#mordor if you squint

[ghost-proofbaby]

the epilogue!! I hadn't even had chance to gush about hour 24 and the epilogue is already here! both are just so amazing. I'm actually really glad for the time difference because I have woken up in the best mood now because of this🖤🖤

Him coming straight back for her in the last hour was just perfect. They get thier movie moment and it's so satisfying, 'I'm not very good with giving you space, it seems' 😍 very Edward Cullen 'I'm tired of trying to stay away from you' and I mean that as a huge compliment because I really did love twilight back in the day 🙈 And then the way she kisses him in between talking smack about him, just like he did to her the first time! Think this was my favourite part, besides her slapping Steve and Eddie immediately becoming scary dog. Or maybe Steve getting all flustered at the thought of them doing stuff. All of it was just perfect. Did the ending change for you as you continued writing, or did you have it planned that way from the beginning? I love how he uses the same line from the prologue, 'the feelings mutual' don't mind me, just swooning over here 🖤

And then the epilogue! Awe my gosh it was the perfect mix of everything that's happened in this fic. The pining and yearning is still there because they're hiding it from the others, both of them wanting to just come clean and be out in the open with eachother but not being ready. And her hiding how she's in love with him now. Hiding it from their friends because she's still hiding how she feels about him. Genius. And then the humour and just how well they fit together and how they sass eachother. I love it so much. Plus the smut 🔥 the best part of the smut, the part he was more desperate for than anything else when they were in his kitchen. Loved that you did that. Hot and romantic all at once 🖤

Eddie being so worried about keeping it from Nancy was really sweet, it makes it really clear that their friendship is such a good one, like when R says later on about them combining the best parts of eachother. Plus Nancy just knowing that things had changed. Maybe due Eddie's sudden lack of pining about R to her. Or just that it's in her nature to notice things. It's a really great part of this story, Steve and Robin's friendship is obviously written a ton due to the show, but I really like how you gave Eddie a similar platonic relationship of his own. I also like how Nancy confirms that Eddie talked about her a whole lot, even when sober. mainly because of Steve saying to her during that phone call that Eddie didn't really talk about her at all, it just wasn't to Steve.

The photo! 😍 Aaahh this was so precious. Him mentioning pictures especially at the phone shop and then him choosing that photo as his lock screen, he's just so slushy for her I can't stand it. found it hilarious that he purposefully let her wear his shirt to meet them, maybe wanting her to be the one to out them, but then it's him showing off the phone 🤣 and then neither of them are really sorry for it. My heart is bursting!

But. My absolute favourite part of this was the flashback to when he goes to get her, how she explains that she doesn't want or need to start over. That their past is just as important as their future and they shouldn't disregard it or forget. Not to hold on to the awful parts but because it means they know eachother now. At least that's how I take it, her saying that felt just as important as her 'I love you'. Making him realise again that even with all that they went through she'd never want to forget him or not chose him, like he was so worried about from the very start. It was the perfect thing to say to him. Such great writing, honestly.

I can't believe it's over already! You should be so proud, 100% not too much or unrealistic. Perfect. I'm so glad we all watched a random Netflix show and it inspired all this. Can't wait to get stuck back into Mordor and catch up. Much love! 🖤🖤

bat 😭😭😭

i can’t explain how much your long comments have always made my day, not even just with this fic but with shire as well. the fact you take time out of your day to let me into your brain after you’ve read just makes my lil writer’s heart so happy. it’s like, i kinda cracked open my skull and went “hey, here’s what’s inside!” and you just don’t hesitate to do the same right back and gah 😭 thank you so fucking much. i adore you.

there is so much to say here, but you pretty much hit all of the nails on the head. yes, 1000% i adored giving nancy and eddie that platonic friendship similar to robin and steve (nancy deserves to have more guy friends who aren’t turned into love interests in my opinion), i loved writing how eddie and r’s dynamic both changed but also really managed to stay the same, and i really loved bringing that flashback up. i think that’s the important part: they can’t erase that night. it’s part of their story. if i were r, i wouldn’t want to erase it — eddie may have already been in love with her, but that night was her getting to fall in love with him (or at least begin to).

as for the question of how the ending changed… the short answer is, no. i always knew i wanted to end with them on a good note. choosing each other despite all the shit that went down.

but the long answer? yes, it changed so very much. originally, hour 24’s events would be the epilogue. originally, the final hours between those two were going to be very angsty. for a very long time, eddie’s confession was going to be very different. a lot more vague and lot more left unsaid. there was meant to be an entire hour that would only be a singular line of “eddie didn’t return to the apartment for the entire hour.” in which he completely walked out on her after indirectly admitting he was in love with her.

the honest truth is i got more attached to their story than i had planned. similar situation has happened with mordor. i tend to plan a lot of my fics to have fairly sad/angsty endings, and i’ve always been that way as a writer in every fandom i’ve ever been in, but something about eddie makes it impossible for me to not give him a happy ending.

in every timeline, in every universe, in every situation — i just want to give him a happy ending.

and maybe some of my fics would be more epic or impactful if i stuck with those sad endings, but i think eddie went through enough in canon, and i think real life is cruel enough as it is. i think we all deserve soft epilogues. i think eddie deserves them, those of us who write him deserve them, and those of us who read the stories deserve them. idk. i’m getting a little overly sentimental but… yeah. i think i just want to write 100 happy endings for this fictional idiot, probably more, and i hope you all enjoy it as much as i do.

cheers to the fact we all decided to watch this random netflix show, and cheers to all the beauty and wonderfulness, all the love, that has come from it. 🥂🖤

[queers-gambit]

Bait and Switch

prompt: ( requested ) Adar knows you by surname and reputation, but makes a fatal mistake: underestimating the mutual desire to reunite with your husband.

pairing: Elrond x female!wife!reader -> hair color specified reader that does not specify race

fandom masterlist: The Rings of Power

word count: 7.7k+

note: did i steal the Targaryen hair color? "obviously," - Severus Snape. but don't let HOTD's wigs fool you - this hair color is NOT indicative of race.

warnings: reader insert for the haters, spoilers, cursing, angst, hurt and comfort, fuck tone of ellipsis 'cause Adar talks slow. POW!Reader (prisoner of war), violence, blood, injury, depiction of medical phenomenon (cauterization), slight gore (Reader bites off an Orc finger). healthy family dynamics, embedded Aragorn quote, Middle-earth fire is hotter than reality so JUST. roll. with. it. okay? okay. also, this requires a lot of imagination 'cause author invents really random lore but have fun with it. not edited, author can't see straight so what the fuck is this?

incarnate: embody or represent (a diety or spirit) in human form

"We found an Elf still alive, Lord Father!"

Adar watched lazily as one of his children stood over a body covered by toxic volcanic ash; twitching as it regained consciousness. "Kill it," he answered simply. The Orc snarled in pleasure and bent to grab the Elf's head; gripping their hair aggressively, yanking their head up - possibly snapping the Elf's spine - and lifted his blade in the air. However, the clump of hair was familiar and suddenly, Adar was barking, "Wait!"

Not many Elves had this particular hair color. It was dyed from soot and ash, but he could recognize the bright, platinum white-blonde hair. While some Elves were extremely fair yellow-blonde, this was white - like the purest of snows. And Adar only knew this trait belonged to one single bloodline.

The Incarnated, a single brood blessed by the Valar to give them unnatural strength and skill in battle. They were impressive, formidable foes; and typically, never lost a fight, battle, or war. They were absolutely brutish, almost impossible to kill, yet humble, generous, and kind.

Their aim always found the bullseye. Broadswords able to sever bone. Morality skewed more positive than simple neutrality. Silver tongues sharpened to prick the ears that listen.

However, it should be noted that even the Incarnated cannot withstand against the eruption of a volcano.

The Orc snarled with confusion now, hissing through his bloody teeth but not lowering the Elf. Adar strolled over, glaring at their captive, but slowly lowering himself to a squat as the Orc presented his finding. Adar's eyes squinted, reaching out and musing the trademark locks out of the Elf's face; smirking as he caressed her cheek free of ash.

He growled your name, sight still hazy from the eruption of what will later be known as Mount Doom - yet could still recognize sounds. Slowly, you blinked and tried to focus, groaning as pain in your scalp burned and prickled; spine bowed from the horribly painful position.

"Adar?" You whispered in confusion.

"You remember me."

You scoffed, slurring slightly, "You left quite a lasting impression."

His hand dropped to push hair from your neck and shoulder, revealing a long blemish from his dagger years ago. "And here we meet yet again," Adar chuckled. "Release her," he told his child, who instantly dropped you with a grunt; ash puffing up on impact. "Come," Adar offered his hand as you tried to sit up with trembling limbs, "we've still farther to go."

"Fuck you," you seethed, spitting at him; ready for the pain to end after the displacement and turmoil of your people. You had been with the Númenoreans, along with Commander Galadriel, and this... "King" Halbrand; celebrating victory against Adar's first volley of Orcs when the explosion happened; spewing toxicity into the earth, through the air, and evidently, over the area to distinguish what will be known as Mordor.

"Hm," Adar considered your weak form, chuckling. "Get her up," he commanded, standing, and watching as chains were slapped to your wrists and ankles before being tossed into a bloody, maggot-infested, wood-rotting wagon.

Seemingly eons away, Elrond was being informed of your assumed demise. Your husband refused to believe it, but by the solemn look of the messenger, his greatest companion, Galadriel, he knew there was weighted truth to her words.

"Did you see her?" Elrond asked.

"See her fall? No - "

"Did you even look for her?"

"Of course we did, but it was too dangerous to linger longer than what we'd been there for."

Elrond's head shook, "No. No... I won't believe it - "

"I know it's difficult to accept, but... She's gone, Elrond."

"I would know if my wife is dead," Elrond snarled uncharacteristically. "Believe what you wish, but I know she still lives."

Galadriel knew better than to argue; she, herself, spent years of denial after Sauron murdered her brother, Finrod. So she gave Elrond space to process what he'd learned.

Yet while a circumstantially redeeming quality, Elrond was stubborn and confident in his morals and opinions. So, he refused to believe your life was lost; something in his gut twisted knowingly, assuring you were just misplaced and surely, soon to be home. Elrond knew you had a flair for the dramatic, so, he just prayed this was one of those times - where you wouldn't reappear until the very last second to make an entrance.

Yet Adar took every precaution to ensure you did not escape or could be rescued. He didn't parade you around, he kept you hidden away to prevent gossip from revealing your location. You were constantly left chained to posts by rusting irons, no comfort offered, no reprieve; nothing to pass your annoying suffering a little easier. You were fed just enough to be kept alive, you were allowed to wash yourself with a single cloth every few weeks - but typically with an Orcish audience watching, claiming they're "on duty". You lost use of your tongue after so many months had passed without a single indication aid had been deployed - hope shattered and futile.

You wondered if Elrond knew. You worried he thought you lost to the war. In vain, you prayed he didn't give up on you. However, you were logical and logic screamed at you that nobody would come - there was no point! You would've believed being told someone perished, too, if you heard of such circumstances.

Despite being an Incarnated, you were emotionally drained. Though, it's worth noting that under normal circumstances, you would've NEVER ended up in this position; but because of your vulnerable state and the opportunity was too good to pass up, Adar prided himself on "defeating you". He didn't know that you were beyond patient; waiting, observing, listening, leaning routines and schedules. Any opportunity you identified, you searched for anything that could help you escape; something sharp, small enough to pick the lock of your irons. You were Incarnated - your will to survive (even out of pure spite) rivaled that of any enemy.

Camp to camp, you were moved. Day by day, you lost a little more sanity. Nights grew cold, days short.

You were surprised when a pair of Orcs lumbered into "your" room, unlocking you from the post but keeping the chains on your wrists in place. They yanked you behind them, shoved you into Adar's tented shelter then forced you to your knees before the food-filled banquet table.

"And of course, there's her," Adar waved at you lazily, smirking when his newest prisoner of war sat forward with a gobsmacked expression.

She whispered your name, head snapping up to find your companion, Commander Galadriel, sat at the opposite head of the table to Adar. You smiled slightly and whispered her name softly, aware of your appearance and how straggly, despondent, and wary you must look.

"What is the meaning of this?" Galadriel demanded, the emotion in her thick voice making it crack.

"We found her," Adar smirked, "after you and your people abandoned her."

"We did not - "

"She's been... An honored guest of ours," Adar cut Galadriel off. "Her hair - it's a rare trait, I knew who she was when she was found. Figured she could truly help... Turn the tides in this war."

"You do not know what you've done," Galadriel breathed. "If her kin knew you held her, they would raze your camp into the dirt and return your children to darkness."

"You think... I do not understand the risks of holding an Incarnated? I have faced them before, known their wrath... But against Sauron, it was a necessary risk to take."

"Why?"

"You must see," Adar explained, "that it is not His lies which must be extinguished. It. Is. Him." He paused, revealing, "And I can help you do it." Adar leaned forward in his chair, "I can help you destroy Sauron, and should you value your friend's life, you will let me help you."

"What help could you possibly provide, Orc?" Galadriel spat, now leaned back casually in the chair Adar sat her in.

"Uruk," Adar corrected in Black Speech, standing from his seat to venture towards the side of the room. He stood before a plain wooden box, lifting the lid, and revealing in his hands:

"Morgoth's crown," Galadriel sat up. "I was told - "

"There are many stories of what happened after the Silmarils were pried from its setting," Adar validated. "But I was there when Sauron re-fired it to fit Himself. I was there when He kneeled to be crowned. And I was the one who used its power to slay Him."

Adar set the crown to the table, your stomach growling at the sight and smell of full platters.

"If what you say is true... Why did He return?" Galadriel asked.

"Because I had not yet found you, as I have her," he gestured at you.

"What part are we to play in this?"

"It is said the Three Elven Rings saved your people from fading. Is it true?" When Galadriel didn't answer, Adar nodded at one of his children standing over you; making the Orc bash you in the temple. "Is it true?" Adar repeated over your whimper of pain.

"Yes," Galadriel grit, glaring at the small dribble of fresh blood dripping down the side of your face. She decided red wasn't your color - no matter how much your husband liked seeing you in it.

"Then perhaps... Together, this crown and your Rings would be powerful enough to truly destroy Sauron forever. The Deceiver believes he is still beyond my grasp... But I know he hides in Eregion. And I suspect you know for certain... Halbrand is Sauron... Isn't he?"

You laughed a little, "Halbrand? Sauron? Come off it, you're mistaken. Go on, Commander, tell him - tell him." Galadriel was silent as she was overwhelmed by her memories. "Commander, tell him he's wrong! Halbrand isn't Sauron, tell him he's mistaken!"

Adar mistook the silence as her being defiant, nodding to his son again in permission. So, the Orc swiftly backhanded you with enough force, it literally toppled you backwards with a groan.

"I kept her alive... For you," Adar growled, bearing his teeth at the Elleth. "But I'll execute her at nightfall if you continue down this path of resistance. The fate of that city and your friend now rests on your ability to put aside your pride." Galadriel's teary eyes casted over you, sprawled out on the floor - not finding the use in sitting up to your knees again. "I suggest you find the will to do so... If you can, for everyone's sake." Adar removed the crown from the table and placed it back in its box, Galadriel hissing your name, only receiving a nonverbal thumbs up to indicate you were okay. When the Father of Uruks returned, he clipped matching irons to Galadriel's wrist before snatching up his sword, tossing over his shoulder, "We will speak again. I'll give you until nightfall to decide."

The Orcs filed out of the room after Adar, leaving you on the ground and chained to a spare post. Slowly, you tried to sit up and use the beam as support; grimacing in pain that made your friend question, "Are you hurt?"

"They're not the most merciful lot," you tried to joke with a smirk, but it turned into a wince, "but I've been through worse, I'll be fine. Listen to me, Galadriel," you sniffled, "you can't tell Adar anything. I don't care if he's gutting me, you don't tell him - "

"I would not have your life ended on my account, it would be as if swinging the sword myself!" Galadriel argued with heat.

"Adar is not your ally," you scoffed, "nor are the Orcs - look at what they've done! Continue to do! Do not be so foolish! So blinded, please, I beg you, my friend. If you tell him about Sauron, yes, your enemy might be vanquished, but you could be creating an entirely new and future enemy that all of Middle-earth must endure. My life is not worth that."

"It's worth more."

You smirked, "Don't forget who I am, friend; I am Incarnated, and I will not die easily nor without a fight. Adar will not succeed in my death so easily."

Galadriel shook her head, "If I do not indulge Adar with information I have and you lose your life because of that, Elrond would never forgive me."

You gave a watery smile, sniffling, "How is he?"

The Elf shook her head, "He's... He refuses to accept your fate, operates on a shorter fuse, he's mourning - even if he doesn't acknowledge or believe he is."

"It's not that I don't love you, my friend, but... I'll miss him the most," you let a single tear fall, a wistful smile toying on your lips. "You'll look out for him, won't you? Just... Just don't let him be alone, please. He'll try to push you away, but be patient; he'll need you and I'll rest easier knowing you'll be there."

"I won't do as you ask," Galadriel grit. "Look at you!"

"How can you be so confident that the moment you tell Adar what he wants to know, he won't kill me anyway?"

"Because Adar appears a man of rationality - unlike Sauron - "

You scoffed, "None of them are rational, Galadriel! They have their own agendas - and none of them benefit the likes of us! Don't tell him anything else, I don't care if he's gutting me like a pig, you don't say anything!"

"I can't agree to that," Galadriel shook her head, "I won't, not when there's a chance we can both get out of this alive."

"And if we survive just to witness the eradication of our people!?" Galadriel was silent, bowing her head. With a sigh, you asked, "Where's Nenya?"

"Safe with Elrond."

"Oh?" You chuckled. "How'd that happen? You have to break his finger off to put it on?"

Galadriel gave a breathy chuckle, "He needed a bit of convincing, but with the greater good at stake - he was left no choice."

With a smirk of amusement, you nodded slowly, then requested, "Could you promise me something decently reasonable?"

"I can try."

"If you make it outta here and I don't - "

"Do not say that!"

"Galadriel, just - stop for a moment and listen to me, please. If you get out of here and I do not, tell Elrond what happened. Tell him Adar found me after the volcano erupted, kept me prisoner, and that I tried." Tears brimmed your waterline, "Tell him I tried to escape, to get back to him... But if I don't make it and you do, please, tell him I love him - more than anything. Tell him I'll wait for him on white shores."

"Tell him yourself."

As promised, when night fell, Adar returned. His second in command, Glüg, approached you with a brandished sword and laid it at your neck with a cruel and twisted expression.

"Have you made your decision?" Adar questioned, Galadriel looking between him and the threat to your life. "Choose wisely, or I'll let my children bleed her; right here, right now. Tell me what I've asked."

"Don't tell him shit, Galadriel!" You barked in a last ditch effort, earning a balled-up-armored fist to rock your jaw. You spit a glob of blood to the side, snarling at Glüg, "You hit like like a bitch." He spit on you.

With a huff, Galadriel exposed, "Yes, Halbrand is Sauron. He's in Eregion to craft Rings that will allow Him to dominate my kind... And yours."

"Every kind in Middle-earth," Adar corrected.

Quickly, Galadriel rushed, "But He will not attempt escape until His task is complete. And that gives us a momentary advantage."

"'Us'?" The Father repeated.

"Unlock me."

"Galadriel! Think for a second!" You snapped, but Glüg pressed his blade deeper into your throat. You seethed, frustrated and angry tears turning suffocating. Adar approached your friend, eyes trained on her, causing the Elleth to look away in discomfort as Adar undid the iron cuff on Galadriel's wrist.

"As we speak, Y/N's husband, Elrond, hastens from Lindon with an army of Elves..." She boldly looked at Adar, you struggling against the blade at the sound of Elrond's name, "And Nenya, my Ring."

"Galadriel! Stop, don't say another word! Silence yourself!" You begged, whimpering shrilly when blood flowed from Glüg's disgustingly dirty blade.

"I see," Adar turned from the Elf.

You were ignored and Galadriel rose from her seat, following Adar while continuing, "Once he arrives, he will seal off the city, loose Celebrimbor from Sauron's grasp, and then together... Uruk, you and I will eradicate all trace of Sauron from this world. Never to return."

"And what then?" Adar questioned.

"Any Ring that have known his touch must be destroyed."

"I meant, what then for the Uruk? Will your High King permit us to return home in peace? Or will he proceed with his plans to invade Mordor? The shadow has not only overcome you, it has overcome all of Elvendom. In the end, your drive to prove your virtue will work right into Sauron's designs."

"You speak lies," Galadriel whispered as if in disbelief. "Hoping I will reveal something."

"You have already revealed everything I hoped you would and more."

You groaned and tossed your head back into the beam; a harsh thump echoing as Adar charged out of the tent with Galadriel and Glüg on his heels.

"Where are you taking her!?" Galadriel struggled in her restraints, unable to stray far from her seat as two Orcs entered the tent and began unclipping your irons. You didn't fight them, rolling your tired eyes as they began dragging you out on your backside. "NO! NO! Where are you taking her!?" Galadriel sobbed, on her feet, trying to follow.

"Remember your promise," you told her, forcing yourself to find contentment that your friend could be the last friendly image your brain would register.

"No, please! Please! You will not profit from her death! I have told you what your Father wanted, now release her! Her death will not profit you, but instead, will bring about your utter ruin! Please! Y/N!"

The Orcs ignored Galadriel's pleas, dragging you from the tent and amongst the snarling, snapping Orcs. Adar stood before a cart big enough for a single prisoner, smirking, giving his children command in Black Speech to load you inside. He watched, telling you, "Galadriel says your husband is on his way with an army. Surely, the sight of his wife might give Commander Elrond pause. The knowledge that you're alive will bring him to my table."

You were strung up by your arms, spread in exposure, tarps thrown over the cage to effectively cut you off from the rest of the world. You felt the cage rattle as you were lugged through mud. You couldn't identify hardly anything... Until a familiar horn bellowed in the short distance, making your chest tighten. While excited by the prospect of a rescue, you loathed the idea of Elrond running head first into a trap.

Your Elven ears picked up on the sound of thundering horse hooves, knowing your people (kin, too) were charging towards Adar's army; who were swiftly gathering in organized ranks. Your cage came to a halt, and a moment later, you flinched when the front-facing tarp was ripped down and the light above Eregion glared down on you. You were greeted with the sight of your husband surging closer on horseback, time seemingly slowing when your eyes locked and he registered who Adar's prisoner was.

You flinched when an Orc pressed the tip of their blade into your already injured neck, reopening a wound to send a single stream of blood steadily flowing.

"Halt!" Elrond called in Sindarin, the entire procession coming to an almost synchronized halt. He sized up the enemy, but kept letting his eyes glaze over you - disbelief coloring his expression. Elrond's horse stamped in place, Adar stepping forward to speak.

"Welcome, Commander Elrond."

"Y/N!" A voice shouted from the army, Elrond's head snapping over in time to see your siblings - three brothers, two sisters - dismounting their horses.

"Wait, wait!" Elrond barked at them, holding a hand up; your siblings halting themselves.

"Wise," Adar taunted, your irons noisily rattling when you tried to adjust your stance.

In Sindarin, you called to your eldest brother, "Do what needs done, do not spare my life for this foolishness! Take them down! Be done with it! Rid us of their filth!"

"I should think... Commander Elrond would like to hear my proposal first," Adar told you casually.

"I think they should put you and children in the dirt!" You spat, earning several snarls, growls, and hisses from the surrounding Orcs.

Elrond encouraged his horse forward, standing in the sunlight highlighting 'no man's land'. He glared at Adar, but asked you, "Are you hurt?"

"Only my ego," you assured.

His eyes flickered over to Adar, then nodded, "I will hear you first."

"You're wasting your time," you told him in Sindarin.

"On you, it's not a waste," he answered stiffly, almost angrily. "I would have her set free for the duration of our parlay."

"But of course," Adar agreed, being carted away at his Blackened command. Due to the tarps hanging over the other 3 sides of your prison, you lost sight of Elrond; forced to blindly follow instruction and behave.

The Elves were not permitted weapons in the Uruk camp.

Elrond dismounted his horse with Vorohil and your eldest brother, Iallion, who insisted on going to gauge your state, in time to watch the Orcs yank you from the cart and drag you into a tent as if your legs were of no use. It was all he needed to know to understand your treatment the past few months you've been 'missing'. His hand clapped Adar's shoulder before the Father of Orcs could pass him by, snarling, "If I come to learn you've been mistreating my wife, I assure you, there will be consequences."

Adar just chuckled and lead the way into his tent. Several Orcs shoved Elrond's shoulder and forced him, his second-in-command, and your brother to follow.

Inside, Elrond noted the walls lined with Orcs, all surrounding their prisoners of war - you and Commander Galadriel. The blonde Elleths were shackled to the same post, both standing, though, you were leaning into the beam for support as it appeared you could not stand on your own. When you noted their arrival, you perked up slightly, but not enough to wash away the worry he felt.

Elrond was offered a seat, just staring down Adar, who began, "The Ring you carry... Show it to me."

Elrond snarled, "Show me the care you've taken of my wife."

"She is perfectly healthy... As you can see. The Ring, Commander..."

Elrond glared for several long minutes, then answered, "A foolish act if I had brought it here."

"You are a courtier," Adar pointed out. "More suited to wielding a scroll than a sword."

"You've never seen me wield either."

"And yet," Adar's head cocked slightly, "I have faced the Incarnated and won. Beside Sauron, there's none alive... Entitled to those rights."

Iallion demanded in a snarl, "How came you by my sister? You say you won against her - where?"

"Didn't win a fucking thing! The bastards found me; facedown in volcanic soot after the battle with the Númenoreans. I told you to keep charging - you should've kept charging," you answered, earning a swift kick to the back of your knee; making it buckle and ram the post.

"Touch her again and I'll slaughter everyone in here," Elrond threatened.

"You so much as twitch - "

"And one of your children shall kill me? My wife? My men? You think I am not aware of that fact, do you honestly think I wouldn't risk life and limb for my wife? Do not. Touch. Her."

Adar just stared at Elrond, then nodded, "Fair enough. Though, if she speaks again... Cut out her tongue."

Elrond, Iallion, and Vorohil all sat forward when Glüg's blade chimed as it was deployed from the sheath; another couple Orcs shuffling and snarling forward to box you in. Your eyes rolled when the same dagger pressed unforgivingly to the pulse point beneath the hinge of your jaw.

Adar continued, "Sauron is my enemy as much as yours... Give me what I need to defeat Him and let us be rid of Him."

"Is it not you that has done his bidding by laying siege to Eregion?" Elrond countered.

"Eregion has fallen into shadow... It belongs to the Deceiver now, as does every Elf within its walls."

"Not Lord Celebrimbor," your husband tried to refuted, desperate to believe there was still some good left to fight for.

"It was Celebrimbor himself who welcomed Sauron in. You cannot save him... You can...save...them," Adar explained, naturally making Elrond look to you still held at knife point. Galadriel was uncharacteristically silent, chained to the same post, facing one another. "It is an earnest offer... I suggest you take it," punctuated Adar before he rose from his chair. "And leave Sauron to me..."

"Right, 'cause that worked sooo well last time," you scoffed, making every Elven eye widen in surprised shock. "You're the reason He still lives, you're forcing us all to do your bidding and fight against Him!" When an Orc's hand rose in a sudden movement to grip your chin - intending to hold open so Glüg could amputate your tongue - you simply reacted out of panic by erratically whipping your head to the side in time to catch the Orc's hand. His pointer finger landed between your teeth, too slow on the draw; losing the finger to the single, incredible chomp as if a root vegetable.

The Orc screamed in pain, spitting the finger and causing black blood to coat your lips like sadistic make-up.

"Lord Father - "

Adar silenced Glüg with a hand in the air, the injured Orc being escorted from the tent; hissing at you in a way that made you smirk. The Father of Orcs glanced at you, demanding, "Quiet," before slowly moved around the banquet table. He complimented Elrond, "You have the beauty of your foremother, Melian of the Valar. If even a fragment of her wisdom is in your veins... You must know you cannot defeat me in battle. I will outmaneuver you... My forces outfight yours... And you will fall."

"Not before you have painted the sands of the Glanduin black," Elrond stood to meet Adar, "with the blood of your kin."

You smirked slightly, always having faith Elrond would choose responsibility over emotion - something Galadriel was increasingly struggling with and unable to master. Glüg lowered his blade when he heard Elrond's threat - thinking this war was meant to played with strategy, not overwhelming numbers that would discard Orcish life without thought or consideration.

Adar assured, "My children have endured cruelties your bravest couldn't bear to hear spoken aloud."

"Are you prepared to spend their lives so freely... Adar?" Elrond questioned, using the Uruk's name as if an insult. "Are they?" He asked the room, letting his eyes bore into those of few Orcs to truly drive his words and plant seeds of doubt.

Adar didn't respond, pausing, then demanding, "You may haggle over Galadriel... But it's the Ring for your wife's life. What is it to be?"

Elrond's eyes locked with yours, noting the way your head shook. He slowly stalked around Adar, his hand unsuspectingly unclipping the decorative detail of his cloak's shoulder broach. His teary gaze lifted to lock with yours, portraying his apology and grief, then turning to Adar, "Ask me on the field, when the neck with a blade against it is yours."

Orcs hissed.

"Very well," Adar accepted, sounding genuinely disappointed. "I suppose not all vows are kept sacred... I will meet you there... With your wife's head on a pike."

Elrond held Adar's attention, relenting, "If that is to be the way of things, I should like to bid her farewell."

Adar's eyes shifted to Glüg's over Elrond's shoulder, the Orc assuring, "He's unarmed."

Interesting, you mused to yourself, he saw Elrond's broach but doesn't report it? Perhaps this war caused tension among their legion - beginning to question the man they followed.

After Adar's nod, Elrond turned to approach the beam in record break time. "My love," he greeted softly, tears evident and ready to spill. You both just stared at each other, unable to accept or process being within proximity to one another after being apart for so long - and only now, reunited to say goodbye. "Forgive me," Elrond whispered in Sindarin.

"Win," you answered in a matching hushed volume. "And if you don't, meet me on white shores."

He nodded, hand lifted to caress your cheek in disbelief; shuddering at the feel of your flesh. "I've missed you past the point of words, my star," he frowned.

"No more than I you."

You snuggled into his hand, stomach lurching when he leaned forward to press his final kiss to your lips. It wasn't passionate, but something chaste for show only; your chained hands reaching to hold his free one as it was all you could reach. The broach's center was pressed to your palm, your tear streaking through grimy cheeks when he pulled back to rest his forehead on yours. "I love you," he swore.

"I love you, too," you whimpered, bottom lip trembling with emotion as Adar looked to the ground. You wished to say your acting skills were that good to be truly deceptive, but in reality, something in your intuition refused to let you believe you'd survive this.

Hating the look of devastation on your otherwise devastatingly beautiful features, Elrond leaned in again before hushing against your lips, "Be ready."

"Be smart."

Elrond nodded, kissed you one last time before pulling back. Almost as if in pain, he turned, unable to handle being so close so improperly; causing him to snap, "Iallion, Vorohil," who flanked his tail upon their exit of the Uruk tent.

You sniffled, leaning on the beam in exhaustion, still playing into the facade you thought Elrond was trying to silently communicate. You weren't defeated yet; the pin kept in your clenched fist to cause indentations from the star-point design.

Outside, Iallion and Vorohil questioned Elrond's confidence, being told a legion of Dwarves had been summoned to march to Eregion's aid; telling his second to guide the army to the battle while he held the city. Before trotting away, Elrond pulled on his helmet and told the two in Sindarin, "And it starts with the rescue of my wife and decimation of this camp."

You used Elrond's pin to pick Galadriel's lock first, insisting she had to flee before anyone caught you. She tried to refuse, something about loyalty or other, but you all but shoved her away from you and snarled for her to leave you.

"Elrond's near," you reminded her, "I'm not going anywhere."

"He's coming for you," she realized.

"Did you have any doubt?"

She chuckled, "I suppose not."

"Get out of here," you cocked your head, indicating she flee out the tent flap. You focused on your own lock as the sounds of invasion echoed around the camp. Praying Galadriel found a way to disguise herself, you struggled to unlock your irons; hearing someone rush into the tent behind you.

"You!"

An Orc was surging up to you in record time, bloody dagger in hand, twisted snarl curling his lip. You dropped the pin on accident, unable to retrieve it; but having enough mind to wait until the Orc was a foot from you, stepping back, extending your chains. The Orc slashed directly into the weakened metal, severing your bond, but the loss of tension made you flop backwards; rolling over your shoulder and onto your feet.

The Orc, ever graceful, hacked wildly at you; forcing you to go on the defense and dodge his attacks around the tent. Three more Orcs filed in; but however you might argue, luck was on your side for your brother, Iallion, came charging in with your sister, Eliriel.

"Y/N!"

You caught the sword your brother tossed, slashing the offending Orc's head from his shoulders as your siblings disposed of the other three enemies with ease.

Realizing the Orcs were vanquished (for now), you turned to your brother and raced into his embrace. He grunted and caught you, petting the back of your head before releasing and letting you hug your sister.

"Do you need medial aid?" Eliriel asked in worry, pushing hair from your shoulders to expose flesh - checking for any injury or bloody blemish.

"No - "

"Can you fight?"

"The day I answer no, you've permission to put me in the ground yourself," you scoffed, nodding at your brother. "You came back?"

"Elrond's leading the charge, they're razing the camp," Iallion explained, "otherwise he would've come himself."

"Where is he?"

"Come, we can find him," he insisted, eyes raking over you. "Sure you're all right?"

"Never better," you chuckled without humor, intent on holding the horrors you've experienced at the hands of your captors close to your chest. "Now, we gonna stand here and talk or go hunt some Orc?"

"YES!"

The Incarnated swarmed together in a protection fashion around you; a sibling shield, if you would, due to your lack of armor. Individually, the Incarnated were almost impossible to defeat, but together, they rivaled armies; exactly as the Valar intended. However, while fearsome in battle, you were still but a few and the Orcs were a grand-many; almost easily overwhelming any Elf they encountered.

Exactly why you were separated from them.

You faced against four different foes, turning as if dancing steps to something intimate; blade flashing in the sunlight, ringing as it clanged against blackened blades and rusted armor. It was easy to cut off your retreat or direction back to your siblings, forcing you back several yards as the Orcs swiftly closed in.

"Y/N! DUCK!" You heard from behind you; not thinking, just dropping like a sack of potatoes.

Horse hooves passed you, looking up in time to defend against another blade as Elrond engaged the others. You were both fairing decently until a moment of distraction - where an Orc swung his axe into Elrond's chest and knocked him from his horse - leaving an opportunity for your attacker.

With a scream, the Orc's blade sliced your chest in a deep slashing, managing to cut into your neck; blood starting to stream into your torn and tattered prison clothes. You were blinded by stinging pain, whimpering as your non-dominant arm curled across your chest as if gauze to lay over the injury; dominant hand occupied by your sword, defending yourself with weak whimpers.

One final hack made your sword arm collapse into the ground and for the Orc to stomp on your wrist to hold you there. You were pinned. The Orc laughed and sadistically reached down to swipe a grimy finger into your wound, causing you to hiss through teeth, only to lift his finger to his mouth and taste your life force. The sight alone made your stomach lurch, a panicked cry escaping your lips.

Elrond heard the enemy's laugh and lifted his head in time to see it lick your blood; noting your cry and position beneath the Orc. His face steeled into something beyond infuriation. The three Orcs that filled the space between you and he were quickly dispatched, Elrond engaging your attacker - letting you scramble backwards into a tree trunk for a front row viewing.

With a wild swing, Elrond swiped at the Orc; who reached up to grab hold of his helmet, which was freed when Elrond rolled from under him. The Orc swung, blade whistling; catching Elrond's cheek and sending him to the dirt, much to your worry. He glared at the enemy, wiping at his injury as the Orc growled, "I'm gonna spill her guts at your feet, Elf!"

Elrond's eyes flickered to you, taking the threat as credible; swiping the sword away, using a second blade to inflict injury before driving his longsword into the Orc's belly - driving him backwards into the basket of a trebuchet (or catapult). When pinned, Elrond drove his dagger into the Orc's sternum; leering over him in Sindarin, "Die."

Elrond yanked both weapons free and turned for the machine's mechanisms; yanking a rope and setting the trebuchet into motion. "No, no, no, no," the Orc begged when he realized what was happening; lifted off his feet only to be flung with the basket of rocks through the air, over the width of the Glanduin, and into the walls of Eregion.

Your husband wasted no time to drop the rope and turn for you; rushing forward and sliding to his knees beside your bleeding form. "Elrond, oh, my stars," you rushed with a bloody grin, reaching for him with your dominate hand as the other still tried to staunch your injury.

"I knew you weren't gone, I knew it," he breathed, taking your face in hand, "I'm so sorry, my love, I'm so sorry. I should've come sooner - "

"You got here right when you were supposed to," you assured, sniffling. "Have you - Have you seen Galadriel? I set her free, have you seen her?"

"Why was she not with you?"

"I sent her away, I wasn't sure how long I'd take to escape," you trembled, "then Iallion and Eliriel got me out."

"Why didn't you run?"

"I did..."

"No, away from the battle - "

"I ran to find you," you whispered, offering a sad smile. "Oh," you breathed, fingertip ghosting over his cut cheek, "that'll scar."

"It's nothing," he shook his head, "but yours isn't - I have to get you away from here - "

"There's no time," you rushed, "so, I need you to do something for me."

"Anything."

You swallowed thickly, "Clean your blade, put it in the fire."

Elrond's brows furrowed, glancing over his shoulder to see the trebuchet set ablaze by his men; the Orcs fleeing from the danger, leaving a rare opening. "I don't... Oh," his eyes widened, nodding and rushing to do as you bid. He cleaned his blade on his cloak as he sprinted to the burning machine; sticking his blade in, then returning to your side. "Can you stand?" He asked.

"If you can get me up," you nodded.

"C'mon, love," Elrond whispered, hands under your arms and hoisting you up the bark with a small grunt. "I've got you - "

"Elrond!"

He didn't think, just gripped the blade of his dagger and flung it in a fluid motion over his shoulder where you were staring. The weapon struck an approaching Orc in the throat; gurgling black blood as he went down, but Elrond didn't even bother to watch. He just returned his attention to you, "C'mere, starlight, I've got you."

"Commander!" A different voice shouted, your siblings rushing to the scene. Iallion, as the eldest, gave command to the others, "Circle - circle up! Get around them!" As the Incarnated surrounded you, Elrond was assisting you towards the flames. "Commander, orders, sir?"

"Stand guard," Elrond replied, easing you to your knees. "All right, my love," he paused, checking the blade, "think it's good?"

You nodded, "It's good. Just, uh... Aim, please."

He huffed, "As if I'd miss." He pulled his sword fully from the flames, the thin metal burning bright red; even sizzling subtly. "Ready?"

"Wait, wait," Eliriel bartered, finding a chunk of wood and placing it in your mouth. She lowered to her knees and hooked her arms around yours; restraining them behind your back in a vice. "Okay... Okay, good - do it, do it now, Elrond!" She begged, seeing blood flow a little more freely now that you weren't trying to plug the wound.

When your husband lowered the blade to your injury, you lost consciousness after screaming blood murder until air depleted from your lungs. The flesh was cauterized as cleanly as Elrond could manage, satisfied when he noted no weeping openings.

"Commander! What orders, Commander!?"

Elrond was torn between his wife and his company - but Iallion encouraged, "Go, brother. We'll get her somewhere safe."

With a scoff, Elrond shook his head and carefully pulled the wood from your mouth; gathering you off your sister and into his chest. "Where's safe anymore?" Elrond asked rhetorically in Sindarin, standing with you in his arms.

The camp was in complete disarray, Adar realizing the Elven Calvary had destroyed nearly everything in their path, almost to a barbaric extent. He would've questioned the displayed Elven bravery, but his mind knew better and reminded him he threatened Commander Elrond's wife... No wonder the camp was stamped into the ground.

The sun sank, darkness spread, and Adar listened to report after report, all confirming the Elves were fairing better than expected. Many Uruk lost their lives, more were injured, and the Orcs were encountering outmaneuvers no matter where they attacked.

Adar returned to the tent he left you and Galadriel in... Finding empty irons, no prisoners, and several of his children - dead. There was no confirmation as to who the wounds were from, but considering the swift yet strategically fatal injuries, he assumed the Incarnated had come to your rescue. Death was only graceful when dealt by their hands.

"Perhaps, Lord Father," Glüg reported, "we should sound the retreat. The Commander Elrond is formidable, angry over his wife's injuries..."

"No," Adar refused.

"He slaughtered half the camp to find her!"

"We do not retreat," Adar growled, making his son shy back a step. "Send him in..."

"He will kill our own kind!"

"Send. Him. In. Commander Elrond is on the battlefield, his wife smuggled away - "

"His wife is on the field, Lord Father! Khor saw her," Glüg gestured at his brother, who nodded vigorously at Adar.

"All the more reason... Send him in."

After your wound was cauterized, Elrond managed to find a horse and rush you a safe distance into the woods with Eliriel to guard you. Upon awakening, you were stiff with pain, but infuriated by the obvious delay in consciousness; rolling to your feet and testing the bounds of the near-fatal, scabbing wound.

"You can't go," Eliriel insisted, watching you stretch, "you'll tear open - "

"Adar kept me alive just enough for this moment, I have business to settle with him. I've been on the sidelines too long, sister," you snapped, "and injured or not, I will not leave Eregion to the darkness. There's still a chance - our people still fight. Will you join us? Or shall you turn tail, as our uncle did? Demote yourself?"

Your uncle, another Incarnated, had been a member of the original alliance of Elves against Sauron; one of the first to leave Valinor on a noble quest to Middle-earth. He was one of the reasons your kin had been blessed, but he's also the reason you know what happens if Incarnated refuse their Holy Calling... Facing Morgoth's apprentice was traumatizing beyond belief, your uncle leading alongside Galadriel's brother, Finrod, in many abattle. Yet Sauron's craft was vast, weaseling into your uncle's heart and brain to the point of insanity; so much so, that upon your uncle going AWOL, Finrod was slain in response.

Galadriel never blamed you nor other Incarnated; she blamed only Sauron, rationalizing he was who fucked up your uncle's head so much that the Valar took back their gift. A forfeited Incarnated was gazed upon with utter contempt until driven into exile, and even then, they aren't immediately granted immunity nor entrance into Aman, - or the Undying Lands - but instead, must plead for redemption. Needless to say, your uncle gave your kin quiet a public mess to rectify and it was a grave insult to throw such an accusation at an Incarnated.

"Sister?" You prompted.

From the dirt, Eliriel nodded and reached for your hand; allowing you to heave her onto her feet. "You'll need armor - do not argue!" She snapped with a pointed finger when your mouth opened. "Come."

Eliriel lead you through the woods at a mild pace as to not irritate your injury. Using the darkness to your advantage, you snuck around until happening upon a fallen Elleth who was about your size and body type. Swiftly, you took her armor with a prayer in Sindarin, securing it, then latching on her weapons belt.

"Ready?" You asked, seeing Eliriel nod. "Stay close."

"I'm older than you!"

"Then act like it!" You laughed over your shoulder, sprinting from the treeline and directly towards the fray taking place before Eregion's walls. You snatched a full quiver from a dead Elf, not stopping; plucking up an abandoned bow, still surging; then snatching whatever spent torch-arrows you could, doubly determined.

Blood transformed impacted dirt into a marsh; bodies littering the land, a city on fire, and Death permeating the air. Your sword sang with glee at each blow; injury holding strong, giving you fuller permission to move as you needed. When you raced into battle, you were an entirely different breed; purely animalistic, relying on your senses to cause the most damage. All you could process was you needing to kill.

You happened to be in the right place at the right time because just yards ahead of you, several jagged arrows thumped into your comrade, Rían's, body at varying angles. She swayed and dropped to her knees, revealing ahead of her, a small gaggle of Elves - Elrond included. Rían reached for a torch arrow as you noted the barrel of oil by the Grond and quickly connected the dots.

It was as if the Valar arranged it themself: where one Elf fell, an Incarnated steps up to assume responsibility without hesitation nor prompt. Three additional arrows struck Rían, who fell dead, and there you stood; causing your name to fall from your husband's mouth and for you to spring into action. Without hesitation, you ignite your own arrow, notch it, aim, then release before rushing towards Elrond; seven arrows impalied the place you vacated. "What're you doing here!? It's not safe!" Elrond demanded when you lowered to his level behind a barrier of dirt.

Your arrow found it's mark, catching the entire Grond and surrounding Orcs in a violently gnarly explosion. You smirked at your husband, anchoring him by his neck to place a desperate, messy, slippery kiss to his lips. On retraction, there came a loud, wet smooch sound; you nodding and answering, "Winning a war."

requesting rules and masterlist

TROP masterlist

[missbeautyandherbeast]

She's a Little Runaway

Raph x Reader (just squint)

Summary: Your life goes to hell in a handbasket so you call your cousin in New York and ask for a place to lay low for a bit. And she says yes... but her new friends might be more than you can handle.

A/n: *emerges from the void* hi guys

Aggravated, I pulled up my phone. The call went through. 

“Hey, Y/n, everything okay?” April sounded concerned. 

“Yeah,” My voice was clipped. I took a breath. “No,” my confession was defeated. “Can I come visit? For a bit?” 

“Is everything okay?” She asked again. 

“No,” I answered wistfully. “I need a break…a vacay—you still in New York?” 

“Yeah,” I heard her smile. “Book a flight, I’ll be there,” 

“You’re a godsend cuz,” 

“Yeah yeah, see you soon cuz,”

The flight into JFK was six hours with a layover in Atlanta but soon I was there. Away from the hell the south had created for me. April found me outside amongst the other cars waiting for pickup. With a quick hug and throwing my stuff into the trunk we drove off. 

“Whose car?” I asked skeptically, knowing a BMW was in neither of our tax brackets. 

“Casey’s parents. They let me borrow it.” April explained. 

“That’s nice of them,” I said pointedly. April rolled her eyes. 

“Shut up,” she laughed. 

With the traffic it was half an hour to Aprils apartment. My eyes lingered on the city skyscrapers. They still had me in awe. Part of me believed New York didn’t exist. It was a fictional place like Asgard, Wakanda, or Mordor. But here it was. 

Here I was. 

The sun set on the warm summer day around 9pm—something so odd for me but brought a smile to my face. It was the same country but an entirely different world. 

April left to drop the car back off at Casey’s parents and it gave me a couple of hours to myself which was so needed. Her little apartment had a guest room/office where a daybed was made up for me. I sat on the bed and took a deep breath. 

I was safe. 

I was far away. 

I was free. 

I blocked a few numbers just to prove it to myself. 

I wandered to the living room and found a home on the window seat, watching the city light up the nigh. 

April came back into the apartment a pizza in her hands and a smile on her face. 

“Guess who brought the best pizza in the city?” She teased. 

Laughing at her antics and a bit skeptic, I stood, going over. 

But there was a loud thud on the fire escape outside her window. I whipped around at the sound and froze. In the cover of darkness were massive shadows that loomed menacingly. 

“Uh, April!?” My voice wavered. “April!” My eyes adjusted to make the outlines of four anthropomorphic turtles. 

“Oh, shit!” April dashed in front of me. “It’s okay, these are my… friends,” 

“Friends?” I rose my eyebrows, staring wide-eyed at the giant turtles standing on her fire escape. “What the hell?” 

She opened the window and gave me a hesitant smile. “Yeah, this is Donnie, Mikey, Leo, and Raph,” Each of them gave a small wave. 

“April, who is this?” Leo, the one with a blue mask, asked. 

“This is Y/n, my cousin. She’s visiting for a few weeks,” 

“Well, welcome to New York chickadee!” Mikey said. “You gotta try the pizza.” 

I just stared still, trying to input the information to my brain. 

“Y/n?” April came over to me. “Are you okay?” 

“I… uh, yeah,” I gasped out. “I just need a minute to process,” I scrubbed my face taking deep breaths. 

“We mean you no harm,” Donnie said, raising his hands. “We are friends of April’s,”

I nodded. “Sure, sure,” I sat down on her window seat. 

“Maybe we should split,” Leo said. 

“Y/n?” April left the choice to me. 

“I… I just need a minute,” I repeated again. My eyes darted up and met curious green eyes—one of the brothers, the turtles. He was the only one who wasn’t on edge. He didn’t have a care in the world. “Okay,” I took a deep breath. 

“Okay?” April approached me cautiously. 

I nodded and came a small smile, my gaze darting back to green ones. “Are you sure?”

“I’m okay April,” I assured. “I’m an adult. I can handle this,” 

“Okay, because most people freak out,” 

“Well I am, but it’s cool,” 

“April maybe it’s better if we go,” Donnie said softly. “Why don’t you watch her up?” 

“I don’t want to ruin your night,” I interjected. “Or plans…” 

“It’s nothing. I was usually hang with them on the roof.” April said. “But you’re here,” 

“Go,” i chuckled. “I can handle down here. Ive got pizza and Netflix.” 

“You’re sure?” April asked again. 

“April,” I nearly snapped. “Just go,” I pushed her shoulder softly. 

“You can join us!” Mikey said happily. 

“Mikey!” The other three scolded. 

“Thanks. I’m just gonna stay here,” I said, forcing steady breaths in and out. Green eyes still held mine. He tilted his head in curiosity. 

“Okay,” April eyed me warily. “If you need anything we’ll be on the roof,” 

“Cool,” I gave a tight smile. 

They all disappeared up the fire escape except for Raph—those green eyes that wouldn’t leave me alone. 

“You okay kid?” He asked, leaning against the window frame. Without the pressure of everyone staring at me, I shrugged. 

“This is beyond weird,” I admitted, rubbing my face. “So… so weird.” 

“Yeah we get that a lot,” a sad smile pulled at his lips. “You really freaking out? Cuz I can go,” 

“This is kinda helping,” my gaze met his. He leaned against the fire escape railing and I moved to the bench next to the window. We were closer now than ever. 

“You’re telling me you’ve never met a mutant before?” He seemed genuinely surprised. I shook my head. 

“No, I… well, where I’m from we don’t exactly go looking for things in the woods at night and I’ve never lived in a city so…” 

“Huh,” 

“Are there a lot of you?” I asked. 

“Well, there’s the four of us brothers, but yeah a lot of mutants have come along now and again. Most of them are actually dangerous so… maybe be careful,” his lips pursed into a tight smile. 

“Noted,” 

“You are safe Y/n, we look after the city, and April. And if you’re her family it means you too,” his voice was sincere. 

“You just met me,” 

“Family is family,” his tone was bolder. “Aprils like a sister to us. I know she won’t let just anyone stay with her. You’re family. We’ll keep you safe.”

“Thanks Red,” 

“It’s Raph,”

“I know,” I smiled, standing. A smile quirked at his lips. “Go on up. I think I’m gonna turn in for the night,” 

“You sure you don’t want to join us? My brothers aren’t that bad,” 

“Not tonight,” I set the boundary. “But maybe soon,” 

“Soon then,” and with one last smile and wave, he was gone. 

I stared out the window for a good solid five minutes trying to rationalize what the hell had just happened. I knew New York was a different world from my own but this was not what I had in mind. 

Mutant turtles. 

Brothers. 

Friends with my cousin?

I might have cursed a little bit. Or a lot. 

Rationalization was an art. 

When I calmed down enough I texted April that I was in fact better and no longer freaking out. I attempted eating a bit of the pizza and I had to admit it was really good—New York style pizza was always the best. My mom (April’s aunt) had raised me on it. 

April came back down an hour later and I was just getting out of the shower. 

“I think I owe you an explanation.” She said. 

“That would be very nice,” I agreed. 

We sat on her couch and she began to talk. The past few years unraveled in her tale. Meeting the brothers—the small family. Fighting the Shredder and the Foot Clan. The other mutants and mutagen lost by the Kraang. The more she spoke the more I realized maybe New York City did belong on that list of magical realms… except it was a bit more real than I’d ever thought. 

“They’re some of my best friends,” She insisted. “They are really cool and nice. Once you get past…”

“The giant turtle part?” I mused with a smile. 

“Yeah,” she sighed. “I’m so sorry about all of this. I know you came up here for a break and this is definitely not easy to cope with.”

“It’s not,” I admitted. “But it’s better than what I left so…” 

“What the hell did you leave?” April was curious. 

Now it was my turn. My story of the past few years and how it all went up in flames the past six months leaving me lost, confused, and without a home for the first time in my life. April sympathized with me but it was hard. It would always be hard because I had walked through the trail by fire alone and the pain my burned heart experienced could never be described. But, perhaps it was enough to have April on my side. 

“You stay as long as you need,” she said firmly. “And if you need to stay a little longer and we turn that guest room into yours…” she offered. 

“I’ll think about it,” I smiled. “Thank you.”

Moving to New York was not on my radar at all�� but maybe it could work out. Maybe it would be good for me. Or maybe it would just be running away and I was a coward. 

Or maybe it was both. 

I tucked those thoughts away. 

April took me around the city the next day. We did every touristy thing either of us could think of and fit into the day.  It was great fun and New York was enchanting. 

That night the brothers were back and I was a bit more—okay, I was less baffled this time. Still freaked out but it was better. I actually made it to the roof to hang out, wrapped up in one of Aprils sweaters at the unseasonal chill. 

The turtles tried to make me feel welcome but my brain was fighting shutting down again so it didn’t go the best. The one I had talked to the first night—Raphael realized this and didn’t give me an onslaught of questions. He just leaned against the same outcrop as me. We existed.

Going to grab another drink I heard an unfamiliar voice behind me. 

“Hey Red,” the voice startled me so I turned and swung, punching the intruder square in the nose. He fell to the ground, shocked. 

“What the hell red!?” 

“Casey!?” April ran over. 

Raphael broke out into laughter and I turned pink offering my hand out. The guy was grumbling and holding his nose letting out a few curses. 

“Sorry?” 

“Casey this is Y/n, Y/n, Casey,” April introduced as I helped him up. “She’s my cousin,”

“Do you just randomly walk up on people or…” I mused. 

“I thought you were April. Damn you can throw one,” he touched his nose gingerly. “Geez,”

“Sorry,” I said again, hiding behind my hands. 

“You’re telling me you can’t handle a punch Jones?” Raph walked up, creating a barrier between me and Casey—I was grateful for it. “I know I’ve hit you harder,” 

“Pfft. Whatever man,” Casey stalked off with little dignity. 

“Don’t let him get under your skin,” Raph said in a low voice. “He’s always pissy,”

“Is there something between him and April?” I asked watching the two of them together and thought back to the kindness his parents showed April. 

“He wishes,” Raphael snorted. “No they’re just friends.” 

I nodded. 

“You okay kid?” He kept asking me that question. I had the same response. A small shrug. 

“I feel bad. What if it had been a kid or something?” 

“I’m sure you’re too smart to deck some kid. An unfamiliar male voice coming from behind in New York?” His eyes met mine with a smirk. “You had the perfect reaction,”

A smile played at my lips and I felt better. “Thanks Red,” I nudged his shoulder. 

“Anytime kid,” his smile turned warm, real. “So I heard April took you around the city,” 

“Oh yeah!” My face lit up. “It was so cool. I—I love New York. I’ve always wanted to come, ever since I was little.”

“And now here you are,” he said. 

“Here I am,” I nodded. “Not what I thought it was gonna be,” my eyes scanned the three other brothers joking with Casey and April. 

“Yeah I bet we were a real curve ball.”

I nodded. “Not bad though. You guys are kinda cool and April just adores y’all.”

He gave me an amused you. “You’re totally still freaked out aren’t you?”

I laughed because he saw right through me. I didn’t admit it out loud but we both knew. 

“So, why’d you run away?” He asked, glancing at me. 

“What—how?” My eyes flashed to his. 

“Takes one to know one,” He smiled. “So?” 

“You a runaway?” 

He shrugged. “April lets me hide out too when I need some space.” 

“That’s nice of her,” I mused. “Guess she’s doin’ the same for me,” 

“So, why’d you run?” He asked again. My expression clouded. 

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” I said truthfully. “I—“

Raphael’s demeanor changed entirely. He wasn’t aloof and nonchalant; he was concerned and calm. “Hey don’t worry about it,” he smiled at me. “Enjoy your quiet then,” There was a loud crash and some yelling among the others—Mikey had spilled an entire two liter of soda and marinara sauce. “Well, as quiet as this can be,” He laughed. 

I offered a small smile and inhaled deeply, letting the ashes of my past be blown away with an exhale.

“Hey,” He called me from my sorrows. “If you ever want an escape and some quiet, no questions asked, you’ve got it,” Raphael said. “Just call. April’s got my number.” 

“No questions asked?” I mused. His lips quirked up as he nodded. “Thanks,” 

“Life is shitty sometimes, and an escape is nice,” 

“Yeah,” I agreed. 

My planned week visit turned into two weeks. Into three. Every time I thought about booking a flight back… I just didn’t. April was ready to give me her guest room, and to be honest I was ready to split the rent and call it. 

But could I do it? Could I leave everything behind because I was a coward? Because I couldn’t go back? Because losing this would hurt so much worse than losing what I had? 

I didn’t know and the thoughts were crippling. A thought came to me. I had gotten his number a week ago. And a promise the second night I was here. 

I picked up my phone and pressed call. 

“Y/n?” Raphael’s voice held worry. 

“I need an escape. No questions asked,” I breathed out. “Please,” 

“I’ll be there in five.” He said. 

I paced the floor, waiting for him to show up. His shadow overtook the window. I opened it. 

“Come on,” He grinned. “You ready?” 

“Where are we going?” I climbed out onto the fire escape. 

“No questions princess,” Raph smirked. 

“That’s not what that means,” I protested as we climbed to the roof. 

“Sure it is,” He grinned. “Come on,” 

________________________

Raphael got your phone call and nearly fell off the couch. When your strained voiced asked for an escape—what he had offered to you all those nights ago—he couldn’t say anything but yes. 

Here you were, on the roof with him, jittery, like you couldn’t sit still. He knew the rule was no questions asked, but he had so many. Instead, he led you through what he did when he needed an escape. He ran. 

“Keep up princess,” He threw over his shoulder. A predatory smile curled onto your lips and you took off after him. 

He kept pace so you could keep up with him but when he soared over an alley way you stopped, staring at him like he was crazy. 

“Raph there’s no way!” You shouted to him from across the way. “I can’t jump that!” 

“Yes you can! Trust yourself,” 

“Raphael,” You almost scolded. “If I die it’s on your hands,” 

“I can live with that,” He chuckled, fueling your fire. Shaking your head defiantly, you paced back before taking off and launching yourself off the roof, toward him. 

Raphael stood on the ledge and caught you, pulling you to safety. 

“Told ya,” He smirked, letting you go. 

You grinned up at him, panting heavily. There was s shine in your eyes and he loved it. You bounced back and forth on the roof in front of him, your hands coming up in a familiar position he knew well. 

“You ready to fight princess?” He mused, pulling his fists up. 

You shifted, settling into a fighting stance. “Bring it Red,” 

He laughed and the two of yo began to spar. He kept on defense, throwing a pulled punch now and again, letting you duck, dodge, and block. You two went back and forth, laughing and boxing—until he landed a hit and froze shocked. 

“Shit!” You laughed, dabbing your nose with the back of your hand. You didn’t stop though, instead you used his panic to deck him back, landing one on his jaw. 

“Time—time,” He called stepping back, not liking the blood dripping from your nose. You both relaxed. “Are you okay?”

“I can take a hit, Raph,” You said, smiling, cleaning the blood, tilting your head back for a minute until it stopped, completely unfazed. “Thought I definitely should have stretched before we started.” As if muscle memory, you began to stretch out your arms and shoulders. “Coulda let me know,” 

“How was I supposed to know you could fight?” He chuckled, trying to not watch you stretch, and failing now and again.

“I don’t very often,” You admitted. “But it’s a great stress reliever,” Raphael did a double take at your words. 

“Yeah—yeah it is,” He fumbled. 

“Normally I stick to working out,” You said finding a wall to stretch your shins on. “But this was fun,” You threw a smile over your shoulder. 

“You’re not scared?” Raph said, leaning against the wall. You shrugged and joined him. 

“I used to box with a linebacker, so, not really. He was a good friend,” Your eyes were lost in a memory. “I think you two’d get along,” 

Raph stared at you—you were oblivious, watching the city before you. Somehow, you showed up in his world, and you were everything he thought you weren’t. You weren’t soft and delicate—you had a sharp edge to you. You were a fighter—to blow off steam—to run and be free. You were like him.

He went and sat on the edge of the roof and you joined him, still panting softly. 

“It’s so big,” you murmured in awe. “I’ve always dreamed of coming here,” 

“I’m glad you came,” Raph smiled down at you. 

“Ya know. Despite all the shit that brought me here—I am too,” you leaned against him, your head on his shoulder. 

Raphael noticed you flexing your hands. They were raw from fighting. He called himself twenty types of stupid—his hands were always wrapped; he should have made sure yours were too before sparing. 

“You okay?” He nodded to your hands. 

“Didn’t break skin,” you assured. “Probably just bruised.”

“Don can fix you up in his lab,” Raphael said. 

“Oh yes,” a smile curled on your lips. “His lab in the completely not evil lair,” 

Raphael laughed. “It’s not that kinda lair—it’s home,” 

“Okay,” you shot him through the heart with your smile. 

“Okay?” He stammered. 

“Yeah,” you got up, stretching. “Why not?” 

As he came to the roof edge, going to cross you paused. 

“I can’t,” you said, stepping back. Raphael frowned and looked at you. You had done it before. “I’m too tired—my senses are off. Adrenaline is gone.” Admitting defeat sounded painful to you. 

“C��mere,”Raphael held his hand out. “I’ll carry you.”

You studied him, and he could see the energy leave your body. You took his hand, not having it in you to fight him. Raphael was grateful. He didn’t want you to purposefully fight him. 

He jumped from rooftop to rooftop with you in his arms, carrying you down to the lair. He set you on your feet and led you to Donnie’s lab. 

“Y/n! Oh my gosh,” Donnie nearly fell out of his chair and you managed a giggle. “Are you okay?” Judging the dried blood and bruised knuckles, Donnie didn’t miss a thing. 

“I’m okay,” your lips quirked up. “Just sparred with Raph, no big,” 

“Raph!” Donnie scolded. “Dude!”

“Oy!” You interjected. “It’s okay—I’m fine. It was…“ your eyes met his. “It was a lot of fun,” 

“Oh god, you’re just as crazy as he is,” Donnie muttered, examining your knuckles. “They’re just bruised, nothing broken. I can get you some advil and some ice,” 

“I’ll take the Advil—skip in the ice,” you said. “Thanks,” you took the meds and looked back at him. “I need a shower… take me home?” The way you asked him Mande Raphael lose his train of thought. He recovered, but not quick enough without your knowing look. 

“Uh. Yeah. Of course,” he fumbled. You said your goodbyes to his brothers and he led you back to the rooftops. You both walked this time. 

______________________

There was a nervous energy in my chest as we walked back to Aprils apartment. It was so easy to be with Raphael but right now it was so hard to form a coherent sentence. 

“You’re a good fighter,” he finally said breaking the silence. I exhaled and managed a smile. 

“Thanks. I… I don’t do it often—only when I’m really stressed.” I worried my lip, my mind wandering back to why I came to New York in the first place. “You’re fun to spar with,” I dared to look at him, begging to be brought back into reality. 

“You don’t think I’m too rough?” 

I shook my head. “You freaked out when you hit me. I think you know how to control your hits,” I chuckled and raised an eyebrow. “Or are you telling me you weren’t pulling your punches?” 

“I was,” he assured quickly. “I’d—I’d never—no,” He was very stressed about the idea of actually hurting me. I reached out and placed my hand on his arm in an effort to calm him. 

“I know Red, it’s okay,” 

His eyes met mine and he smiled. Raphael stopped and gestured to the nearest fire escape—I was home. I climbed down back to Aprils apartment and he followed me. 

“Thanks Red. For everything,” he was standing outside the window, so close but so far.  

“Anytime.” He promised. “Just call.” 

“I—yeah,” a smile touched my lips. “I’ll see you later Red,” 

“Later princess,” he saluted then took off into the night. I watched the window for a while before I meandered to take a shower. When I closed my eyes in bed that night I was still flying through the air with him over those rooftops. 

————————————

Raphael headed home, and Leo was waiting for him. Even his snotty brother couldn’t dampen his mood—Raphael was on cloud nine because of you—not only the time he spent with you but also all of the new things he learned about you were valuable. 

“What happened?” Leo asked, rather calmly. “You just took off and you bring her back here after fighting?” 

Raph paused. “I don’t know all of it. But she’s running from something and—I told her any time it was too much, we could escape, no questions asked.” 

“So you two just fought? That’s your idea of an escape?”

Raphael chuckled and shook his head. “It was hers. We were just running rooftops and all of a sudden she’s bouncing on her toes ready to fight—you should have seen her Leo, she’s incredible,” 

“You need to be more careful Raph!” Leo scolded. 

“She can handle herself Leo. And I’m not gonna hurt her. We were sparring—I pulled every punch,” Raph leaned against a wall. “You saw her put Casey on his ass on accident. She’s incredible Leo,” 

Leo was silent a moment but Raph didn’t care. He headed for the dojo—his adrenaline was long from being gone. 

“You like her,” Leo called after him. 

Raphael chuckled to himself, knowing his brother was right. 

.

.

@brightlotusmoon @legendarybeauty @crazywritingbug @ravn-87 @just-a-casual-fangirl-011 @ilikestuffproductions @whygz @coffee-addict @sugarspooks15 @blossom-skies @fantastical-67impala-fangirl @iceprincess2019 @merindagriese @bengewatch @cobramarie @bitemebro522 @muleka-loka @curadopordeus @artemismohr18 @beautiful-pegasus @shanidenise @lovelyyroseee @yourlieberhoe @dolphincommander @molzies-fanfics @msmcsmutt @zombiesnips-blog

[baddybaddyadardaddy]

So it's a part of the rough draft of a Girl in Middle Earth fix-it story (don't know how people treat these/1st person POV stuff in this fandom but I've read some absolute gems in this catagory in other fandoms specifically Dreaming of Sunshine) I was planning on keeping this secret but the distress of the US Adarlings makes me think some part of this might give people here a little comfort!

...

10 years after literally falling into the lap of Elvendom, 8 years after sowing the seeds of inter-race harmony in Middle Earth, 6 years after convincing the Dwarves to get in on the plan, 5 years after setting foot in Southlands & 3 years after coming face to face with my Passion Project in Arda, I was finally able to say with some confidence that we were prepared to tackle the reemergence of Sauron.

The slow but successful intermingling of southlanders with other nearby factions of men in Middle Earth & the formation of a Southern Dwarven Trade Route were some of the biggest achievements of these years but none were as remarkable as the Treaty of Pelargir.

From negotiating lands for the Uruk to drafting laws for a peaceful transfer of power across a century, the Treaty was nothing short of the crown jewel of my existence; both worlds included!

The day messengers were sent across all of Middle Earth with letters informing the official creation of Mordor; without the involvement of a dark lord or major tectonic event, I cried more than a few tears for more than a few days. Something that did not go unnoticed by the Lord of the land in question.

Adar had always looked at me like my existence was a very difficult question in a test that had left him half bewildered & half dubious of it's legitimacy.

Since the first time I had met him in the forests near Lake Núren, there was always an unspoken tension between us. A push & pull of apparent mistrust & veiled hope.

On his part it was due to my very first word uttered in his presence; his earned name, establishing from the get go that I knew more about him than he will ever know of me.

On my part it was the uncertainty & fear of his urukness that had been instilled into me in the decade I had lived surrounded by elves.

But despite all that, the burning need to save his life was was still my passion project in Arda. I had wanted nothing more in the past 10 years than to see him live to see the next age! Yet I wasn't naive enough to trust him without reason from the get go.

And possibly it was the same story for him, with desperatly wanting to be accepted by the emissary of Eru & by extension Eru himself but being wary of expecting a young woman from another world to understand the gravity of his & his children's situation.

It had taken years for us to break & build our opinions around eachother in a manner that finally resulted in a relation that could be called friendship if you squint hard enough from a distance.

The fact that I would not & could not share every information I held about my world's past & his world's future was the biggest point of contention between us for the longest time.

He agreed for peace on that matter only when trade channels for the Uruk got properly established & his children got to spend their first winter dry & warm in the first permanent structures of Mordor.

The day the first Common Shelter opened its doors was the first time I saw Adar cry happy tears with a smile. He stood in the centre of the shelter, tears falling in abandon as the youngest of his children set up their beds for the first time on solid dry ground.

I etched that moment onto my soul & knew that day I had won the Uruks' trust. He never questioned my judgement on how to share my knowledge after that.

🫶🏽

Some post-election fix-it fic!! Thank you for sharing, dear anon!

[a-burr-a-hobbit]

The Fellowship Takes Flight

This piece was inspired by this thread and was written for @laneynoir

Gandalf has fallen, leaving the fellowship with his last cryptic warning, “Fly you fools!” Aragorn, being the pragmatic leader that he is, books them all tickets from Lothlorien to Mordor, with a layover in Gondor. Everything is going fine, until they reach customs… Elves really are sticklers for rules. 

Haldir groaned when he saw the group headed toward him. He had worked security in the Lothlorien airport for hundreds of years, but it was usually elves and the occasional wizard who flew out. Dwarves were only allowed in the boundaries of Lorien with explicit permission from the queen, Galadriel, and most men and dwarves believed the entire area cursed, and the planes unsafe. Because of this, the flights were usually filled with elves, all of which were very kind and respectful. Not so with this group. He squinted in their direction, picking out each individual. There seemed to be one elf among the group, though judging from the hairstyle and youthful face he was a younger elf from Mirkwood. Attached to the young elf at the hip was a robust red-haired dwarf. Next were two men. One of them he recognized, the queens’ soon to be grandson-in-law Aragorn, but the other was not known to him. Last, an assortment of hobbits followed all chattering amongst themselves. All except one who was fidgeting with some sort of necklace chain. Haldir sighed as they approached security and rubbed his forehead. He had a feeling this was going to be a long afternoon.

It wasn’t that Legolas didn’t believe in safety. He did, he really believed that everyone had the right to be safe, but he also believed that waiting behind Aragorn for four hours and thirty three minutes (He had been keeping track) because he couldn’t find his last knife was ridiculous. The elves of Mirkwood were never so picky as to force someone to give up all their weapons, but the elves of Lothlorien had other rules. 

“I found it!” Legolas sighed as Aragorn puled yet another knife out of his pockets and placed it in the growing stack of knifes, daggers, and other small weapons.

“Please put your hands up and walk through the metal detector… again.” The elf said, turning away from the card game he had struck up with Sam and Pippin. Aragorn walked through the metal detector and… Wonder of wonders! No squeal! No alarm! Not even a beep from the metal detector. Legolas sighed in relief, hoping up from where he was sitting. Gimli, who had been asleep with his head in Legolas’ lap sta straight up with a low growl at the disturbance. 

“Why the hell are you moving loser? Aragorn is never going to run out of knives,” the dwarf grumbled. 

“He did run out!” Legolas did a happy little dance, “He finally ran out of knives! We can all go through the metal detector now!”

Gimli grunted and got up off the floor. The rest of the fellowship cued up behind him, their weapons all placed neatly in a seperate pile from Aragorn’s. 

Everyone filed through the metal detector one after the other, staring with Gimli. Everything was fine, up until Frodo, who was last in line, stepped through the detector. For one second, the alarm blared, and then, the metal detector burst into flames. The elf in charge simply groaned and waved Frodo through. 

“When my shift ends, I’m turning in my resignation.” Sam turned toward the broad elf.

“We’re awful sorry Mr. Haldir sir, we don’t mean to be so much trouble.” The elf gave the kind hobbit a smile and patted his shoulder. 

“Don’t worry master Samwise. I know you mean well…”

Legolas didn’t hear the rest of the conversation because at that very moment he saw a bird, a lovely bird like those from his homeland, stuck in the dreadful building. Without a word to anyone, he slipped off to catch it and release it outside. After all, he’d be back before anyone even noticed.

It wasn’t that Gimli was afraid of flying per se. He was a dwarf of the line of Durin after all, one of Dain’s trusted folk. It would not look good if he was afraid to fly. He simply would sooner walk then ride upon a machine so great. He had said as much to most of the company before hand, but no one had listened to him. So now he was resolutely tromping through the airport, determined to ride the plane with just as much bravery as anyone else. That is, until he realized the handsome elf prince was missing. It wasn’t a big problem, he was sure that the rest of the fellowship would notice soon enough, but Gimli wasn’t about to let the elfling upstart miss the flight without him. Quietly, he started heading away from the rest of the group, until he could barely see Aragorns head above the crowd. 

“We have two seats left on a direct flight to Mordor, but if you want to all be on the same flight I would recommend waiting for the next flight to Gondor and make your connection there.”  

Aragorn sighed and rubbed his temples as he listened to the flight attendant at the gate. They had missed their flight because of him and now he had four very whiny, very hungry hobbits on his hands. The only one not whining was Sam, because he was busy arguing with a flight attendant about the guidelines for an emotional support animal.

Gimli and Legolas had wandered off, hopefully to find food, and so the only other person around was Boromir. 

“What do you think Boromir?” Aragorn asked wearily.

Boromir glanced up from rubix cube he was messing with. 

“I think we all ought to go to Minas Tirith before trying to make it to Mordor,” Boromir said thoughtfully, “My father will make sure we are well equipped, and we can also add more soldiers to our numbers.” 

Aragorn nodded and turned back to the flight attendant.

“We will wait for the next flight to Gondor. Thank you for your patience.” He turned back to Boromir, “Let’s make sure everyone goes to the bathroom before we leave, and let’s get the hobbit’s something to eat.”

Boromir nodded.

“I’ll take Merry and Pippin, and you can take Frodo and Sam,” he said simply, moving pff to collect his self assigned charges, “And keep and eye out for the elf and the dwarf!”

Sam realized as sson as he followed Aragorn into the bathroom that Frodo wasn’t behind him anymore. Instantly he turned around and exited throught he door he had just entered. When he got out he saw Frodo walking quickly back toward the terminals… Specifically toward the terminal of the plane headed for Mordor. In an instant Sam knew what Frodo was planning. He glanced back at Bill the Pony briefly before deciding that his master was more important and taking off after Frodo at a run. 

“Mr. Frodo! Mr. Frodo!” he yelled out. Frodo turned around.

“I am going to Mordor alone on this flight Sam.” He said

Same finally caught up and grabbed Frodo’s hand.

“Of course you are Mr. Frodo, and I’m coming with you.” He said the words with finality, and started walking toward the terminal with Frodo in tow.

Aragorn groaned when he came out of the bathroom and saw neither Same nor Frodo. He had some idea of where they had gone, and thought it was a terrible idea. But before he could do anything about it, he heard Boromir’s horn blow three times. He sighed and headed in the direction of the noise.

When he found Boromir he found the heir of the stewardship of Gondor sitting in a chair crying, with his horn broken. Beside him was a very perturbed looking security officer. 

“He blew his horn sir, because he was upset with us for taking the two…” he gestured just above his waist, “Halflings for questioning. The luggage security found large amounts of illicit substances in their luggage. After your friend here blew his horn, an over-zealous security guard jumped on him, breaking the horn.”

Aragorn nodded and walked over to Boromir.

“I am responsible for the destruction of the horn of Gondor! I must travel back to Rivendell and ask master Elrond to repair it.” Boromir turned haunted eyes up at Aragorn, “Do not try to dissuade me. I must restore this for the sake of our kingdom.”

Aragron nodded and the big man rose and head back toward the entrance. 

When he was almost out of sight he turned around and placed his hand to his chest. Aragorn faintly heard the shouted words, “My captain, my King.” 

Just then, Legolas and Gimli walked up and he filled them both in on what had happened. How the young hobbits had been taken for questioning, how he believed Sam and Frodo had snuck off and headed to Mordor alone, and how Boromir had left the company to restore his honor. 

“All I do today seems to go amiss.” Aragron sighed deeply.

Legolas placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“Not all you do mellon. You can still make the next right choice.”

“And that choice,” Gimli said firmly, “Is to go find our hobbits.”

[blackknight-100]

The Corruption of mildly protective Thranduil in five parts + an extra

This fic is inspired by this amazing artwork by @chicotfp

This fic was supposed to be 1k so I could post it here, but somehow inflated to 3k+ Therefore: here is a random excerpt and the Ao3 link. The timeline is a bit skewed for plot purposes.

One evening that winter, he receives a visitor. He sits by the fire, nursing a glass of wine. Legolas – so sweet and so dear – slumbers on his lap. He strokes the tousled blond head and watches the flames shift. All at once the fire has a face, and a soft hissing voice. “Vigorousss S-s-s-spring,” it says. Thranduil wraps a hasty hand around his son, subtly feels for the knife in his boot. He has lived in Morgoth’s shadow, fought at Mordor’s gates. This fell Maia he will know even in sleep, yet he asks anyway, “Who is it that speaks?” In the flames, he sees a fair, smiling face. “Do you not know?” “Sauron,” he says with thrilling boldness. The flames laugh. “Mairon isss my name,” it tells him, and dissolves. Mairon has a sweet voice, and sweeter words. He flickers in the flames every night, and Thranduil, taken by curiosity, lingers.

Fandoms: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien  

Teen And Up Audiences

Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Gen

Complete Work

Tags

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Bard the Bowman/Thranduil

only if you squint

Thranduil (Tolkien)

Gandalf | Mithrandir

Sauron | Mairon

The One Ring

Elrond Peredhel

Galadriel | Artanis

Celeborn (Tolkien)

Bard the Bowman

Bilbo Baggins

Original Orc Character(s)

Dark Thranduil

Mirkwood

Spiders

Mind Manipulation

Orcs

Blatant misuse of Robert Frost's quote

Not Beta Read

Dol Guldur

[rachelroams]

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🧊 GLACIER & ICE CAVE TREK… ON AN ACTIVE VOLCANO 🌋 

One of the largest and most powerful volcanoes in Europe, Katla looks a bit like Mordor if you squint your eyes. 🧝‍♀️ Covered in half a mile of ice, this glacier-topped volcano is marked by layers upon layers of ash from previous eruptions, and is responsible for shaping the surrounding Icelandic coast through lava, ash, and flooding. 😵

Katla erupts every 50-60 years… and it’s overdue for another eruption. 🔥 The last time it erupted was 106 years ago, but don’t worry — scientists are keeping a close eye on her to make sure it’s still safe for locals and visitors to be in the vicinity! 

🥾 Lucky for us, that means that everyday folks like us can take a *tour* of the ever-changing ice caves and moulins (i.e. vertical openings in the glacier) atop the volcano! RAD.

❄️ This experience was a blast (no pun intended). Would YOU do a glacier trek + volcano tour?

[misplacedmidlanders]

I, err, may have accidentally forgotten to post a single picture of the mountains I mentioned earlier - so here they are! In the far distance: Mordor on the left, Mount Doom on the right. If you squint, you can see the search party who are still looking for Frodo and Sam to this day.

[greypetrel]

Hello! 🌸✨ Aisling + n.8 hugging while walking?

Oh, hello, long time no see! 🌻💜

Hope you didn't think I had forgotten! :P

Here we go, this prompt served me this on a silver plate. It's Dark Lady AU, making Tevildo canon because yes. The Siamese cat is a she and I inserted my late one. She had a malformation on her vocal chords and... The vet told us she was aphonic, but she didn't know and meowed anyway. But it was either YELLING HORRIBLY, possibly in the deep of night, or screeching and squeaking like an old door. And she had a resting bitch face. Thought she could make an appearance, since she was mostly shy and invisible with strangers BUT with people who told they didn't like/hate cats.

This Miaule is the 17th in a long list of Miaules that preceeded him as the Dark Lady's personal companion.

Tis the prompt list.

Seven lives.

8. hugging while walking

“I’m not…” He cleared his throat, looking straight into the one remaining golden eye of the old, scruffed tabby that was held up in front of his face. “Ah, I’m more of a dog person.”

The cat, at that, got lowered back down and cradled in front of the bust of the Dark Lady. Who looked a little disappointed. With the tabby safely cradled on her prosthetic and settling itself against her shoulder, she started to scratch the animal behind his neck with her hand, absentmindedly, as she replied.

“Ah. I see.” The enthusiasm of when she brought him in a drawing room gone from her voice. “It may be… A little problem, if you don’t like them.”

The rooms he was brought to see, the corridors and even the throne room, were indeed inhabited by cats of all shapes and colours. Fluffy one that looked like clouds curled on sittings, not even waking up when you entered the room. Tabbies staring at you from corners with the keen eyes of predators. Siameses trotting right at you to greet you with a very eloquent meow. Red cats that headbutted your ankles and purred without a real reason to. Tuxedos up top furnitures perking up with whiskers starkingly white against the glossy black of their fur. Big cats, small cats, kittens, some with one eye, others with ears nibbed in fights, young ones and old ones, awake and asleep, all visibly very well fed and cherished. Wherever you turned, there was a cat. If not more.

Cullen didn’t notice the first time he was brought to Barad-Dur, but at that time, his mind was totally elsewhere. And seeing the Lady of the tower mildly pouting didn’t feel so much like a pang of regret.

“I- I don’t hate them!” He was quick to specify. Which was true. “I just… Like dogs more. Don’t really have much to share with cats. They’re useful, but… I prefer dogs.”

“You’re not saying this to please me, are you, Captain?” She inquires, squinting at him, a corner of her lips cracking up as she mocked him with his old title. “You can tell that you hate cats.”

“I do not. They won’t be a problem, my Lady.” He assured her, straightening his back and nodding, convinced.

He could survive some cats. What he asked of her, after all, was no little feat: the least he could do was to accept whatever… Flock of pets she decided to fill her tower with. And really, he wasn’t scared of cats He just never liked them much: useful, sure, but they were unfriendly, cold and aloof. Dogs were just better, he thought. Dogs at least were happy to see you.

She observed him for some moments more, looking for who knew what as the cat she held in her arms started to purr and rub his head on her neck and jaw. She sighed, after a while, and nodded, walking out of the drawing room and back into a corridor. He followed her, one step behind and on her right – on the opposite side of the cat.

They were alone, and the situation was a little awkward. The war ended, she somehow survived against all previsions, and got back to Mordor with a treaty signed by King Aragorn himself, establishing borders and an alliance. He got back to Minas Tirith and brought Cupcake along (the Warg was, indeed, a great companion, loyal and keenly intelligent), and thought about things. Each of them had their own problems and issues to solve privately, and they had said goodbye, not mentioning much of anything. That one night before they reached Isengard, the words she almost told him when she thought she was dying.

He eventually had come to his decision, and turned his steps East.

Oh, she had been perfectly polite when he had showed up at her door. Some orcs at the Black Gate had showed him to her Tower and to the queue for court. She had been surprised to see him, and she had smiled. She had stopped smiling when he asked her for some privacy, was left alone with just her and the Witch-King (“He’s my right hand. What I know, he knows. You can trust him as you’d trust me. Speak.”) and told her he needed help in quitting with the potions the guards drank. She listened to him explaining symptoms and what would happen, looked intently at the sample he brought her and left him to Dorian, then nodded and granted him a safe harbour and assistance. And showed him around.

Because apparently, when he thought she would have given him a hut or some external settlement he could have some privacy, she really meant to keep him in a guest room in her tower, where she or her healers could tend to him better. “I wouldn’t leave you on your own, not unless you so wished”. She told him. “But I’d advise you against it. It’s powerful magic to impose magic on someone else, I would rather have you here to know you’re fine and help you, if we can, than knowing you’re close, but on your own.”. It had been so different than what he had been used to, what he expected after a lifetime of being told to tend to himself, that he had not the heart to tell her no. Even if the idea of showing himself as sick made him way, way more ill at ease than the cats.

But, he had said yes she had showed him around – it was, indeed, a nice and cozy place. Some works were still being done here and there, but it had the aspect of being loved and cared for. All the doors had a tiny door that couldn’t fit a human, but whence he saw slipping out some cats. All the orcs they met greeted them politely, smiling. The rooms were cozy, designed with taste and to be first of all comfortable and functional, but not without grace and beauty. They had talked on the way, of comfortably neutral topics, and it had been almost as when they first knew each other.

But the cats- he had to ask.

“Why the cats?”

“Mh? Oh, you don’t know?” Aisling asked, some spark of joy shining into her eyes. She giggled. “I still thought they told the tale to children. Well, for a little time I was known as Tevildi, the Princess of Cats. I took the form of a cat, for a while, but I didn’t really like the collar.”

“I never heard of it.”

“Thanks Iluvatar! It’s not very flattering, and it just says that cats are evil.” She moved the cat on her shoulder so she could face him, and kept speaking in a higher pitch than before. “And you’re really not evil, right Miaule the 17th? You’re a fluffy little baby!”

She kissed his nose loudly, and the cat -an old beast that visibly saw too many scuffles and as many winters, was mangy from old age and had a very grumpy expression on his face- mrowed aloud. Cullen wasn’t sure he was really happy about it, but the Maia ignored it, letting him perch on her shoulder again, tail snapping nervously down her arm but not trying to jump away, and keeping walking hugging the feline.

“And you had a collar?”

“Yes, a golden one. It looked good against black fur, you see. But it had a most annoying bell that tinkled whenever I moved… And let me tell you, with a cat’s hearing it was the most annoying thing ever.”

“I…” He still wasn’t used to how casually she talked about a long gone past when she had not been treated that right. He still didn’t know how to talk about it without causing her pain. “… I can’t imagine you collared. Bell or no.”

It was, apparently, the right thing to say. Or not a terribly wrong one. She turned her head towards him and smiled that sad smile she had when she was grateful.

“Thank you. Me neither. I discarded that form soon. It’s nice to curl and sleep whenever, but I much prefer having opposable thumbs.”

“I pictured you as a dog person too, after the Wargs.” He confessed, smiling at the idea of her as a cat.

“I like all animals. But cats… Cats were a gift.” Her smile turned far away and sad, and he knew whose gift it was exactly. “Another thing that nobody wanted. Another pet project to keep me distracted. Keep me collared.” Her voice, too, turned sour, but the cat, perking up on her shoulder as in reaction, pushed on his front paws and headbutted his Lady, with another mrow. A less grumpy one. She seemed to calm down, at that, hand coming to caress the back of the animal as she stopped in front of a door. “But I do love them. They’re special, and great companions. You just have to give them some understanding and earn their trust. And that’s a gift most precious than any jewel.”

For a moment, right then, Cullen understood. And indeed connected her with a fluffy red cat that could purr and be soft, and be a ruthless predator the next moment. He stood there to look at her looking lovingly at old Miaule the 17th she was still hugging, the connection between them visible. And wished intensely that she still could look at him with the same eyes.

When she turned towards him, at last, for a moment he believed she could.

And he must have looked at her somewhat weirdly as well, because she cleared her throat, lowered her eyes and stepped back, gently accompanying the cat back on the floor and opening the door they were in front of.

“But I prattled enough for today.” She declared, stepping back on the threshold to give him space to pass. “Here’s your room, I hope it has everything you need.”

The space was spacious without being overtly so. A big window opened west, showing off the mountains and a cut of blue sky where the cloud enchantment ended. The curtains were ready to be pulled. A low bed with a small ottoman on its feet, where his luggage has been already deposited… And three cats sleeping all together right at the pillows, sinking a little in the blankets and testifying for how soft the pillow and the bedding were. A fireplace cracking merrily, a carpet on the floor, an armchair and a writing station. Then a small wardrobe and a door that had another small cat door in it, making him fail to guess where it could lead. The colours were muted and dark, but overall it was relaxing and cozy, and really more luxurious than he ever dreamed.

“It’s too much for me.” He couldn’t but saying, trying to hide how he yes, felt out of place… And how worried he was about how would have he done to shoo the cats away. Maybe he could ask if he could allow Cupcake -brought to the kennels with his siblings- up here.

Aisling, tho, laughed, and stepped on his side, arms crossed behind her back and looking up at him with a smile.

“It’s just enough.” She corrected him. “Pull that string beside the bed and Lazgar will come. She’s not young anymore and will insist on propriety. But she is trusted.”

“I… I don’t know how to thank you, my Lady.”

“Well, a good way would be to call me by my name, when we’re alone.” She suggested. “I think we’re past honorifics, aren’t we.”

He couldn’t but agree, even if it brought a rush of heat to his cheeks that made him turn his eyes away in shyness. She giggled subtly at it, but made no mention of it when she spoke.

“Well, I’ll leave you to settle down. Call if you need something, and if you look for me, I’m usually in my private library when I’m here. Just find the stairs and go up until you can, and that’s the door you should knock. Have I already told you the time of meals?”

She started to ramble, talking quickly and following a line of thought. If she was distracted, tho, Miaule was attentive, his one green eye fixed upon Cullen with a judgemental stare, tail swaying down the prosthetic his fluffy butt was perched upon.

“You did, my- Aisling.” He corrected, last minute. She smiled at it. “I’ll see you later, then?”

“I hope you will.” She replied, still smiling.

She greeted him one last time -made the cat bid goodbye too waving one of his paws gently left and right and making a voice for him as well- and left him alone in what was apparently his new space.

It was, cozy and quiet, even if the ceiling was too high. But it had a nice view of the mountains and the sky, and Cullen thought he would have found himself at ease, there. The idea of showing up sick and at his lowest scared him a little less.

There was, now, only one problem.

“Ok, you three, I think we’ll need some discipline…”

He told the three cats curled on the bed. One -a weird one all cream coloured, but with his face, ears, paws and tail black- rose its head and looked at him with blue eyes full of contempt, as if waiting to hear why exactly he dared disturbing them.

“First rule, not on the bed.” He announced them, seriously.

And made his first weak attempt to move the cats down without having them scratching him. He didn’t know how to pick them without hurting, and he didn’t want to hurt them. After a couple of trials to just shoo them, slipping his hands under their bodies and pushing gently up, he realised that he really had to ask someone how to deal with cats.

Because now he had not one, but three little muzzles with triangle ears all looking at him expectingly.

“… Or maybe you could stay for now. I did disturb you nap, after all.” He conceded. “But it’s either you or me, ok? You can have the bed during the day, and it’s mine for the night. Is it reasonable for you?”

The Siamese cat opened his mouth and made one single weird screeching sound at him. A meow, but high pitched, as if it wasn’t really accustomed to it. It held the same contempt of its look, and Cullen knew it was a “no.”

“… We’ll need to find a solution.” He insisted.

And feeling very silly for being there talking with three stubborn felines that he thought were the real owners of the room he was assigned, he sat on the corner of the bad and started to unpack his baggage, hoping he would have been ignored.

The Siamese, tho, appearently the chief of the three, quietly padded towards him.

It startled him, when she headbutted his elbow with decision. Cullen jumped, and the cat jumped too.

“I-I’m sorry? I didn’t expect to- Oh. Well. Ok?”

He fumbled, as the feline, not, impressed by his apologies at all, got closer again and started to sniff him. Hopped on his lap and slipped its head in his bag.

Not knowing how do act with a cat on his lap, and feeling too close to four sets of claws for comfort, Cullen let the creature do as it please. The other two reached the first, and soon after, he had three cats sniffing around, inspecting what he took out of his bag, biting the strap of the bag.

The Siamese lied down abruptly on his lap, all of a sudden letting go of its own weight on his paws and lying on its side on his thighs, with a deep sigh and all the air of a being that had no intention of moving. Indeed it stayed there until he had unpacked all his clothes at his side and left the empty bag to the second cat – a red one- to hop into and make a nest. The third, instead, a black one with long fur, curled right onto the pile of his shirts, which Cullen suspected will keep staying white for little longer.

The Siamese fell asleep, not caring of the Rohirrim’s pleads to please, move and let him up.

Maybe he would have been late for dinner, it seemed.

[frodothefair]

꧁ Of Lembas and Hydrangeas ꧂

CHARACTERS: Frodo & Sam, Sam/Fro implied

SUMMARY: Frodo recalls the quest and has a dissociative episode. Sam helps him through it, and teaches him how to find his way back.

RATING: Mature, for descriptions of PTSD and eating disorder symptoms.

WORDCOUNT: 4.7 k

A/N: I've actually realized that Chapter 8 of Flowers of Mordor could be a standalone piece as well, because it has a fair amount of Sam and Frodo. For context, though, this is a canon-divergent AU where it's Sam and his sister Marigold, not Sam and Rosie, who are helping Frodo at Bag End after the quest, and they do not live with him.

PREVIEW:

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

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

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

꧂

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

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

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

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

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

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

She even left a cup of water for him.

Frodo watched Sam hilling the potatoes.

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

“May I smoke, Mr. Frodo?”

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

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

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

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

The two were silent for a spell.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He withdrew a thick, white wafer from the wrapping.

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

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

Sam extended the wafer to Frodo.

Frodo shook his head.

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

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

“Sam… what is that?” 

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

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

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

“Lembas?”

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

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

“My dear Sam!”

Sam placed the paper back in his knapsack.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sam blinked, wiping the sweat from his brow.

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

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

“Won’t answer?”

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

Sam got up with a decisive start. 

“And you didn’t think to just go in?”

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

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

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

The Frodo he knew would not do this.

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

“Mr. Frodo?”

Silence.

Sam knocked.

“Mr. Frodo?”

Silence again. 

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

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

Speak Friend and enter.

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

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

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

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

No guessing of riddles was needed. 

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

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

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

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

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

“I… don’t quite know, Sam…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Frodo shook his head. 

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

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

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

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

“Oh, Mr. Frodo… Even still?”

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

Frodo nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I see… My bed?.. My dresser?”

Sam nodded, encouragingly.

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

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

“Mahogany, I think?”

“And what’s on top of your dresser?”

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

He squinted. Ah, yes.

“A mirror… Blue flowers in a vase.”

“Do you remember where the flowers came from?”

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

Sam nodded along to each of his answers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your hands, Sam?” 

Frodo paused. He looked down. 

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

“And the bed?”

“That feels good too. Soft.”

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

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

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

And yet, so much depended on such a world.

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

“And how does this feel?”

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

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

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

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

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

Sam could have grown lily-pads in the snow.

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

Intricate!

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

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

“Of course… I do.”

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

He clasped Sam’s hand.

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

Frodo nodded.

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

He closed his eyes again.

Hear. They had not done that one yet. 

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

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

“Oh, Mr. Frodo… My dear…”

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

“My dear Sam.” 

He kissed Sam on the forehead. 

Sam’s shoulders shook. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[awheelywheelygoodtime]

I spent two days writing this and I would like some recognition because I have no one else to share it with.

I would like to preface this by saying that the original film is my absolute favourite of all time. Surprisingly, I actually really liked the remake! It is not without it’s flaws, and I hope to rectify them because no one can fucking stop me and I have to do something to relax after my exam.

I always considered the franchise to be the closest thing that Disney has to true epic fantasy and the genre will serve as a source of inspiration for my amendments.

1. The Animation and Character Design:

I actually thought that the animation and character designs were brilliant. Lions are my favourite animal and I have been watching nature documentaries religiously since I was a child. The remake hit a perfect spot between realism and the aesthetics of the original characters. The landscape and such is a different matter, but I will get into that eventually.

My biggest gripe is one that is commonly shared by pretty much everyone that saw the film, the expressions or lack thereof. Real lions can squint, curl their lips, crease their brow and basically move their faces. You would be surprised by how expressive they can be.

Some people may say that it would anthropomorphise them too much and be unrealistic but we have a monarchy of talking lions, so who gives a fuck?

This is also a minor thing that only nature nuts would notice but the lions move wrong. They have this weird loping gait when they should run in what’s called a “rotary gallop” like real lions. The original film literally showed this in slow motion when Simba runs through the desert.

2. The Pridelands and Beyond:

The Pridelands need a lot of work. Everything is too beige and boring. It was as if they couldn’t decide between a golden arid savannah or a lush green one and just meshed the two into one boring mess.

Minas Tirith, Mordor and The Shire are all incredibly iconic and instantly recognisable. The same should be true for the Pridelands and the rest of the world.

Pride Rock should be an absolute monolith. A giant that looms in the background of every scene in the Pridelands and a believable capital for a kingdom (I’ll get more into this later). Not just tall but broad, a sprawling wild metropolis.

The Graveyard is an inhospitable hellhole. Always shrouded in shadow born from the ashes and noxious clouds spewed from geothermal activity. Thick clouds of mist and fog blanket the landscape, leaving bones and carcasses to loom out of the smog like giant teeth and claws.

The Gorge is a massive scar in the landscape. A Grand Canyon-esque pit that swallows light and just screams doom. The jungle that Simba winds up in needs to be more colourful and lively, a real paradise in the desert.

I think that a lot of the issues with the setting comes down to the fact that they acted as if they were on an actual set and not an animated world.

3. Ecology and Society

We need more wildlife.

More animals should have been at the presentation of Simba. Leopards and African Wild Dogs, Hippos and Crocodiles, even Gorillas and other jungle creatures should have been part of the montage of animals at the beginning. Migratory birds should have been present to bring the news back to their respective homelands (if Buckingham Palace can make international news then so can Pride Rock). Hyenas would also be part of the procession (this ties into something later).

Mufasa explaining the circle of life would include some scenes of various animals asking their king for counsel.

I would expand on the pride itself. It’s rare but some exceptionally large prides have subordinate males that can mate with the lionesses. This would avoid a lot of incestous connotations and make the pride more like a royal court (I have plans for Nala).

I would also change the wildebeest herd to a Cape buffalo herd. Cape buffalo are notorious lion killers and can live in herds up to a thousand strong. Shenzi and the gang send the calves first into the gorge and the rest of the herd would follow.

I would also pepper in references that Shenzi and her clan are mostly comprised of vagabonds, outcasts and exiles from other clans. The hyenas from the opening sequence would be some more positive examples. This may seem like “not all hyenas (tm)” but it’s better than them just being the Orcs of the savannah.

4. Characters and Characterisation

I’m not going to do everyone, just the characters that I have a firm grasp on what I would have done.

Scar: a vicious aristocrat. Really play up the gentlemanly aspects of his personality to contrast with an absolutely black heart. Like Palpatine his sole reason to live is the pursuit of power. All the brutality of Tywin Lannister with the underhanded slyness of Petyr Baelish. This makes him ambitious as hell but doesn’t translate to being a good ruler.

Shenzi: a calculated ruler that cares only for the betterment of her subjects. Queen of the Graveyard and willing to do anything to feed her clan of the lost and exiled. She and Scar were once genuine friends but now they are only using each other for their own gain.

Rafiki: kooky and mystic. They are basically Gandalf on mushrooms. Wielding a very subtle and ambiguous form of magic. I use gender neutral pronouns because I wouldn’t be opposed to making them female like in the broadway show.

Nala: a fierce huntress and the only hope for the pride during the reign of Scar. I would also make her a princess from another pride that has been betrothed to Simba. This gets rid of the incest questions and helps lay the groundwork for a sequel.

The Pride and the Subjects: I would place greater emphasis on the pride itself and the citizens of the Pridelands. Show the growing discord between the pride and the clan. The other animals are getting sick of Scar’s misrule and are either leaving or are in quiet revolt.

Mtumishi: a cape cobra and a new character. Zazu was major-domo for Mufasa, Shenzi serves the same role for Scar and Mtumishi serves his own royal. Mtumishi repeatedly visits the Pridelands under the orders of his queen, Zira. Zira rules Nala’s original pride and is a great figure of fear and conquest. She’s basically a family friendly lioness version of Vlad the Impaler.

I don’t really have anything of significance to say about everyone else. I would like to see more Sarabi but I’m happy with the other characters.

5. Plot and Story

I have already mentioned some additions that I would make in the previous sections but I’ll list a few more here. I would keep the same overall plot but with just some stuff added in.

We need to include the Hunt of the Lionesses from the broadway show. We don’t need to be too gory but I still think that it would be a brilliant addition to the film. It would give a greater emphasis to the lionesses and a short prayer after the hunt would reiterate the message of the Circle of Life.

I would expand on the meeting between Scar and the hyenas. Shenzi and her clan have just been humiliated by Mufasa. They have pushed their luck and now fear retaliation from the entire kingdom. Enter Scar with promises of food and security. He plays most of the clan like fiddles. Shenzi is wise to his schemes but doesn’t really have a choice. They have no idea no other allies and she is out options.

Scar would stop Zazu and the pride just before they got to the gorge. He would spin a few lies about no one needing to see the state of Mufasa and Simba. He would take care of everything and strongly encourage a heartbroken Sarabi to abdicate.

I would contrast Simba growing up in the jungle with Nala growing up in the Pridelands. Simba having fun with Timon and Pumbaa vs Nala cowering from a passing battalion of hyenas, Simba being desperately lonely as the only lion in the jungle vs Nala growing up in a tight knit community of older lionesses and other cubs, Simba battling leopards and other jungle hunters to protect Timon and Pumbaa vs Nala becoming a great huntress and protecting the smaller carnivores from competitive hyenas. Eventually, Sarabi and the rest of the pride scheme to send Nala to find help. The nearest pride belongs to Zira and that is a no-go. She must go further afield and eventually winds up in the jungle.

The conversation between Simba and Mufasa’s spirit is much more mystical. Rafiki leads Simba to the puddle in the thorns and his staring into the ripples of his reflection sucks him into an endless clearing beneath the night sky. He Lives in You starts crying as the stars come to land and form different animals. Not just African animals, but pretty much all of them. Bears, whales, jaguars, kangaroos, komodo Dragons, penguins and many more. This riot of life and light eventually leads to Mufasa himself. The vision ends with Simba back with Rafiki.

Mtumishi would be a reoccurring character relaying between the Pridelands and Zira. Scar’s growing madness and the disappearance of Nala bring his role to a climax when Scar sends him packing just before Simba returns. This is to help set up a possible sequel.

Everything else I would leave as-is or I need more time to figure it out.

What do you guys think?

[wordspin-shares]

Ten Lines Game

Thank you so much for the tag, @starryeyes2000!

Rules: Pick any ten of your fics, scroll to the midpoint, pick a line (or three or more) then share it. Tag others if you want.

You know, I have exactly ten fics, though eight are one-shots. 😂

From The Wings of Blue Butterflies (Tolkien-verse book-verse, multiple Ages):

Even more years came and went before Tom chanced upon the nightingale-singer once more. She sat with her maidens by the bend of the River-under-Shade flowing through the ancient forest, within mighty gates that led to cavernous halls of stone, weaving a great tapestry wherein were threaded deeds and many things past. She was clad in rich garments, with a circlet of gold upon her dark head and a delicate brooch of many-hued blue gems on her shoulder.

From Of Glass and Stars (LotR book-verse gapfiller):

The lake's surface was smooth as polish and dark, unbelievably dark. Hard as he had squinted, he could see no bottom, only a vastness of midnight-blue plunging down, down, forever. It was like trying to make out nonexistent shapes in the pitch-black of night. No ray of sunlight from above shimmered on the surface, but the mountains and a bit of bright sky cast their reflections on the blue water. And instead of his own likeness staring back at him, there were stars: pinpricks of pure white brilliance shining up from an unfathomable depth.

From The Sails are Set (LotR book-verse gapfiller):

Years and circumstances had matured him, and he had settled down to a respectable life in his parental home. And then a wizard and thirteen Dwarves had whisked him off to his first real adventure, kindling a fire within him that would not abate. And afterwards, even though he had resumed his old life in the Shire, the want to travel and know more of the wide world stayed with him, and he was changed.

From The Fifth Day (LotR book-verse gapfiller):

At last she saw him emerge and, as his eyes found hers, a touch of joy lifted her spirit. Too long she had lived with no close friends about her – her acquaintances, her own brother even, understood little of her soul, were blind to the invisible shackles binding her. This man, the late Steward Denethor's secondborn, had within moments perceived what others could not: that her maid's body was a prison, condemning her to mean tasks, robbing her of true freedom.

From Bedtime Stories (LotR Fourth Age book-verse gapfiller):

Fidgeting in bed, little Caradoc turned to his mother. "I have found the most pretty presents for you and Papa," he said excitedly, curly locks bouncing on his shoulders.

"And your Mama and I are looking forward to discovering what they are."

The young hobbit beamed as his father entered the room and came to sit by him on the bed. Then he frowned, gaze fixed on his parent's forehead. "Papa, how did you get that mark? It looks bad."

From Hallowed Waters (The Silmarillion book-verse gapfiller):

She halted and gazed at it long, a smile softening her face. After a while she drew nearer and looked up at the alder-trees by the water, feeling a gentle breeze upon her skin. She began to sing, a song of peace and growth, but when her eyes turned to the lake, she saw its surface was stained red.

From Beyond The North Stair (LotR book-verse gapfiller):

He had been young, a Lord of the Dúnedain journeying to the land of his forefathers, and eagerly ascended the many steps to the stone chair. When he had settled into its cold embrace, he had looked about him, west and south and east, seeing the wide plains of Rohan, and the High City where Anárion had been King, and the black mountains of Mordor.

From A Bit of History (LotR Fourth Age book-verse gapfiller):

The girl went with him and gazed at the clutter on the desk curiously. "What are you writing?" She looked up at the fair-haired elderly hobbit.

From my current version of Edged in Silver (LotR canon-compliant OC story):

As the young woman reached her destination, a hum went up from afar. It rose steadily to a clamour and cheering. She looked over the shrubbery that was the border of the Houses. Two horsemen appeared through the gate to the sixth level, followed by a press of people.

From From the Sidelines (TVD, canon-divergent-after-season-6 OC story):

Claire kept thinking about those words after they had hung up. She recalled what Sheila had told her about her Occult studies class. Most picked it because it seemed cool. Bonnie might have thought the same, but deep down she had begun to believe. After the initial shock wore off, she would take action.

Tagging: @thecharmedburrowspn-files @darknightfrombeyond @bi-ologistofthehills @sunlitscribe @waterloou @asirensrage @stachedocs @bobfloydsbabe @joaquinwhorres @illegalcerebral @bluejay-in-flight @bluebell-winter @darthnell @nejires-hado @carmens-garden @juliaswickcrs, and anyone else who wants to join in the fun! @ me!

[unethicallypleistocene]

Errantry: Or, A Traveling Scholar Fights the World

So... I wrote a fic! It's cheesy, it's cringe, and it's on AO3. I'll be cross-posting here. It's a bit of book canon, a bit of movie canon, and a whole lot of AU shenanigans. It's also not anywhere close to done. I also promise my OC's not entirely a self-insert. With all that said, here it is!

Chapter 1: An Oath, and Some Elves

“Can you people leave me alone for five minutes?” Kyrri hissed in Westron, unable to summon the energy required to remember all his Imladris Sindarin tutoring.

“Are you not well?” said Sílriel far too loudly, deciding to poke his leg with her foot as if inspecting a dead animal.

“Headache,” he grumbled, squinting in an attempt to recalibrate his senses. Curse Rivendell and its excessive brightness.

“You’ve no reason to be ill on this fine afternoon,” she said haughtily, having the audacity to skip down the stairs of the pavilion.

“Some of us need sleep to function,” he muttered, pushing his head off the table with great difficulty. Numerous tomes and scrolls were scattered this way and that, their writings beginning to swim as the thumping in Kyrri’s head grew louder.

“ECHUIO!” yelled Cîrdir into Kyrri’s ear, earning him a good-natured yet forceful elbow to the gut.

“After tomorrow, I hope never to see another elf again,” griped Kyrri, arranging the literature into well-proportioned stacks in his bag.

“And I shall dance on your grave when we next meet, lowly mortal,” laughed Sílriel from a distance.

Kyrri rolled his eyes and set out on the path, walking towards the blazing sun rather than away from it, much to his dismay.

“Doesn’t it ever get too bright for you?” he asked, attempting to block out the light with his hand.

“Never,” replied Cîrdir, practically glowing himself.

“I’ve got to get out of here,” said Kyrri, shaking his head.

“And go where?” asked Sílriel, ever the nosy one.

“I’m expecting a message from a general of Gondor,” said Kyrri, a self-important smirk contorting his features.

“What business with a homeless scholar would a Gondorian have?” said Cîrdir, condescendingly patting Kyrri’s head to emphasize his short stature. “With your height, he probably thinks of you as a hobbit.”

“Or a dwarf,” chimed in Sílriel. “How exotic.”

“I’ll have you know that he is an old friend,” Kyrri replied, his tone light. “But I would appreciate it if you didn’t call me ‘homeless.’”

“But you are,” said Cîrdir, gesturing to Kyrri’s decidedly non-elven garments of earthy tones.

“Have I not a home in fair Rivendell?” asked Kyrri, feigning offense.

“You have a place here, mellon nin, but a home is a place you carry in the deepest reaches of your soul,” said Sílriel, fulfilling her one-insight-per-month quota.

“Perhaps, perhaps.”

The trio walked in comfortable silence, approaching the waterfall and a curious circular formation below.

“The Council of Elrond,” breathed Cîrdir reverently.

“What are we waiting for?” said Sílriel excitedly, grabbing the two and dragging them down to eavesdrop in the shadows. Unfortunately, Kyrri’s ears were still ringing from the earlier disruptions.

“What’s happening?” he scream-whispered, with Sílriel glaring at him.

“Something about a ring?”

“A what now?”

“A ring, pen-channas!”

“Why do they care about a ring?”

“It’s probably magic,” murmured Cîrdir dryly.

Kyrri hazarded a peek into the scene, in time to see a dwarf attempt to hurl his axe at the table only to be thrown back violently.

“Called it.”

“Something danger something, Mount Doom…” Sílriel covered her mouth in shock. “They’re taking the ring to Mordor.”

“Mordor?!” Kyrri half-yelped.

“The ring is dangerous,” whispered Cîrdir, “they must destroy it.”

“Or what?” asked Kyrri, already knowing the answer.

Cîrdir and Sílriel looked at him meaningfully.

“Then I must warn Gondor,” breathed Kyrri, “before all is lost.”

Shoving his bag of books into Sílriel’s hands, he sprinted towards his quarters, faint voices growing ever quieter as the wind rushed in his ears.

“You cannot go alone!” protested Sílriel as Kyrri shoved multiple maps into his pack.

“I gave my word that I would protect that cursed kingdom,” he said, frantically searching for his annotated landmark-based map of the Anduin. “I must leave. Before dawn.”

Cîrdir returned, holding a suspiciously long clump of fabric. “It is no use to attempt to reason with Kyrri the Stubborn,” he said, unfurling the cloth.

“I cannot take one of your blades,” said Kyrri, backing away.

“It is my best work,” Cîrdir insisted. “It may be the only thing that can keep you alive, but by the grace of the Valar.”

Kyrri hesitantly approached the sheath, gripping the handle and drawing the sword.

“Go on, name it!” Cîrdir encouraged.

Kyrri considered the blade, turning it so that its edge caught the fading sunlight.

“Dagrassaeb,” he said. “The slaughter-hungry.”

Armed with elven steel and all the provisions he would need, Kyrri approached the Rivendell border with his friends close behind.

“I must leave before the Fellowship departs,” he said, turning his worn walking stick in his hands.

“I dhôl gîn lost!” cried Sílriel exasperatedly.

“I know,” he replied, “if I were not so boneheaded, I would be terrified.”

The three laughed in the mockingly bright moonlight, and Kyrri briefly wondered if Rivendell had ever looked so perfect when he was not about to leave.

“Galo Anor erin râd lîn,” said Cîrdir, uncharacteristically sober.

“Cuio vae, mellon nin.”

Kyrri set out on the path to Gondor alone.

Sindarin: Echuio! - Awaken! Mellon nin - My friend Pen-channas - Idiot I dhôl gîn lost - Your head is empty Galo Anor erin râd lîn - May the sun shine upon your path Cuio vae - Farewell (live well)

[sonxofxgondor]

Veiled in the warcraft of his people - the skins of animals across his back, the light armor that served to protect his torso, cape and metal - the Chieftain of the Wainriders was proud. Hatred for Gondor noticed from first glance, the way in which sword was held firm in hand, shield dangling from horse-saddle side, eyes squinted and mouth pressed to thin line. Flesh of sallow-color tanned ever more by the sun that had not yet set, the brightness of faded orange, hair that ran straight down and beyond his shoulders moved from wind alone. Danced in the breeze that dared to distort the marks about his forehead, adorned in pink; made red the scars that misshaped his youth. True age ruined by such troubles, the toll of conflict, never to be regained. Lost like the countless who were buried; the look of this foe none too strange for Boromir.

An enemy that he had known before, recalled in both dreams and when awake, an end that would follow only a singular path. Forked into two points but always led to the same destination; the touch to his own weapon was proven tight, knuckles white underneath the black leather gloves Boromir wore, fingers pressed deeply into the handle. Haerondir to be escaped from; more than one returned to the place of Hal's rest, Denethor's planned mission forsaken for better, sweeter glories. What could rival the loveliness of her soft kiss. Gentle onto Boromir's cheek, the stubble that had not been shaved, slightly overgrown and darkened, Hal's delicate gesture. Gave reason for the fast beat that captured his heart, the cause for his hand to grab hers, without another word did Boromir begin their journey out.

Old castle stone that was transformed; lunges across the broken bits, the rocks and rubble that had been destroyed by adversary intent. Catapult boulders and the heads of friends stolen, tortured and mutilated; stains of blood laid on the shale, still, scarlet and crimson splattered carelessly. Thrown against the walls and sides - hurled into the windows, shattered the glassware and torn the tapestries - centuries created. Fashioned from difficult labors, tears and sweat, Anborn parted with no more than little words, quick goodbyes and the courtesy of nodded head. Loyal as any of his fellow Rangers, brave and stern; familiar with the earnestness of Boromir, the actions of so passioned heart.

Focus turned from the view in front to the view behind, Boromir shifted his sights about himself and Hal, always mindful, always thorough, ever while his legs made their leaps and bounds over stone and grasses alike. At the point between stone and earth, his hand never untangled from hers, interlaced together and only able to be separated from the force of the gods. Powers that could split the world and have it all be reborn anew.

"Come! Come, my dearest!" Boromir beckoned, muscles sore from the exertion but stubborn despite, breath collected and released in due speed. "We're nearly to the horse!"

Speckled gray with mane so silver, the stallion had remained as Boromir left him. Devouring what he could of the greens beneath his hooves - barely sprouted from the soils, tips brushed only in faint shade - what death and evil had not claimed, the outskirts of Mordor. Free to roam as he pleased until the return of his master, more so friend, Boromir greeted the horse in delicate embrace, unoccupied hand slid from neck to shoulder. A learned touch; from the lessons of Rohan's finest, where Gondor had gone uncertain and unsure, where the search for Merry and Pippin had brought.

Boromir encouraged, both hands prepared to assist, the unfortunate release of Hal to be soon soothed. "Up you go, Hal. You first."

"Worry not, Anborn and the others are more than capable of holding Haerondir, as you already understand. And, on behalf of my father, the Steward of all Gondor, I declare your mission finished." Boromir announced, once the smallest signs of hesitation played on the features of Hal, a Ranger never satisfied until her promises were seen through.

"I'll not have you spend another moment here, not when there is no need to. You have done your service to my father. You have served his wishes, though meaningless and downright mad they were. You have made me proud, Hal. Not that I have ever lost faith in you. Come, as you said, let's go to your lodgings. Let us be together, speak on what needs to be spoken of. I have much to say. So much to make up for. If not for the safety of one another alone, hop up on the horse to least be rid of this dreadful place. I cannot bear the air, Hal. It steals my breath; makes heavy mine heart which is yours. Please, love."

   A glance back at where Boromir lay sleeping was made only to remember why she was letting a man, other than her Chieftain, to dictate her movements. If it also assisted her own leader and kin, than all was well. Once clear of the gates of Minas Tirith, a soft whistle stirred the air and a wild black Rohan warhorse soon stopped at her side. She swung herself up onto the bare back and were gone from sight in a matter of mere minutes. Spoken commands were not required between rider and horse, for they had learnt the silent tells of the other. Companions of old, few knew the true length of their friendship. but all were aware of Star’s unbroken wild nature and that the Rohirrim had classed the stallion as untrainable. A true son of the Mearas.

   The land passed quickly as they moved across the border between Gondor and Mordor, instincts on high alert and remaining hidden from view. Only coming to a stop once Star would go no further towards the Black Gates, the entrance to that terrible land. She knew the limits of her old friend and appreciated that he had taken her this far towards her destination. The wild stallion nosed her gently, before eating a apple from her hand and returning to the greener parts of North Ithilien until her whistle sounded once more. Dark grey eyes followed the dust trail of her fast moving friend until she no longer could see him, before turning and slipping into the ruins of a old castle nearby.

   Haerondir had been turned into a watch post by a few of the Ithilien Rangers, under the current command of Faramir’s Second. She had a quiet conversation with Anborn about what Denethor had sent her to do and left what she didn’t need in the room they had given her. Thoughts slipping momentarily to the Gondorian Captain who she had left behind with her heart. Never thinking that he would follow her to the Black Gates and the scouting task she had been set. A task that few would dare take on and even less would return from; a perfectly good solution that Denethor thought would let his eldest son find someone far more suitable for him.

   With their relationship being so new and his father not liking her, Hal had been painfully aware that she was trusting Boromir with her more vulnerable side. One she had hidden from the world when just the tender age of five. For now though, her attention switched to being fully on the scouting task ahead. Dissociating from her emotions and thoughts enough to concentrate on the Black Gates from her hiding place. Although seeming focused completely on the Marannon, the soft spoken Ranger tilted her head slightly as the familiar presence appeared by her side. Dark orbs remained fixed on the enemy ahead, hoping that for once her senses and instincts were wrong at who it was.

   His question destroyed that faint hope, that it was exactly who she thought. Denethor had sent her on a mission to a place that few returned from alive, getting her away from his treasured eldest son and Boromir had followed her there.

“Boromir…”

   His name was whisper soft on her lips, eyes finally drifting across to focus on the Captain she loved. This was where her ability to multi-task came into it’s own, for she could focus on what he was saying and their surroundings at the same time. Hearing the sadness and fear, Hal reached out a fingerless gloved hand and rested it on his hesitantly, unsure if her touch would be welcome at that moment. It remained there briefly, before returning to her side; a mixture of surprise, love and a quick flicker of fear breaking through the infamous Ranger mask of stone and neutrality.

   “I..-“ Her words came to a stop, something making the expression on her face twist and already dark eyes went a shade closer to pitch black. A familiar shiver of cold went through her, despite the lack of wind, causing her to look up the hill and spotted the ghostly Wain-riders’ Chieftain staring back. Hal turned back to Boromir and tried her words again. “I love you too, Boromir. And I never wanted to leave you the way I did but I was given no choice. But can we return to where I’ll be staying the night, for I don’t wish to be out here when the light fades. It’s not safe” She murmured quietly, pressing a gentle kiss against his cheek until they got somewhere slightly less dangerous.

[bunnywritesmarvel]

Eddie secretly loves to read and definitely needs reading glasses but he's embarrassed about it

jut imagine you notice him squinting at something you're showing him cause he's having trouble reading it but when you question if he needs glasses he looks at you like he's seen a ghost and gets all stuttery as he explains that he Does Not

no no no him loving books is technically canon isnt it???? he mentions lord of the rings and mordor, those are long ass books, AND the dnd books?? this mother fucker READS

you find his glasses just kinda thrown on his desk and when hes struggling to read you just roll your eyes and bring them to him and hes like "h-how did those get there??? never seen them in my life!!" and youre like "shut up, ive known about them for months, just put them on"

its fluff sleepover!

[reylohno]

THE CELEBORN PROBLEM (solved...?)

Some things in The Rings of Power (TROP) are harder to fit into canon Tolkien lore than others. Celeborn being presumed dead is one of them. Galadriel spending centuries on chasing Sauron to avenge her brother Finrod instead of searching for her lost husband is another. I think I may have found a way to bypass these issues with a canon divergence, though. Maybe. Possibly. I don’t know, just hear me out.

It’s hard to tell when, exactly, TROP takes place since there are several incompatible plotlines are taking place all at once, but we know that it’s in the Second Age (SA). Okay. So, to narrow it down a little: SA 500 is when Sauron, who’s been lying low since the defeat of his former master Morgoth, comes out of hiding and begins to rekindle alliances in the East and the South. He doesn’t properly establish himself in Mordor until around SA 1000, though, and it takes him two more centuries before he disguises himself and befriends Cerebrimbor in Eregion. Creating the rings of power takes him an additional 300 years, so let’s say that’s our scope. The show takes place somewhere between SA 500 and SA 1500. Okay? Okay.

(Side note: We’re going to completely ignore the fuckery that’s going on with the Númenórian timeline because otherwise we’ll go insane.)

In Tolkien’s lore, Galadriel should most likely be in Eregion with Celeborn and their daughter Celebrían (born ca SA 300) during this period. In TROP, that clearly isn’t the case. Instead, we have a childless, spouseless, revenge-driven Galadriel who somehow ends up on a raft with Sauron himself (sure, let’s call it a cosmic connection, I’m sure that sexual tension was totally unintentional.) There’s seriously no way in hell to make this work while staying true to Tolkien lore, so here it comes, my little canon divergence theory:

In canon Tolkien lore, Galadriel and Celeborn fled before the War of Wrath. In TROP, however, I think Celeborn joined it but never returned.

The War of Wrath, the battle where Valar, Elves, and Men joined forces to defeat Morgoth once and for all, took place at the very end of the First Age (FA 545 – 587). When characters in TROP talk about “the war,” this is the one they’re referring to. After over 40 years of vicious fighting, Morgoth was defeated, but the wreckage of the war was so great that a big chunk of Middle-earth sank into the sea.

(Side note: The War of Wrath is not the reason why the Noldorin Elves left Valinor, though. The real reason can be summed up as “three fancy stones cause a very disproportionate amount of murder”. TROP didn’t have access to The Silmarillion so they had to work around that.)

Alright. Anyway. This little canon divergence could explain why TROP!Galadriel never looked for her lost husband. How do you even search for a fallen soldier when the battlefield no longer exists? And if Celeborn really did die in this war (which I personally doubt because it would cause the show runners an avalanche of problems down the line), it would have been because of Morgoth. It’s hard to take revenge on a being that’s already been banished from existence. Sauron, however, is still in hiding in Middle-earth. He’s the evil that got away. Galadriel can’t avenge her husband, but she can still avenge her brother.

(Side note: I think it’s also worth mentioning that Finrod actually died about a century before the War of Wrath. He plays a major role in Beren and Lúthiel, where he heroically sacrifices himself to protect a mortal man from one of Sauron’s werewolves. I repeat: Finrod did not fight in the War of Wrath, and he most certainly didn’t die in it. But let’s not dwell on that. The show would fall apart. Squint with your brain and carry on.)