the same to his lungs. What might have been, what already was, what frightfully will be... Silence was, unfortunately, a gifted listener.

Mostly, it was fine: he would just make it through until morning, and the lingering exhaustion would put him to sleep the next night. It was fine.

A shriek pierced the air.

Maglor could not help it - every muscle in his body tensed. Memories buffeted him like a frozen hail, every vein turning to ice; dozens of shrieks, screams, cries joined the echoes in miserable cacophony. This only lasted a moment; a lifetime of battle (murder) sprung him into action quickly enough.

Kicking off the sheets sticking to his legs, Maglor raced towards the door. He threw on his boots, grabbed his sword, and was dashing through the hall in the blink of an eye. As he careened full tilt through the halls - where did it come from, who was hurt, who was bleeding, who was dying - he heard Maedhros’ door slam open as well. Maglor did not need to check to see if he followed;  an instinct forged through years of battle together, he could feel his brother’s presence at his side, knew the nimble footfalls that trailed his.

Another cry sounded from the dark - this one sounding more like a wail, than anything else. Maglor froze. “That sounded like-” he gasped.

“-the twins’ room.” Maedhros confirmed, eyes grim. If anything, Maglor could see him grip his blade tighter. He felt too sick to think on it.

Without another word, they took off. They reached the twins’ door, and with a single glance between them, threw it open. Each held their blade at the ready.

The room was dark, like the rest of the fortress. From what moonlight streamed through the window, Maglor could make out a tiny figure huddled up on one of the beds. The other was empty. As he slowly came closer, he could make out the wide-eyed face of Elrond.

Lowering - but not putting away - his sword, Maglor eased into the gentlest voice he could despite the panic pumping through his veins. “Elrond,” he beckoned. “Sweetheart, where’s Elros? Are you two alright?”

Elrond merely sniffled and rubbed a little fist through his weeping face.

Maglor felt Maedhros pass him. His brother kneeled down in front of Elrond, and lowered his sword to the floor. Maglor knew him well enough to sense that he should not do the same.

“Elrond,” Maedhros said. “You are not in trouble. We’re just worried about you and your brother, and want to make sure you’re safe. Is that alright?”

Shakily, Elrond nodded.

“Okay,” Maedhros continued. “Are you hurt?”

Elrond shook his head. His body was still trembling all over.

“That’s good,” Maedhros said. “Is Elros hurt?”

Elrond burst into a fresh wave of sobs.

Maedhros shot Maglor a panicked glance. Maglor walked up and took his brother’s place by the bed, Maedhros seamlessly rising to his feet to switch out. At this distance, Maglor could see Elrond’s face clearly in the moonlight: ruddy and wet with tears. Maglor’s chest clenched. Elrond raised fearful eyes to meet Maglor’s and - oh. He could hardly bear it. He longed to run away from the bed, away from the proof of their failures, away from the echoes building to a crescendo in his skull. His heart felt sick.

But - no. No.

He cannot run. He must face this, he must face them. And they are more than echoes. They are the two wonderful boys who came into his life, two of the last lights left in it. By Eru, he would see them cherished and cared for, though he did not deserve that privilege with all the wrongs he’s done.

My wrongs do not matter, Maglor chastised himself. Only their wounds.

“Sweetheart,” Maglor murmured. “If Elros is hurt, we want to take care of him. We’ll heal him, whatever may be the problem. I…” He trailed off, before meeting Elrond’s tear-stricken eyes. “I promise.”

Elrond regarded him for a moment. Gradually, his tremors calmed, and he reached a small hand out to grasp Maglor’s, resting on the bedside. “He’s in the dresser.”

Maglor blinked. “The dresser?”

Elrond nodded. “He woke up screaming.”

It was Maedhros, not Maglor, who spoke first. “I see,” Maedhros said. “Thank you for telling us, Elrond.”

Maglor watched his brother walk over to the dresser, and now listening closely he could hear the barest of muffled whimpers come from its direction. He stayed by the bed and squeezed Elrond’s hand.

Maedhros knelt down in front of the dresser. He put down his sword, both brothers’ blades now on the stone floor. “Elros,” he called softly to the wooden doors. “Elros, you are in Amon Ereb. You are safe. You are loved.” He swallowed thickly before continuing in the same steady tone. “You may come out whenever you wish, though I will stay right here if you need me.”

“Is it alright if I talk with you? I’ll stay out here.” Maedhros asked gently.

“...okay,” the dresser answered.

“You know,” Maedhros started. “I used to wake up in the middle of the night all the time too. I still do, sometimes. My dreams scared me so much, and even when I was awake and knew it was all a dream, I was still very upset.” He closed his eyes, breathed once, twice, and continued. “I had someone who helped me calm down, though. For me, even if it didn’t make everything alright again, the help made me feel a lot better.”

“It… it did?” the dresser asked.

“Yes, it did.” Maedhros assured. “I can’t promise it’ll be the same, but if you would like, I can try my best to help.”

There was a beat of silence, before the dresser answered in a small voice, “Okay.”

“Would you like to open the door? It’s okay if you would rather it stay closed.”

The dresser creaked open and a tiny halfelven face, streaked with tears, peeked out the crack. “Only this much,” Elros said, voice uncertain as if he wasn’t sure whether his warning would be heeded. His little fingers shook around their grip on the door.

“Only that much,” Maedhros assented.

“Okay. Good.” Elros muttered. His hand retreated into the dresser.

“Would you like to talk about your dream at all? If you don’t want to, we can talk about something else.”

There was a long pause. Maedhros patiently waited on the floor, while Maglor marveled at his brother’s demeanor. It was like - it was like when Maedhros comforted Tyelko over a scraped knee, or Curufin over a burned finger, but slightly different. Sadder, and yet somehow kinder.

“You’ll get mad,” Elros finally whimpered.

“I won’t judge you, Elros,” Maedhros said. “I won’t be mad at you.”

There was another long pause, long enough that Maglor expected Maedhros to switch angles any moment now, until -

“It was about our home. Ada and Nana’s. There was lots of screaming. A lot of people on the floor. And we were hiding, but they found us, and there was a - a sword at my neck, and Elrond’s too, and Nana jumped, and the sword it - my neck -” Elros broke off, gasping out the words. “Sorry, I don’t - I know you’re good, so why am I so scared?”

Maglor couldn’t help it: even comforting Elrond, who had gone quiet by now, he sucked in a sharp breath between his teeth. Maedhros, too, looked similarly stunned. Eventually, though, his posture relaxed again, though his eyes shone with tears. Raising his left hand, he steadily wiped them away.

“You have every right to feel that way, Elros,” Maedhros told him, voice no less kind. “And it’s perfectly normal. We did an - an unspeakable thing that day, and hurt you two in the process. Though I am -” Maedhros paused, grasping for the right words, “- endeared, that you think well of us, we also did awful things, and that is a part of us too.”

“Though Maglor and I would never want to hurt you, and we will do everything in our power to keep you both safe and happy, you’re allowed to not like us too.” Maedhros rubbed at his stump, absentmindedly smoothing over the sleeve. “It’s okay to be scared.”

“But I don’t,” Elros said softly. “I don’t not like you.” He fell silent for a moment. “I love you,” he confessed, voice barely a whisper. “It’s just that I have these dreams, and I get scared. And sometimes I’m mad.”

“That’s okay too,” Maedhros assured him. “If you ever want to talk to us, we will be right here. And if you - either of you - ever want me and Maglor to go, if you would feel more comfortable if we gave you space, you are more than allowed to ask. We would love you all the same. Even if you need the space because you are angry with us, or upset, that’s okay. We would rather you get what you need instead of trying to hide it.” Maedhros pleaded. “Please don’t hide from us.”

A heavy silence sat in the air. “Would you like us to go, dear?” Maglor asked, finally finding his voice.

The door shot open. A tiny, sniffling elfling jumped out. Elros wrapped his arms firmly around Maedhros, and squeezed as tight as he could. “Please stay,” he begged, voice muffled by Maedhros’ nightshirt.

Maedhros’ eyes softened as he wrapped his arms around Elros. Gently, he smoothed over Elros’ sweat-matted hair with his left hand. “Of course,” he said. “If that is what you want.”

Face still pressed into the nightshirt, Elros nodded.

Maglor turned back to Elrond. “What about you, darling? Anything you want.”

Elrond released his hand. And promptly tackled him with a hug as well. “Can you stay?” He asked. “Can you stay with us for tonight? Even though… I think I might ask to be alone sometimes,” He added.

“That’s perfectly alright, dear,” Maglor said, picking up and placing him on his hip as he rose. “Maedhros, are there any spare blankets?”

“Yes,” Maedhros huffed with a small grin. “If the Dresser Guardian shall let me pass, that is,” he teased. Elros giggled, standing aside. He still held on to Maedhros’ hand.

Maedhros fished out the blankets and laid them on the floor. Soon enough, he and Maglor were nestled in their makeshift beddings alongside the beds, which the twins were tucked into with a murmured “I love you,” and kiss pressed to each of their heads.

Maglor laid on top of his blankets, surrounded once again by nothing but the warm summer air. As he gazed at the moonlight spilling across the ceiling, his eyelids grew heavy, before closing.

All was silent.

[oldtowrs]

I’m not sure if you do the characters x-y-z in one post or not. But if you do any I get headcanons/imagines with the elves and their s/o having their child? Like during the pregnancy to how they are with the babies? Would they be okay with the s/o being human so their kid(s) being half elf? What kinda parent would they be? Stuff like that please and thank you so much

PREGNANCY 

(elves of middle earth edition)

a/n: of course! thank you for requesting! feel free to send in more requests, i’m on summer vacay and i’m bored out of my mind! also sorry if there’s any errors, i just kind of whipped this up and didn’t really proof read it

ELROND

telling elrond that you’re pregnant with his child would be the easiest thing in the world

once you tell him, a look of pure adoration would come over his face and his happiness would bring one of the widest and most genuine smiles you’d have ever seen from him

he wouldn’t hesitate to gently take you into his arms and kiss you over and over again, laying loving kisses wherever he can

countless thank you’s and i love you’s would be uttered that night as he holds you close

elrond, kind and wise in nature, would be even more so during your pregnancy. if you needed anything, he would drop everything just to tend to you 

obviously wouldn’t mind if you were human and if he had half-elf children. he’d love you and them all the same

would act like parenting is the easiest thing in the world. even if it’s his first child, he would be sure of himself because he would’ve taken any free moment he had in the months leading up to his child’s birth educating himself on how to properly parent and talking to you about everything parenthood implied. 

plus he would already have everything arranged for the child’s arrival months ahead of your due date

would be slightly worried during the birth, but would try to hide it for your sake. he would be there throughout the whole thing, holding your hand and kissing your forehead and giving you reassuring comments the whole time

when his child is finally born, tears would definitely surface in his eyes. he’d be content sitting with you in his arms, and your child in yours, admiring the little being you two would have brought into existence

as a father, he would bend over backward for his kids. however, that doesn’t mean that he wouldn’t be firm in his teaching them the ways of the world and in their studies. he wants them to bring kindness into the world and be a source of good. 

is the supportive dad™. he would support his kids in everything they are and everything they ever choose to be and do. 

dad of the year award goes to elrond

GLORFINDEL

he would be so overwhelmed with joy that he wouldn’t know what to do with himself 

he would hug you to him and spin you around your living quarters, laughing with you and kissing you over and over again

after you tell him, his every action from then on would be one taken with the goal of making the world a better place for his child in mind

this dedication would also extend to you too. he would always be there to care for your aches and pains and cravings throughout the pregnancy, making sure you have everything you could possibly need and are content

would laugh a little at your mood swings, but ultimately would be there to comfort you when you get sad and calm you down when you get anxious or irritated. 

during the birth he would be anxious, although it would make you laugh because you had always been the one that was anxious or stressed leading up to the birth. 

his child would definitely have his golden curls, and he would already be so proud of his child for having them

honestly, this kiddo would be downright gorgeous from the moment they were born

glorfindel is the happiest dad ever. he would always smile in your child’s presence and would do anything to make them smile too. he would make his little family the happiest family in all of middle earth, even if he had to travel to mordor and back to do so

HALDIR

oh boy. haldir would be so nervous. he would be happy obviously, but he would need some reassuring. 

would be so worried he wouldn’t be a good father. however, if you comforted him with kisses and loving words, he would grow to realize that he can be the father he hopes he can be. after that, he’ll be so happy and he’ll hold you near to him

wouldn’t be outright and obvious with his efforts, but he would definitely do everything in his power to protect you and his child and make lothlorien a safer place. he would take more shifts and make sure that the borders were secure at any and all possible times. 

he would have so much love for his unborn child, but his worry would often cloud the affect of his motives, as he later realizes when you ask him to not take a night shift so he can be with you

just calm this nervous elf down and tell him that as long as he is loving towards your child that he will be the best father there could possibly be.

you and his child would definitely bring out sweeter side to him. one evening after he comes home from guarding lothlorien, he’ll find you reading a book, with the last of the sun’s rays streaming in through the window beside you, blending with the maternal glow pregnancy seemed to give you. he would be in awe and would be very sweet in telling you so. 

‘you look so beautiful, love’

‘i’m pregnant, i can’t look that good’

‘darling, you put the moon and the stars, and the sun and her flowers to shame with your beauty’ 

despite his anxieties, he would be by your side throughout the entire pregnancy and would not yield before them during the birth of your child. he would hold your hand and wipe away your sweat and tears and be a loving and grounding reminder that everything will be okay

his children would either have your delicate features or his stern ones, but either way, they would have his silver hair and he would love them endlessly. 

he would shed a few tears when he first sees you holding your child. he would kiss you over and over again and hold you close. the soft boi elf in him would jump out 

would always be the overprotective dad. he just wants what is best for his child. however, he takes their happiness very seriously and would do anything to see them safe and smiling

LEGOLAS

would be beside himself with joy when you tell him 

he wouldn’t be able to stop smiling around you for weeks

he would be so happy, and he would take any chance he possibly could to hold your hand or hug you tight. 

literally the happiest dad ever

he would try to tell his dad that he wants to arrange everything for the baby’s arrival, such as its clothes, its room, its crib, etc. but thranduil would have none of it

this child is about to be more spoiled than the valar themselves

during the birth, legolas would be so scared for you and your child, but when everything turns out alright, he will be over the moon and floating amongst varda’s stars with elation. 

he’ll be so excited to hold his child, and when he finally gets to he will look at he or she and gaze lovingly up at you, making remarks on how one of their features matches yours

‘he/she’s got your eyes’

would advocate for his child to learn archery, regardless of their gender, while you would advocate for your child to learn the finer subjects of life, such as elvish literature and history, astronomy, etc. 

legolas would never be able to stop loving you or your child 

LINDIR

lindir would be so overjoyed he would break out in tears the moment the meaning of your announcement makes itself clear in his mind

he would grasp your face and kiss you with more passion than you think he ever had before

he kiss you over and over and hug you tightly to him, his long hands splayed over your shoulder blades and back as he cries into your hair and thanks you over and over

countless i love you’s muttered into still night air as he cuddles you close

would definitely be the type to talk to your stomach, telling his child how excited he is to meet his child and how much he loves them already

plays his harp for you and your child

as your pregnancy progresses however, he will become more and more anxious

he would begin to worry about everything from whether or not he is going to be a good father to whether the book of elvish fairy tales should go on the shelf across from the crib or on the table near the door

he would get so lost in the details you would often need to force him to pause his meddling, hold the sides of his face gently and look into his eyes and tell him to breathe. he will greatly appreciate these moments when you remind him all will be okay

however, this seems to be lost on him the moment you go into labor. he will be a ball of nerves the entire time

he will hold your hand just as tightly as you hold his, all the color draining from his face as he listens to your wails of pain

it is a great relief to both of you when, finally, your child’s cries fill the room. its as if both of you can breathe again, although the faint bruises on both of your hands might take a little while to fade. 

would be like haldir in how much he worries for his child and but over time he would become like elrond, calm and collected and loving beyond all else. 

definitely enjoys the little moments he has with you and his child

THRANDUIL

oh boy, you thought the other elves were happy? thranduil’s delight puts any other elf’s to shame

your news will literally hang galaxies in his eyes and oceans of happy tears will fall from his eyes when you tell him

his happiness will be so much it makes you cry too

he’s also quite vocal in letting you know how happy you make him as well

‘oh meleth, whenever i think you couldn’t make me happier, you always prove me wrong’

he will do everything and anything in his power to make sure you are comfortable

whether its buying you new gowns, making you food in the early hours of the morning, or just something as simple as cuddling you, he won’t hesitate for a moment

he will most definitely buy anything and everything he thinks your child might want. although sometimes you may have to remind him that spoiling your child too a certain extreme is never a good thing

when it comes time for your child to come into the world, the reality that thranduil is going to be a father truly hits

he begins to panic, but it will be your cries of pain that remind him that you need him

and so he will kiss your forehead and encourage you on and hold your hands through everything. he will not withhold an ounce of sweetness from you, making sure you always know how well you’re doing and how its almost over

and when your child is finally born, the expression of pure love that crosses his face-with tears in his eyes, his thick eyebrows turned slightly upwards, and an unyielding smile brighter than the sun itself on his lips-breaks your heart into splinters and rebuilds it a new with pure love and happiness, every shred of discontent gone from your heart and soul

thranduil is so loving. there is no doubt in your mind that the child will have the best guidance in matters of the heart and morals than any other elfling to ever walk the lands of arda

all in all, having a child with thranduil will be one of the best experiences of your life, and of his as well

[stagofwar]

All things considered, the Fellowship would have been the most unnerving thing to Sauron if he’d ever found out.

-We have Aragorn, who’s heir to the throne of Gondor, in whom the blood of Numenor runs ‘nearly true’; that would be ok, because Sauron pretty thoroughly trashed that bloodline the last time he got involved with them, but Aragorn is not only from the line that didn’t fall to his tricks - he’s from the line that managed to hide out from and survive the hilariously hostile world of Midle Earth long enough to see Sauron’s return. In other words, he’s a cockroach with a holy sword and a legitimate claim to a kingdom with something like five thousand years’ worth of legacy of defying Sauron more ably than anyone else in the world.

-We have Gimli, who is a warrior able enough to be considered worth sending to the Council of Elrond despite being centuries younger than every other Dwarf there. He’s loyal to a fault, perfectly willing to open his mind to other cultures once he’s had a chance to think about it for a minute, and probably the most charismatic person there short of Merry and Pippin - and they can’t control it. And he knows the meaning of politeness, which so many Elves think Dwarves don’t have. He is here for those he loves, always, and if they number all of Middle Earth by the end, so be it. Moreover, his body count over the course of the books is somewhere in the hundreds - if there are more like him, and there are (his family held off the Orc army invading the Lonely Mountain around the time of the Battle of the Black Gates), and if they come looking for blood, things are going to get hairy.

- We have Legolas, who is tied with Boromir for being the biggest jock - except instead of fighting skirmishes against groups of orcs, he’s been fighting spiders the size of a car since he was probably fifty. Going by the movies he’s an acrobat with flair and a sharpshooter hard to match; going by the books he’s keen-eyed and ready to throw down. The only Fellowship member with a higher kill count than him is Gimli, unless they’re tied, and he’s also the first Elf in centuries willing to have a civil conversation with a dwarf. Add on the fact that his entire royal line came entirely out of left field the last time Sauron tried to muster an army and changed its course, and you’ve got an unpredictable ball of arrows and backflips with blonde hair. Life is what he loves, and let none fail to understand that fact.

- We have Boromir, who is almost the least able member of the Fellowship for accomplishments, as far as the Big People go, but even he (least gifted member of his family, in terms of strange abilities) was enough of a strategic thinker to manage the Gondorian army and retake Osgiliath while his father was in the process of declining. Considering what his brother and Dad can do with powers he doesn’t even have, and considering what it took to kill him, and considering why he *threw his life away in the first place* (love, it’s always love, and that it’s for a pair of helpless non-warriors doesn’t diminish it whatsoever, what more would his people do for their country and their world, what more is Sauron failing to account for), then what in Eru’s name can his brother do? (The answer is bringing down an Oliophant with arrows and stealth. He lost Osgiliath because of the Nazgul and a too-small force, nothing less)

- We have Gandalf, who has made enough of a nuisance of himself over the course of two thousand-odd years that he is hated by most of Middle Earth’s major players and done enough good in that period that none of them consider killing him a good idea without a significant amount of insanity. Operating on limited information, zero prep time, and once again love, he killed a Balrog; he stood up to a creature forged in the most horrific days of Melkor’s madness out of insanity and fire, one trained in a war that lasted long enough for kingdoms of men and elves and dwarves to rise and fall and neither buckled nor broke. He stood on among figures as feared as Gil-Galad, Glorifindel, and Beren, and then he came back stronger than ever before. Stronger than one who had spent centuries *seeking* strength, where Gandalf had only sough to help. Stronger indeed than any one of the Nazgul, given a moment to prepare.

-We have Merry, who is kind and concerned and very, very smart. He and Pippin don’t get enough credit in the movies, but in the books he was clever enough to figure out what Frodo was planning with his move from Bag End and decided (he’s brave too, and here love comes back) to come along. He is a son of the Thains, and will be a Thain himself in time; he is the newest branch of the roots of the Shire itself, which found that it is made of steel and stone and willpower twice - once against a cold bad enough to see a summer turned to winter, and once against the spite of a fallen angel. He is willing, without thought, to come to the aid of his friends; his honor is no less than Dwarves and Elves and Men. And should you tell him no? He will come all the same, as Theoden learned to his benefit.

-You have Pippin, who is oh so very young - indeed, the youngest member overall! Not even forty! And who came along knowing nothing about what he was walking into, besides that his friends needed aid. So very very far from home, he did not shine against the greatest darkness things beyond men can muster; he shone against *fear*, and *indifference*. First when Treebeard thought that he was beyond the wars of men, where he showed him that some things are worth fighting for, and then again when Denathor found himself so thoroughly insane with fear that he thought death better than that old, familiar Human need to stand up against that which comes to consume and say, ‘no’. Pippin said no, and he said it in defiance of a leader all the others cowered before.

-We have Frodo, who is the wild card. First the bearer of the ring the very first time it is given up willingly - which is the last thing that was ever supposed to be possible when it was held. Then, again, when every great, strong, powerful being gathered to see it destroyed cried that none of the others were worth or strong enough, Frodo said oh so quietly - “I will take the ring - though I do not know the way.” We call Sam brave, and oh he is, but Frodo took a leap of faith that proved Sauron’s undoing. How could a being who claimed such mastery of greed understand self-sacrifice? One again, Love comes forth.

- And we have Sam. Always, the Hobbits are considered less than the others. Less interesting, less brave, less strong; and among Hobbits, Sam defined that role. He was the lowly gardner, tagging along out of duty and, as always, love. Love first. Love most. But duty as well, because he made a promise - “Don’t let him out of your sight, Samwise Gamgee.” And he doesn’t intend to. Sam, who defined the forgettable, kind, somewhat simple nature of Hobbits and, therefore, the incredible, depthless strength they hide. Stone lies beneath soft, tilled earth, and the softer the earth the harder the work to get it there; so Sam was always stone beneath it all. He could not carry a burden for Frodo, but he could carry Frodo himself, and even when all hope for their survival was lost he reached out for Frodo’s bleeding, mutilated hand and told him - Don’t you let go. He did not let go.

So yeah. Sauron would have been afraid, had he ever truly looked.

[elerondo]

Character Aesthetic

Aries:

Bonfires, competitiveness, hand veins, loud laughs, messy hair, sneaking out at 2am,   abandoned beaches, stray dogs, candle lights, body language, creaking floorboards, ouija boards, having no regrets, karaoke nights out.

Taurus:

House plants, oversized sweaters, soft hands, fuzzy socks, visiting big cities, snoozing your alarm clock, the color yellow, vanilla-scented candles, aloe vera, fruit smoothies, baking cookies, the mom friend, loves the ukulele.

Gemini:

Femme fatale movies, in love with female villains, sharp eyeliner, quick-witted, does things out of spite, do no harm but take no shit, in love with dogs, probably cries during sad movies but won’t admit it, easily excited, ripped jeans.

Cancer:

Mermaids, easily infatuated by love, smelling flowers, picnics in open fields, gets sad when thinking about the past, impressed easily, daydreaming in class, plucking fresh fruit, loves fashion, would die for their friends. ‘who says i’m going to die?’

Leo:

Confident in what they do, kill them with kindness, high ponytails, probably wants to visit Paris once, not afraid to tell the truth, in love with cute animals, the one to lift others up, good at teamwork, the warm feeling of summer, D R A G O N S !!

Virgo:

Pastel markers, the smell of lavender, has a welcoming vibe around them, actually organized, scrunchies, neat notes, loves going to museums, probably into photography ( Elrond likes posing, I suppose ), neutral colors, handwritten letters, stardust.

Libra:

Soft blankets, cuddling the one(s) you love, always standing up for your friends, hopeless romantic, can be very distant, can be a little dramatic, pretty hair, dresses nicely, tries to be popular on social media, optimistic, humorous.

Scorpio:

Cottages in the woods, in love with Greek mythology, vintage t-shirts, really emotional but doesn’t want anyone to know, determined, moonlight, pretty handwriting, into the retro aesthetic, rainy days, doesn’t judge people, cats.

Sagittarius:

Always ready for an adventure, street smart, wants to travel the world someday, doesn’t easily trust people, alcohol, paintbrushes, can’t sit still, untied shoelaces, tangled up earphones, blasting music at midnight, eye-gazing.

Capricorn:

Cold aura, coffee is what keeps them going, probably hasn’t slept in two days, actually a big softie, high-waisted jeans, cute pet videos, small apartments, has too many notebooks, often goes to the library, writing essays.

Aquarius:

Loves to paint & do any kind of art, wants to live at the seaside, knows a lot of random facts, shares food, messy notes, bullshits an entire essay, graffiti, has their own distinct style, wants to live their life like they want to.

Pisces:

Old teddy bears, unsent love letters, mom-jeans, loves to sing, feels at home by the ocean, writes poetry, hard-workers, always up for deep conversations, probably did the stupid thing, open curtains, a soft breeze.

Tagged by: I took it off @warringpeace​ because it looked like fun :3 Tagging: whoever wants to do this thing :D

[gnatie-gnat]

Baby mine | Ch 1 |

A hobbit fanfic

Thorin x oc

Warning: angst, child birth, death of a character.

Songs: baby mine — Celtic women

The strength to light your way — George kallis

A/n: probably going to have like a five ch. of just the back story of the oc cause I’m CRAZY but um enjoy.

It was the beginning of winter at the dunédain kingdom of hälo. Where the princess was born she had beautiful brown hair, skin as white as snow and eyes as dark as the night sky, her name was Isabelle. But the dunédain kingdom did not accept the queen for she was an elf but the king did not care he loved her to much.

One night when Isabelle was crying her mother began to sing to her.

“baby mine, don't you cry.

Baby mine, dry your eyes.

Rest your head close to my heart, never to part, baby of mine.”

She picked Isabelle up and started to rock her in her arms.

“little one, when you play, don't you mind what they say.

Let those eyes sparkle and shine, never a tear, baby of mine.”

“if they knew sweet little you, they'd end up loving you, too. All those same people who scold you, what they'd give just for the right to hold you.”

Isabelle began to calm down and slowly fall asleep.

“From your hair down to your toes, you're not much, goodness knows.

But, you're so precious to me, sweet as can be, baby of mine.”

Isabelle went to sleep in her bed.

She grew into a strong, beautiful, and kind young girl but she did not have as much elf features as her mother did she mostly looked like a human, she didn’t have the ears that a normal elf would have and she wasn’t as tall as her mother was but she was immortal like an elf and she had the choice to be mortal or immortal.

One summers eve when Isabelle was only eight years old. her mother began to teach her something that only her and her mother were aloud to know. Her mother said it was magic, elf magic. her mother taught her most of the things she knew.

“Here darling, I want to give you this” her mother told her.

“ but mother, this is your necklace I can’t take it” Isabelle answered.

Isabelle knew the elvish Tongue at the age of five, her mother gave her the necklace that looked like a crystal ( something like this

Not of my own)

every time Isabelle or her mother used its magic, it would glow which always made Isabelle think that it was something other then a crystale. But when it did glow, ice, or snow would appear from their hands.

But whenever Isabelle wasn’t with her mother she was with her father training how to fight against any enemies that trespassed through their kingdom.

She mostly enjoyed shooting arrows at the targets, but her father liked teaching her how to wield a sword.

Sense Isabelle had already known how to ride a horse that wasn’t a problem when it came to shooting arrows while riding her horse Lucifer (I know that name may seem strange for a horse but if you saw what her horse looked like then you would understand

A year after her mother gave her that necklace she became more skilled in combat then her father ever was and she also became more skilled with elf magic then her mother was.

Though she could only use that magic when she was wearing the necklace Isabelle never took the necklace off no matter what.

One night her mother and father asked Isabelle to come visit them in their room only to find out that her mother was expecting a child.

Oh how excited Isabelle was, that it felt like those nine months went so fast that by the time Isabelle turned ten years old her mother was in the baby room ready to have the baby, they were just waiting for one person.

Lord Elrond that’s right he was the healer after all and a good friend of her mother and father he did help birth Isabelle so she has known him her whole life and that’s when there was a knock at the door of the baby room.

Elrond came running in with nurses with him and Isabelle was quickly sent out of the room. About a day had past before Isabelle could see her mother that is only because her mother had lost a lot of blood during the child birth.

When belle walked in, her mother and father were sitting together on the bed with the baby, so belle walked over and looked at the baby it was wrapped up in a pink blanket which told belle that she was a girl which excited her very much because her and her mother had the perfect name if it was a girl Elizabeth or for short lizzy.

“ belle this is Elizabeth ” her mother said. Belle was the name her mother always called her it meant beauty in some language.

“ she’s beautiful mother” belle said, lizzy looked just like mother, her ears, her green eyes, everything and belle loved it.

For the rest of the day belle had a smile on her face but always made sure to visit her mother and sister.

That night before she went to sleep, she went to check on her mother one last Time only to find that her mother was rocking her younger sister in her arms trying to calm her down from crying “belle dear, why don’t you come here and sing a song with me to put Elizabeth to sleep” her mother asked.

“Like what mother” belle asked

“ how about strength to light your way” she answered “ oh I remember that one “ belle said

the song her mother would always sing to Isabelle when she was scared. And so they began to sing together.

“hush now, don't be scared.

Through this tide of darkness.

Shadows may march, thunders may roar.

But peace, will soon, prevail”

They didn’t get to finish the song do to the fact that lizzy fell asleep so quickly. Isabelle kissed her mothers head "good night ma" she told her and then kissed lizzy’s head "good night lizzy" belle said to her “ oh belle, one more thing” Her mother said to her “ yes mother “ belle asked “can you put lizzy back into her crib please, I’m feeling a little tired” her mother asked.

“Of course mother” belle said, then she grabbed lizzy and brought her to her bed and gently set her in the bed by the time she turned around her mother was already falling asleep, so she walked over to her and gave her one more kiss on the head “good night mother” “good bye belle” she said and belle left to her bedroom to sleep.

The next morning Isabelle had slept in, when she made her bed and got dressed she went straight towards her mothers room.

Her mothers room was across the throne room.

When Isabelle walked in to the throne room she saw her father, two elves , both of them she knew, lindir and lord Elrond and some nurses carrying her mother out, they did not see Isabelle though she was right behind them, they seemed to be mourning.

"Pa?" Isabelle said, tears already filling her eyes everyone turning to see her but the nurses didn't look at her, her father stared at her she could see that her father was crying.

"What’s going on” she asked her voice cracking, a tear falling down her cheek. The elves on the other hand couldn't even look at her, sorry for what has happened.

"Pa?"she asked again, her father could not respond for he could not find the right words to say to his daughter, he just looked at her. That told her everything.

"No.......no! No no no no" she said walking towards her mothers corpse, but her father stopped her.

"Isabelle.......please" he said trying so hard not to cry. She buried her head into her fathers chest as she cried.

Lord Elrond came over to take her away As she walked with him into the dining room, as he sat her down at the table he said “ I’m sorry this has happened “ Elrond said, there was a moment of silence before she responded "how did it happen" Isabelle asked she was so serious about that question that lord Elrond had to think about how he should tell her.

"When I checked your mother she had already passed" he said "there was no saving her.....I am sorry".

Before Isabelle could say anything her father came in “ I will leave you two alone to talk” Elrond said and walked out of the room.

“ belle..” “ stop I don’t want to talk” belle said, crying and running away into her room.

A few hours passed before belle realized that her and her mother never got to finish the song and so Isabelle began to sing it.

“Through our land this sacred land, night must spread confusion but stand your ground until you’ve found the strength to light your way”

Some how I some way that made Isabelle feel so much better.

Tags for series:

@jotink78 @sdavid09

I hope you like it

[asura22zoro]

brienne may be the YMB woman in the prophecy. a queen wasnt mentioned

Briennes sobriquet seems directly inspired by Arwen from Tolkiens the Lord of the Rings. Arwen was the Evenstar long before Brienne. Stars and beauty were important themes to Tolkien, with Elbereth being the star queen. Luthien the most beautiful woman to have ever lived was the morning star, and great great grandmother to Arwen. As well as being beautiful, Arwen heralded the twilight of her people. Arwen gave hope and motivated Aragorn to fight and to claim his throne, which he did in large part simply as a dowry.

Unlike Brienne, Arwen isn't a fighter (I'm talking the books here, not the badly adapted movies in this respect) and she's not ungainly, huge, strong and ugly, like Shrek. They do seem to share the same sort of fighting spirit however. In JRRs works beauty and grace are less often impediments to noble spirits, unlike some of GRRMs. With JRR beautiful spirits tend to express or garb themselves with beautiful bodies, a bit like clothing, and vice versa, though there are some notable exceptions.

That was barely a sketch, it goes deeper. I probably don't do it justice, but he's a little more.

In Feast, we found out Lord Selwyn had tried to marry off his daughter for quite some time, no doubt concerned for their future, with at least three suitors, despite how disadvantageous her appearance and aptitudes were for a good match. Brienne fought off the last suitor herself. On it's own that's subverting the notion of an overprotective father restraining a more than willing daughter (think farmers daughters). Selwyn seems like he would wed her to anyone who would have her and make his daughter a respectable wife and give him grandchildren. She is the last of his line, a not uncommom theme in Martin. Brienne herself was mostly innocent and naive, a child of summer, probably up until the death of Renly, again a not uncommon uniting thread.

Arwen is much older, but unlike the fashion of her people did not marry young but remained unwed. In her case it's also possible there were no good matches to be made to one of her line. Kingdoms had been in decline for two ages of the world and few remained who could woo a lady of her stature, but she might also simply have been selective as well not unlike Brienne, though for different reasons. Her fathers says to a suitor

She is too far above you.

and

You shall neither have wife, nor bind any woman to you in troth, until your time comes and you are found worthy of it.

While for masculine Brienne, cursed with ugliness, it's about the opposite. Those who wooed her, do it largely despite her, and for virtually everything except her (dowry, lands and title, children), considering her unworthy and far below them.

They both have siblings though Brienne loses all hers young.

Arwens father, who also lost his wife like Selwyn, is perhaps the opposite of Selwyn and ultraprotective, but it's complicated. Arwen is a princess with an enemy who would stop at nothing to see her and all she loves either dead or enslaved. Brienne has no such dread nemesis, not even Stannis, though what George has in mind for R'hollor might surprise us.

For Elrond... all chances of the war of the ring were fraught with sorrow.

a sentiment Selwyn may share concerning the war of the five kings and then queens.

Arwens suitors mother says

... Your aim is high, even for the descendant of many kings. This lady is the noblest and fairest that now walks the earth.

while for most of Westeros, saying the same of Brienne would be a great jest, though it's at least half true.

Brienne tasted bitterness and sorrow early, most strongly with Renly, and later with Catelyn and her story isn't finished yet (I hope), while Arwens hopes were realized, and she enjoyed a full life of mortal happiness, though the last days of her doom were bitter, grey and hard. Arwens family had its share of sorrow, but we know few details of her early life.

Finally, if the blood of giants runs in Briennes veins, she also shares a noble inhumane heritage, like Arwen daughter of Elrond half elven, and she too may live to see the rest her kind fade from the world. What we don't know is if Brienne will end like Conan, wearing a crown on a troubled brow, and whether she'll have children (if Lollys can...), what mixed draught of sweet happiness and bitter sorrow she'll drink like Arwen.

I don't think it's a coincidence that she's called 'The Beauty' and it would be typically twisty of a prophecy for it not to be a literal physical beauty.

A bit of a stretch maybe, but in Cersei's mind at least, I also think she could also come to blame Brienne for losing Joff and Tommen to the clutches of the Tyrells. Brienne was there at Renly's death and failed to save him, thus freeing up Marg to marry. In the whole self-fulfilling vein, I don't think it matters that Brienne hasn't actually done anything to Cersei only that Cersei may come to view her as the source of all her woes. 

asoiaf . westeros . org/index.php?/topic/146921-its-brienne/

Recall how we are introduced to Brienne...

The blue knight pulled a long dirk free and flicked open Tyrell's visor. The roar of the crowd was too loud for Catelyn to hear what Ser Loras said, but she saw the word form on his split, bloody lips. Yield.

The blue knight climbed unsteady to his feet, and raised his dirk in the direction of Renly Baratheon, the salute of a champion to his king. ...

"Approach," King Renly called to the champion.

... A few voices hailed him with cries of "Tarth!" and, oddly, "A Beauty! A Beauty!" but most were silent. ...

The press had begun to open up. "Ser Colen," Catelyn said to her escort, "who is this man, and why do they mislike him so?"

Ser Colen frowned. "Because he is no man, my lady. That's Brienne of Tarth, daughter to Lord Selwyn the Evenstar."

Catelyn II, Clash 22

In an appendix to the Lord of the Rings, Tolkein told the tale of Aragorn and Arwen. Arwen was called "Evenstar" since she was the most beautiful of the remaining High Elves. Evenstar, of course, was a term for the "evening star" of classical astronomy, the planet Venus. Venus, of course, was the goddess of love and beauty.

Brienne’s only beautiful physical feature was her eyes...

The Beauty raised her eyes, the only part of her that was truly beautiful.

Catelyn V, Clash 39

Brienne looked at her with those blue and beautiful eyes.

Catelyn VI, Clash 45

Jaime watched her eyes. Pretty eyes, he thought, and calm.

Jaime I, Storm 1

But the eyes are not only a physical feature; they are windows into the soul...

Her two blue windows faintly she up-heaveth,

Like the fair sun, when in his fresh array

He cheers the morn, and all the earth relieveth;

And as the bright sun glorifies the sky,

So is her face illumin'd with her eye.

Venus and Adonis, Shakespeare

And Jaime falls right through Brienne’s windows...

Harrenhal's bathhouse was a dim, steamy, low-ceilinged room filled with great stone tubs. When they led Jaime in, they found Brienne seated in one of them, scrubbing her arm almost angrily.

She jerked to her feet as if he'd struck her, sending a wash of hot water across the tub. Jaime caught a glimpse of the thick blonde bush at the juncture of her thighs as she climbed out. She was much hairier than his sister. Absurdly, he felt his cock stir beneath the bathwater. Now I know I have been too long away from Cersei. He averted his eyes, troubled by his body's response.

Jaime V, Storm 37

"A sword," Brienne begged, and there it was, scabbard, belt, and all. She buckled it around her thick waist. The light was so dim that Jaime could scarcely see her, though they stood a scant few feet apart. In this light she could almost be a beauty, he thought. In this light she could almost be a knight. Brienne's sword took flame as well, burning silvery blue. The darkness retreated a little more.

...

"Ser Jaime?" Even in soiled pink satin and torn lace, Brienne looked more like a man in a gown than a proper woman. "I am grateful, but . . . you were well away. Why come back?"

A dozen quips came to mind, each crueler than the one before, but Jaime only shrugged. "I dreamed of you," he said.

Jaime VI, Storm 44

The last of the northmen had dismounted, Jaime saw, and now Loras Tyrell had seen Brienne.

... Ser Loras drew his longsword.

...

"You have no honor. Draw your sword. I won't have it said that I slew you while your hand was empty."

Jaime stepped between them. "Put the sword away, ser."

SerLoras edged around him. "Are you a craven as well as a killer, Brienne? Is that why you ran, with his blood on your hands? Draw your sword, woman!"

"Best hope she doesn't." Jaime blocked his path again. "Or it's like to be your corpse we carry out. The wench is as strong as Gregor Clegane, though not so pretty."

"This is no concern of yours." Ser Loras shoved him aside.

Jaime grabbed the boy with his good hand and yanked him around. "I am the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, you arrogant pup. Your commander, so long as you wear that white cloak. Now sheathe your bloody sword, or I'll take it from you and shove it up some place even Renly never found."

...

"For what it's worth," said Jaime, "the wench does have honor. More than I have seen from you. And it may even be she's telling it true. I'll grant you, she's not what you'd call clever, but even my horse could come up with a better lie, if it was a lie she meant to tell. As you insist, however . . . Ser Balon, escort Lady Brienne to a tower cell and hold her there under guard. And find some suitable quarters for Steelshanks and his men, until such time as my father can see them."

"Yes, my lord."

Brienne's big blue eyes were full of hurt as Balon Swann and a dozen gold cloaks led her away. You ought to be blowing me kisses, wench, he wanted to tell her. Why must they misunderstand every bloody thing he did? Aerys. It all grows from Aerys. Jaime turned his back on the wench and strode across the yard.

Jaime VII, Storm 62

"Blue is a good color on you, my lady," Jaime observed. "It goes well with your eyes." She does have astonishing eyes.

Brienne glanced down at herself, flustered. "Septa Donyse padded out the bodice, to give it that shape. She said you sent her to me."

Jaime IX, Storm 72

"Ser Ronnet," he called, "have you lost your way? It is a large castle, I know."

Red Ronnet raised his lantern. "I wished to see where the bear danced with the maiden not-so-fair." His beard shone in the light as if it were afire. Jaime could smell wine on his breath. "Is it true the wench fought naked?"

"Naked? No." He wondered how that wrinkle had been added to the story. "The Mummers put her in a pink silk gown and shoved a tourney sword into her hand. The Goat wanted her death to be amuthing. Elsewise . . ."

". . . the sight of Brienne naked might have made the bear flee in terror." Connington laughed.

Jaime did not. "You speak as if you know the lady."

"I was betrothed to her."

That took him by surprise. Brienne had never mentioned a betrothal. "Her father made a match for her . . ."

"Thrice," said Connington. "I was the second. My father's notion. I had heard the wench was ugly, and I told him so, but he said all women were the same once you blew the candle out."

...

Ser Ronnet was a landed knight, no more. For any such, the Maid of Tarth would have been a sweet plum indeed. "How is it that you did not wed?" Jaime asked him.

"Why, I went to Tarth and saw her. I had six years on her, yet the wench could look me in the eye. She was a sow in silk, though most sows have bigger teats. When she tried to talk she almost choked on her own tongue. I gave her a rose and told her it was all that she would ever have from me." Connington glanced into the pit. "The bear was less hairy than that freak, I'll—"

Jaime's golden hand cracked him across the mouth so hard the other knight went stumbling down the steps. His lantern fell and smashed, and the oil spread out, burning. "You are speaking of a highborn lady, ser. Call her by her name. Call her Brienne."

Connington edged away from the spreading flames on his hands and knees. "Brienne. If it please my lord." He spat a glob of blood at Jaime's foot. "Brienne the Beauty."

Jaime III, Feast 27

He was grateful when the bath was deep enough to conceal his arousal. As he lowered himself into the steaming water, he recalled another bath, the one he'd shared with Brienne. He had been feverish and weak from loss of blood, and the heat had made him so dizzy he found himself saying things better left unsaid. This time he had no such excuse.

Jaime IV, Feast 30

Now, consider the prophecy...

"What a disappointment," Lady Olenna complained loudly. "I was hoping for ‘The Rains of Castamere.'"

Whenever Cersei looked at the old crone, the face of Maggy the Frog seemed to float before her eyes, wrinkled and terrible and wise. All old women look alike, she tried to tell herself, that's all it is. In truth, the bent-back sorceress had looked nothing like the Queen of Thorns, yet somehow the sight of Lady Olenna's nasty little smile was enough to put her back in Maggy's tent again. She could still remember the smell of it, redolent with queer eastern spices, and the softness of Maggy's gums as she sucked the blood from Cersei's finger. Queen you shall be, the old woman had promised, with her lips still wet and red and glistening, until there comes another, younger and more beautiful, to cast you down and take all that you hold dear.

Cersei glanced past Tommen, to where Margaery sat laughing with her father. She is pretty enough, she had to admit, but most of that is youth. Even peasant girls are pretty at a certain age, when they are still fresh and innocent and unspoiled, and most of them have the same brown hair and brown eyes as she does. Only a fool would ever claim she was more beautiful than I.

Cersei III, Feast 12

Cersei thinks the prophecy refers to Margaery, but this is an in-universe red herring. Margaery is beautiful, but is she more beautiful than Cersei? The point is too debatable to be determinative. As the author tells the reader several times, Daenerys is the most beautiful woman in the world of ASOIAF, and she is coming, eventually, for the Iron Throne. But Daenerys is the red herring for the reader.

"I will be queen, though?" asked the younger her.

"Aye." Malice gleamed in Maggy's yellow eyes. "Queen you shall be . . . until there comes another, younger and more beautiful, to cast you down and take all that you hold dear."

Anger flashed across the child's face. "If she tries I will have my brother kill her."

...

It is just . . . the maegi knew how many children I would have, and she knew of Robert's bastards. Years before he'd sired even the first of them, she knew. She promised me I should be queen, but said another queen would come . . ." Younger and more beautiful, she said. ". . . another queen, who would take from me all I loved."

"And you wish to forestall this prophecy?"

More than anything, she thought. "Can it be forestalled?"

"Oh, yes. Never doubt that."

"How?"

"I think Your Grace knows how."

She did. I knew it all along, she thought. Even in the tent. "If she tries I will have my brother kill her."

Knowing what needed to be done was one thing, though; knowing how to do it was another. Jaime could no longer be relied on.

Cersei VIII, Feast 36

It was a pity that Maggy the Frog was dead. Piss on your prophecy, old woman. The little queen may be younger than I, but she has never been more beautiful, and soon she will be dead.

Cersei IX, Feast 39

Here, then, are the elements... “’Queen you shall be . . . until there comes another, younger and more beautiful, to cast you down and take all that you hold dear.’” Many readers assume that the prophecy refers to another queen, but I do not see how that is an element. And although the prophecy could be gender neutral, the term beautiful suggests that it refers to a woman. So, I submit that the first element is a younger, more beautiful woman. We could line up all of the hottest women in ASOIAF, and we could argue about which description is more pleasing to our mind’s eye. As suggested above, from what the author tells us, only Daenerys could be found to be objectively more beautiful than Cersei. So, I submit that the George is misleading the reader just a bit to produce a surprise. The younger and more beautiful woman will be more beautiful on the inside, like Brienne.

While it is easy to see how Margaery or Daenerys might fit the remainder of the prophecy, since Margaery is embroiled in a power struggle with Cersei in King’s Landing, and Daenerys will eventually come to claim the throne, Brienne appears to be more of a square peg. She must cast Cersei down and take all that Cersei holds dear. Well, what does Cersei hold dear? Cersei loves her children, but she is a terrible mother, and it seems to me that what she really loves is the power she derives from her children. And then there is Jaime, whom she loves as much as, if not more than, her children. And Cersei needs Jaime...

Even in her exhausted, frightened state, the queen knew she dare not trust her fate to a court of sparrows. Nor could she count on Ser Kevan to intervene, after the words that had passed between them at their last meeting. It will have to be a trial by battle. There is no other way. "Qyburn, for the love you bear me, I beg you, send a message for me. A raven if you can. A rider, if not. You must send to Riverrun, to my brother. Tell him what has happened, and write . . . write . . ."

"Yes, Your Grace?"

She licked her lips, shivering. "Come at once. Help me. Save me. I need you now as I have never needed you before. I love you. I love you. I love you. Come at once."

"As you command. ‘I love you' thrice?"

"Thrice." She had to reach him. "He will come. I know he will. He must. Jaime is my only hope."

"My queen," said Qyburn, "have you . . . forgotten? Ser Jaime has no sword hand. If he should champion you and lose . . ."

We will leave this world together, as we once came into it. "He will not lose. Not Jaime. Not with my life at stake."

Cersei X, Feast 43

But Brienne takes Jaime from Cersei...

There was a rap upon his door. "See who that is, Peck."

It was Riverrun's old maester, with a message clutched in his lined and wrinkled hand. Vyman's face was as pale as the new-fallen snow. "I know," Jaime said, "there has been a white raven from the Citadel. Winter has come."

"No, my lord. The bird was from King's Landing. I took the liberty . . . I did not know . . ." He held the letter out.

Jaime read it in the window seat, bathed in the light of that cold white morning. Qyburn's words were terse and to the point, Cersei's fevered and fervent. Come at once, she said. Help me. Save me. I need you now as I have never needed you before. I love you. I love you. I love you. Come at once.

Vyman was hovering by the door, waiting, and Jaime sensed that Peck was watching too. "Does my lord wish to answer?" the maester asked, after a long silence.

A snowflake landed on the letter. As it melted, the ink began to blur. Jaime rolled the parchment up again, as tight as one hand would allow, and handed it to Peck. "No," he said. "Put this in the fire."

Jaime VII, Feast 44

He posted sentries to see that no one left the confines of the village. He sent out scouts as well, to make certain no enemy took them unawares. It was near midnight when two came riding back with a woman they had taken captive. "She rode up bold as you please, m'lord, demanding words with you."

Jaime scrambled to his feet. "My lady. I had not thought to see you again so soon." Gods be good, she looks ten years older than when I saw her last. And what' s happened to her face? "That bandage … you've been wounded …"

"A bite." She touched the hilt of her sword, the sword that he had given her. Oathkeeper. "My lord, you gave me a quest."

"The girl. Have you found her?"

"I have," said Brienne, Maid of Tarth. "Where is she?"

"A day's ride. I can take you to her, ser … but you will need to come alone. Elsewise, the Hound will kill her."

Jaime, Dance 48

"Jaime, then? Is it Jaime?"

"No. Jaime is still in the riverlands, somewhere."

"Somewhere?" She did not like the sound of that. "He took Raventree and accepted Lord Blackwood's surrender," said her uncle, "but on his way back to Riverrun he left his tail and went off with a woman."

"A woman?" Cersei stared at him, uncomprehending. "What woman? Why? Where did they go?"

"No one knows. We've had no further word of him. The woman may have been the Evenstar's daughter, Lady Brienne."

Her. The queen remembered the Maid of Tarth, a huge, ugly, shambling thing who dressed in man's mail. Jaime would never abandon me for such a creature. My raven never reached him, elsewise he would have come.

Cersei I, Dance 54

And Cersei is cast down...

"No harm will come to me today," Cersei said when the day's first light brushed her window. "Only my pride will suffer." The words rang hollow in her ears. Jaime may yet come. She pictured him riding through the morning mists, his golden armor bright in the light of the rising sun. Jaime, if you ever loved me …

...

Then it was the soap again, the warm water, and the razor. The hair beneath her arms went next, then her legs, and last of all the fine golden down that covered her mound. When the silent sister crept between her legs with the razor, Cersei found herself remembering all the times that Jaime had knelt where she was kneeling now, planting kisses on the inside of her thighs, making her wet. His kisses were always warm. The razor was ice-cold.

...

Part of her still yearned for Jaime to appear and rescue her from this humiliation, but her twin was nowhere to be seen.

...

Cersei had been a year old when her grandfather died. The first thing her father had done on his ascension was to expel his own father's grasping, lowborn mistress from Casterly Rock. The silks and velvets Lord Tytos had lavished on her and the jewelry she had taken for herself had been stripped from her, and she had been sent forth naked to walk through the streets of Lannisport, so the west could see her for what she was.

Though she had been too young to witness the spectacle herself, Cersei had heard the stories growing up from the mouths of washerwomen and guardsmen who had been there. They spoke of how the woman had wept and begged, of the desperate way she clung to her garments when she was commanded to disrobe, of her futile efforts to cover her breasts and her sex with her hands as she hobbled barefoot and naked through the streets to exile. "Vain and proud she was, before," she remembered one guard saying, "so haughty you'd think she'd forgot she come from dirt. Once we got her clothes off her, though, she was just another whore."

If Ser Kevan and the High Sparrow thought that it would be the same with her, they were very much mistaken. Lord Tywin's blood was in her. I am a lioness. I will not cringe for them.

...

I am beautiful, she reminded himself. How many times had Jaime told her that?

...

"Your Grace." The captain of her escort stepped up beside her. Cersei had forgotten his name. "You must continue. The crowd is growing unruly."

Yes, she thought. Unruly. "I am not afraid—"

"You should be." He yanked at her arm, pulling her along beside him. She staggered down the hill—downward, ever downward—wincing with every step, letting him support her. It should be Jaime beside me. He would draw his golden sword and slash a path right through the mob, carving the eyes out of the head of every man who dared to look at her.

...

I am beautiful, the most beautiful woman in all Westeros, Jaime says so, Jaime would never lie to me. ... I should not have done this. I was their queen, but now they' ve seen, they' ve seen, they've seen. I should never have let them see. Gowned and crowned, she was a queen. Naked, bloody, limping, she was only a woman, not so very different from their wives, more like their mothers than their pretty little maiden daughters. What have I done?

Cersei II, Dance 65

And then, at that precise moment, she recalls (actually, the author reminds the reader of) the prophecy...

There was something in her eyes, stinging, blurring her sight. She could not cry, she would not cry, the worms must never see her weep. Cersei rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. A gust of cold wind made her shiver violently.

And suddenly the hag was there, standing in the crowd with her pendulous teats and her warty greenish skin, leering with the rest, with malice shining from her crusty yellow eyes. "Queen you shall be, " she hissed, "until there comes another, younger and more beautiful, to cast you down and take all you hold most dear. "

And then there was no stopping the tears. They burned down the queen's cheeks like acid. Cersei gave a sharp cry, covered her nipples with one arm, slid her other hand down to hide her slit, and began to run, shoving her way past the line of Poor Fellows, crouching as she scrambled crab-legged up the hill. Partway up she stumbled and fell, rose, then fell again ten yards farther on. The next thing she knew she was crawling, scrambling uphill on all fours like a dog as the good folks of King's Landing made way for her, laughing and jeering and applauding her.

Cersei II, Dance 65

ETA

Around the middle of Game, we learned that Tyrion’s true love, Tysha, sang a song to him...

"Do you know this song?" he asked.

"You hear it here and there, in inns and whorehouses."

"Myrish. ‘The Seasons of My Love.' Sweet and sad, if you understand the words. The first girl I ever bedded used to sing it, and I've never been able to put it out of my head."

Tyrion VI, Game 42

As Tyrion lied near death after the Battle of the Blackwater, we learned a line from the song...

They would kiss for hours, and spend whole days doing no more than lolling in bed, listening to the waves, and touching each other. Her body was a wonder to him, and she seemed to find delight in his. Sometimes she would sing to him. I loved a maid as fair as summer, with sunlight in her hair. "I love you, Tyrion," she would whisper before they went to sleep at night. "I love your lips. I love your voice, and the words you say to me, and how you treat me gentle. I love your face."

Tyrion XV, Clash 67

This was reiterated early in Storm...

"No. If I've given offense, forgive me. I had my own love once, and we had a song as well." I loved a maid as fair as summer, with sunlight in her hair.

Tyrion II, Storm 12

And we recalled Lancel singing the song to Cersei...

Through the door came the soft sound of the high harp, mingled with a trilling of pipes. The singer's voice was muffled by the thick walls, yet Tyrion knew the verse. I loved a maid as fair as summer, he remembered, with sunlight in her hair . . .

Tyrion VI, Clash 25

Interestingly, Tyrion wonders whether Jaime thinks of Cersei with this first verse in mind...

Is this the Cersei that Jaime sees? When she smiled, you saw how beautiful she was, truly. I loved a maid as fair as summer, with sunlight in her hair.

Tyrion VI, Clash 25

We also recalled that he learned what must be the third line of the song...

Shae stood in the door behind him, dressed in the silvery robe he'd given her. I loved a maid as white as winter, with moonglow in her hair.

Tyrion X, Clash 44

Since winter is opposite to summer, Shae is opposite to Tysha. While that caught my eye, it was the second line that made my head turn...

After a time the candle guttered and went out. Moonlight slanted between the slats of the shutters, laying pale silvery bars across her father's face. She could hear the soft whisper of his labored breathing, the endless rush of waters, the faint chords of some love song drifting up from the yard, so sad and sweet. "I loved a maid as red as autumn," Rymund sang, "with sunset in her hair."

Catelyn VII, Clash 55

This was right before Catelyn played matchmaker with Jaime and Brienne the Beauty. So, we have Tyrion and Tysha followed by Tyrion and Shae, and we have Jaime and Cersei followed by Jaime and Brienne.

We can associate Brienne and Sansa to the maiden fair

https://asoiaf.westeros.org/index.php?/topic/143267-the-maiden-fair-and-the-fair-maid-heigh-ho-hey-nonny-hey-sigh-no-more-ladies/ (I wont put it on the page because its too long

. What about the fair maid?

...

"I'll steal a sweet kiss with the point of my blade, heigh-ho, heigh-ho."

...

"I'll make her my love and we'll rest in the shade, heigh-ho, heigh-ho." The song swelled louder with every word.

Arya II, Storm 13

This sure sounds like a murder ballad. So, who gets whacked? Brienne, Sansa, or Arya?

The first time we hear about Off to Gulltown, is at the very beginning of The Hedge Knight...

Quote QuoteThe spring rains had softened the ground, so Dunk had no trouble digging the grave. He chose a spot on the western slope of a low hill, for the old man had always loved to watch the sunset. “Another day done,” he would sigh, “and who knows what the morrow will bring us, eh, Dunk?” Well, one morrow had brought rains that soaked them to the bones, and the one after had brought wet gusty winds, and the next a chill. By the fourth day the old man was too weak to ride. And now he was gone. Only a few days past, he had been singing as they rode, the old song about going to Gulltownto see a fair maid, but instead of Gulltown he’d sung of Ashford. Off to Ashford to see the fair maid, heigh-ho, heigh-ho, Dunk thought miserably as he dug.

When Ser Duncan the Tall arrived at Ashford, "it seemed as though every lordly house of the west and south had sent a knight or three to Ashford to see the fair maid and brave the lists in her honor." She was "a short girl with yellow hair and a round pink face." She did not seem so fair to Dunk, though. "The puppet girl was prettier."

Now, here's what I am digging...

The fair maid reigned as Queen of Love and Beauty. (imagine jaime crowning her as queen of love and beauty

A Beauty! A Beauty!

[readbookywooks]

The Last Stage

It was on May the First that the two came back at last to the brink of the valley of Rivendell, where stood the Last (or the First) Homely House. Again it was evening, their ponies were tired, especially the one that carried the baggage; and they all felt in need of rest. As they rode down the steep path, Bilbo heard the elves still singing in the trees, as if they had not stopped since he left; and as soon as their riders came down into the lower glades of the wood they burst into a song of much the same kind as before. This is something like it: "The dragon is withered, His bones are now crumbled; His armour is shivered, His splendour is humbled! Though sword shall be rusted, And throne and crown perish With strength that men trusted And wealth that they cherish, Here grass is still growing, And leaves are yet swinging, The white water flowing, And elves are yet singing Come! Tra-la-la-lally! Come back to the valley! The stars are far brighter Than gems without measure, The moon is far whiter Than silver in treasure: The fire is more shining On hearth in the gloaming Than gold won by mining, So why go a-roaming? O! Tra-la-la-lally Come back to the Valley. O! Where are you going, So late in returning? The river is flowing, The stars are all burning! O! Whither so laden, So sad and so dreary? Here elf and elf-maiden Now welcome the weary With Tra-la-la-lally Come back to the Valley, Tra-la-la-lally Fa-la-la-lally Fa-la!" Then the elves of the valley came out and greeted them and led them across the water to the house of Elrond. There a warm welcome was made them, and there were many eager ears that evening to hear the tale of their adventures. Gandalf it was who spoke, for Bilbo was fallen quiet and drowsy. Most of the tale he knew, for he had been in it, and had himself told much of it to the wizard on their homeward way or in the house of Beorn; but every now and again he would open one eye, and listen, when a part of the story which he did not yet know came in. It was in this way that he learned where Gandalf had been to; for he overheard the words of the wizard to Elrond. It appeared that Gandalf had been to a great council of the white wizards, masters of lore and good magic; and that they had at last driven the Necromancer from his dark hold in the south of Mirkwood. "Ere long now," Gandalf was saying, "The Forest will grow somewhat more wholesome. The North will be freed from that horror for many long years, I hope. Yet I wish he were banished from the world!" "It would be well indeed," said Elrond; "but I fear that will not come about in this age of the world, or for many after." When the tale of their joumeyings was told, there were other tales, and yet more tales, tales of long ago, and tales. of new things, and tales of no time at all, till Bilbo's head fell forward on his chest, and he snored comfortably in a corner. He woke to find himself in a white bed, and the moon shining through an open window. Below it many elves were singing loud and clear on the banks of the stream. "Sing all ye joyful, now sing all together? The wind's in the free-top, the wind's in the heather; The stars are in blossom, the moon is in flower, And bright are the windows of Night in her tower. Dance all ye joyful, now dance all together! Soft is the grass, and let foot be like feather! The river is silver, the shadows are fleeting; Merry is May-time, and merry our meeting. Sing we now softly, and dreams let us weave him! Wind him in slumber and there let us leave him! The wanderer sleepeth. Now soft be his pillow! Lullaby! Lullaby! Alder and Willow! Sigh no more Pine, till the wind of the morn! Fall Moon! Dark be the land! Hush! Hush! Oak, Ash, and Thorn! Hushed be all water, till dawn is at hand!" "Well, Merry People!" said Bilbo looking out. "What time by the moon is this? Your lullaby would waken a drunken goblin! Yet I thank you." "And your snores would waken a stone dragon - yet we thank you," they answered with laughter. "It is drawing towards dawn, and you have slept now since the night's beginning. Tomorrow, perhaps, you will be cured of weariness." "A little sleep does a great cure in the house of Elrond," said he; "but I will take all the cure I can get. A second good night, fair friends!" And with that he went back to bed and slept till late morning. Weariness fell from him soon in that house, and he had many a merry jest and dance, early and late, with the elves of the valley. Yet even that place could not long delay him now, and he thought always of his own home. After a week, therefore, he said farewell to Elrond, and giving him such small gifts as he would accept, he rode away with Gandalf. Even as they left the valley the sky darkened in the West before them, and wind and rain came up to meet them. "Merry is May-time!" said Bilbo, as the rain beat into his face. "But our back is to legends and we are coming home. I suppose this is a first taste of it." "There is a long road yet," said Gandalf. "But it is the last road," said Bilbo. They came to the river that marked the very edge of the borderland of the Wild, and to the ford beneath the steep bank, which you may remember. The water was swollen both with the melting of the snows at the approach of summer, and with the daylong rain; but they crossed with some difficulty, and pressed forward, as evening fell, on the last stage of their journey. This was much as it had been before, except that the company was smaller, and more silent; also this time there were no trolls. At each point on the road Bilbo recalled the happenings and the words of a year ago-it seemed to him more like ten-so that, of course, he quickly noted the place where the pony had fallen in the river, and they had turned aside for their nasty adventure with Tom and Bert and Bill. Not far from the road they found the gold of the trolls, which they had buried, still hidden and untouched. "I have enough to last me my time," said Bilbo, when they had dug it up. "You had better take this, Gandalf. I daresay you can find a use for it." "Indeed I can!" said the wizard. "But share and share alike! You may find you have more needs than you expect." So they put the gold in bags and slung them on the ponies, who were not at all pleased about it. After that their going was slower, for most of the time they walked. But the land was green and there was much grass through which the hobbit strolled along contentedly. He mopped his face with a red silk handkerchief-no! not a single one of his own had survived, he had borrowed this one from Elrond -for now June had brought summer, and the weather was bright and hot again. As all things come to an end, even this story, a day came at last when they were in sight of the country where Bilbo had been born and bred, where the shapes of the land and of the trees were as well known to him as his hands and toes. Coming to a rise he could see his own Hill in the distance, and he stopped suddenly and said: "Roads go ever ever on, Over rock and under tree, By caves where never sun has shone, By streams that never find the sea; Over snow by winter sown, And through the merry flowers of June, Over grass and over stone, And under mountains in the moon. Roads go ever ever on Under cloud and under star, Yet feet that wandering have gone Turn at last to home afar. Eyes that fire and sword have seen And horror in the halls of stone Look at last on meadows green And trees and hills they long have known." Gandalf looked at him. "My dear Bilbo!" he said. "Something is the matter with you! You are not the hobbit that you were." And so they crossed the bridge and passed the mill by the river and came right back to Bilbo's own door. "Bless me! What's going on?" he cried. There was a great commotion, and people of all sorts, respectable and unrespectable, were thick round the door, and many were going in and out-not even wiping their feet on the mat, as Bilbo noticed with annoyance. If he was surprised, they were more surprised still. He had arrived back in the middle of an auction! There was a large notice in black and red hung on the gate, stating that on June the Twenty-second Messrs. Grubb, Grubb, and Bun-owes would sell by auction the effects of the late Bilbo Baggins Esquire, of Bag-End, Underhill, Hobbiton. Sale to commence at ten o'clock sharp. It was now nearly lunch-time, and most of the things had already been sold, for various prices from next to nothing to old songs (as is not unusual at auctions). Bilbo's cousins the Sackville-Bagginses were, in fact, busy measuring his rooms to see if their own furniture would fit. In short Bilbo was "Presumed Dead," and not everybody that said so was sorry to find the presumption wrong. The return of Mr. Bilbo Baggins created quite a disturbance, both under the Hill and over the Hill, and across the Water; it was a great deal more than a nine days' wonder. The legal bother, indeed, lasted for years. It was quite a long time before Mr. Baggins was in fact admitted to be alive again. The people who had got specially good bargains at the Sale took a deal of convincing; and in the end to sav6 time Bilbo had to buy back quite a lot of his own furniture. Many of his silver spoons mysteriously disappeared and were never accounted for. Personally he suspected the Sackville-Bagginses. On their side they never admitted that the returned Baggins was genuine, and they were not on friendly terms with Bilbo ever after. They really had wanted to live inhis nice hobbit-hole so very much. Indeed Bilbo found he had lost more than spoons - he had lost his reputation. It is true that for ever after he remained an elf-friend, and had the honour of dwarves, wizards, and all such folk as ever passed that way; but he was no longer quite respectable. He was in fact held by all the hobbits of the neighbourhood to be 'queer'-except by his nephews and nieces on the Took side, but even they were not encouraged in their friendship by their elders. I am sorry to say he did not mind. He was quite content; and the sound of the kettle on his hearth was ever after more musical than it had been even in the quiet days before the Unexpected Party. His sword he hung over the mantelpiece. His coat of mail was arranged on a stand in the hall (until he lent it to a Museum). His gold and silver was largely spent in presents, both useful and extravagant - which to a certain extent accounts for the affection of his nephews and his nieces. His magic ring he kept a great secret, for he chiefly used it when unpleasant callers came. He took to writing poetry and visiting the elves; and though many shook their heads and touched their foreheads and said "Poor old Baggins!" and though few believed any of his tales, he remained very happy to the end of his days, and those were extraordinarily long. One autumn evening some years afterwards Bilbo was sitting in his study writing his memoirs - he thought of calling them "There and Back Again, a Hobbit's Holiday" - when there was a ring at the door. It was Gandalf and a dwarf; and the dwarf was actually Balin. "Come in! Come in!" said Bilbo, and soon they were settled in chairs by the fire. If Balin noticed that Mr. Baggins' waistcoat was more extensive (and had real gold buttons), Bilbo also noticed that Balm's beard was several inches longer, and his jewelled belt was of great magnificence. They fell to talking of their times together, of course, and Bilbo asked how things were going in the lands of the Mountain. It seemed they were going very well. Bard had rebuilt the town in Dale and men had gathered to him from the Lake and from South and West, and all the valley had become tilled again and rich, and the desolation was now filled with birds and blossoms in spring and fruit and feasting in autumn. And Lake-town was refounded and was more prosperous than ever, and much wealth went up and down the Running River; and there was friendship in those parts between elves and dwarves and men. The old Master had come to a bad end. Bard had given him much gold for the help of the Lake-people, but being of the kind that easily catches such disease he fell under the dragon-sickness, and took most of the gold and fled with it, and died of starvation in the Waste, deserted by his companions. "The new Master is of wiser kind," said Balin, "and very popular, for, of course, he gets most of the credit for the present prosperity. They are making songs which say that in his day the rivers run with gold." "Then the prophecies of the old songs have turned out to be true, after a fashion!" said Bilbo. "Of course!" said Gandalf. "And why should not they prove true? Surely you don't disbelieve the prophecies, because you had a hand in bringing them about yourself? You don't really suppose, do you, that all your adventures and escapes were managed by mere luck, just for your sole benefit? You are a very fine person, Mr. Baggins, and I am very fond of you; but you are only quite a little fellow in a wide world after all!" "Thank goodness!" said Bilbo laughing, and handed him the tobacco-jar.