#sauron x nazgul | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

skyeet-the-writer · 2 years ago

Text

Lady of Enmond

Chapter Two: Fire and Blood

omg not me writing two chapters in one day bc i have nothing better to do??? that's crazy

legolas greenleaf x female!reader

summary: with the ringwraiths on their tails, strider, y/n, and the hobbits trek through the wild, slowly making their way to rivendell with little trouble. but one should never leave hobbits unsupervised with food and firewood

word count: ~4.1k

warnings: violence, hunting, mentions of death, mentions of blood

You can't even have a good sleep, because what feels like minutes later, you're startled awake, nearly falling out of your chair. Screams are coming from across the road, screams that are very akin to a pig squealing before a slaughter. Somehow, though, this one is different. It sends a chill down your spine and makes your hair stand up on end.

They're here.

Aragorn is sitting beside the window, staring outside. The Hobbits are awake as you stand and walk beside him, peering out the fogged-up window.

"What are they?" Frodo asks in a hushed voice as if they could hear him.

The Ringwraiths continue to scream in anger. You did trick them, after all.

"They were once Men," Aragorn answers. "Great kings of Men. But then Sauron the Deceiver gave to them nine rings of power. Blinded by their greed, they took them without question. One by one, falling into darkness. Now, they are slaves to his will."

Looking out the window, you see them. Great tall beings, wrapped in black cloaks, mounting their horses, dark as night, with red eyes that pierce through the darkness. Just looking at them terrifies you.

Aragorn turns back to the Hobbits. "They are the Nazgul. Ringwraiths, neither living nor dead. At all times, they feel the presence of the Ring, drawn to the power of the One. They will never stop hunting you."

At this, Aragorn says that you all must leave by morning. The Ringwraiths have left Bree, likely to go scout more.

"Rest up," he says to the Hobbits. "We leave in the morning."

As the Hobbits settle back down, you look at Aragorn. "I'll take this watch. You need sleep."

Aragorn sits back in his chair. "I do not."

You roll your eyes and take off your bow from around your torso. "Yes, you do. You haven't slept since last night. The sun rises in a few hours, you need to get it while you can."

Finally, your friend nods reluctantly. "Fine. I can't argue with you." He gives you a sly smile as he takes his scabbard off of his belt.

With a smirk, you sit back down in your own chair. "I am a Lady, after all. My father taught me to negotiate the second I could speak."

~*~

The sun rises much quicker than you would have thought. You had been drawing in your journal and writing a letter to your father, explaining your journeys, leaving out the part about how Sauron might have risen again. You just tell him how you and Aragorn met Hobbits in a bar. He doesn't need to know everything.

Your company is set out soon, hustling out of Bree and in the direction of Rivendell. The walk is long and by your calculations, it would take just over four days, possibly five. You know that you and Aragorn can walk for days, but you're not quite so sure of the Hobbits.

As the sun rises higher in the air and late morning approaches, you finally approach the woods. You've been pulling along a pony, Bill, what one Hobbit told you. The Hobbits seem kind enough, of course, weary of you and your friend. You don't blame them. The horse seems to like you, though.

"Where are you taking us?" Frodo finally asks after jogging for a few hours.

You sniffle, your nose slightly runny. Curse this cold morning air. "Into the wild."

When you enter the woods, you hand off the pony to a Hobbit in the back. This one is slightly bigger with blond hair. Sam? Is that his name?

With all the rain last night, the ground is still wet and slightly muddy. This is the kind of weather you like, especially in the forest. It's where you were raised, after all. The smell of fresh air and pines always brings you home. You know the forest like the back of your hand, knowing which trees are which, the names of all the animals. Though you're less familiar with these woods, they're still just as comforting.

You walk alongside Aragorn as the Hobbits begin to mumble to themselves. You catch a snippet of their conversation.

"...servant of the enemy would look fairer, and feel fouler."

"They're both foul enough."

With your mouth slightly open in faux shock, you whisper to Aragorn, "Are they calling us ugly?"

There's a ghost of a smile on his face and you swear he chuckles under his breath, pushing you forward.

"But where is he leading us?"

"To Rivendell, Master Gamgee," Aragorn answers loud enough for them to hear. "To the house of Elrond."

The Hobbits gasp and murmur. "Did you hear that? Rivendell! We're going to see the elves."

As you keep walking, the air gets colder as you climb the hills. You break through the forest and walk through clearings. Patches of snow litter the ground. You scoop a bit up into your hand, form it into a ball, and throw it at a tree, watching it smash with a small smile.

After a while, you begin to hear the Hobbits mumbling among themselves. You turn to see what the matter is and pause. They're unloading and sitting on the ground. You poke Aragorn's arm to get his attention.

"Gentlemen," you tell them politely. "We don't stop until nightfall. We need to keep moving.

"What about breakfast?" asks one of the Hobbits, Pippin, you recall, his accent thick.

You tilt your head, a hand resting on your knife casually. "We've already had it."

"We've had one, yes," he admits. "But what about second breakfast?""

With a roll of his eyes, Aragorn turns and keeps walking. Second breakfast? What even is that? Slowly, you turn away and continue walking.

"Don't think they know about second breakfast, Pip," says another Hobbit, Merry, slinging his bag over his shoulder to follow.

Pippin follows him, asking, "What about elevensies? Luncheon? Afternoon tea? Dinner? Supper? They know about them, don't they?"

"I wouldn't count on it," answers Merry.

With a small smile, you pull out an apple and toss it to Merry above the bushes. He catches it and hands it to Pippin, patting him on the shoulder. You toss another one and it hits Pippin in the face. With a gasp, you cover your mouth. "Sorry!"

As you continue to walk through the bushlands, the snow begins to melt more and the sky gets cloudier. You don't think it will rain again, but you can never be sure. Eventually, you end up in marshlands, with wet, murky water up to your knees in spots and flying bugs and mosquitos.

You're soaked to the bone and your legs are cold, but you keep going. You've always loved adventure, no matter how gross to messy. Your cloak protects you from the biting bugs, but you shoo them away from your face.

The Hobbits aren't having any more luck. Sam is slowly encouraging the horse to follow along and the other three are slipping and sliding. Probably because they don't have shoes, but then you suppose none could ever fit their feet.

Loudly, you hear one complain, "What do they eat when they can't get Hobbit?"

You persevere through the marshlands until nightfall. The lands are a bit less mucky through here, and Aragorn finds a spot to camp for the night. You're all hungry, only having had breakfast this morning.

"Shall I go hunt?" you ask, already taking your bow from your torso.

Aragorn nods. "If you would. You've always been better at it."

"Yeah, I have." And then you head into the woods. It's almost a full moon, so light should not be a problem.

Another good thing about living in the forest for your entire life is how quickly you learned to hunt as a girl. Your father took you when you were old enough and you immediately found your flow. It was one of your favorite things to do, even if it was a bit boring.

You trudge through the forest quietly, minding the branches and sticks on the ground. You're looking for a deer, only something that big will feed the six of you. A doe will work, but you wouldn't pass up a buck.

When you're looking for a deer, almost everything else seems to pop out. Squirrels run across your path carelessly and birds sing above, getting ready to rest for the night. Finally, you approach a small creek and decide to wait there for something. Even deer get thirsty.

You crouch down behind a bush but still with enough of a view. To be prepared, you draw an arrow and nock it so you're ready when anything pops out.

You wait for a while, longer than you would have thought. The woods are still and quiet down as the moon rises higher and your breath comes out in a fog. Your knees hurt and you shift.

A twig snaps from the other side of the creek and you perk up, peering through the woods. Slowly, a pretty doe approaches the creek and bends down to drink.

Slowly, you draw back your string and aim. You want to aim for the heart or lungs for an easy kill. You never want an animal to suffer.

So you wait until she's done drinking. You'll have a better shot and if you stay low, she won't hear you. So you wait. She takes a while, she must have been thirsty. But finally, she slowly stands extending her neck too look around.

Before she can leave, you release your arrow, and it thunks right into her heart. She falls and quickly stills.

Your feet splash in the creek as you make sure she's dead before hoisting her up over your shoulder to get back to the group. She's heavy and you grunt, but you can manage.

They are still right where you left them, as you expected.

You skin it as Aragorn gets it on the fire and roasts it in chunks. You cook all of it, wrapping up the leftovers for the rest of the journey.

The Hobbits fall back asleep soon and you lay on the ground, hands behind your head as Strider softly sings a tune in Elvish while smoking from his pipe. You're looking up at the stars, knowing they're the same ones as above your village. Maybe your sister is looking up at them right now?

"Who is she?" Frodo asks out of the blue and you nearly shit yourself, clutching a hand over your heart. You sit up and realize he's talking to Aragorn. "This woman you sing of."

Aragorn hesitates to answer, you knew he would. He's always hesitant to speak of her. "'Tis the lady of Luthien. The Elf-maiden who gave her love to Beren, a mortal." He sighs heavily and you feel bad for him.

"What happened to her?" Frodo asks quietly.

Aragorn sighs again and shakes his head. "She died," and he turns away.

You look at Frodo and say, "Get some sleep, Frodo. We still have a long way to go."

He nods and settles back down, pulling his blanket over himself. You look at Aragorn. He's still smoking and you lay back down, counting the constellations once more.

You're not sure when, but eventually, you fall asleep. And, like always, you dream. You always dream. Most of the time, you can't remember them. When you can, however, they're important. And this one seems like it is.

In your dream, you're standing in the dark, the grass wet beneath your feet. You're not wearing shoes because, for some reason, you never do in your dreams. To one side of you is a great black tower you know is the Orthanc, the great tower of Isengard. To your other side are trees, far and as wide as the eye can see. Tall trees, great and old ones.

For a moment, you wonder why you're here. You've never been to Isengard before, you've only heard stories. Suddenly, you hear a crack and a crash and look back toward the forest. A tree has fallen. And then another crack, a creak, and a crash. Another tree has fallen. No. Not fallen. It's been pulled down.

You're too far away to see clearly, and you can't move. You can never move in your dreams. But you swear you can see men beside the great trees, tying ropes around them and pulling them down. You can hear their grunts and shouts from here.

But something about them seems...different. Their voices sound different, not human.

Another tree falls to the ground and you wake up.

~*~

You keep walking all day. Through the marsh a bit more then through the woods again before finally breaking out into open land just to climb up some more hills. You've been through this land a few times, but it's still just as unfamiliar to you.

Part of you considers bringing up your dream to Aragorn. Oftentimes, your dreams have deeper meanings. Sometimes, even, what happens in your dream comes true in real life. One times, you dreamt your cursed mother burned your brother's arm with a hot ember. A few days later she did.

But another part of you decides to wait. Surly it can't be that important. And besides, you all still have much to worry about.

As you travel, you attempt to make conversation with the Hobbits. By now, you've learned their names. Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin. The pony's name is Bill, something you found amusing.

"What's so funny?" asks Sam, still hesitant to trust despite how many chunks of deer he had the night before.

You still your laughter and say, "Oh, nothing, nothing! I just think it's quite cute, Bill." You rub the horse's ear and he whinnies.

As evening approaches, your feet are killing you. Looking back, you should have gotten a new pair of boots before you left Bree. You knew it.

Aragorn slows and you nearly run into him, stopping just before you run into his back. "Hey."

He's looking at something and you follow your gaze, breath hitching in your throat. "Oh."

Before you is a great ruin on a hill. Nothing too fancy, but you know better. It's the ruins of a watched town, Amon-Sul.

"This was the great watchtower of Amon-Sul," Aragorn says, somewhat forlornly. He turns to the Hobbits and says, "We shall rest here tonight."

After trecking halfway to the top, Aragorn states that it's as good a spot as any. The Hobbits quickly take off their packs and sit down heavily, panting. You sot on the edge, swinging your feet. It's windy up here, and the clouds are moving fast.

Aragorn steps away from the edge and takes off something from his back. You turn to see what's going on to see him handing the Hobbits small swords, four of them. Though you'd call them more like daggers, they're the perfect size for them.

"These are for you," he says. "Keep them close. We're going to have a look around." He looks at you.

You turn your eyes away from the Hobbits googling at their new weapons to look at Aragorn with upturned brows. "Come on, Aragorn, can't I just sit?"

He holds out his hand.

Reluctantly, you take it and haul yourself up, feet immediately hurting again. With a sigh, you leave some of the deer meat with the Hobbits. Aragorn begins to make his way back down. "Stay here," you tell them. "And be quiet and careful." Then you turn to follow your friend back down.

~*~

"How are you doing, Y/N?" Aragorn asks as you both do a perimeter check around the fortress. He said it was to make sure there's nothing around, but part of you feels like he needed to get away from the Hobbits. As sweet as they are, they had never been on a journey like this before, even you knew that. It was hard. And they let you know every second.

You sigh, trudging along. Honestly, you've been better. You haven't bathed in several days, your hair is a mess, and your feet are killing you. So, you answer, "Pretty good, considering. You?"

He just sighs instead of answering. You laugh.

You both walk around in silence like you both normally do. You're both similar in that way. You sometimes prefer silence over the conversation.

In fact, your silence is quite nice until a faint scream ruins it.

It's that same scream you heard two nights before. Your nerves are set on fire again and you exchange an urgent look with Aragorn. They found them.

Quickly, quicker than your feet liked, you both raced back the way you came, dodging branches, and jumping over rocks. Aragorn's sword is drawn and your bow is loaded as you run back up the ruins of Amon-Sul. Above you, the sounds of struggle are steadily getting louder. Clanging of swords and grunts of Hobbits. You pass by the camp, where you note the embers of a fire still smoking. You shake your head and click your teeth. Hobbits.

Finally, you reach the top and you're not prepared for what you see.

Five of the Nazguls, tall and dressed in dark armor are standing, crowded around something. Three of the Hobbits are down, but look unharmed. Merry, Pippin, and Sam. Then where is Frodo?

A scream cuts through the air, this one mortal, nothing that the Wraiths could produce. Your blood runs cold and for a moment, you're frozen. Frodo.

But then Aragorn lets out a cry, he leaps and slices at the Nazguls, a torch in his hand. Where'd he get that from?

After that, your mind jumps into action mode and you let loose an arrow and it flies towards a Nazgul's empty face. Literally, empty, you can see nothing but pitch black beneath his hood. It screams and reaches towards you, but you've already knocked another arrow and it sinks into its face again.

You can't see Frodo still, but you know where he is. The air seems to ripple just a bit behind where you're now standing and part of you knows it's him. You've drawn another arrow while Aragorn waves the torch in front of you. The Ringwraiths don't seem to like that, as they cringe away from it. Is that their one weakness?

Firing another arrow that clangs off of one's armor, you don't let that deter you. You haven't been in too many battles, much less against these things, but your body knows what to do. Stay focused, keep moving, and be aware of everything at all times.

There's a scream of agony behind you and you risk a glance. Frodo has reappeared, but he's much paler now. He's shaking and shivering and his shoulder is bleeding as he cries out.

There's a clang of metal and you turn to let fly another arrow, deflecting against a sword.

Sam is up and rushes to his friend's side as you and Aragorn push them back. You shoot another and it sinks into a Nazgul's hood. They're all screaming so loud you feel like your ears will soon bleed.

Aragorn's torch makes contact with a Nazgul's rope and it lights on fire, the being itself screaming in pain. You laugh and shout, "Nice!"

The Ringwraith on fire now stumbles back into two of his friend, also setting them on fire. Aragorn pushes one back to the edge where it has no other choice but to fall. You, however, are out of arrows. You throw your bow to the side and duck the swing of a blade, stumbling backward. "Aragorn!" you cry, screaming and rolling out of the way as a blade clangs at the stone where you just were.

Something hurdles through the air and the torch lands smack in the center of the thing's face. It screams and falls over the edge. Your friend rushes over and hauls you up, touching your face gently. "Are you alright?"

You look up at him and nod. "Yeah," you say breathlessly.

Frodo cries out again and you both break apart to rush over to him. He's on the ground surrounded by his friends. He's just as pale and still writing in pain.

"Help him, Strider," says Sam, on the brink of tears.

Something glints beside Frodo and you pick it up. It's a dagger and you know what it is just off of stories. "He's been stabbed by a Morgul blade." The blade itself disintegrates into the air and you throw the hilt down angrily.

Frodo cries out again.

Hurridly, Aragorn picks him up again, despite Frodo's wails. "This is beyond my skill to heal. He needs Elvish medicine."

Quickly, you pick up your arrows and bow and stow them back on your person, running to catch up with the others. Aragorn has made the Hobbits pick up camp and you assist them before running after Aragorn, who is already halfway down the hill by now.

You make your way into the forest, knowing that the wraiths are still very much out there, very much not dead, and very angry. You're kneeling beside Frodo, hushing him and pushing back his sweaty hair. Yet his skin is cold to the touch. His cries quickly get quieter as he tiers out. He's not bleeding, but with this, he wouldn't. No, he's been poisoned. There's still a shade of the blade inside him.

In the clearing, you're surrounded by stone trolls, but you barely notice. Poor Frodo, you bet he didn't ask to do any of this, he didn't want to get involved in this.

"Look, Frodo," Sam says, sitting beside you. "It's Mister Bilbo's trolls." He touches his friend's face and cries out, "He's going cold!"

"Is he going to die?" asks Pippin, also on the verge of tears. Your heart breaks.

Aragorn turns and says, "He's passing into the Shadow World. He'll soon become a Wraith, just like them."

Frodo gasps and you scowl. "Strider!"

A Ringwraith screeches in the distance and you look around. It's too close for comfort. For a moment, Frodo's gasps match thairs.

"They're close," you say.

"Sam." Aragorn walks towards the Hobbit and touches his arm. "Do you know the Athelas plant?"

Sam nods quickly. "Aye, Kingsfoil, that's a weed."

"It may help to slow the poision." He hands him his torch and says, "Quickly. Khaya, you watch them. Be on guard."

You nod and look back down at Frodo as the two of them run into the woods to look for that plant. "Hang on, Frodo, you'll be fine, I promise."

Frodo closes his eyes, his breathing becoming slower. He's tired, you know that, but he must stay awake.

Gently, you pat at his face. "Come on, Frodo, stay awake. There."

His eyes meet yours and for a moment, you see your brother in them. They were the same color.

The minutes seem to stretch longer. Merry and Pippin sit beside you, but none of you speak. You cradle Frodo's head in your lap, trying not to worry. You all were so close, just a few more days and you would have been at Rivendell.

"Will he be okay, Khaya?" asks Pippin.

For a second, you forget that that's the name Strider gave you to hide your identity. But you nod, hastily. "Yes, he will be. We just have to wait for Strider and Sam, they'll have some medicine. Then we'll get a horse and ride him off to Rivendell."

"What about the Ringwraiths?" asks Merry in a hushed voice as if they would hear him.

You huff and scowl at the ground. "I--I don't know, Master Merry, but Strider will. He always does."

Gently placing Frodo's head on the grass, you stand. You need to move, you need to stand, you need to walk. You wonder what's taking Aragorn and Sam so long as you wander towards a towering stone giant. What did Sam say? Mister Bilbo's trolls? What did that even mean? And what is taking Aragorn so long?

You hear a twin snap in the distance and the gallop of hooves. Your heart drops to your feet and you turn faster than you ever have before, your dagger drawn.

But it is no Ringwraith. No, this is the opposite. A fair lady with dark long hair rides atop a white horse, dressed in a green cloak. She's beautiful, the most beautiful woman you've seen. And you've seen a lot. Immediately, you know she's an Elf, not just from her grace from dismounting a horse or how she seems to float through the air, but by her pointy ears.

You don't even put your knife away, just watch with an open mouth as she kneels beside Frodo and speaks in Elvish, a language so beautiful you nearly cry on the spot. Her voice is light and airy, and you're sure, if it were possible, she'd be radiating white light.

"Who is she?" asks Merry, having come to stand beside you with Pippin.

Aragorn comes from the clearing with Kingsfoil in his hands. You know her name, only by the stories Aragorn had told you.

"Frodo," the Elf says in the common tongue. Aragorn chews up the Kingsfoil in his mouth and Sam appears beside you.

"She's an Elf," he says.

"She is Arwen," you whisper, finally sheathing your dagger. What good would it have been against a Nazgul anyway?

Aragorn lifts Frodo's shirt and places the paste on Frodo's wound. He gasps and his eyes widen.

"He's not going to last," Arwen says. "We must get him to my father."

Hastily, the two of them pick Frodo up and Aragorn carries him to Arwen's horse.

"I've been looking for you for two days," Arwen says.

Merry steps forward quickly. "Where are you taking him?"

"There are five Wraiths behind you. Where the other four are, I do not know," she continues on.

Aragorn says something in Elvish, but Arwen counters back at him. They have a conversation while you and the Hobbits watch in curiosity.

"What are they saying?" Pippin asks.

You simply shrug. "I don't know."

Arwen says something that makes Aragon pause. Then, now back in the common tongue, she says, "I do not fear them."

Aragorn gently takes her hand. He says something in Elvish and she smiles before mounting her horse. Frodo moans. "Arwen. Ride hard. Don't look back."

Exchanging one last look, Arwen speaks to her horse in Elvish and they take off into the night.

Sam looks up angrily at Aragorn and shouts, "What are you doing? Those Wraiths are still out there!"

Aragorn hesitates, and for a moment, you see him regretting his choice. But you touch his arm and he looks at you.

"She'll be fine," you tell him and that seems to make him feel better.

He turns to the rest of the Hobbits and says, "Come, we must go. Rivendell is much further and we can waste no time."

60 notes · View notes

urwendii · 2 years ago

Note

For the silm ask🌟 ⏩️ ⏸️🐉🔮

Hi thanks so much! Those are interesting questions omg

🌟 Which of the Valar do you feel the most affinity for and why?

Mh the issue there is that I love volcanoes and I love fire (like literally rn im watching a 10hr video of the Kilauea lava flow bc it's so soothing <3) but Melkor is too nihilistic for me, I guess Varda because that's the closest from astronomy you can get in the Legendarium.

⏩ Which section of the Silm did you read through the fastest? (Couldn't put it down!)

Akallabeth !!!!

⏸️ Which section did you read the slowest? (Not as interesting or "if I don't keep reading 'x' bad thing cannot happen)

The story of Beren and Luthien. I know it's an epic tale of love and courage in adversity blablabla it's not my jam i was bored because i cannot relate for a second for someone who will trade her immortality for ??? a man????? like girl wtf. I like the part she humiliates sauron and morgoth tho.

🐉 A lot of figures in the Silm have weird Eldritch powers or possibly biology. Tell us about your headcanons for one.

Melkor's voice was more like a high pitched whisper that would terrify you, his cries like the Nazguls shrieks, i like the fact that as a corrupted Ainu, the essence of his self being his voice, would be morphed into something sinister.

🔮You can reach into the Beyond and ask the Professor to settle one (1) debate for you. He won't even waffle on the answer, honest. What do you ask him?

WHERE DO THE ORCS COME FROM PROFESSOR

were they made by Melkor out of mud and sorcery although he couldnt Make anything anymore, Was it Sauron's sorcery, Were they elves from Cuivienen captured and tortured, were they Men corrupted? What happened to them after Sauron's fall?

WE NEED TO KNOW

#answered

3 notes · View notes

bisexualbumblebee-writes · 2 years ago

Text

Of Princes and Witches Chapter 15- Legolas Greenleaf x OC

Legolas Greenleaf x Alphine Barrowes

Description: Alphine aids Pippin in lighting the beacon then meets Boromir's brother, Faramir.

Word Count: 2k

Later that evening Alphine, Pippin and Gandalf were in their temporary room. The Wizard stood on the balcony connected to the room, smoking his pipe. Alphine, who had been sitting on the floor beside the bed, looked over as thunder rumbled in the distance. Her brows furrowed when Gandalf coughed quietly.

“So I imagine this is just a ceremonial position,” Pippin spoke, seemingly not hearing the Wizard’s cough as he examined a sword. “I mean, they don’t actually expect me to do any fighting, do they?” He looked at Gandalf uncertainly.

“You’re in the service of the Steward now,” the White Wizard answered. “You’ll have to do as you are told, Peregrin Took.” He could say no more as coughs wracked his body.

“Pippin,” Alphine gestured to a bowl of water and the goblet that sat beside it. The Hobbit got the hint quickly and poured water into the goblet before taking it to Gandalf as his coughing grew worse. The Witch’s brows furrowed in concern and she stood up, walking over to him while Pippin handed him the goblet. The Wizard thanked him with a hand on his shoulder before taking a sip. Alphine pressed a hand to her mentor’s back and shot him a worried look, but he merely nodded reassuringly in response.

“There;s no stars,” Pippin suddenly said, which caught their attention. He was studying the sky intently, and Alphine understood why with how dark it had become, even during the night.

“Is it time?” The Witch asked softly, earning a nod from the Wizard.

“Yes.” The Hobbit leaned against the parapet.

“It’s so quiet.”

“It is the deep breath before the plunge,” Gandalf explained. Pippin shook his head sadly.

“I do not want to be in battle. But waiting on the edge of one I can’t escape is even worse,” he paused, looking at Gandalf. “Is there any home, Gandalf, for Frodo and Sam?”

“There was never much hope,” the Wizard answered, leaning against the parapet beside Pippin with a small smile to him. “Just a fool’s hope. Our enemy is ready. His full strength is gathered. Not only Orcs, but Men as well. Legions of Haradrim from the South, mercenaries from the coast. All will answer Mordor’s call. This will be the end of Gondor as we know it. Here the hammer stroke will fall the hardest. If the river is taken, if the garrison at Osgiliath falls, the last defense of this city will be gone.”

“But we have the White Wizard,” Pippin pointed out with a smile. “That’s got to count for something.” Alphine couldn’t help but smile at the Hobbit’s optimism, and she rested a hand on top of his head. Her smile dropped when Gandalf didn’t answer. She faced the Wizard only to see him looking at Mordor.

“Sauron has yet to show his deadliest servant,” he ultimately answered. “The one who will lead Mordor’s army in war. The Witch King of Angmar. You’ve met him before. He stabbed Frodo on Weathertop. He is the lord of the Nazgul. The greatest of the nine.” Alphine and Pippin shared a nervous look, then faced the Wizard unsurely.

“Peregrin Took my lad, there is a task now to be done,” Gandalf said as he led the Hobbit and Alphine through the streets of Minas Tirith. “Another opportunity for one of the Shire folk to prove their great worth. You must not fail me.”

“Why can Alphine not do it?” Pippin asked as they arrived at the base of the beacon, looking at the Wizard curiously.

“I would be too obvious,” the Witch explained. “Even if I were to use magic it would be noticeable by the guards or the people of the city. You are small enough to be unnoticeable, which will aid you greatly. This task is yours, and yours alone.” Pippin looked nervous despite her explanation. She rested a comforting hand on his shoulder, then crouched down to his height and smiled at him.

“You can do this.” That seemed to be enough to get the Hobbit to nod. Gandalf and Alphine stepped back and allowed him to begin his climb of the beacon of Minas Tirith. The Witch watched nervously, muttering a protection spell on him should he lose his grip.

He didn’t, thankfully, and instead arrived at the top without problem. The duo watched as he pulled on the oil container, breaking the rope that held it and allowing oil to pour over the dry hay. Once the hay was soaked Pippin grabbed the burning lamp and dropped it onto the beacon. The beacon went up in flame, which made Alphine smile as he began climbing back down. Once he was safely on the ground the two of them followed Gandalf when he ran out to a parapet, looking into the distance.

“Amon Dîn,” the Wizard muttered. Almost as if on cue, a beacon in the distant mountains lit up in a blaze. A laugh left Alphine's lips at the sight, and she looked down at Pippin.

“Hope is kindled! You did it, Pippin.” The Hobbit blushed at the praise looking quite proud of himself as they turned back to the beacon of Amon Dîn.

Later that day Alphine was helping Pippin prepare for his induction into the tower guard. He sat on a bench while she straightened out his belt, legs dangling idly.

“What were you thinking Peregrin Took?” He asked himself, which caught the girl’s attention. “What service can a Hobbit offer such a great Lord of Men?” A sympathetic look formed on the girl’s face and she began to comfort him, but was interrupted.

“It was well done,” an unfamiliar voice said from behind them. It was a Man that Alphine had never seen before, and yet a sense of familiarity filled her.

“A generous deed should not be done in cold counsel,” he continued as Pippin and Alphine stood up. “You are to join the tower guard.”

“I didn’t think I would find any livery that would fit me,” the Hobbit admitted.

“It once belonged to a young boy of the city. A very foolish one who wasted many hours slaying dragons instead of attending to his studies,” the Man responded wistfully.

“This was yours?” Asked Pippin with a smile, earning a nod and smile from him.

“Yes, it was mine,” he answered as he leaned down to fix the Hobbit’s tunic. “My father had it made for me.”

“Well, I’m taller than you were then. Though, I’m not likely to grow anymore, except sideways.” His comment made the three of them laugh.

“It never fit me either. Boromir was always the soldier,” the Man responded, his smile fading after a moment. “They were so alike, he and my father. Proud, stubborn even, but strong.” And that’s when it hit Alphine that she was in fact talking to Boromir’s younger brother, Faramir. He’d told her about him quite a bit during their journey, and it honestly felt like the Witch had known him forever. That’s why he felt so familiar to her.

“Well, I think you have strength of a different kind,” she spoke for the first time since the conversation started, which caught his attention. “One day I believe your father will see that.” Her words brought a smile to the Man’s face.

“I thank you, Lady…”

“Alphine Barrowes,” she filled in, holding out her hand. “And there is no reason for titles.”

“Very well. I am Faramir,” he answered, taking her hand and shaking it.

“I know. Your brother told me quite about you,” she laughed softly. “He sang praises of your intelligence and tactical skills.”

“You knew Boromir?” Faramir asked, slightly awed.

“I did. He was quite possibly the bravest Man I’ve ever known,” she responded softly. A sad sort of look appeared on Faramir’s face as he nodded.

“He was,” he agreed in the same tone, though he quickly shook his head and straightened out, clearing his throat. “My father sent me to retrieve you, Peregrin Took, for your induction. Are you ready?” Pippin looked at Alphine nervously, receiving a comforting smile and nod in response. He nodded at Faramir.

“I'm ready.”

Pippin sat on his knees in front of the throne with his head down respectfully. On said throne sat Densthor, who was watching the Hobbit intently. Alphine stood side by side with Faramir behind Pippin, watching the proceedings in silence.

“Here do I swear fealty and service to Gondor in peace or war, in living or dying, from…from this hour henceforth until my Lord releases me or death takes me,” he recited. The Witch refrained from scrunching up her nose at the Steward’s smiling face as the Hobbit finished, hiding the bottom half of her face with her hand by biting her nails.

“And I shall not forget it!” Denethor said as he stood and approached Pippin. “Nor fail to reward that which is given.” He held out a hand in front of Pippin expectantly. Pippin stared at it for a second before kissing the ring that sat on the Steward’s finger. Denethor nodded approvingly then lifted the Hobbit’s face by the chin.

“Fealty with love,” he continued as he walked over to a table with a small feast sitting atop it. “Valor with honor. Disloyalty with vengeance.” He took a seat in the only chair at the table, helping himself to the food. After a moment he faced Faramir.

“I do not think we should so lightly abandon the outer defenses. Defenses that your brother long held intact.” Faramir stood in attention.

“What would you have me do?”

“I will not yield the River and Pelennor unfought. Osgiliath must be retaken,” Denethor demanded.

“My Lord, Osgiliath is overrun,” his son pointed out.

“Much must be risked in war,” the Steward brushed off. “Is there still a Captain who still has the courage to do his Lord’s will?” Alphine’s gaze turned to Denethor in alarm. Surely he had to be joking.

“You wish now that our places had been exchanged,” Faramir realized. “That I had died and Boromir had lived.” The Witch stared at the Steward intently, subtly (albeit eagerly) awaiting his answer.

“Yes, I wish that,” was all Denethor said before taking a drink from his goblet.

Sympathy coursed through her as she faced Faramir. He didn’t deserve such treatment from his father, and Denethor didn’t deserve such a kind and compassionate son like him. Her sympathy was quickly replaced with hate for the Steward. What a horrible Man he was, forcing his youngest son to live in the shadow of his brother. Alphine considered, for a brief moment, giving Denethor a piece of her mind, but she fortunately (or perhaps unfortunately) was interrupted by Faramir.

“Since you are robbed of Boromir I will do what I can in his stead,” he bowed to his father then began to walk out, but stopped to face him just as he reached the door. “If I should return, think better of me, father.”

“That will depend on the nature of your return,” Denethor responded dismissively. With that Faramir walked out of the great hall. Alphine watched him helplessly, glancing back at Pippin for a moment before beginning to walk out after the Man.

“Where are you going?” Demanded the Steward from his seat.

“I do not answer to you,” the Witch snapped in response before running outside, where Faramir was walking along the parapet. “Faramir, wait.”

“I must go, Alphine,” he responded without facing her.

“Faramir, please,” she said desperately, grabbing his arm. “You do not have to do this.” The Man stopped to look at her.

“Yes, I do. Denethor commands it. I cannot disobey him as both my father and the Steward of Gondor.” The girl shook her head sadly.

“It would be in vain. Even Boromir would not do such a thing because he knows that without extra defenses it will result in the loss of many good lives. Gondor will be lost if you do this.” The Man stood there for a moment, almost as if trying to weigh his options. Eventually he looked past her at the great hall once again, and he made up his mind.

“I must prepare my troops. I'm sorry Alphine.” With that he pulled his arm out of her grip, leaving her in the courtyard watching after him helplessly.

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

3 notes · View notes

bamsywrites · 1 day ago

Note

Questions 2, 13 and 28 for the RoP Ask Game. :-)

Thank you thank you. My brain gave out on the last one 🙃

2. Who is your favorite character and why?

I think people are expecting me to say Sauron but it's not. I love Sauron obviously, but my answer is Prince Durin. He's so relatable and understandable. His friendship with elrond is Fantastic as is his marriage. But I feel like I get him as a character and relate more than I do to the elves. He's strong in his morals, he loves his friends and family deeply, he cares for the Dwarven people bit he's so flawed in his pettiness, his temper. That makes him all the more relatedable His storyline is so unappreciated and I feel the acting is on par with Celebrimbor and Sauron. What he says about looking into the kings eyes and not seeing his father, and the speech he gives his people, the fucking whole scene before the Balrog? I was a wreck. I love him.

13. What character do you want to sing? To who? What about?

This would be so so so far down the line, and under the presumption that Theo is The King Under the Mountain, but having an angry song from Isildur to Theo would be interesting. This is probably because I love Isildur just throughout all of Tolkien and also The King Under the Mountain is probably one of the stories I'm looking forward to the most in this RoP. Next to Numenor Falling and the Nazgul.

28. Do you have headcannons about any character? Or the world?

Boy do I. There's so many I have but I'll just list a few lol

I think that part of sauron did want to stay in Numenor. I think a part of him wanted a fresh start. I think this mainly because if you look at "Halbrand" he's a disheveled dude with scurvy who needs a bath. Sauron was always presented as beautiful because he admires beauty and he's egotistical as fuck. That's why first age sauron looks like that, that's why annatar looks like that. I think the fact that he came back in such a way shows that he was at a point of unknowing, of inner conflict, of possibly wanting to be redeemed. I view sauron kind of like Darth Vader sometimes. There's Mairon, who admires beauty and creating things and peace and order, who was manipulated into sauron. When Morgoth fell, he still had adar and the orcs by his side so he was able to maintain that facade without Morgoths manipulation but once they turn on him and then he's left as goo for 1000s of years, he's not so confident. But the manipulation won, in the end, and while he may have been a desire for a new start the minute sauron saw a flaw in the world, he'd seek to fix it by world domination.

Nori is a direct ancestor of the Tooks.

Keman is The Mouth of Sauron.

It's 1030 and my brain is mush I know there's more but i can't write it

1 note · View note

diogo-beloto · 11 months ago

Text

Nazgul Theme x Sauron Theme | EPIC VERSION (The Lord of the Rings / The ...

youtube

#Youtube

0 notes

cilil · 4 months ago

Text

Gentle June

AN: I'm almost done with June, @tolkienpinupcalendar x) this one's a little gift for @sauron-kraut. Enjoy!🖤

❀ Prompt: Lingerie & body worship | Mairon x Khamûl ❀ Synopsis: Khamûl loves serving his Maiarin master. ❀ Warnings: Sensual, smutty, master/pet, pet play ❀ Short oneshot (~600 words)

"Have you made yourself pretty for me, my pet?"

A long-fingered hand idly reaches out, golden rings gleaming in the evening sun.

Khamûl nods, a little too fast, a little too eager. He's already slipping out of his silken robe to show the Maia just how pretty he can be, how he wants to be pretty for him.

Mairon's cat-like eyes follow his every move, curious, appreciative, greedy. The perfect porcelain his face appears to be made of shifts; the hunger is visible by the time silk drops to the floor and reveals soft skin and living flesh underneath. His smile reveals fang-like canines. Khamûl isn't sure if he's seen them before.

Nevertheless, he shows himself, happily puts himself on display. Perhaps it's hubris to think he could be appealing to a Maia. Perhaps it's hubris to think he could survive it for long if he did in fact succeed. But he has Mairon's attention and flaunts his body.

Only lace adorns him now: A frilly strip of fabric around his waist — reminiscent of a tiny skirt, yet so short that it barely conceals anything — and another small piece covering his private parts, held in place by twin strings that wrap around his thighs and backside. Khamûl has forgone even his jewellery, believing it to be an affront to his lord's masterful craftsmanship.

Mairon lifts his hand and motions for him to join him on the bed.

Without hesitation, Khamûl follows. He climbs onto it and then crawls, as is befitting for his role as a divine being's mortal pet. Enraptured, he watches those long, deadly fingers reach out and grasp his chin.

"Undress me, then serve me."

"Yes, master."

Mairon lets go and Khamûl demurely lowers his head. It's an honour to be allowed to serve him. He shan't disappoint.

Hands trembling with the sheer joy of his task, he loosens the sash around the Maia's waist, parts heavy robes, uncovers gleaming, gold-tinted skin, fair and ethereal like his divine kin, beautiful and terrible like the scorching sun. He bows his head to kiss his master, worshipping every inch of skin he can reach. Khamûl feels Mairon's fingers snaking through his locks, sharp nails scraping against his scalp, and moans in delight.

The surge of pride that overcomes him when he's met with an already hardening cock is dizzying, but he allows himself no time to dawdle. Eager and obedient, Khamûl takes it into his mouth, requiring no guidance from the hand still resting on his head, and begins sucking the Maia off.

Mairon lets him enjoy himself for a while, then asks, "I trust you prepared yourself in advance?"

Khamûl nods vigorously, his head bobbing up and down in the process. He's become increasingly good at this, but now a different service will be required of him.

With the ease of picking up a doll, Mairon pulls him upward by his neck, smiles and lazily pats his thigh. "Sit."

The command is clear, and Khamûl doesn't hesitate. He moves to straddle the Maia's hips, pulls the strings between his legs aside and guides his hot, hard length inside him, slowly sitting down; he has been generous with his preparation, stretching and oiling himself diligently, and yet the process is never quite painless.

Khamûl wouldn't have it any other way, though. Glory comes at a price, as Mairon has always told him.

His back arches when he finally takes his master all the way, his breath quickens, his nails dig into impervious immortal skin.

"Very good, pet," Mairon coos and caresses his thighs. "Now move."

And this, too, Khamûl does. He trembles and gasps and moans, yet swears to himself that he won't stop until he either has served the Maia to completion or until his mortal body gives out.

Thanks for reading! ♡

taglist: @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @blauerregen @bluezenzennie @destinyeternity1 @edensrose

@elanna-elrondiel @i-did-not-mean-to @just-little-human @urwendii

#tpcgentlejune #mairon #sauron #khamul #nazgul #mairon x khamul #sauron x khamul #lotr #lord of the rings #lotr fanfic #lotr smut #silm smut #silm fanfic #silmarillion fanfiction #silmarillion #cílil writes #my writing #minors dni

29 notes · View notes

kirango-rouge · 1 year ago

Text

Thank you for your adition! your post just inspired me so much i got carried away ^^ i should have put it under a “read more” too but i think my brain was drowning too in an pool of adhd and i couldn’t stop myself until i got the dam back under control xD

If i had to make a confession, i have never read the silmarillon mysefl, i am an imposture qwq i know it only through quotes, memes, paragraphs, wiki, and thesis-long posts explaining the story and small details to you in a tumblr format xD

but i have read the hobbit and the lord of the ring trilogy (alongside the movies) so maybe i have a little credibility still qwq

i really like the idea that Sauron is an emotional cactus that process emotions through being a workaholic xD and him coping with the loss of his beacon-valar by trying to mimic his character instead of crumbling under his loss of guidance is bittersweet qwq he won’t let his efforts go to waste and will reach his psychorigid minecraft goals until Illuvatar deletes his sims game to create an other xD

we could make many sexual innuendos about Sauron naming a war “ram” after his boss’ “hammer”, like he misses Morgoth or had something to “compensate”, but that would be for an other post xD i like to think that he named the ram one day he particularly missed Morgoth’s hot headed outbursts x)

yeah, i really like the symbolism with the Ring. “one ring to govern them all” as he binds every leader to his will in a sort of forced marriage, but himself cannot bring himself in the end to go completely against his maia nature and creates a medium that allows him independence, but with still a hand. holding the leash, even if this master in the end is himself.

Morgoth and Sauron have such an interesting relationship ^^ i like seeing people’s take on them. thanks we have fanfictions and fanarts to fill the gaps of the original.

How they met and the whole “seduction” part of their story is surely the piece that divides people the most. was it seduction in the literal sense of the word? or in a “devil temptation” sense? or maybe a bit of both?

Some people whose names elude me even submitted the theory that the seduction could have operated the other way around, Melkor being the impulsive one while Mairon was the cunning one.

Even if little is known about their meeting or what led them to cooperate in making everyone’s life on earth a living hell, we can still have some insight thanks to other items and characters detailed more precisely.

How Melkor seduced Mairon? It is stipulated that the first wave of corruption happenened when Melkor interfered with the primordial music by trying to sneak his personnal heavy metal arrangements into the sheet, which eventually had strange brainwash-nazgul-like effects on some Maiar that revealed themselves very sensitive to his Vala influence/magic. Ulmo (the sea Vala if i remember correctly) and Aule (the master crafter Vala)’s maiar were surely the most affected, the firsts being very prone to emotional outbursts like tempests at sea, while the others were not only crafters but also experimenters. Someone i forgot the name of had emit the hypothesis that the reason why two of Aule’s maiar were the baddies in lotr (Sauron and Saruman) was because Aule was very similar in ideology to Melkor, the difference between them being that Aule decided to submit to Iluvatar’s will and to stay in harmony with his music (he almost destroyed his beloved dwarves creations in a abraham-like fashion just because they weren’t in harmony with Eru’s music, but in the end they were allowed to stay on middle earth (some also say that it could be why the dwarves were resistants to Sauron’s rings of power’s influence)). Being both scientists and crafters, Aule’s maiar were encouraged to do the same as him: to be pragmatic and efficient, but also curious and sceptical (which is ironically the anthithesis of the catholic faith which is to always follow the word of god/holy institutions and to never question them).

why Melkor was particularly interested in Mairon? Possibly because 1) Mairon was the best of the Maiar, thus a valuable asset to his ambitions. 2) being Aule’s maia, Mairon was more likely to question Illuvatar’s authority and find weak spots in his music. 3) Someone said one day “Melkor saw darkness in beauty and Mairon saw beauty in darkness” and this quote stuck with me since. 4) and the most interesting: the One Ring being described as precious and intensely desirable may be due to Mairon’s aura itself. The Ring is iresistible because Mairon had a similar effect on people back when he was one and unique. Some say that “Mairon” already means “precious” and “admirable�� so whose to say that Melkor just didn’t have a gollum moment one day and said “I want this guy all to myself because he’s hot as fuck” xD

did Sauron followed Morgoth out of fear? this time this is Saruman that gives some hints. Saruman shares some similar characteristics to Mairon before he became evil. Both were stronger than their peers, aware of their strenght, proud of this strenght, if not borderline arrogant and boasty about their “superior amazingness”. And as arrogance is often mother of defeat, this self assurance that they woud never succumb to darkness would be the fall of the two Maiar. Saruman thought himself too good to need assistance from his fellow Istari and thought he could take on Sauron by himself, but when he looked into the palantir to confront him, he lost the mental battle against Sauron who broke his prideful mind. Sauron who already knew how to win this mental battle because he had most likely already lost it himself against Morgoth ages ago. This “certain fear” is the product of a mind too sure of itself that was brought to its knees when witnessing the humongous strenght and potential of the dark side and the Lord controlling it.

And yet despite of this mental breakdown, Saruman tried to outspeed Sauron in the quest for the Ring. He was terrifyingly impressed by the Dark Lord’s power, but his loyalty never reached faithfulness. Saruman saw in Sauron the lever he needed to reach his ambitions of becoming the strongest magician ever and transform middle earth into a gigantic experiment factory (And Sauron was definitely aware of Saruman’s schemes as he is all “lmao Saruman you stupid buffoon, you cannot beat me” when Pippin looked into the palantir xD). Does it sound familiar? Well that is surely very much intended that Tolkien created Saruman’s story as a mirror to Sauron’s past (or Sauron’s past as a mirror to Saruman’s story depending on the timeline). Saruman even got his, although short lived, tyranical reign over the Shire before meeting his end, thus ending this “Dark Lord” cycle for good. So it is very logical to imagine that, like Saruman, Mairon was supplexed into submission by Melkor’s mind back in the days and pledged himself to him while still keeping his wits compared to the balrogs. And yet unlike Saruman, Mairon seems to have entertained a particular and more reciprocal relationship with his Lord (i guess two ages do make a Lord and his lieutenant quite close in some way).

Both in fear and awe of the strenght, the power of the Lord the perfect mean to an end to speed up evolution (because yes, if it took decades to the other Valar, Maiar, and elves to creates things (like 60 fcking years for a jewel???) it’s no wonder that even after 4 ages middle earth still hasn’t invented steam and internet xD and that Mairon was pretty much salty that evolution wasn’t going as quick as he wanted to the point of shifting side to an impetuous Valar who had the most chances to give him what he wanted xD and meanwhile Melkor needed a secretary and someone who takes good decisions in his army, so between both of them it was win win x))

aaaaand i talked too much again “^^ thank you again for indulging these silly rambles ^w^.

I’m still trying to piece together in my mind how Sauron must have felt at the moment Morgoth was sealed inside the void (was it?). Did he think it was his moment to seize the reins and do things as he fully wanted? Did he mourn Morgoth and mourn the accomplishments that he’d achieved under his rule? Or was he disappointed that such a large investment of his work and dedication ended right then and there with Morgoth’s fall?

#lotr #more like loretr at this point #someone stop me for i cannot stop myself #but this time it's under a read more at least!

33 notes · View notes