#someone took the eye of Sauron literally

[apoloadonisandnarcissus]

I have some personal grievances with adaptations of Tolkien work. However, Peter Jackson “giant eye ball Sauron on top of a tower” is far worse than “black goo Sauron” from “Rings of Power”. As much as I hated the “goo”, at the very least, it was one scene, while the nonsensical fiery eyeball was three whole movies.

[darklinaforever]

Well, globally I still really liked the Saurondriel / Haladriel scene.

Even if I don't see where the comparison comes from at the request of Kylo Ren / Ben Solo to Rey in The Last Jedi...

There is not even a real renewal of the demand for season 1 in fact technically speaking in my opinion.

Although I did appreciate that Sauron said he didn't want to harm Galadriel at first. That he would have placed the crown on his head, done everything so that Middle Earth would revere its queen, etc. I also appreciated the moment where he took the form of Halbrand and even that of Galadriel to show her in his twisted way that everything was not a lie and that they are alike. I also enjoyed the tear in his eye when he watches Galadriel reveal herself before demanding Nenya after he actually stabbed her. I'll take every scrap I can get from this doomed ship.

On the other hand, I don't understand those who say that this scene confirms that all of season 1 was just a deception by Sauron towards Galadriel.

I'm sure you're disappointed, because I am disappointed myself. But I don't see at all where their whole scene confirms that Sauron would have fooled Galadriel all season 1.

On the contrary, he literally tells her that she attributes to him a purpose that he did not predict, with the eregion currently, and that everything that made them seem similar was not entirely a lie/a deception, etc.

Here, it's clearly just the frustration of the moment that makes a certain person say anything.

Personally, I'm a little disappointed that Sauron ultimately really hurt Galadriel. Even if my imaginative mind sees this moment as the only equivalent of symbolically phalic penetration that there will ever be between them 🤭. And above all, this blow was not aimed at killing her at all. Because if he had wanted it, she would already be dead. We have seen how easily he can kill someone.

Also, I've seen people theorize that this crown going into Galadriel's flesh could actually strengthen the bond between them later, and why not ! I'm hooked ! This could totally work !

Overall, I'm disappointed that he didn't let her keep Nenya. How logical that would have been to me, as supposed proof to see that he really loves her in this finale. Even though we still see Sauron's feelings for her, it's not to the point of a particular moment that would undeniably prove his feelings to idiots who already don't understand him, and still don't understand him.

I'm disappointed that I was promised a new request scene when technically not, although I enjoyed Sauron's dialogue all the same.

But most of all, I'm disappointed that he let Galadriel fall off that cliff. You're not going to make me believe that with his powers, he couldn't save her ?! Especially since he wanted Nenya, so why not try to get her back with magic ?! Why is he just holding out his hand towards Galadriel with a shocked expression on his face ?! Use your powers damn't !

Although I imagine that as enemies they will often try to kill each other, yes, obviously. I just expected it to be more save for later than now (at least from Sauron watching Galadriel fall), literally their first reunion since the separation.

Does Sauron think Galadriel is dead ? Or that she just escaped from him ? It was (first option or the second) he so angry about this that he killed the orc on the spot ? Or is it because he just didn't get Nenya ? I think a mix of the two personally, Sauron having had a tear in his eye watching Galadriel get up earlier.

In fact, I think I would have been pretty much satisfied with their scene, if I hadn't been sold that we would particularly see that Sauron really loves Galadriel in this finale. That there was a scene similar to Kylo's request to Rey from The Last Jedi, and that Sauron would never stop trying to make Galadriel his queen. Because that's not really what we got.

Because overall I like this scene.

Sauron shows emotion there, the desire not to hurt Galadriel at the start, expresses that everything was not a lie between them, tries in his twisted way to prove that they are similar, that the door to Galadriel's mind is always open to him, says that he would have done anything for her to be queen and revered, has a tear in his eye when he sees her get up after having hurt her, etc.

But overall, this scene between them was half-hearted and could have been written so much better. Wasted potential. Especially after all the crumbs laid out in each episode in anticipation of this meeting, and what was a teaser in an interview for the so-called finale between them.

But I'll take what I get, and in the future won't listen to the cast / creator interviews for this show, just to settle for what the Saurondriel / Haladriel scenes really are.

[dylanndr]

The Character of Sauron

Just finished watching S2 of Rings of Power. As a fan of the Jackson LOTR trilogy, and lukewarm-to-negative on the Jackson Hobbit, I wasn't sure to what extent RoP was necessary [the TV series is intended to mesh visually with the Jackson LOTR trilogy but Jackson is not involved with RoP]. Do we really need the world-building backstory fleshed out in detail? But I've been watching, and enjoying, and I think it's doing one thing exceptionally well that does indeed add richness to the overall LOTR story: it's showing us why Sauron is scary as fuck, how he came to be the nearly-unstoppable force that he is.

[Caveat: I read the Appendices once, literal decades ago. They are not fresh in my mind, so I don't know how much liberty RoP is taking with them. Probably a lot, because they're building narrative out of what is functionally academic material. But the LOTR films took a lot of liberties with the books as well, it's just a thing that's going to happen in adaptations, and the real question is whether or not the liberties lend themselves to a good and cohesive story. Anyway.]

Big ol' Rings of Power spoilers to follow.

So, Sauron. In LOTR he is presented as this immensely powerful, mystical being who corrupts and consumes. But it's kinda abstract. He's a burning eye; he uses the palantir and the Ring to get into people's heads somehow or other; his One Ring is bad for you, don't use it.

What RoP is doing is showing how Sauron gets into people's heads and manipulates them. He figures out what your ambition is, what your desires are, and uses them against you to further his own goals. For Galadriel, it's revenge. For Celebrimbor, it's acclaim as a legendary craftsman. And at first, Sauron has to interact with someone personally to suss out what it is they want, and how he can use that for his own advantage.

But then he figures out that he can put his own essence into these exquisite rings that Celebrimbor is crafting, and then use the rings as conduits to manipulate people from afar: he's able to warp King Durin's mind remotely, pushing him into physically attacking his fellow dwarves. The more of Sauron's essence that goes into the rings, the more easily he can use them as vessels, and he escalates accordingly with the rings for men. The rings that will ultimately turn those men into his nazgul servants, their own will utterly subsumed into his.

I also appreciate how the writers have shown that Sauron can *appear* sympathetic, but are not actually portraying him as a Poor Misunderstood Villain in the narrative. In S1 we, like Galadriel, are fully led to believe Halbrand is basically a good guy, a bit of a rake with a mysterious past. Until we find out the truth about who Halbrand really is and, whoops! We were *deceived.*

The way Sauron shifts back and forth between kind and cruel indicates there's no underlying attempt to rehabilitate him as a character, but rather to show just how cunning manipulators can be at their craft. Even after the other characters *know* who he is, they still have a hard time resisting him. This persists for Galadriel for 3000 years, culminating in her immense relief when Frodo offers her the One Ring and she's able to turn him down, albeit with some effort. If the Hobbits have special resistance to his wiles, perhaps it's because their ambitions and desires tend to be "eat a food, drink an ale, smoke a blunt."

The actor playing Sauron (Charlie Vickers) is IMO doing a *fantastic* job of shifting from "I'm just a mostly-wholesome person who's here to help you do the thing you need to do" to "I'm absolutely using your desires to manipulate you into doing the thing *I* want to do," his expression gliding from warm to cold as Sauron shifts modes. The way a very slight twitch of a facial muscle conveys Sauron's anger without devolving into chewing scenery or over-the-top bombast. Sauron does commit acts of violence, but by far his preferred go-to is getting others to do his dirty work for him, and he almost always gets people to go along with him willingly, even against their own best interests. Far more scary than a guy who just yells a lot and stabs people.

[maul-of-shame]

Oh my god you’re out here acting like you’re some badass queen for having a horrible ship but you just sound like a middle aged bored mom who read a Colleen Hoover book and now makes it their entire personality because they’re bored. Also what’s with the big red letters? You don’t sound like a mean girl who’s making a point, you sound like a loser who’s in desperate need of a dose of reality.

Galadriel is like an older sister (or even a mother figure) to Elrond, which is why their relationship is so comforting. You trying to ruin that does make me upset cause I’m tired of people having no sense of media literacy. Not everything has to be shipped and definitely not something as dumb as this.

Also, fuck that stupid Sauron/Galadriel ship. It’s straight up people romanizing abuse and it’s disgusting. Canon!Galadriel would have never fallen for Hallbrand’s shit or Sauron’s charms and the way the Rings Of Power writers took a strong, mature female character and made her in to an immature schoolgirl (when she’s literally one of the oldest elves, older than Gil-Galad) is fucking stupid and actually misogynistic. I’m so tired of people taking strong female characters and watering them down to make them into a love interest for the villain or make her a cringy villain too. It’s dumb

So yeah, fuck Rings Of Power for destroying canon and destroying Galadriel’s character, fuck those Sauron/Galadriel shippers for being weird, and fuck you for taking a comforting, platonic relationship ship between two characters who have both been through a lot of shit and romanticizing it.

Also, fuck you for erasing Celebrian. I know you probably can’t comphrehend a female character being great without a sword in her hand so take that sword and shove it up your ass.

A word of advice, don’t touch the Lord Of The Rings when you clearly do not understand any of the characters, their relationships, or the meaning behind them. Just write your own book at this point with your own characters and leave the beautifully written stories of Tolkien alone.

Oh nooooooooo, did I offend you and your little Nazgûl toys? Did my horrifying act of (gasp) shipping two FICTIONAL characters make you sprint to the safety of the anonymous ask button, cloak fluttering dramatically behind you, so you could deliver this righteous tirade?🥺🥺🥺

Oh, how will I ever recover from being called a middle-aged Colleen Hoover mom by someone who’s clearly more pressed than the One Ring under Sauron’s hand? Truly, I’m shattered.🙄

Better a badass queen than some self-appointed Warden of the Fandom Wastes, skulking around like Gollum clutching your “precious” canon interpretations. Honestly, the only crown you’d ever wear is made of your own insecurities and bad takes, and even that sits crooked because it’s weighed down by all the irrelevant, unsolicited opinions you can’t stop flinging around. At least I’m out here enjoying myself—what’s your excuse?

You’ve got thoughts on the big red letters, do you? How utterly precious. Let me roll out the crimson carpet for you, since it seems they’ve left such a deep impression on your clearly delicate sensibilities. Here, let me give you more big red letters, because I wouldn’t want you to feel deprived of the melodramatic theater you seem so desperate for:

BIG. RED. LETTERS. JUST. FOR. YOU.!!!!

How’s that? Feeling better? Maybe this will soothe whatever irrational rage my formatting has triggered in that oh-so-fragile ego of yours. You’re acting like I personally painted the Eye of Sauron in your living room. Imagine being so pressed over font choices on the internet as well. It’s giving “I’m mad at PowerPoint for existing” energy, and frankly, it’s embarrassing.

You're embarassing yourself honey.

I wrote a reply, but I doubt you have the intelligence to understand it—or to hear it over the sound of your teeth grinding. Don’t worry, though! I hear Nazgûls get special dental benefits under Sauron’s health plan! Might want to book that appointment before the Mouth of Sauron starts mumbling your excuses for you!🦷🦷🦷

[TW: long salty rant]

First of all, if you’re so confident in your opinions, why are you skulking in my inbox as ANON, like Gollum trying to steal his precious back?

If you’re going to talk big about media literacy and "ruined characters," at least have the courage to do it without hiding behind the shadowy safety net of anonymity. You don’t sound like a defender of Tolkien’s legacy.

You sound like someone who got rejected by the Council of Elrond and has been bitter about it ever since.

Second, your entire rant reeks of irony. You complain about media literacy while writing paragraphs of projection, completely ignoring that this is fan content.

FAN. CONTENT.

You know, the space where people explore different interpretations and tell stories that resonate with them? Oh, but no! We must all bow to your singular, unyielding interpretation of Tolkien’s work, or else risk being smote upon the mountains of your judgment! Get over yourself. Seriously.

The best part? You’re mad about me "ruining" Galadriel and Elrond’s "comforting" dynamic by exploring a different take, but in the same breath, you’re tearing down Rings of Power Galadriel for being "immature" and "cringy." Sweetheart, pick a lane. You’re out here defending canon while also trashing it—what is this, the mental gymnastics World Championships? I have to say, your flexibility is impressive, careful of pulled muscles.

And so I have a sword up my what now?

Oh, my dear anonymous bard of bitterness, that’s quite the reach for someone who’s clearly got a scroll of the Silmarillion shoved so far up their ass that they probably recite Quenya conjugations in their sleep.

What’s next? Are you going to accuse me of erasing Melian because I didn’t write her into my Elrond and Galadriel fic either? Or maybe I’ll get yelled at for not including Bill the Pony in a Kingsman AU (he will be besties, don't worry)?

Let me make this very clear for you, Elvish Choir Master of Overreach, Herald of the Screeching Essay, Defender of the Lore That Nobody Asked You to Protect, Wielder of the All-Caps Argument, and Keeper of the Scroll That’s Shoved So Far Up Your Ass You Probably Quote “Ainulindalë” When Ordering Your Morning Coffee (truly, your titles grow longer than Treebeard’s introductions, yet none of them seem to include “Maker of a Valid Point.”!")-

Celebrian is not missing because I "don’t comprehend strong female characters without swords." She’s missing because, brace yourself, not every single piece of fanfiction has to feature every single character from Tolkien’s works.

Shocking, I know. Truly, I can hear the Valar themselves weeping at this revelation.

But here’s the thing: I’m not writing a Celebrian-centric fic. And you know what? That’s okay. You can unclench now.

Let’s really talk about your oh-so-bold suggestion to shove a sword somewhere for a sec. That’s your masterstroke? That’s the hill you’re dying on?

If we’re being honest, your insult is so dull it wouldn’t cut through soft butter on a sunny day, let alone make me flinch. Sting is officially handing in its resignation because it’s mortified to even share a sentence with you. You’re out here acting like you’ve got the sharpest blade in the Shire, but all I see is someone frantically flailing with a broken spoon.

And then there’s this laughable attempt at moral superiority. You’re swinging around words like you’re a defender of Middle-earth itself, valiantly protecting Tolkien’s legacy, when in reality, your argument is about as sturdy as a sandcastle at Helm’s Deep. You’re not a warrior—you’re the Mouth of Sauron after a bad day, spewing nonsense and hoping someone will think it’s profound. Newsflash: it’s not.

Let’s be clear: your little temper tantrum reeks of someone who just discovered the caps lock button, a bunch of adult words and decided to let it do all the heavy lifting.

I’ve seen hobbits throw better shade after three pints of ale.

You’re no mighty protector of canon—you’re just another basement-dwelling troll who thinks yelling loud enough will make people take you seriously.

And your sword suggestion? I’d recommend you point that creative energy inward, maybe use it to figure out how to construct an actual argument instead of regurgitating clichés you probably heard from your "leader" of choice in your private toxic fandom echo chamber. Don’t worry, though—I doubt you’ll hear any of this over the sound of your teeth grinding or the faint whistle of your Nazgûl screech echoing through your mom’s basement.

Maybe take a break, Denethor—chew on a tomato or two, cry into your cloak, and try again when you’ve leveled up from hobbit insult level: preschool.

Honestly, you’re not even mad about Celebrian being “erased.” You’re mad because I dared to write something that doesn’t align with your precious headcanons. And instead of just scrolling past, you decided to play Tolkienquisitor in my inbox, as if you’ve been personally tasked by Eru Ilúvatar to uphold canon.

I'm sorry (no) to break it to you but nobody crowned you King (or Queen) of Arda.

Not every single piece of fanfiction needs to involve every canon character just to meet your Tolkien purity test. If that’s a requirement, maybe you should write the fic. Oh wait....- you’re too busy spamming inboxes with this unhinged bullshit. My bad.

Here’s the thing, Bearer of Misplaced Rage: nobody asked for your unsolicited essay about the sanctity of Celebrian. But please, do continue climbing the Tower of Tolkien Purism like you’re on some holy quest. Maybe at the top, you’ll find the self-awareness you so desperately lack—or perhaps just a mirror to reflect your ridiculousness back at you.

You wanna talk about erasing characters? Fine.

Let’s talk about how you erased common decency, social awareness, and basic literacy by barging into my inbox with this drivel. The lorebros tirades and scroll-up-the-ass syndrome are bad enough, but now you’re out here flinging insults like “shove a sword up your ass” as if you just invented edgy. Sweetheart, that’s not edgy—that’s the kind of thing a D-list internet troll would type before running out of Wi-Fi.

So, let me leave you with this, oh Guardian of the Fanfic Gates: the next time you feel compelled to compose another Screed of the Self-Righteous, maybe take a moment to ask yourself, “Does this make me sound like a reasonable human being, or just a Balrog throwing a temper tantrum in a lava pit?” Because right now, I’d wager Smaug hoarding gold has more chill than you do.

And let’s not even start with your hilariously misplaced outrage about me shipping Elrond and Galadriel while we both apparently agree that Saurondriel is not our cup of tea. You’re yelling into the void about something I never even said or supported. Congratulations! You’ve officially argued against a strawman!

Here’s your Orcish participation trophy!

Thank you, Supreme Chancellor of Canon Policing, Overseer of the One True Interpretation, and Gatekeeper Extraordinaire of Tolkien’s Sacred Scrolls. I am truly humbled to be graced with your unsolicited advice, delivered with the self-importance of someone who thinks they’re the Mouth of Sauron but comes off more like Gollum arguing with his own reflection. Truly, I don’t know what I’d do without such pearls of wisdom.

But let me give you a word of advice, oh Lore Purist in Chief, President of the Fanfiction Police Union, and Guardian of the Shire’s Moral High Ground: I will touch Tolkien’s world, twist it, flip it like a pancake, and build something entirely new on top of it because guess what?

I’ve already done it.

And I’ll do it again.

And the best part? I don’t give a single, solitary fuck about your opinions, your outrage, or your sad little attempts to gatekeep Middle-earth like it’s your family heirloom.

You think your tired, sanctimonious “write your own book” line is a gotcha? Sweetheart, I already have. Several, in fact. And guess what? I’ll write more—more stories, more ships, more reinterpretations—and there’s nothing you can do but sit there in your self-proclaimed Chair of Canonical Superiority, furiously typing out essays that no one but you cares about. Go on, keep clutching your pearls and scribbling your fanfic hate manifestos, but let me promise you something: I’m not stopping. Ever.

It’s honestly adorable that you think your little decree will somehow shame me into putting my pen down. What next? You gonna summon the Valar to smite me for daring to reinterpret a fictional world?

Send an eagle my way, please—I’ll need it to carry all the fucks I don’t give about your opinion.

And let me be clear, Warden of Tolkien’s Spirit: your outrage is just fuel for my creative fire. Every time you whine, I just want to write more. So congrats, you’re officially my muse now, Pontiff of Perpetual Fan Rage!

You know what’s truly laughable? Your holier-than-thou act of pretending you’re the sole arbiter of what Tolkien “meant.” Tolkien’s works are complex, layered, and ripe for reinterpretation—that’s the beauty of storytelling. But no, you’ve decided you’re The Chosen One who understands it all, while the rest of us mere mortals stumble around in the dark.

Honey, if you’re the shining beacon of understanding, I’d rather take my chances in Moria without a light.

So, High Inquisitor of Gatekeeping™, continue shouting into the void, continue crying about my creative choices, and continue being mad about fanfiction. Meanwhile, I’ll be over here doing exactly what you hate: writing more, creating more, and caring less about your irrelevant opinions.

Go back to your dark little corner of Middle-earth, chewing on your bones—or was it cherry tomatoes this time?—and maybe weep dramatically about how "nobody understands your self-proclaimed brilliance". Honestly, your energy is giving less "Steward of Gondor" and more "Steward of Mom’s Basement."

Do you light a big, dramatic bonfire every time someone disagrees with you, or do you just sulk under the glow of your monitor, waiting for someone to tag your ship so you can descend like a Nazgûl in a hissy fit?

You’re out here acting like you’re defending Tolkien’s honor, but let’s be real—you’re just pressed that not everyone worships at the altar of your very specific, incredibly narrow, terminally boring interpretation of his works. It’s okay, really. We get it. You’ve been sitting there so long with that “scroll of canon” shoved up your ass that you’ve convinced yourself you’re a scholar.

Spoiler alert: you’re not. You’re just the guy crying into a bowl of instant noodles, mad that someone dared to take creative liberties with a fictional story.

To my knowledge, the Tolkien Estate is NOT sending you a paycheck to defend their lore. You’re not a martyr. You’re not a scholar. You’re not even the fun kind of fan who shares cool lore facts. You’re just the guy screaming, “That’s not canon!” into the void while the rest of us are out here enjoying our fandom like adults.

Here’s a thought: maybe instead of crying about other people’s ships, you could take that energy and, I don’t know, apply it to something useful. Learn Elvish. Build a model of Barad-dûr out of your tears. Or maybe, just maybe, stop weeping over cherry tomatoes and touch some grass. I hear the Shire has a lot of it.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have characters to write, ships to build, and a very long scroll of I don’t care to finish signing. Good day, Esteemed Minister of Misguided Rage.

Morning people! It's just above 8am but a Lorebro called (screamed)! XD

[thrillofhope]

Since this show keeps adding fuel to my Adar = Maeglin hc: (in no particular order; some of these are less serious than others)

Quoting Rúmil - Pengolodh of Gondolin later continued and completed much of Rúmil's work. Who lived in Gondolin? Maeglin. (Who seems like an angsty, brooding boy who would read poetry? Maeglin.)

Knows of Melian/what Melian looks like - Eöl, kin of Thingol (and later Aredhel and Maeglin) lived in Nan Elmoth at the mercy of Thingol, Melian's husband. Melian used to wander those woods.

The scars - Maeglin was thrown from the ramparts of Gondolin into the flames. Adar seems to have burn scars

General appearance - pale with dark hair; seems plausible he could be the son of the "Dark Elf" and Aredhel, a Nolofinwëan, especially as Maeglin was known to resemble the Noldor and Adar looks a little Noldorin.

Demeanor - Of Maeglin: "His words were few save in matters that touched him near, and then his voice had a power to move those that heard him and to overthrow those that withstood him." Fits.

Using Fëanorian form in Quenya - Aredhel, Maeglin's mother, was quite close with her cousins Celegorm and Curufin, and perhaps taught her son the "forbidden" language.

Was taken in the by the promises of Morgoth/Sauron - see the Fall of Gondolin; and if he survived, he would have little choice but to choose the darkness; the elves would only see him as traitor after that.

Serves as a parallel/mirror to Sauron - Maeglin, like Sauron, wants more than the power and influence he's been given (which is considerable) and turns to Morgoth to achieve those ends; Adar serves because there is something Morgoth/Sauron can give him (children)

Seems to hate Elrond - maybe he looks a little like Idril, too, and Maeglin was more than a little obsessed with her. Who took him away from her (to his mind) (and also "killed" him)? Tuor, Elrond's grandfather.

Maeglin's name in Quenya is "Lómion" (Child of Twilight) - Adar seems to occupy this strange place that's not wholly dark, but not light

The name Maeglin means "Sharp Glance" and was given to him by his father because he "perceived that the eyes of his son were more piercing than his own, and his thought could read the secrets of hearts beyond the mist of words" - Adar seems to have a very keen sense of perception: the way he sees through Galadriel, through "Halbrand" when he comes to him as a prisoner. He seems to know a lot of things he shouldn't know.

Military prowess - Of Maeglin: "proved fell and fearless in battle."

“It would seem I'm not the only elf alive who has been transformed by darkness." - Yes, the very literal corruption by Morgoth, but even before that for Maeglin "amid all the bliss of that realm...a dark seed of evil was sown." (and then of course later he is taken in by Morgoth's promises and ultimately leads to the destruction of that city)

The rivers on his armor - this is probably weak, but I've only seen this imagery on other Nolofinwëan's: Elrond and Gil-galad (iffy, bc this show hasn't confirmed his parentage, and I might have just missed it elsewhere, though I suppose if it showed up in other places, those elves could be of the House of Turgon, Fingon, etc.)

"I am no god. At least, not yet." - Maeglin wanted to be a king/have more power. I could see him taking this to an extreme after his "death"/being corrupted by Morgoth/Sauron.

Arondir, the river and "sage blossoms" - could refer to the River Gelion. Maeglin would have crossed that way on his trips to see the dwarves in Nogrod and Belegost, and Arondir could be from Ossiriand.

Children - giving someone the means of mastering the thing they fear so you can master them - Adar was given children as a means to get him to fall in line. You could make an argument that Maeglin, having lost his family (even as consequences of choices that he made in pursuit of power) would greatly fear being alone again in the darkness (after having grown up in the dark of Nan Elmoth). Giving him children, a family would be a way of helping him master that fear. (This feels like a bit of a stretch, but not completely implausible).

Elven kings - less a reason and more just interesting, it would be cool to see a "Noldorin king" that rules over the orc. Doubly cool for the contrast with Gil-galad (if he's Fingon's son, they would be cousins) (hoping to see at least a conversation between these two, because the parallels are there, but that's another post). Arguments against: 1. Maeglin not dying kinda cheapens his father's prophecy that he would meet the same end (I could excuse this if Sauron pushes him from a very tall tower in Eregion) 2. Timeline - depending on when Adar was taken and corrupted, this is obviously not possible 3. Adar would be more interesting as an OC 4. Probably many more.

Did I spend far too much time on this? Probably.

[notreallythatlost]

ohh myy good, that gif in the beginning is my end, i can literally hear his voice in that 😫

besides, I LOVE THIS FIC, so freaking amazing

But it was not the Queen Regent that made his eyes widen and his heart skip a beat. It was a simple woman standing next to her – (Y/N).

BOOOM YOU DID NOT EXPECT THAT BITCH! 👀

It was the very first night they were left alone, without anyone being around in the same tent or the same deck. Their own little house in a beautiful realm across the sea. (Y/N) laid on Sauron's chest with a smile and played with the hair on his chest as she brushed it with her fingers and twisted the curls gently.

halbrand’s chest hair aka the true main character

“I promise,” Sauron whispered and brushed her cheek with his fingertip. It was so easy to give false promises. Nearly too easy. 

🤨🤨

“An old man from a village nearby. We travelled with him an' became friends. My husband's always had a taste for shiny, pretty things, so I reckon he took it off the body of that poor man from that shipwreck,” (Y/N) gave Sauron a scolding look and he looked away because his eyes were growing dark out of anger and frustration.

i think someone’s plans are just getting ruined??

“Ye did?!” (Y/N) gasped as she laid her eyes on her husband but Sauron looked up to avoid her gaze.

“Haven't heard of that lad, who's he?” She asked and Sauron clenched his jaw to force the laughter to stay in the back of his throat.

omg i love her even more 🤣🤣

“I am no longer wondering why people of The Southlands followed Morgoth. You are such ignorant and vile creatures!” Galadriel spat out. Her sudden anger and cruel words made (Y/N) take a slight step back as she looked down, feeling humiliated.

GALADRIEL THAT WAS NOT NICE 😠

“Ye can't be serious, Hal,” (Y/N) whispered. “We were supposed to start a new life here, start a family. I don't want to go back to Middle-earth. I don't want to pretend to be someone I'm not. If that's the path ye choose, I cannot follow ye…” Her lower lip trembled as she gathered her skirts and hurried out of the prison with tears pricking her eyes.

my heart breaks for her.. she only wants to be happy with her husband 😭

— SOMEPLACE BETTER (II)

PART ONE

PAIRING — Sauron x fem!human!Reader

SUMMARY — Sauron reunites with Halbrand's wife in Númenor where she keeps interfering with his plans and schemes nearly all the time.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — So, obviously, the Reader did not die in the last part and here we are with the part two! 💕 She can't be too easy to get rid of! 🤣 Sauron is a bit ooc here (and surely will be at the end of this fic), so be warned! 🤧

WORD COUNT — 3,630

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

SOMEPLACE BETTER (II)

Sauron certainly considered (Y/N), the wife of Halbrand to be dead now and he did not really bother himself with thinking much of her. Especially now, with Lady Galadriel by his side as if the Valar themselves put her there for him to make sure his plan would work.

When he entered the palace in Númenor barefoot, in ragged clothes and with the Elf by his side, of course they drew attention. Everyone turned around with the beautiful Queen Regent amongst them – he recognised her immediately because there was only one woman inside that room dressed so splendidly and he had overheard the guards earlier mentioning some Queen Regent being present. That stunning woman just had to be her.

But it was not the Queen Regent that made his eyes widen and his heart skip a beat. It was a simple woman standing next to her – (Y/N).

She looked different now. Her hair was brushed and clean as ever and she was wearing a brand new dress, which was simple but probably the fanciest thing she had ever worn either way. It was dark green and her cheeks were painted slightly with a rogue.

Sauron had to admit that in this certain light and when she was not wearing rags, she looked quite… pretty.

“Halbrand, ye bastard! Thought I'd lost ye again!” She exclaimed, making wide eyes and now everyone looked at her as Sauron gritted his teeth.

That woman seemed to be indestructible and she would ruin all of his schemes.

“Your Highness, this here's my husband I've spoken of – the one I lost at sea!” (Y/N) looked at the Queen Regent and the Queen nodded at her with a soft smile.

After that gesture, Halbrand's wife ran up to him but not without giving Galadriel a dirty look on the way.

“I turn me back for but a moment, an' ye've gone an' found yerself a fine Elven lady. Truly, ye're unbelievable!” (Y/N) exclaimed and pushed his chest slightly but not without a loving smile. Then, she wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tightly.

Sauron was defeated. He just had to hug her back because what kind of husband would he be if he pushed her away in a moment like that? 

“I thought I'd lost you, love…” he muttered to her and she took a step back to take a better look at his scratched cheeks and dry lips as she cupped his face gently.

“Me an' a few others, we were the lucky ones. A ship from here found us an' took us in,” (Y/N) explained. “Folks here are so kind, Hal. They looked after us, even gave me new clothes. An' Her Highness herself wanted words with me, to know more about me! Me – simple, foolish (Y/N)!” She shook her head as she seemed to be in awe with everything around her. “Ye were right. A good life awaits us here,” she added and caressed his chest.

“You're neither simple nor foolish to me,” Sauron whispered, reassuringly. He was trying to show softness in his eyes despite his frustration and anger.

And yet, some part of him, buried deep inside, was somehow glad to see the young woman again; safe and alive.

Galadriel kept watching them curiously with the corner of her eye.

“Have you greeted your husband now, (Y/N)?” The Queen Regent asked and (Y/N) turned around to face her as she nodded, nervously. The Queen Regent was not mean or rude but a simple woman like Halbrand's wife was extremely intimidated by her presence anyway.

“Aye, Your Highness,” (Y/N) answered.

“He might want to enlighten us then what an Elf is doing by his side,” Queen Regent laid her scolding eyes on Sauron.

“I'd like to know about that as well, Your Highness,” (Y/N) shot another dirty glance at Galadriel.

“Circumstances arose that–” Sauron started, trying to pose as a simple man who pretended to speak in a more fancy manner to impress the nobles.

“We are companions by chance. Met on the open sea,” Galadriel interrupted him. “Your captain here, delivered us from certain death. All we ask is that Númenor continue his mercy and grant us ship's passage to Middle-earth.”

“Oi!” (Y/N) shouted at her, visibly upset with Galadriel's words. “I ain't leavin' here! Speak for yerself, Elf. Me an' my husband, we'll stay right here!” She protested and Sauron only watched with a hint of a smirk but he wanted very much to burst into laughter. It was truly priceless to see Galadriel's face being taken aback by Halbrand's wife and her way of being. “I've settled matters with the good Queen already!” (Y/N) added. “She's promised me a place to live,” she looked at her husband to let him know, too.

“That sounds generous and reasonable,” he nodded and Galadriel shot him a deadly glance.

Sauron and (Y/N) were taken to their new place by the guards – a poor house located in the city centre near the taverns and the harbour. Sauron could immediately see that the house had belonged to simple commoners before but the standards were still more than enough for (Y/N). She was in awe as she looked around and her eyes sparkled at the sight.

“This place is truly a paradise,” she told him with a grin.

“And how are we meant to pay for it, huh?” Sauron leaned on the wall with his arms crossed, tan muscles flexing under his brand new tunic that had been given to him back in the palace.

“The good Queen's promised it'll be free of charge for half a year,” (Y/N) informed him. “I'm sure ye can find work by then, Hal. In a city like this, they must have need of plenty of smiths!” She approached him cheerfully and threw her hands around his neck before leaning in to peck his lips. “Are ye not happy, love?” She asked.

Sauron couldn't stop thinking of Lady Galadriel, though. Would she try to find him now and convince him to come back to Middle-earth as the King of The Southlands? He certainly hoped so.

And he hoped that Halbrand's wife would not ruin his plans either. Therefore, he had to be nice to her now, so she would lie for him later when he'd ask her to.

“I am,” he nodded and fixed a reckless hair strand on her head. “I'll ask around for work. And what about you?”

At his words, (Y/N) looked down nervously and Sauron raised an eyebrow at her.

“I fear I won't be of much use here, love,” she admitted, truly ashamed, which he could see in her glistening eyes when she glanced up. “I don't reckon they've need for a simple woman like me 'round here. But I'll try, I promise, Hal. I'll do me best to find work. I won't leave ye to it alone,” she cupped his face and sniffed her tears back.

“It's alright, love, we'll manage. Don't you worry,” Sauron assured her and kissed the palm of her hand as she cracked a smile at him.

They stood in silence like that for a short moment, which was quite lovely until (Y/N) decided to break the blissful peacefulness again because she simply could not be silent for too long.

“An' what's the business with that she-Elf, then?” She asked and Sauron sighed.

“She's nobody. Just a random woman who showed up and burdened me with her presence,” Sauron answered and (Y/N) seemed to be very pleased with that answer, although it was quite funny to watch because he had just described her.

It was the very first night they were left alone, without anyone being around in the same tent or the same deck. Their own little house in a beautiful realm across the sea. (Y/N) laid on Sauron's chest with a smile and played with the hair on his chest as she brushed it with her fingers and twisted the curls gently.

“Hal,” she looked up and he glanced down at her, lazily. “My love, can ye promise me ye'll stay away from the taverns? Or at least be reasonable with it? This is meant to be a new life for us. A fresh start, ye said yerself. When the good Queen asked me about ye, I only spoke well of ye. I wanted ye to begin here with no bad reputation, an' please, let's keep it that way,” she pleaded.

“I promise,” Sauron whispered and brushed her cheek with his fingertip. It was so easy to give false promises. Nearly too easy. 

And she wanted to believe him, desperately.

(Y/N) lifted herself up and leaned in to place a kiss upon his lips – a lingering one that was slowly growing more needy and passionate. Sauron panicked deep inside. He was certainly not signing up for this.

Halbrand's wife could sense his sudden nervousness and she moved away, feeling embarrassed.

“What is it, Hal? It's been weeks since we've been close, an' ye're always so eager. Do ye not desire me anymore?” She looked away. “Is it because of that Elf? Has she bewitched ye?”

“Don't be foolish,” Sauron rolled his eyes but it only made her huff and he realised he just had to make love to her on that night.

Not that desires of the flesh were foreign to him but it had been centuries when he had a proper body for the last time. He was still not fully used to his new form and she was… Far from his usual type.

Although in the dim light of a candle that danced upon the wall of their new home, with her skin and hair clean as ever and a pretty new nightgown in a cream colour, he surely felt some attraction to Halbrand's wife and he could even understand the man for marrying her despite her big mouth and other annoying qualities.

Her devotion to him was undoubted, though.

“Come 'ere,” Sauron pulled her closer and rolled her on her back as he hovered above her and her frown turned into a giggle. 

Something about her laughter at that moment was truly heartwarming. It was innocent, nearly childish, as if she suddenly had no worries and nothing but love for her husband filled her whole body. Sauron froze for a while and just stared at her face as his heart squeezed deep inside his chest. What was that odd feeling he was starting to develop?

He did not want it… He did not…

“I am so glad you are here with me, love; that the tides did not take you away from me,” he confessed, trying to convince himself it was only Halbrand trying to woo his wife, nothing else – nothing more.

“Nothin' could ever keep me from ye, Hal,” she batted her eyelashes at him before he joined their lips together.

Sauron was leaning on the wall inside the jail cell he was kept inside and when he heard the steps approaching him, he could sense (Y/N) rushing to him as he smirked to himself.

“What happened?!” She ran up to the bars and wrapped her hands around the iron. “Hal…!” She sighed at the sight of his freshly bruised face when he turned around. “Ye promised me... an' here I am, after bein' told me husband's in prison for startin' a pub fight!”

“I was trying to find work but learned that you need to earn a guild crest to forge steel here, so I figured I'd find friends instead,” Sauron stood up and shrugged his arms as he approached the bars, too. “And it wasn't a pub fight, it was a street fight.”

(Y/N) shook her head as she chuckled lovingly although her eyes remained scolding.

“Ye'll never change, love,” she said. “How fares the friend hunting?” She asked teasingly and Sauron rolled his eyes.

“How fares the work hunting?” Sauron asked, playfully, expecting her to admit her own failure but she surprised him instead.

“I got meself a job, Hal, actually. Nothin' grand, but it's enough for me,” she cracked a smile.

“What is it?”

“I'm gonna help the ladies sellin' their goods at the market by the harbour. It's close to home an' all that. They couldn't give me a proper stand, since I can't read nor write, but I'll help. An' one of the ladies was kind enough to offer to teach me the letters!” (Y/N) shared the news, excitedly.

“I'm proud of you, love,” Sauron leaned in and wrapped his hands around hers. She gave him a big, loving smile.

“Ye're gonna get that guild crest, Hal. I believe in ye,” she assured him.

“I already did but they took it back,” he rolled his eyes and she sighed.

“Ye stole it?” The muscles of her jaw clenched. “It was supposed to be a fresh start! Ye can't be walkin' around doin' that! What's next? Ye gonna ask me to help ye steal again? Expect me to lie to cover yer mischief? I'm done with that, Halbrand!” Her eyes welled with tears as she took a step back from the bars and shook her head.

Sauron was taken aback by her words. He had no idea of this sort of history between Halbrand and his wife. She was even more hurt by him than he had been expecting and their marriage was even more complicated. 

The worst thing was, though, that she would not be so eager to play along to his lie that he was planning to feed Lady Galadriel with. It was interfering with his plans and as his anger grew, he wished (Y/N) to die once more.

But then she laid her wet eyes upon him again as she sniffled and his heart softened despite his own will.

“I know how much you want this whole thing to work out. I want that, too. I didn't want to disappoint you by coming back home and telling you I didn't get anything,” Sauron confessed.

“Ye disappointed me by endin' up here,” Halbrand's wife insisted.

And while he was thinking of another reply, they were interrupted by Lady Galadriel walking inside the prison as well. Sauron couldn't help a satisfied smirk forming on his face. She took his bait.

“Halbrand,” she addressed him as she stood next to his wife but keeping her distance from the both of them.

She looked ethereal in her long golden hair and that pretty blue dress as she radiated nothing but pure light. It made Halbrand's wife visibly uneasy to stand next to her as she fixed her hair in a nervous manner and glanced at the Elf with pure jealousy in her eyes.

“What're ye doin' here?” She nearly barked at Galadriel and Sauron chuckled.

“Your husband does not belong on this island,” Lady Galadriel decided to ignore the woman's behaviour as she gently informed.

“An' who are ye to say where my husband belongs or not? I'm his wife, I've known him a lifetime. You've known him two days,” (Y/N) furrowed her brows.

“Then you surely do realise that Halbrand here is more than he claims,” Galadriel lifted her chin up and (Y/N) looked at her as if the Elf was crazy. “I found this in the Hall of Lore,” Galadriel handed her a scroll of paper.

(Y/N) took it but her hand trembled slightly as she did so and Sauron knew why – she was ashamed to admit she could not read in case it was some document.

But it was not. It was a drawing of the same heraldry as Sauron was wearing on his pendant stolen from Diarmid. He kept glancing at it and watching (Y/N)'s face carefully. He hadn't told her yet about his plan because he hadn't expected Galadriel to work so fast. Would Halbrand's wife play along, though?

Surely, a woman so simple and low would want to be the Queen of The Southlands, would she not?

“What's this?” She asked. “Why're ye showin' it to me?” She handed the scroll back to Galadriel and the confused Elf pointed at Sauron's pendant.

“Is it not the same heraldry your husband is wearing?” Galadriel inquired. “Many ages ago, a man bearing that mark united the scattered tribes of The Southlands under one banner. The very banner that might unite them again today against the evil that now seeks to claim their lands,” she tilted her head with a smile and Sauron's heart skipped a beat because it was all working out so perfect but… Halbrand's wife did not seem to be convinced. “Your husband's lands,” Galadriel added.

“My husband's lands, ye say, Elf?” (Y/N) burst out in laughter. “Please, ye've no idea what ye're speakin' of. That man comes from nothin' an' has nothin'. The only bit of land we had was from me ol' man, an' that's gone now, taken by the Orcs. Even that pendant he's wearin' isn't his. It was Diarmid's.”

“Diarmid's?” Galadriel furrowed her brows as Sauron gritted his teeth.

“An old man from a village nearby. We travelled with him an' became friends. My husband's always had a taste for shiny, pretty things, so I reckon he took it off the body of that poor man from that shipwreck,” (Y/N) gave Sauron a scolding look and he looked away because his eyes were growing dark out of anger and frustration.

If any of the women looked at his eyes now, they would realise he is no mortal man and surely not a good spirit.

“Even if that heraldry is not his…” Galadriel sighed, defeated. However, Sauron could hear desperation in her voice.

Such a sweet obsession to make sure her own scheme would work out – he knew that feeling. And he was glad because it meant that she would help him still despite the odds.

“Even if that heraldry is not his,” she repeated, “how many people do know the truth? I might know him for two days, (Y/N), but I can see him for who he is and he is way more than a ragged commoner. He risked his own life to save mine–”

“Ye did?!” (Y/N) gasped as she laid her eyes on her husband but Sauron looked up to avoid her gaze.

“The Southlands need to be united against evil,” Galadriel insisted.

“Ye wish to deceive folk an' set a crown on a commoner's head, all to fight the Orcs?” (Y/N) was surprised to hear such words. “An' they say the Elves are so noble…”

“Not just the Orcs,” Galadriel answered harshly, slowly losing patience with Halbrand's wife. “There is an evil much darker and much worse hiding in the shadows.”

“Like what, then?” (Y/N) asked with an innocence that nearly made Sauron laugh.

“Sauron,” Lady Galadriel spoke his name and he felt a shiver going down his spine. With a corner of his eye, he observed his wife but she did not seem to be startled or even moved.

“Haven't heard of that lad, who's he?” She asked and Sauron clenched his jaw to force the laughter to stay in the back of his throat.

“The Dark Lord!” Galadriel's eyes widened. “Morgoth's loyal follower. Have you heard of Morgoth?”

“Aye, I have,” (Y/N) admitted with a shrug, “but 'twas a long time ago, wasn't it?”

“Such great evil is beyond mortality,” Galadriel tried to explain. “I have reasons to believe that Sauron is not truly dead.”

“And why should I care about that?” (Y/N) was confused. “I don't even know him, an' it's not like he's ever hurt me or me family.”

“He hurt many others!” Galadriel protested.

“A long time ago,” (Y/N) rolled her eyes.

“I am no longer wondering why people of The Southlands followed Morgoth. You are such ignorant and vile creatures!” Galadriel spat out. Her sudden anger and cruel words made (Y/N) take a slight step back as she looked down, feeling humiliated.

Sauron felt the sudden urge to defend her like she had unwillingly defended him only a moment ago.

“Not very noble of you, Elf, to say such things,” he pointed out. “You should know better than anyone that it is not on us how we perceive those things. Your kin rewarded a few tribes with your gifts and punished others. Their descendants are still paying the price for the sins of the past. We are not used to worrying about the Dark Lords or the shadows when we simply have nothing to put onto our plates.”

Galadriel blushed slightly at his words and she looked at (Y/N) with remorse but Halbrand's wife kept her glistening eyes on him only, grateful for defending her. 

“Come with me to Middle-earth,” Galadriel started to convince once more, “and together we will redeem both our bloodlines.”

“How?” Sauron asked her. “You're stuck on this island and you're still short an army.”

“That is all about to change,” Galadriel convinced him and then smiled at him before turning her head around to smile at Halbrand's wife, too.

And then she walked away to leave them alone again but Sauron could feel the switch of the atmosphere.

“Ye can't be serious, Hal,” (Y/N) whispered. “We were supposed to start a new life here, start a family. I don't want to go back to Middle-earth. I don't want to pretend to be someone I'm not. If that's the path ye choose, I cannot follow ye…” Her lower lip trembled as she gathered her skirts and hurried out of the prison with tears pricking her eyes.

Sauron wrapped his hands around the iron bars of his cell as he wanted to call out after her as Halbrand probably would but then he realised… It would only be for the better if she decided to stay here and finally leave him alone to his schemes.

MASTERLIST

[katcirce]

My thoughts on Rings of Power so far

My boyfriend and I started watching rings of power (yes. we are late to the party), and I have a couple of thoughts on it. As of writing this we are on episode 7 (meaning just before the finale.)

*obvious spoiler warning*

Unfortunately I was spoiled by twt before even watching the show as to the whole Halbrand situation, so I have been watching the entire show knowing who he is, but god I wish he wasn't. Or even, I wish the show was its own thing, and not a half-way between a tolkien canon and whatever it is. This principle kind of extends thoughout my wishes for this show; I do really like it, but I also have some critiques I will outline.

Cinematography and beauty prioritised more than pacing and immersion

There is no doubt that this show is absolutely gorgeous. Every shot is an artform and a feast for the eyes, however, in some cases it seems the pacing suffers as a consequence. Take for instance the scene between The Stranger and the Brandyfoot girl, where she hands him an apple. I assume they had so many shots in order to give the impression of the grandness of it all, however it came across as someone not being able to choose between which shot to take, because they were all great, and subsequently ending up adding all of them. It just felt a little awkward. This is also the case with combat scenes where we felt the immersion was often lost in favour of an aesthetically pleasing shot.

2. Galadriel and staying true to canon

The showrunners obviously took some liberties with the characters, and die-hard tolkien fans might feel more conflicted with the difference in presence of characters they already know and love from Tolkiens universe. My boyfriend hasn't read the books, and had no issues with the characters, because he didn't already have a strong pre-conceived notion of who the characters were. For me, adjusting to this new Galadriel was more challenging than say Elrond, simply because her energy is so different. That being said, I see the point in showing her in this young version, and as a character I adore her; but I can't help but still feel a little conflicted that the two characters are the same. Galadriel is one of the eldest, and is therefore supposed to be one of the wisest elves, but I find her nature to still be very young compared to the other elves. I love her characterisation, but where it kind of glips for me, is when compared with Elrond, who seems wiser.

3. Halbrand...

This especially is where I wish this show was its own seperate universe, and he did not become the Sauron known from LOTR, embodiment of pure evil. Even in the series they mention sauron being controlled by Morgoth, and after his fall seeking to better the world. In my own personal little bubble, I wish this could be the story of someone having been a puppet and the hand of a greater evil; witnessing themselves comitting atrocities without being able to control it. After gaining free-will seeking to right the wrongs, while having to hide their identity, because they know, they cannot be forgiven. I know that is not the case, but I wish it was.

4. The harfoots :)))

This is both mine and my boyfriends least favourite part of the series. We both found the harfoots quite annoying. The whole "We are harfoots. We stick together", just doesn't really catch on with us when they literally have a book of left-behinds. That, and they all blame The Stranger for a branch falling (why the did no adult stop the kid from stepping out under a clearly fragile branch!?). It seems insane to banish the Stranger after a branch fell when he also saved them from wolves, disproportionate through and through.

I've basically written an essay now, and I have so much more to say on Elrond, dwarves, the southlands, Isildur, Elendil, etc. However, I'll stop now and maybe add on after we watch the finale. :)

[frodo-with-glasses]

I took this passage quite literally when I was little.

By that I mean I thought Galadriel was using her Super Cool Totally Sick Dude Elf Powers to play Peeping Tom on a hobbit and x-ray vision his clothes. Needless to say, I hated her. I hated her, I hated Lothlorien, I hated their stupid blindfolds and their stupid dwarf-hatred and their stupid trees (hobbits are supposed to sleep on the ground, dangit!), and most of all I hated their wicked, perverted, over-hyped, voyeuristic female dog of a Lady who got her kicks from looking at naked hobbits because no one dared to call her out.

I was already upset, of course. The Company had just lost Gandalf, and Frodo and Sam were both in pain from injuries, and the grandiose beauty of Lothlorien didn’t make me feel any better. It made me feel like I was unwanted there, like even my footsteps in the midst of that beauty would stain and taint it somehow, and that the residents looked down on me with scorn as something that didn’t belong. I wanted to get out as fast as I could. I wanted to be back in Hobbiton, where the people were simple and stupid, but kind and familiar. I wanted to be back in Rivendell, where the elves were less grand and beautiful and terrible, more warm, welcoming, and cheerful, and the touch of the skilled Healer could mend all woes up to a broken heart. Heck, I wanted to rush further on into more danger, even the unforgiving crags of Mordor, just to get away from the beautiful arrogance of Lothlorien.

A little of that initial revulsion still lingers, by the way, but it’s tempered by age and a calmer head, now.

Anyway, now that I’m older, I do understand what Sam was trying to express. It wasn’t the shame of physical nakedness that he felt, but of a sort of mental vulnerability. Galadriel could see his mind, even the deepest parts of his desires, and that was something uncomfortable and exposing in a way that Sam could only compare to losing all his clothes. It wasn’t his body that was laid bare before Galadriel, but his thoughts and heart and soul.

She issues him a test. She issues the entire Fellowship a test: Get what you most desire, or continue on, to whatever bitter end. This was another strike against her, in my mind. Who but someone in league with the Enemy would tempt even one member of the Fellowship to turn aside from their quest? Aragorn constantly defended Galadriel’s honor, but I sided with Boromir. She didn’t seem trustworthy. In fact, she almost seemed to be pushing the Fellowship to the brink of breaking.

But again, now that I’m older, I think I understand. Galadriel isn’t asking any questions that they aren’t already asking themselves.

The Fellowship has just met with the first major check of their quest. Gandalf is dead. Up until this point, they’ve fought orcs and wolves and snakes; they were pursued by Black Riders and swallowed alive by trees; but however hurt or frightened they might have been in the meantime, they all came out alive. Until now. Gandalf is dead. The whole Fellowship is realizing, suddenly, just how much this quest could cost them. They could be next. Their friends could be next. The very real, very mortal danger lies heavy on them. The question on all their minds is, “Is it worth it?”

Galadriel simply personifies this crisis. She gives their internal question a face and a voice. While they might try to ignore the dilemma and put it out of their minds, Galadriel forces it to the forefront, because if they will continue on, they must decide to do so fully, now, or their double-mindedness might later come back to break them.

I think the Mirror of Galadriel functions in much the same way. It only expounds upon and magnifies what the person looking into it is already thinking. Sam sees bad things happening in Hobbiton because he’s already looking back, thinking and worrying about home; Frodo sees the epic history of the Ring and the flaming Eye of Sauron because he’s already looking ahead, to the enormity of the task in front of him and the terror of the Enemy to whom he marches ever closer.

Galadriel says herself that the Mirror is a bad prophet; it shows “things that were, things that are, and things that may yet be”, and some things that never come to pass. That’s how it is with our worries, isn’t it? We think about things that happened, we fret about what’s happening now, and we worry about many imagined scenarios that may or may not ever be. Perhaps the Mirror isn’t meant to reveal the future, but the mind of the one looking into it. After all, it’s not a “Seeing Stone” or a “Fortune Pool”, but a Mirror. A mirror’s job is to reveal the person looking into them.

Through Galadriel, Tolkien takes the very human internal crisis on the minds of each member of the Fellowship and clothes it in a beautiful face and a deep, musical voice. He adds a touch of magic and wonder to the mix to keep us engaged and immersed in the fantastical nature of this world, even as he explores a very simple and mundane question that has, at one point or another, been close to all our own hearts and minds: “Is it worth it to go on?”

Galadriel is not a traitor. She’s not a temptress, or a conspirator, or even a guide. She is simply a mirror, reflecting the thoughts of the Fellowship back upon themselves, and it is how they respond to seeing themselves laid bare that reveals the integrity of who they really are.

Doesn’t mean I like her tho. I’d trade her to Sauron for Finrod and one (1) corn chip :-D

[eponymous-rose]

Talks Machina Highlights - Critical Role C2E121 (Jan. 19, 2021)

Aaaand we're back! The epic pet montage at the start is still the greatest thing ever.

Tonight's guests? Matthew Mercer and Marisha Ray!

We begin with an extensive discussion of waffle farts. As you do.

Matt is asked what it's been like to get to build out the characters in the Tombtakers. Lucien is Matt's favorite, but they've all got some fun traits to them. "It's one of those rare experiences as a dungeon master where you get to watch your players combat with the necessity of playing along. The instinct is: fuck these guys, I want to fight them, we'll take their shit... or I guess we have to play nice. And they begrudgingly grit their teeth and I smile internally."

On the Lucien accent: "You guys are all so mean to Taliesin!" Matt knew his own take would be a "weird mutation" of Mollymauk's accent anyway.

How's Marisha feeling about a lot of her predictions panning out? "Aw, I mean, gee, me? What? Noooo. It's definitely vindicating, I'm not gonna lie, and rewarding, but I also know that I write a lot of shit down in that notebook that's never relevant ever again. It's definitely a good feeling to know that I didn't go on that fifteen-minute deep dive and was utterly wrong about everything I said." Matt: "I was super proud. I was just silently cheering you on as you went on these long tangents."

What does Lucien think of the Mighty Nein? "Lucien is definitely curious about why they're getting involved in his shit and what they're planning alongside them. One, he hates Beau because he doesn't like people who challenge his authority. He gravitates towards Jester to an extent because she's the most open, which from his standpoint makes her easiest to manipulate. He loves toying with curiosity, and so between Jester and Caleb, those are the two people that he's the most comfortable interacting with. Caduceus makes him feel a little weird. He's amused by them. Fjord to Lucien is one of the more guarded and less accessible at the moment."

Is Beau enjoying getting under Lucien's skin? "Beau's picking and poking still kind of stems from her defensiveness and guardedness and her feelings, in a lot of ways, and the way that she's coping with things. It's a few steps removed from her default and what she often resorts to when she starts throwing up those barriers. She still has in the back of her head that she's looking at her dead friend. It's her way of protecting herself if she can go, fuck you, I don't care about you. This isn't too dissimilar to the way she reacted when Yasha was brainwashed." Matt: "It's a unique social sparring match the whole time they're traveling side-by-side. It's unique to have an antagonistic force that you're--" Marisha: "That we're going camping with."

Navigating the Tombtaker/M9 relationship as a DM is "challenging. At any given moment, a wrong statement could escalate matters one way or the other. It's having to pay attention to a lot of things at all points in time to be ready for how those chain reactions can happen and where it might go." He likens it to trying to follow and participate in two different conversations simultaneously at a party.

On the note from Yasha: "Oh man, you guys. Oh, it was so sweet. I don't think Beau was expecting Yasha to be so forthcoming with everything, and so complimentary and eloquent. Beau is awkward with healthy relationships, so she doesn't know how to handle them. She's still processing that and wants to not ruin it. No, it was magical." Ashley told Marisha after the episode that she was trying to think of what to say and wound up basing it on what she would say about Marisha.

Cosplay of the Week: an amazing Vax (by stormfeather_cosplay, photograph by travi_b, both on Instagram)!

On using variations on the Wild Magic table: "I wanted to give it some variation to consequences. They took some of the tooth out of it from earlier editions. I knew it would be fun once I gave them the specifications of when these things would happen - players are just waiting for someone to roll a 20 or a 1 at all times."

Why is it so important to Beau that she and Yasha have a proper date? Part of it is a fresh start. "So much of Beau's past relationships have been rooted in some toxic behavior. Beau feels like, well, maybe we should just start from the beginning in the most us way possible: fighting through the tundra with our dead-ish friend."

The sci-fi-ish theme came toward the end of developing Aeor, but it mostly comes from rationalization. Matt is intrigued by how all these different societies want to usurp the gods... which has parallels with modern society. He notes that focusing more on the science of the magic means the aesthetics pull away to "instead facilitate the utility or the most direct route to the answers you want. You streamline as opposed to focusing on the aesthetics."

Beau’s reaction to all the weird magic stuff? “I think Beau’s just so focused on the pragmatic aspects of it all right now. There are greedy people with motives and the will and want to corrupt across all spans of cultures and times. She’s trying not to get lost in the magic, both proverbially and literally, of it all, and just trying to focus on the motives of these people at hand.”

In some ways, Matt was surprised by Caduceus’ strong reaction to the creepy woods. “It was the first major reveal that there are some other sides to the coin that he hadn’t learned about. I had no idea how he would react. It pushed him away more in ways than I expected.”

Fan art of the week: an amazing Lucien! (by oratorkayla on Twitter)

What’s Dagen’s motivation? “He’s definitely a man of his word when it comes to fulfilling a contract and getting the other half of his pay, but it’s not hard to see they’ve grown on him a little bit. He’s really good at getting around the tundra unseen and unnoticed.”

Brian: “In true Sam fashion-” Marisha, instantly: “OH MY GOD.”

Marisha: “Here’s the thing. Here’s the tea, okay? If I ever hear one more fucking person trying to claim that I’m ruining things by metagaming, I’m going to point to Sam. I’m expected to respond accordingly to Veth being a Sam troll. Gods damn him! Raven Queen curse upon him! Let chaos reign! He made me pull out my earphones, I can’t hear anything you’re saying. It’s frustrating because I’d be mad at it if it wasn’t so god damn funny.” Matt notes that at a different table this wouldn’t be great behavior, but they all know each other well enough (and check in with each other enough) that it’s comfortable teasing.

With a bit of a deeper pull, Matt is asked whether he knew Avantika would return someday? “I knew she was a fun, interesting option out there. The M9 still have in their grasp the single most important artifact, in Uk’otoa’s opinion, at the moment. As long as they carry that artifact, his eye of Sauron is upon them.” Matt notes that he has more encounter tables going, so a lot of the time even he’s not sure what’s going to happen.

Caduceus suggested contacting Essek, but Beau and Caleb nixed that idea. Does Beau trust him? “Gods no. Absolutely not. She can like Essek personally. As a person, he’s fine, I guess. But I think a lot of people might be forgetting that he’s kind of a war criminal and kind of set off a lot of bad things in motion with this war with the Empire and the Dynasty, because he wanted power and to know things. So now here he is, also in Aeor. Yeah. Just kinda putting two and two together there. It is another one of those things of, you’re walking that line on trying to keep him on your good side and having a mutually beneficial relationship before it could easily go completely south.”

On the Star Razor being a Vestige: “I don’t want this to be--- the Vestiges aren’t always a thing where it’s like, you get a Vestige and you get a Vestige! I want them to be still considered special and rare. This is one that had to be earned, it had to be reforged. I didn’t know the circumstances that would involve it coming about.” He based it on the circumstances of Fjord’s evolution into a paladin. “In essence, not only did he finish the creation of the sword, but he Awakened it at the same time as he made this transition. It is Exalted at this point, it’s in its final form.”

What does Beau think might lie ahead? “I have no idea. I am trying to abandon expectation when it comes to that. I know what we don’t know, and that’s it. Beau is trying to compensate for the known unknowns and the unknown unknowns. I hope we can keep this tenuous relationship through to Aeor, because we need more answers before it explodes in our face. Beau, and Marisha, is hoping for a little more information before shit hits the fan.”

[maul-of-shame]

'why is everyone mean to celeborn?' Idk man, maybe because its 2024 and there are still people alive who unironically say this kind of bullshit 'Glorfindel comes back from the halls of Mandos (he'd better! I need that time happen omg), but he's not alone, Celeborn will also be there. Maybe the Valar send him back because Galadriel is important but DESPERATELY needs grounding (a husband lol)' I'm astra projecting Bucky, how did we regress so much to this point.

Oh, trust me, I’m right there with you in the astral realm, looking down and wondering how we managed to end up back at the medieval concept of “women need husbands to keep them in line.”

[TW: Salty rants are back, if you're a Cele-gone lover, do not read babe I'm being a mean girl]

It’s 2024, and YET here we are with some Celeborn “fans” desperately clinging to the idea that Galadriel, one of the most complex and powerful characters Tolkien created, somehow needs to be “grounded” by her husband. Because, apparently, strength and leadership need a “husband” in tow to feel legitimate? It’s like they’re holding up a giant “Team Celeborn” banner while ignoring that Tolkien didn’t even bother to flesh him out beyond his basic support role.

So now, Glorfindel’s job is supposed to be chauffeuring Celeborn back to Rivendell, because heaven forbid the man find his own way home like any self-respecting elf.

What is he, Middle-earth’s newest Uber driver?

You’re telling me the great warrior, THEE GLORFINDEL, who faced down enemies after enemies is now reduced to being a glorified escort for Galadriel’s MIA husband, whose biggest accomplishment is slipping off to some mysterious corner of Middle-earth for a millennia-long vacation?

And calling Celeborn “the grounding influence” she supposedly “desperately needs”? Please! Glorfindel didn’t come back from the Halls of Mandos to be the nanny for some wandering lord who couldn’t be bothered to show up for his own wife’s entire Second Age hero’s journey.

What are we supposed to believe? That the Valar sent Glorfindel all the way back to help win the war against Sauron, only for him to end up chauffeuring Galadriel’s “grounding” husband back to her like he’s Middle-earth’s raccoon-eyed, wayward, “need-a-ride” racist baby daddy?

If they’re serious about bringing Celeborn back, maybe he should ride back on his own steam—or at least give Glorfindel a little tip for the trouble, because nothing says “hero of Middle-earth” quite like being someone’s unwilling life coach and delivery service. At this point, if the Valar expect Glorfindel to be Celeborn’s designated driver, they’d better be reimbursing him with something better than a front-row seat to Celeborn’s half-hearted homecoming reunion.

And let’s be honest here: they don’t want Celeborn back for him—they want him back to shove Elrond out of the frame and lock Galadriel back into the wife role.

"Give her her husband to focus on."

As if Galadriel—one of the oldest and most resilient elves in Middle-earth, whose story spans literal ages—exists to dote on some man she hasn’t even seen in decades. This is the same character who led troops, defied Morgoth, and outmaneuvered Sauron himself, but yes, let’s bring in her husband so she can finally have something to focus on.

What, exactly, is she supposed to do?

Knit him a nice scarf for all those long journeys he never took part in?

Settle down and make lembas with him while the world literally fights the return of darkness? I can practically hear her eye-roll from here.

And let’s face it, “Give her her husband to focus on” makes it sound like the Valar are delivering Celeborn back to her like a prescription for overworked warriors.

“Take two doses of Celeborn daily and call us in the morning!”

Because nothing says grounded and focused like bringing in the guy Tolkien essentially wrote as “background husband.” It’s like saying "Aragorn would have been fine without that whole Ring thing if only Arwen had been there to “ground” him".

This reductionist view completely undermines her depth as a character, and frankly, does Celeborn no favors either.

If we’re genuinely aiming for character development, then let Celeborn actually be something, not just some device to keep Galadriel occupied, like a glittery accessory for her storyline. Trying to make him her new “focus” while she’s out here battling existential threats and guiding other leaders?

That’s not character development; that’s babysitting.

And I think we can all agree that Middle-earth’s strongest lady has outgrown that job description.

They’re also so rattled by Elrond’s supportive and equal relationship with Galadriel that they’re throwing the most absurd low blows at Rob’s appearance, framing Gil-galad and Elrond as Galadriel’s “enemies,” and twisting narrative interpretations just to make Celeborn look like the only “rightful” place-holder by her side.

Spoiler alert: none of these tactics are flattering to Celeborn; they just highlight the desperate lengths his fans will go to keep him relevant by sidelining everyone else around her.

Honestly, the irony writes itself! They're working so hard to make Celeborn her ultimate match while elbowing every real and complex bond out of her life. That does not exactly scream “strong, developed character.” If these fans can only build him up by tearing Elrond, Gil-galad, and others down, it’s just making Celeborn’s case weaker, not stronger.

[gossip-girl-of-middleearth]

WHOMST IS THIS OC BAKER BOY ELF I SEE YOU SPEAKING ABOUT!???! DO TELL!!

~vaya

GAH YES I LOVE MY SOFT BAKER ELF BOY!!

He is one of my most favourite OC’s, because he is quite literally a cinnamon roll.

(him on the top left, not my art but my faceclaim, as found on Pinterest with no other link)

His name is “Oranor” (it means “Sunday” in Elvish—the day he was begetted on)

He’s from another one of my main stories, “Phony Matrimony”

Basically, he’s about the elven equivalent of 18 years old, and developed a strong childhood crush on Legolas after the war against Sauron, upon seeing him ride to Aragorn’s coronation atop a white steed (very swoon-worthy for a 6 year old gay-to-be)

When Legolas took over Ithilien, I headcanon he built his town in Emyn Arnen—a canon place which looks like the Shire, but more yellow.

(Emyn Arnen, Ithilien)

He’s a baker’s boy (originally born in mirkwood) who Legolas regularly orders from, and the story follows one big lie that Oranor accidentally orchestrated with his scheming older brother.

So, his parents perished in the war, so he and his brother are both taken in by their aunt, Bronwe.

His older brother, Remmirath (means “constellation”), is an...eccentric “El Dorado” type of fellow, always chasing one big adventure after another, or selling snake oil as “cures” to people—a total charlatan.

Remmi comes back one day to find his little brother heartbroken over Legolas being forced to choose a Sindar-blooded partner soon by Thranduil (Oranor himself is just a lowly silvan), and sees an opportunity to be set for life.

The brothers are both naturally brunette, but Remmi returns as a blonde, explaining that he found this “amazing flower” which can change your hair colour for a short amount of time (like polyjuice potion, but just for your hair), depending on which hued flower you pick.

After being coerced (Remmirath just wants his brother to marry a royal so he can mooch off of them both), Oranor agrees to take the flower and turn blonde, as to convince Legolas and Thranduil that he, “Alfirin” (his new alias, quite literally means “white flower”), is actually Glorfindel’s illegitimate son, making him of noble blood, and consequently allowed to marry Legolas.

Big antics ensue with a “suitor competition”, as Thranduil calls in potential elves for Legolas to court, and now Oranor, under the guise of the blonde “Alfirin” has to make Legolas fall in love with him.

However, Legolas has actually been in love with the simple baker’s boy all along, and isn’t interested in any of the suitors, until “Alfirin” starts to remind him of Oranor, who has mysteriously skipped town.

An extract of chapter 2 underneath the cut!

I’ll get around to posting the story eventually lol

Also don’t mind Legolas being a little bit scandalous, he’s doing it to piss his father off (and rightfully so, too)

🥖🥖🥖🥖🥖🥖🥖🥖🥖🥖🥖🥖🥖🥖🥖🥖

Blowing a stray strand of his fringe out from his eyes, Oranor readied himself under his breath. Readjusting the crate underarm, he shifted his weight to one hip.

Muttering quietly to himself, the young elf further pushed the letter down behind the sticky buns. “You can do this, Oran. He will never know it’s you unless you reveal so to him. Don’t be a coward, for once in your life, don’t be just a little baker’s boy. All you have to do is—”

Halting his nervous tongue, Oranor heard voices on the other side of the door. They sounded heated and tense, clearly two males.

It was only with quite some strain on Oranor’s elven ears, that he recognised both Thranduil and Legolas’ voices.

The Elvenking was here, in Emyn Arnen?

Frightened out of his idea immediately, but still curious, Oranor pressed his ear flat against the wood, and listened closely.

“I ask this of you because I care about you, Legolas!”

“Ada, please! You only wish for me to court so you can have an heir begotten for you!”

“That is NOT true, and I resent your thoughts regarding so! Just study the list of names, Legolas. Some are male, too! I know you and your preferences.”

“My preference is to NOT get married right now! Especially to your presumptuous list! I’ll be sailing soon after Aragorn’s departure from our world, so what does it matter, Ada?”

“You will be lonely by yourself overseas! I want to ensure my son is spoken for before he goes.”

“Your son is speaking; you’re just not listening.”

“I could be a lot meaner, Legolas. I am allowing you to choose whom you marry freely, so long as they’re from my list. There are many names on there! You will see—love will find you swiftly.”

There was a short silence on the other side of the door, and Oranor imagined it was his usually reserved lord taking a moment to roll his eyes at his father. Once those few seconds had passed, Thranduil spoke up again—sterner this time, too.

“I am not being unreasonable, Legolas. I only ask two things of you; that you see to yourself being betrothed in the next few months, and that they be of Sindar lineage. There are many to choose from. I won’t hear another word about it—you are still my subject and heir, therefore I have the right to ask this of you.”

Oranor gulped down the nerves that rose in his throat, and made quick moves to retrieve the letter. Hastily, for he heard footsteps approaching from the other side of the door (most likely Legolas seeking to leave his father’s presence in a furious state), Oranor began to rip the letter in two.

He was blushing madly in humiliation. Of course he could never court Legolas. Legolas was a prince, and Sindar at that. Oranor himself was just a lowly Silvan of bakery origins. It was simply not meant to be.

Perhaps it hadn’t moved past a childish crush after all.

Feeling the tips of his ears turning red, Oranor anxiously glanced between the letter he was tearing in half, as well as the door.

He knew he could not hide both himself and the crate in time, for the angered steps were upon him. Glancing all around, Oranor spun on his heel a few times, as he hastily thought of where to flee and stash the crate.

There was a pot of fern to his right, but before he could throw the crate inside and finish tearing the letter, the door to Legolas’ large reading room opened.

A roaring fireplace soon met Oranor with its warmth, as it fought to fend off the winter snow’s cold, just outside the large windows of light running along one side of the room.

Oranor, shorter than his lord by at least a head, was soon met face-to-face with Legolas. They blinked at each other in shock for a moment, before Thranduil spoke up again.

Oranor peeked over the prince’s soldier, and saw the king rise from the long couch before the fire to chase after his son.

“Legolas, do not be such a child, it is very unbecoming of you to storm away—”

Thranduil, too, was stunned to find someone there. If he didn’t possess all the class in the world, Thranduil perhaps would have been embarrassed over someone having heard his conversation.

Formally, Oranor bowed his head to both Thranduil and Legolas, and greeted them by their respective titles. At the same time, he tucked the one half of the letter he’d managed to rip into his winter cloak’s pocket—partially grateful the rest was hidden down the side of the buns.

At least most of it was unintelligible now.

“Your majesty.” He moved his eyes away from Thranduil’s, and nervously met Legolas’. “My lord.”

“My delivery?” Legolas repeated back, offering a mustered smile to the baker’s boy. He also gave a brief nod down at the buns in gesture.

“Yes, my lord,” Oranor meekly replied, shifting the crate under his arm again, so that he brought it forwards with both hands.

“Amazing timing,” Legolas sincerely commended. He took the order and practically drooled over the scent of cinnamon and icing.

Turning on his heel, and ignoring his unimpressed father, Legolas walked over to the table set before the fire. He placed the crate down promptly, planning on curling up with a good book later on and divulging himself in the treats.

The crate was slightly messy, and icing soon covered the lord’s fingers. Extracting a low, quiet whine from the back of Oranor’s throat, he watched as Legolas licked the icing from his fingers, one by one.

Thranduil caught this, and narrowed his eyes in Oranor’s direction. The younger elf noticed the king’s scrutiny quickly, and averted his eyes from the blonde, who seemed to be cleaning each finger very slowly, almost aware of his audience.

“Legolas,” Thranduil ordered, pausing the lord’s tongue as he looked at his father innocently with blinking eyes. “Pay the baker, and then we shall discuss your betrothal plans further.”

With one finger still in his mouth, Legolas flickered his eyes on over at Oranor. The brunette could’ve sworn he spotted mischief behind the blue, and the slightest of smirks upon his lips.

Oranor shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, wishing more than anything to run upstairs in the bakery to his bedroom. It’d been a blessing since his older brother had left on another adventure, for privacy was entirely his in the shared room and bunk beds, and his alone.

“Of course, Ada,” Legolas replied, popping his finger from his mouth. “I was just about to.”

[demonscantgothere]

You're missing a lot of the issues under the surface between Sauron and Morgoth, though, and I would direct you to read my thoughts on that here.

Sauron served Morgoth canonically with so much devotion because he was fearful of Morgoth at the end of the day, and it's important to remember that.

But no wizardry nor spell, neither fang nor venom, nor devilish art nor beast-strength, could overthrow Huan without forsaking his body utterly. Ere his foul spirit left its dark house, Lúthien came to him, ghost be sent quaking back to Morgoth; and she said: ‘There everlastingly thy naked self shall endure the torment of his scorn, pierced by his eyes, unless thou yield to me the mastery of thy tower.’

Then Sauron yielded himself, and Lúthien took the mastery of the isle and all that was there; and Huan released him. And immediately he took the form of a vampire, great as a dark cloud across the moon, and he fled, dripping blood from his throat upon the trees, and came to Taur-nu-Fuin, and dwelt there, filling it with horror.

Sauron chose to yield to Lúthien and flee than face consequences under imprisonment of Morgoth, who is literally the person he is DOING all of this for. I'm not arguing that Sauron isn't corrupt or that he hasn't done evil, but nuance is important here.

I get that what he has done indicates cowardice, but cowardice is rooted in fear and conformity. None of this is an excuse for his character, just a further analysis of him, so please don't assume I'm excusing, condoning, or justifying his behavior. You can take steps to understanding someone's motivations without condoning them.

“Sauron had never reached this stage of nihilistic madness [as Morgoth]. He did not object to the existence of the world, so long as he could do what he liked with it. He still had the relics of positive purposes, that descended from the good of the nature in which he began: it had been his virtue (and therefore also the cause of his fall, and of his relapse) that he loved order and co-ordination, and disliked all confusion and wasteful friction.”

— J.R.R. Tolkien, The History of Middle-earth, Vol. 10, Morgoth's Ring

This passage is very crucial to understanding the idea of a repentant Sauron. Tolkien openly admits that Sauron fell from grace, went back to his goodness, and then fell again. The phrase “and therefore also the cause of his fall, and of his relapse” points out that Sauron didn't just fall once and stayed there. He attempted to rise above his crimes after the fall of Morgoth, and for an unaddressed reason, he relapsed and came back to them later on.

Tolkien said it first, folks. Relapse is a deterioration after a temporary improvement. You can't relapse without improving first.

[darker-soft-starker]

Starker High School AU, Pt. 2 (Pt. 1, Pt. 3, Pt. 4, Pt. 5)

-----

Peter will admit that during he took an extended moment during his journey home to grieve the loss of his free afternoon, and indeed the impending headaches.

And the rest of his future, if he was honest.

Not that Peter was prone to melancholy by any means, but with this assignment his fate was officially sealed, there was no misunderstanding. He was going to fail this assignment. He was going to, for the first time in his academic career, be forced to submit garbage of a caliber worthy of Tony Stark. It will forever be a black mark on his academic record.

No respectable college is going to accept him after this. In fact, he might as well drop out of school now and hit up Mr Delmar for a job. All of his prep for his MIT application is as good as useless after this. Extracurriculars? Goodbye.

Because it’s confirmed.

He’s doomed.

Swaying with the motions of the train, Peter types a text to Ned, the only person who might provide him with some much needed sympathy.

>  I’m doomed >  paired w/stark for an assignment lollllllllll.  >  help

Maybe Peter could trade with Ned. Maybe he could plead with their teacher, for honest fear of his life and scholastic integrity. He wasn’t even exaggerating. In no known iteration of this universe could Peter amicably work with Tony Stark. It would be like Harry Potter sitting down for tea with Voldemort, or Frodo and Sauron chilling with a pint and a pipe in Bag End. 

It was unthinkable. Implausible. Laughable.

And Peter would laugh, were it anyone but him in this situation.

The feeling is unusual. Never had he found reason in his life to truly dislike anybody before, everyone could be redeemed or given the opportunity for penance. Natasha has said more than once that Peter would offer the devil himself a sandwich if he appeared. 

Tony Stark on the other hand? No sandwich for him.

Well, maybe a slice of bread. A stale one.

While he waits for Ned to responds he catches sight of his injured reflection in the train window, which is admittedly pretty gnarly. Even with his hood drawn up, there was a noticeable berth allocated to him in the busy carriage between himself and the other passengers.

< sux. can I have ur lego hogwarts if u die?

> dude :( pity me.

< lol. so, can i?

Peter sighs.

> sure. Look after May for me, bro. delete my internet history.

< deal. godspeed

Pocketing his phone, Peter wonders if it’s too late to take up praying.

---

By the time he’s back in his apartment his mood has managed to swing back up.

Tony Stark is not going to be the arbiter of Peter’s fate. Hell no. He’s smart, he’s creative and hardworking - it isn’t up to anybody but Peter to determine his outcomes. If he has to do the assignment with Stark then he will. And he will work his hardest. 

If he has to do it sharing the credit with Stark, well, Peter knows a concession when he sees one.

No matter how reluctant he is.

But he powers through it, like ripping off a bandaid. It’s fine! He’s a Parker and he’s come this far in life already against ill, Parker-like odds. What was being paired for one assignment with someone who escaped the nearest hellmouth? 

It’ll be fine. 

Probably.

Not letting himself linger on his fears, Peter clears out his previous plans of going on a YouTube spiral and eating sour gummies until his teeth stick, instead utilising the time to get his foot in and and begins prepping for the assignment. Cursory, preliminary research at first, before the inevitable deep dive begins.

Neanderthal, Peter scoffs, mad all over again. Who is Stark to call Peter a neanderthal? He’s second in his class. He’s a straight A student. He likes school.

And as much as he is moderately skilled in, and enjoys JV, it’s not like he received his scholarship to study at Midtown based on his physical prowess.

The graze on his cheek that stings every time he yawns is proof of that.

Stark can eat his entire ass and choke on it, he thinks darkly, as he continues his research. He doesn’t know the first thing about Peter.

The data is sobering as he delves into job listings and statistics of his projected salary in a three year margin. This is really what his teachers earn? Wow. Depressing.

The contrast of expected salary versus the forecast of steep student loans is disheartening further still.

Teaching quietly slips from second to third on his list of ideal occupations.

Turning on a playlist on his phone, Peter continues to compile notes, amassing a truly gargantuan amount of tabs on his browser. His computer, old enough to be on its’ last teeth, whirrs loudly in protest.

It’s not until his room goes dark that he thinks to check the time.

Ah, shit. It’s nearly six.

Peter pauses. Should he tidy up the apartment?

...Nah, no point in breaking a sweat for Stark.

He continues typing. Then he hesitates, fingers suspended in mid-air. 

But what if Stark sees his unfolded laundry out on the dining table and publicly shames him for his old-but-comfortable Bulbasaur themed boxer shorts?

Goddamnit.

---

A quick, cursory clean ensues and leaves a relatively orderly Parker apartment. No freshly laundered underwear is in sight.

Peter wraps up just a few minutes before six. Right on time.

Taking a seat at the now clear dining table Peter drums his fingers on the surface and waits.

And waits.

And waits.

---

He knows when Tony finally arrives when he hears the sound of a car pulling up outside his apartment block. The riffs of a Roxette remix can be heard playing loudly  from the ground to the seventh floor of his apartment, the bass so thunderous it reverberates the windows all the way up to his floor.

Drumming his fingers on the kitchen table, Peter checks the wall clock again. It’s nearly seven.

Tony’s late.

Not that Peter is particularly affected with surprise that Tony is incapable of following basic instructions, but still. Really? Really?

By the time there is a knock on his door, Peter is already before it, his arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face. Every second between Tony pulling up and his ascent to Peter’s floor has him positively fuming. He can’t believe how this day played out. It started with such promise. He had such innocuous, but high hopes.

Clearly, he miscalculated.

Feeling a touch petty, he waits to answer, listening to Stark knock a second and then a third, more insistent time before he rouses enough calm to open the door.

He instantly regrets it when he does. 

Tony’s expression is curious one as he breezes right passed Peter without waiting for further invitation. There’s a smudge of something dark on his brow, his otherwise white undershirt smeared in dark stains.

Peter watches incredulously as the other boy drops his backpack by the door with a thump.

“You’re late.”

He closes the door behind Tony and scowls at the other boys easy posture, hands shoved into his pockets, eyes taking in the apartment.

“I didn’t realise you lived all the way out in fucking Queens. Do you have any idea how bad traffic is at this time of day? Also, your elevator doesn’t work. I just climbed seven flights of stairs, where’s the hospitality?”

“Try earning it.”

The other boy rolls his eyes. “Like it’s worth my time.” He breezes past Peter and slides his leather jacket off his arms, tossing it atop of his backpack in the corner. “Look, I’m here now. Okay? You can unclench now. So, do I get a tour or what?”

“Or what. This wouldn’t have been an issue if we had just started straight after class like I said.”

“Oh I’m sorry,” Tony clutches his hands to his heart before gesturing to the room. “I didn’t realise I was interrupting your busy Friday night, Parker. You got a keg and the rest of the meatheads stashed away somewhere?”

Without waiting for a response, Tony wanders around the living room like a curious child in a new play room. His gaze inspects everything all at once, from peering at up close at the wall mounted photos and hovering his grubby hands over the oddments and knick-knacks speckled throughout the space.

Apprehensive, Peter can’t help but shadow him, afraid he just let loose a hurricane in a china shop.

Without asking, Tony picks up May’s old Magic 8-Ball and gives it a good shake. Peter’s fingers itch to reach over and stop him, but stops himself because then that would require actually making direct skin contact the other boy.

Not worth it.

“Cannot predict now. Huh,” Tony says to himself before placing the ball back in the wrong spot. 

They both watch silently as it rolls precariously close to the edge. 

“Anyways,” Tony helps himself to an armchair, lounging back and spreading his legs wide. “I know your long-term memory is probably as defective as the rest of you, so don’t strain yourself recalling that I had other priorities.”

“Like what?”

“Like literally anything that isn’t being around you,” the other boy grins. “Now, are we doing this thing, or did you invite me over so you could bitch at me?”

“I didn’t invite you,” Peter grumbles, swiping his notebook from the dining table before sitting on the sofa, as far away from Stark as possible. Shifting, he takes his phone from his pocket and opens the notes he’d taken earlier.

“So, I cross referenced some websites and current job listings,” Peter scrolls through his research, adjusting his glasses as they slip down his nose. “Assuming you have no savings, we’re looking at an average of sixty-thousand per annum based on my salary alone. The average rent in --”

“-- Uh, why are we assuming I have no savings?”

"Because... we’re being realistic?”

Tony springs to his feet and paces across the living room.

“Well,” he says, gesturing to Peter, “if we’re being realistic, does having no savings also that mean I have no debt -- or are you paying off two student loans on your salary?”

“I don’t --”

“Do we have car loans? Health insurance?”

“Wait, slow your roll, Stark. I haven’t yet --”

“-- Of course you haven’t. I mean really, Parker, do you ever think ahead? You should try it, we do have a baby on the way, you know.” Tony clicks his fingers and points at Peter. “Oh, names! I want to call it Molly.”

“As in the drug?” 

“No, as in Ringwald. Anyhoo, seeing as only one of us has the intellectual capacity to construct a budget,” Tony gestures to himself, “that would be me, consider maybe that I spent my savings paying off my student loans and bought a car for me and Miss Molly, leaving you with just your own stagnant debt. Happy?”

“Thrilled,” he says through clenched teeth, feeling utterly steamrolled. “But we’re not calling the baby Molly.”

“Yes, we are. Think of all the great nicknames. Hey wait,” Tony pauses in his pacing, “are your parents going to be home soon?”

It was in that moment Peters world narrows down to one, botched cosmic joke.

Turning his gaze heavenwards, Peter prays silently for mercy. What did he do to deserve this. This is all his bad karma come at once. This is the bad place.

“Ah, no,” he replies, eyes widening. “No, my parents are not going to be home soon.”

“Cool. Lucky you.”

Oblivious to Peter’s existential turmoil, Tony resumes his patrol through the living room, picking up a frame on the mantle. It houses an old photo of Ben, May and a young, bespectacled Peter. 

It is one of the more embarrassing immortalisations of his younger self, eleven-years old and grinning widely, bearing his silver braces to the camera as he holds up a science fair trophy, curls wild and untamed.

Oh god. That was exactly what Peter needed on this unholy day - Tony Stark in his living room, witnessing Peter in his prepubescent glory. 

Quick, create a diversion.

“So, as I was saying,” he says loudly, “rent is reasonably affordable with a sixty-thousand budget in --”

“Who’s the babe?” Tony points to a younger Aunt May in the photo.

Peter gets to his feet and removes the frame from Tony’s grasp. He glowers as he places it back on the mantle. 

“No one you would have a chance with. Can you stay focused? Like, are you physically capable of it?”

“Okay, calm down,” Tony holds his hands up in surrender. “You’ve got a lot of anger for someone so vertically challenged, you know that, shortstack?” 

“Focus, dumbass.”

“I’m focused! Let’s see, we’ve established that I am excellent at managing my money. You have a shitty job and a shitty salary, and apparently my imaginary future self has terrible taste in men. So. Have I got that right? Where are we living?”

“Queens. LIC has some one bed, one baths that could be affordable.”

“Uh, rewind. Going to have to eighty-six that - I am not living in Queens.”

Peter stares at him.

Tony rubs his hands over his face and sighs. “Fine, whatever. But I want a Pontiac Firebird in this imaginary life if I have to deal with you.”

“For someone so keen on getting away you’re doing your best to prolong this experience. It’s literally painful.”

“Well, I just like to see you get all riled up, Princess,” Tony grins, leaning back against the mantle and folding his arms over his chest. “You have this vein that bulges on your forehead when you’re mad. Makes you look like a pitbull.”

Peter swallows the particularly acidic retort sitting on his tongue and tries not to let Tony’s words sting. Be the bigger man, Ben used to say. As difficult as it is to channel even a modicum of the mans’ eternal patience, Peter takes a deep breath and reminds himself to stay focused. The less he gets sidetracked by Tony’s fuckery, the sooner it’s over.

He mentions the next part with unease. 

“...Miss Ahn said that we need references and should do field research. Speak to realtors. Ask people who have a similar lifestyle and budget.”

The look that comes over the other boys face is one of unequivocal revulsion. Peter can relate. The thought of having to spend more time with this guy makes his stomach turn.

“Well, Parker, any bright ideas who we can ask?”

The hinges of the front door squeaks before Peter can respond.

Moments after, Aunt May walks into the living room, placing her bag down on the dining table. She looks between the two boys curiously.

“Hey, Pete,” she comes to his side to squeezes his shoulder. “Who do we have here?”

Tony rushes over with his hand outstretched, an eager grin on his face. 

“Tony Stark, ma’am. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Oh, ah, okay, well,” May laughs as he enthusiastically shakes her hand. Her eyes are soft as Tony smiles brightly at her. “Nice to meet you too, Tony. I’m May, Peter’s aunt. Are you... friends with Peter?”

Peter snorts. 

“Definitely not. We just have an assignment --”

“-- Great friends, actually,” Tony talks over him, taking a seat beside Peter on the sofa. To Peter’s utter disgust, the other boy puts an arm around his shoulders, squeezing his bicep encouragingly. “Aren’t we, Pete? Hmm? Best buds. We go way back.”

Peter freezes, feeling the line of heat from Tony’s against his side, the weight of his arm on his body. 

Eyes widening, he feels his skin crawl. 

“That’s sweet,” May smiles, putting her hair up in a loose, messy bun. “Well, I don’t know about you boys, but I’m starving. I’m ordering pizza, Friday special. You should stay for dinner, Tony.”

Tony places his free hand on his chest.

“I would be honoured.”

May looks at Tony strangely before retreating to the kitchen to retrieve the menus.

As soon as she’s out of sight Tony takes his arm off Peter and quickly shifts away from him like he’s been burned. 

“Dude,” Peter whispers, bewildered. “What the fuck?”

“Oh my god,” Tony whispers, shuddering as his face scrunches up in disgust. “I’m going to have to pour scalding hot water on all the places your skin just touched me. Ugh, I feel like I just touched toe fungus.”

Peter slaps his arm.

“What is wrong with you?”

Tony backhands Peter’s arm in retaliation and then shudders all over again.

“Your aunt is crazy hot, okay, I couldn’t help myself. It was an instinctual reaction. Is she taken? C’mon. Vindicate me.” 

“I’ll eviscerate you --”

“-- I mean, clearly she married into the family, she doesn’t share your unfortunate phenotype, but I didn’t see a ring on her finger. So? Yes or no?”

“You’re unbelievable,” Peter hisses as his aunt comes back in. “She’s not available to you. Not now, not ever.”

“But she is available?”

“Don’t even, Stark. You’re like, sixteen. Don’t you have any shame?”

Tony smiles, as she nears. “Not a shred.”

“So,” May waves a menu at them. “You boys happy with pepperoni?”

Closing his eyes, Peter wishes for death.

As fate would have it, he gets pepperoni instead.

-----

If you had ever told Peter that he would be sitting down for dinner with his Aunt and a dirt-streaked Tony Stark, he would have laughed.

And if Peter were outside himself he would probably find the sharing of pizza and soda over their plastic, chequered table-cloth comical -- in that uncanny, Dogs Playing Poker kind of way. But in reality there was nothing funny about the discomfort of having Tony in his personal space or the heavy, suffocating tension that has removed the air from the room. 

The entire time Tony has been hamming it up, cracking jokes with his aunt, complimenting her on the decor, asking what she does for work. Peter doesn’t know if he’s being sweet to May for the purpose of buttering her up, or, given the wealth of his family in contrast to the Parkers, if he’s being cruelly facetious. 

Nonetheless, Peter has felt on edge. It’s disconcerting, is what it is. Every single movement Tony makes, every time he opens his mouth -- frequently to sweet-talk his aunt -- has Peter’s anxiety standing at attention, hyperaware of everything the other boy does.

He’s beginning to feel like a meerkat whose den has been invaded by a lion.

Through the course of a single meal Peter’s attention moves from the sky to the floor. There is no grace or higher power that is coming to save him from this profound, unusual torture. 

So he focuses his hopes to the south, seeing through their tiny, cramped, dinner table, past bargaining. He’s willing to trade his soul to end it all. Surely some wayward being from hell would come to his rescue. 

May has Peter’s chin between her fingers. She turns it this way and that, inspecting his injuries.

“What happened this time, bubby?” She frowns, brow furrowing. “You look like you got beat up.”

Peter, very aware of Tony’s amused gaze on them, gently pulls away from her grasp. He smiles placatingly and picks at his pizza slice. God he’s never going to live this down.

“Training accident. It’s okay, I feel fine. ‘Tis but a scratch,” he brings himself to joke.

“You sure?”

“Yep.”

She leans in to kiss his cheek, carefully avoiding the fresh scabs and injured flesh. “God, you bruise like a peach. Be careful, baby, you’re our money maker,” she laughs. “What about you Tony, do you play football?”

Tony, who is mid way through chewing on a mouthful of pizza, momentarily chokes, beating his chest with his fist to swallow down the obstruction.

“Uh, no,” Tony gulps, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Nope. No recreational sports for me. Can’t.” He gestures to his chest and sighs heavily. “Asthma.”

Peter sips his coke and rolls his eyes, knowing full well there’s a half-empty pack of Marlboro Light’s in the pocket of Tony’s jeans. Asthma. What a schmuck.

“That’s a shame. Do you boys have classes together?”

Unfortunately, Peter thinks.

The other boy seems to have the same thought, as he glares at Peter from over the table. When he picks up his can of coke, he gives Peter the finger outside of May’s eye-line.

“That’s why Tony��s here,” Peter twists his napkin in his grip. “We have an econ assignment together on microeconomics. Teach says Tony’s destined to be on welfare.”

Tony leans in, chin rested on his hand. He addresses May but his stare, dark and odious, rests on Peter.

“Not accurate. Stay-at-home parent, actually. One might say that is the most important job of all. Wouldn’t you agree, May?”

She raises her Coke.

“Hear, hear.”

Tony grins roguishly, the same grin he gave the girls at the lockers earlier. “Petey here was just saying that we should ask you about your experience running a household on a single salary. We’d love to have you as a reference.”

“Was I saying that?” Peter narrows his eyes. “I can’t remember.”

Tony kicks him under the table. The hit lands right in his knee cap.

Wincing, Peter kicks back, satisfied when the other boy bites his lip to hold back a pained groan.

“Yeah, well, not surprising,” Tony says airily, waving his hand. “Hit your head today, didn’t you? Maybe you should get all that damage looked into.”

The napkin rips in Peter’s grasp.

“Maybe you should go f--”

“I’d be more than happy to help with your assignment, boys,” May cuts in.

Whatever snide reply he has in his mouth instantly wilts when he looks over to his Aunt. She looks...pleased. Delighted, almost. Her eyes under the dull, yellow kitchen light seem to get warmer, and her smile is small but softens around the edges.

Instantly, Peter feels like the worst person in the world. Of course May would be the best person to ask. She does so much for him, the least he can do is set his pride aside for one moment to make her feel good about how hard she works for their life.

He reaches over to squeeze her hand, smiling as gratitude swells unexpectedly in his chest.

“Thanks, May. That would be great.”

Across the table, a smug Tony looks like the cat who got the cream. 

Without warning, Peter’s chest goes hot with contempt, his fingernails dig into his palm. He’s not sure he’s ever met anyone he couldn’t like, until now.

I hate you, Peter mouths while May busies herself with rounding up the pizza boxes.

Kiss my ass, Tony mouths back. 

In an instant his expression flips from contemptuous to angelic when he stands and offers to help May clean up.

Peter stands too, sparing a disdainful glance to the floor. Turns out not even the devil was willing to give him a hand.

Natasha was right. It’s going to end in murder.

---

Peter walks Tony to the door after dinner to say goodbye to his ‘friend’. Following him into the hall, Peter closes the door behind them.

“What do you want, Parker?” Tony asks wearily, retrieving a cigarette from his pocket. “I’m trying to make a getaway here.”

Peter crosses his arms over his chest. “Don’t do that with my aunt. I’m not joking, asshole. It’s not cool.”

“Relax, princess,” Tony rolls his eyes, fishing for his lighter in his backpack. “I’m not actually interested. Just trying to get under your skin. Worked, see? You’re easy like that. Hey, why do you live with your aunt anyways?”

“None of your business,” he frowns as Tony holds one hand up in surrender and lights his cigarette with the other. “Dude, you can’t smoke in here.”

“Can’t, shouldn’t, gonna. By the way, you’ve got sauce on your chin, it’s very distracting.”

Peter wipes at it without thinking. When he pulls it away there is indeed a smear of red sauce on his hand.

Tony walks backwards down the hall and exhales a cloud of smoke, waving in a sardonic imitation of a farewell.

“See you Monday, bubby.”

Peter doesn’t bother with a response, too tired from the week, exhausted by this whole darn day, and it’s not like the other boy cares what he has to say anyway. He takes a moment to swallow his anger before he heads back inside, sighing. 

Well, at least he has an entire weekend free of Stark to look forward to.

May looks at him curiously when he reemerges, but says nothing. He considers for a moment about heading to his bedroom and playing a video game to disassociate - but then, suddenly, remembers her smile earlier, and how alone she looks now. A surge of affection hits him right beneath his breastbone.

He checks his watch and then catches her eye.  Tilting his head towards the living room, he says, “Hey. You wanna eat some ice cream and watch some Colbert before bed?”

She smiles just like she did earlier and kisses his cheek. “Sounds nice, Pete.”

Maybe the whole day wasn’t lost.

As May heads to the sofa and switches the TV on, Peter catches sight of the Magic 8-Ball from the corner of his eye. He walks over and gives it a shake.

Outlook good.

*

*

----

tagging: @bylerboyfriends @ravens-starker-stuff, @starker-rays, @ironspiderstarker, @notfor-temporaryuse, @tabbycat1220, @sugarfreecult, @rebel13lion39, @muse-of-gods

[luna-redamancy]

You Always Find Your Way {Final Chapter - 13}

Series Masterlist

A/N: Thank you all who kept reading the series, it was wonderful to write. I hope you all enjoy the ending. I was planning on destroying some hearts today by making the ending sad but I decided against it!

Previous Chapter

“Destroy it!” Sam shouted, eyes filled with anguish as he looked between the golden ring and his beloved friend. “Throw it in the fire!” He commanded. Mount Doom was bubbing, lava bursting through the surface, a lake of destruction below him. 

Frodo looked down, his eyes glazed over as if he was in a trance, a distant whispering filling his ear as he clutched the ring closer. “What’re you waiting for? Just let it go, Frodo!” Sam pleaded, watching as Frodo’s face twisted into a sickened desire. 

“No.” He called out to Sam, ripping the chain off his neck. “The Ring is mine,” Frodo smirked, slipping the ring onto his finger. 

“No…” Sam dropped to his knees, tears filling his vision as his heart clenched. All hope was lost. Gollum crept up behind Sam, a rock firmly in hand as he looked for the Ring. Smacking Sam upside the head with it, Gollum paid his unconscious body no mind as he looked for the other Hobbit. 

Frodo’s footsteps lined the dirt, giving away his location despite the invisibility the ring granted him. Gollum snarled, throwing the rock and leaping onto Frodo’s shoulders. 

Frodo gasped, trying to fight him off, struggling to maintain his balance with the weight on his shoulders. Gollum grabbed Frodo’s finger, his jaws latching around the finger that claimed his precious. 

Frodo cried out, falling to the floor, clutching his finger to his chest as Gollum screeched with insane glee. Holding it up to the light, Gollum tattered toward the edge of the ledge, a grin on his face. 

Frodo lunged for Gollum, eyes still swirling with madness as the two fell off the ledge. 

“No!” Sam shouted, finally awake and aware of what was going on. Gollum sunk into the lava, holding the ring protectively to his chest as he met his fate. 

Diving toward the ledge, Sam searched wildly for Frodo, relief filling him as he saw Frodo grasping onto the rockface. “Give me your hand!” He shouted, reaching for Frodo to pull him up. 

Frodo looked up at Sam, eyes filled with regret and despair. “Take my hand!” Sam commanded again, his eyes filling with tears at the thought of losing his closest companion. 

Frodo swung his bleeding hand towards Sam, trying to swing his entire body to help him grasp onto Sam’s hand. Missing it, Frodo swung back down, smacking into the rockface. “No!” Sam shouted, watching as Frodo looked up at him with desperation on his face. 

“Don’t you let go, Mr.Frodo! Reach!” Sam gasped out, determination on his features as Frodo swung himself upward once again. 

Grasping Frodo’s hand, Sam pulled him to the top of the ledge. 

Below them, the ring flickered and glowed, the magic disappearing from it as it sunk beneath the surface of the lava. 

The mountain began to erupt, lava pouring out of it as Sam and Frodo leaped onto a high rock to avoid suffering the same fate as Gollum. 

Frodo looked to Sam, his eyes clear of all madness.  “It’s done…” Sam turned to look at Frodo, “It’s done.” Frodo repeated again. 

 “Yes, Mr. Frodo… It’s all over now,” 

 -

Down a lonely hallway sat the room, guarded by a deep green door carven intricately and decorated with golden accents. The room had tall windows that once decorated everything in golden light but covered by thick curtains, leaving everything in darkness. 

Thranduil sat on the floor, his back pressed against the stone wall as he analyzed everything in the room. Your old combs, your crown, a chest of your clothes, your favorite books, your favorite blankets. 

Thranduil’s eyes were red, face blotchy from hours of mourning as he secluded himself in a safe space. A space that took away his hurt, you took away his hurt. 

The silence surrounding him is familiar, a deep pang in his chest as he couldn’t stop himself from clutching onto your old portrait, pressing his forehead against yours. 

Memories flashed through his mind causing him to shut his eyes and a whimper to pour out of him again. You were lost. Dead? Never returning? He couldn’t tell. 

“Come on now,” Your lips brushed the shell of his ear as you looped your arms around his neck. “I think you’ve worked enough for tonight,” You cooed as you tried to coax him out of his office. He chuckled, moving to give your lips a kiss. 

“Oh no no no, you aren’t getting any love from me until you come to bed,” You finally gave an ultimatum, knowing he wouldn’t leave until the early hours of the morning if you didn’t get him out of there now. 

“Alright alright,” He pushed himself out of his chair, his back cracking as he stood straight. Wincing at the sound, you shook your head. “What would you ever do without me,” You teased. 

Brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, Thranduil pecked your forehead. “I would suffer tremendously.”

And suffering tremendously he was. 

_

Alvina groaned, her body sore as she woke up next to a roaring river. “No…. No way…” She felt tears of relief as she stared up at the familiar trees of the greenwood. “I’m home…” She whispered as she laughed, “Vala… Please let (Y/n) be home as well…” She mentally prayed as she thought of the only reason she was able to come home. 

Standing up, Alvina wiped her dirty hands on her leggings, walking the path that she knew like the back of her hand. Up near the river bend lay a small cabin. 

Flicking her tongue out to wet her lips nervously, she clenched her fists as she walked up to the cabin door, smiling when she saw their plants were still in good shape. “After all this time,” She nearly whimpered as she saw them flourishing. 

“Oh my stars… You’re alive!?” Daenys called out, coming back around from their garden at the back of the cabin. 

“I’m alive…” Alvina gave a watery smile, tears rolling down her cheeks once more as Daenys pulled her into an embrace. “I missed you so much,” Daenys hiccuped, gripping onto Alvina for dear life. “I’m never leaving ever again,” Aliva vowed as the two clung to each other. 

_

“Someone get King Thranduil,” The Captain of the Guard commanded, worryingly watching the Queen be carried to the medical wing.  

“He’s been in that storage room for days, I doubt he’ll come out.” One of the guards reminded the Captain. 

“I’m sure he will come out now if you tell him his wife has returned, and news of Sauron’s defeation has arrived. Legolas is coming home.” The guard dutifully nodded their head, slipping down the abandoned hallway passages to knock on the polished door. 

“What is it?”

“My King, Queen (Y/n) has returned and is in the medical wing,” 

“Don’t you lie to me.” Thranduil hissed, throwing one of your old boots at the door. “I am no fool, she hasn’t returned. I will not fall for tricks.” 

.

.

.

The sheets were crisp, the light making them hurt your eyes when you opened them. Grunting you turned your head to shield yourself from the unpleasantry of waking up, your head throbbing from when you got literally dropped into the middle of the throne room. 

“You’re awake!” The elf-maid exclaimed, excitement filling her voice. 

“That I am,” You responded rubbing the bump on your head. “Where’s Thranduil?” You questioned, worry filling you when you noticed there was no trace of him even visiting you. Usually he would be by your side until you awoke, something had to have happened. 

“.... King Thranduil hasn’t left the old storage room since you disappeared, My Queen” The elf-maid bowed her head, while your mouth dropped in shock. 

“Did someone tell him where I was?”

“Yes, My Queen.”

The realization hit you like a ton of bricks. You were here. And he simply didn’t care. 

Nodding, you sat up. “Thank you,” You mumbled as you began to pull the blankets off of you. 

“M-My Queen, leaving the medical wing isn’t wise, you could faint--”

“I have a few words for my husband.” Your voice was cold as you pulled on a robe hanging on the back of the door, covering your medical dress. Ignoring her small protests, you slipped out of the room.

Marching down the familiar hallway, you ignored the throbbing in the back of your head as you shoved open the door, not bothering to knock.

Sitting in a corner, sat your husband. 

“I’ve been through hell and back, trying to get back to you, and you can’t even bother to see if I’m okay?” Your words were laced with venom as you fought the tears wanting to build in your eyes. He was a mess. Hair greased to his scalp, his clothes obviously hadn’t been changed in days, his face sunken from lack of sunlight and meals. 

“You aren’t real…” His voice was hoarse. “A trick, that’s all you are,” He glared at you but you could see the tears building in his eyes. 

“I am real, and I am here.” You stepped closer to him, not liking the way he flinched at your approach. As if you were death itself coming to take him away. 

“I woke up and you were gone, vanished in the wind like a ghost from my dreams. Tell me, my love, how can I truly know that you aren’t a figment of my imagination?”

“If I had a choice I would have never been taken away in the first place, my love, you know this,” The venom in your voice disappeared, only now laced with hurt. He thinks you left him on purpose. 

Thranduil wiped his eyes with his sleeve. 

“I can’t…” Thranduil whimpered, continuing to wipe his face as tears cascaded down his cheeks and onto the floor. “I can’t keep ruining myself by attaching to you.”

Tears were now slipping down your face. “Then maybe I should go…” You mumbled, now realizing how much hurt your absence put on him. When you vanished the first time, you were blissfully unaware of the damage your absence caused, heck you didn’t even remember him until a week after you arrived back in Middle-Earth. 

Thranduil’s eyes snapped up, “No, you can’t go.” 

You shook your head, a bittersweet smile on your face. You could taste the salt that your tears left on your lips as you took a step back. 

“You said it yourself… You can’t keep ruining yourself... “

“Without you, I am in ruins.” Thranduil declared as you moved to exit the room. The walls feel like they were closing in, a suffocating sensation in your chest. 

“Please stay,” His voice was above a whisper, and at that moment you decided. You couldn’t deny him.

Turning around you watched as he shakily rose to his feet, obviously weak from malnourishment. 

Pulling you into his arms, a piece of him felt whole again as he held you in his arms. 

“You always find your way back to me,” Thranduil whispered against your hairline as you hugged him tighter. 

“Always.” 

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[aniseandspearmint]

Okay, apparently it was MY turn for the horrible head pain bc i just spent the better part of the last few days knocked over with a combination tension/eyestrain related mess. Ugh.

I HAVE BEEN THINKING ABOUT THIS THO

Part 6 under the cut

There has been SUCH an under current of 'we have Morgoth's ENTIRE crown and we just dropped a MOUNTAIN on his HEAD and the pretty redhead killed all his favorite pets' throughout the entire group of intrepid (winging it) heroes and escaped thralls. Who also don't know Annatar was Sauron yet. Like Team Time Travel isn't hiding it precisely, they're just not mentioning it! And neither are Finrod's ten. It's too weird and they're too deep in enemy territory to deal with any freak outs, okay?

Even with resting and alternating Singers everyone is pretty hecking tired. Maedhros and Maglor are weak in the knees relieved to see them, but the feeling is mutual. If those two are up on the ridge, that means these are the foothills that surround Himring and they're all that much safer.

(Curufin and Celegorm are staying at the back of the line, because thats too many characters to juggle, also they are hiding. Not that they would admit that, but. Yeah. Maedhros is gonna be MA-AD and they're waiting to see if 'yay silmarils!' softens that ass-kicking they're gonna get)

Maedhros is a paranoid bastard though (fond) and of course he insists on riding down alone briefly, just to make sure this isn't some incredibly convoluted trap.

Which, yeah, not a surprise to any of the little vanguard. They know him after all, even if he doesn't know all of them! (I'm sure Luthien has heard enough not to be surprised).

Finrod takes a few steps ahead of the rest. He meets with Maedhros first, with Mae leaning down and speaking softly with him for a few tense moments (There are ARCHERS positioned in the hills above them. Annatar's itchy neck and full knowledge of Maedhros as a friend and ally and once enemy says so) before he abruptly sits up and makes to dismount, waving his handless arm in a circular motion that has Maglor whooping joyfully and sending his own horse clattering down the steep incline.

Finrod waves the others forward. Maedhros is busy grilling Finrod as they approach.

Maedhros: -appened, we got a letter out of Nargothrond. Orodreth was cagey but- my idiot brothers, is it true they-

Finrod: Oh YES. And it very nearly got me eaten, yes. *huff of sardonic laughter* I won't object to seeing you tear them to bits over that honestly, but later. We have other problems.

Maedhros: *mouth a thin pressed line* Orodreth danced around why you would walk to your doom with a handful of loyal retainers and an edain, but someone else slipped in a note with the missive. I-

Maglor: *thundering up, kicking up dust, and butting in* A SILMARIL INGOLDO?!?!! ARE YOU ENTIRELY INSANE! Even at your strongest! Even with the bloody PRINCESS of DORIATH- pardon me, my lady, no offense meant *dips his chin to Luthien*

Luthien: *bemused* None taken?

Maglor: *swinging down off his horse to drag Finrod into a bone crushing hug* THAT YOU GOT OUT WITH YOUR LIVES IS AN ERU GIVEN MIRACLE.

Annatar: *mutters to Celebrimbor* as good a guess as any. *Celebrimbor stifles a slightly hysterical giggle*

Maedhros: *grimly* Well it's plain to see you got in at least. Couldn't get to the silmarils so you took his slaves instead? I don't think your father will think the substitution of equal value, Princess Luthien.

Luthien: *looks over towards Annatar and Celebrimbor a question in the angle of her eyebrows and ears*

Celebrimbor: *grinning at his uncles brightly and drumming his fingertips along the wide band of iron he is STILL wearing across himself* About that.

And Maedhros KNOWS THAT BAND OF IRON.

Morgoth never took it off. Maedhros could draw it's likeness with his eyes closed, it's been seared into his memory (literally even, given the way the scent of his own flesh burning accompanied the memories just as much as the searing brightness of the silmarils does).

He just stares, eyes wide, hand that had been laying on his saddle in easy view suddenly gripping the leather so hard it's creaking. (maedhros.exe has stopped working please turn device off and on again and retry)

Maglor doesn't have his brothers familiarity with Morgoth's crown that Maedhros does. But he's from a family that prides itself on quick deductions.

Maglor: Thats-

Maglor Feanorion is at a complete loss for words. He's just staring at the three cloth wrapped bundles laying along Celebrimbor's torso.

Maedhros: *the slightest waiver in his voice* The. The note we received said One-

Finrod: *gently* Well, we were there, and he was VERY unconscious. In for one, in for three, cousin.

Celebrimbor: And then we got into the blasting powder and made sure there wouldn't be any kind of pursuit any time soon. But we all hurried all the same.

Luthien: *hmmming thoughtfully* This has Changed Things. *her words carry a bit of reverb* Rather a lot, i think. But here isn't the place for speaking about it I don't think?

Annatar: She's right. We need to keep moving. Himring?

Maedhros: *snapping out of the shock* What? Ah. Ye-es.

Maglor: *squinting* I'm sorry, but WHO are you? We know Finrod and Tyelpe, and Luthien can't be anyone but herself, but I don't recall any great Singers of elven kind with YOUR particular description.

Celebrimbor: *cutting in before Annatar can speak* This is Annatar. I know him. Finrod knows him. He means well and has out complete trust and confidence. *meets his uncles eyes directly* I'll even swear an Oath on it, if you'd like.

Maglor: *sharp piercing negative sound (the kind you make when your dog is lunging for a bit of not safe for pets food you dropped)* TYELPE I will wash your mouth out with soap-!

After a bit more talking to hash out logistics, the train starts moving again (Curufin was the one maintaining the strength that is keeping everyone on their feet this time. They can't afford to let it lapse now, bc once it does it's NOT going to be possible to get it going again without weeks of rest. I'm picturing something akin to a continuous round song? Like Row Your Boat only SO much more complicated and magical)

Frodo stayed out of sight. He's not quite got the same knack for it he once did, as a hobbit, but he's good enough that as long as he keeps his new signal flare hair up and covered, he just looks like another grubby travel worn body in the mass. He'll deal with seeing Maedhros and Maglor once they get to where they can stop.

(*shelf starts creaking ominously*)

You are ABSOLUTELY correct that Frodo is hanging onto NOT breaking down with his fingernails at this point.

He can't break down until they're safe he can't he can't he can't-

So of course, being FRODO and made of stuff that made Sauron hit a brick wall, he manages!

They get to Himring! Maedhros sent word on ahead, not about the silmarils of course, but about Finrod and a throng of escaped thralls he vouched for.

There's a lot of running around as Maedhros barks orders at various people and runners bolt off in various directions. The keep healers are there, and quick pavilions have been set up in the main hall, spare clothing is being doled out, and soap, and the people are being directed at tents with as much warm water as could be brought heated as to not be freezing, and food is being dished out on tables that had been pushed to the far side of the hall.

It's easy for Frodo to fade into the back of the clamoring group, dip around where Curufin and Celegorm are scanning the crowd- and into a doorway that Frodo thinks probably leads to- ah yes, stairs.

He's up on the battlements peering down at the milling crowd still in the courtyard a few moments later. Annatar will know where he is. This way he's out from under foot, the injured can be seen to without him being a distraction the minute someone sees him with Annatar and Celebrimbor there for comparison. He slides down the wall, ignoring the rough texture and hugs his knees.

And- well he's just kind of numb, and not just from the evening breeze starting to nip colder on his cheeks.

He examines his hands, the fingers longer and thinner than he's used to, but proportionally, well matched to the rest of him. He should be able to do calligraphy like he used to, right? (AN: WAIT, heck, would Frodo be missing his finger? would that be like Maedhros keeping the scars he did? I HAVE NO IDEA)

It will take some practice is all.

He'd wondered sometimes, especially after Annatar came back into life, what it might be like to be an elf. If it would feel very much different than being a hobbit.

It does and it doesn't. This body is his. He breathes and functions and LIVES in it, not seamlessly, but certainly with less trouble than Annatar had at first. Benefits from going from mortal flesh to mortal flesh he supposes. There is a difference, not one he thinks he can fully put into words yet, but it's not just in the odd length of him now, and how easy it is to over reach or step. It's something in his bones (and something in his soul).

The breeze pulls a curl of red out of his braids. He quickly tucks it out of sight behind an ear but it's too late, he's been reminded.

The hair. And the new face. And the assumptions people made, that- well, might not be accurate at all, but were also not inaccurate if what Annatar thought might've happened, had happened.

It wasn't even a terrible family to be a part of really, though he knew many who might fervently disagree. He liked the Feanorions. The rest of the Finweans too. And well, he's already been closer than blood to Annatar, in a way. But-

There are footsteps on stone. Frodo glances at the doorway beside him.

Finrod peers down at him, two deep wooden plates in his hands.

Frodo: Food?

Finrod: mmhmm, the keeps cooks had massive pots going already, from Maedhros sending word on ahead. I grabbed some before it was all doled out. Annatar mentioned where he thought you must be. Some kind of chicken stew I think, with dumplings?

He hands it down and falls into a graceful crosslegged seat across from Frodo

Frodo: *wane smile* It's easy, and you can feed several hundred surprise guests quickly and well.

He sniffs the stew. It smells good. Nearly identical to the kind Bilbo would make on cold winter days as far as he can tell, except there's no potatoes. Actually, he's somewhat sure potatoes don't exist quite yet? Or, not in Beleriand at least?

Oh.

He- he's not going to see Bilbo again is he? Or Sam, or Merry, or Pippin, or Aragorn... This, this is the First Age. He's sitting on a battlement in Himring, in sunken Beleriand, and he's an elf.

He takes a bite of the food, distract, distract- and oh boy, that was the wrong thing to do.

I dunno about YOU all, but I figure as much as food is a sense memory to humans, it's got to be extra so to hobbits. And to steal blatantly from Doctor Who here, Frodo has a new mouth.

He could ignore it when it was weevil-y way bread stolen from orc supply caches and unseasoned game caught on the move and cooked fast, but this is a chicken stew with dumplings, vegetables he knows, and spices that smell familiar even, and it tastes so different. It's not bad. It's good even! But it's different. And that's the last straw.

Yeah. THIS would be when it all hits.

Finrod was waiting. He was pretty sure it was gonna be SOON, and so was Annatar when he told him where Frodo was.

Finrod catches the plate before Frodo can drop it and sets it aside with his own.

Frodo: *crying* It- it's- i can't- It's stupid, it's just stew wh-y am i c-

Finrod just opens his arms and lets Frodo reach for him, then scoops him up the rest of the way into his lap and lets him cry.

HEY.

I had the most interesting dream after falling asleep switching between the latest chapter of The Horrowing and a time travel fix it in another fandom. I thought you might enjoy a brief summary?

Post fic canon Annatar, Finrod, Celebrimbor, and Frodo getting the most hilarious do over of the First Age.

Finrod and Celebrimbor got dropped in their past bodies, bc same souls. Which has Finrod JUST captured by Sauron, before any of his 10 have been munched.

Celebrimbor is of course having a surreal not quite panic attack in Nargothrond.

Annatar, well. Annatar is CHANGED. He is quite literally too different from what he once was for them to qualify as the same soul anymore. Which is gratifying. If inconvenient bc there are now TWO of him, Annatar and full on Sauron. But they're similar enough that Annatar was dropped very close to Sauron.

Frodo is an elf. Dream logic was that hobbits do not exist yet, and his soul has touches of Annatar and Aman. He looks disconcertingly like a mix of Annatar and Celebrimbor, and they are NOT thinking about that right now. Hopefully ever.

Most of the dream centered around all of them doing their best to set aside freak outs, while getting Finrod and his merry band (plus Beren) OUT of Sauron's grasp.

There was a FANTASTIC moment where on the way out, Sauron comes face to face and soul to soul with Annatar and he's just like;

Sauron: *jaw dropped fully horrified face* WHAT are YOU?!?!?

Annatar: *shoving elves behind him, nose in the air* Wouldn't YOU like to know, weather boy. *uses Song to blast him through a wall while he's distracted*

The whole thing featured 10 other elves and Beren as a baffled peanut gallery.

Meanwhile Celebrimbor is weighing the pros and cons of just- drugging his uncles and shoving them in a back room somewhere where he can bolt the door. He thinks he can maybe get Huan to help if he explains?

It was SO much fun.

(hope you have a good day!)

Oh my god. This may be the best ask I've ever gotten, for so many reasons.

The fact that your subconscious was like "Yeah if Frodo's getting a new body it looks like Annatar For Some Reason"

The image of future!Annatar getting into a fight with Sauron in front of Finrod (probably happy about this development) and Beren and the other 10 (INCREDIBLY CONFUSED)

The fact that the dream was partially centered on everybody trying not to panic, which is in fact what the Harrowing is all about for a while

Absolutely incredible.

...I feel so bad for poor Celebrimbor dealing with Nargothrond all by himself while the others are off having adventures. I hope their next stop after the rescue is to swing by and pick him up. Also, I dearly want to know what Annatar has to say to Beren on the subject of his current Luthien-and-Thingol-and-Silmarils situation.

[bamfdaddio]

X-Men Abridged: 1969

The X-Men, those dino-obsessed mutants that have sworn to protect a world that hates and fears them, are a cultural juggernaut with a long, tangled history. Want to unravel this tapestry? Then read the Abridged X-Men!

(X-Men 52 - 63) - written by Arnold Drake, Roy Thomas, Linda Fite and Don Heck, drawn by Werner Roth, Barry Smith, Tom Palmer and Neal Adams.

step aside, Wall-E, these Sentinels have nothing on your range of emotions (X-Men 59)

When we last left our X-Men, they were smack-dab in the middle of a big, convoluted plot! Let me refresh your memory:

The X-Men had to beat a hasty retreat;

Polaris had joined her father Magneto

Magneto was injured;

Iceman had quit the team because he still had faith in Polaris;

Eric the Red appeared, making overtures towards Magneto.

And the whirlwind continues! The X-Men (sans Iceman and Cyclops) sneak back into Magneto’s base! Eric the Red reveals himself to be Cyclops! They set a trap for Mesmero! Which is sprung by the wayward Iceman! But he has pertinent information! Lorna is not Magneto’s daughter, she’s just an orphan! Bobby (hilariously) has the papers to prove it!

magneto has now fucked up the relationships he has with all of his children before any of them knew he was their father. mad props (X-Men 52)

Lorna breathes a sigh or relief, glad that she doesn’t have to be evil anymore. (Because obviously, evil is hereditary. And even though she keeps sensing everyone���s ‘evil vibrations’, she stayed with Magneto out of her own volition. SO.) Without Polaris’ power to back them up, Magneto and Mesmero flee.

After this, the X-Men come back to live at the mansion again. No muss, no fuss. Roy Thomas, who’s returning to the book, wastes very little time undoing some stupid decisions made last year. In fact, 1969 has a pretty strong showing, with plotlines flowing almost naturally into one another, a bigger cast and the introduction of one of my favourite villains. It’s pretty palatable.

The one snag is a superfluous issue where the X-Men fight Blastaar and Jean kills someone. (Never comes up again, don’t sweat it.) I wouldn’t even mention it, were it not for this moment where Jean uses some super duper mind machine:

does this remind you of... anything? no? just me then (X-Men 53)

So, anyway, remember Scott’s beloved brother Alex?

i love that jean is all smiles about scotts terrible and all-encompassing ability to repress everything (X-Men 54)

I can sort of understand why that whole third Summers brother was such a huge secret for so long, considering Alex was not even kept a mystery and it still took SIX YEARS for him to be revealed.

Alex is barely introduced before he gets the old plot-bat to the face, getting mixed up in a fight when some pharaoh claims all mutants are pharaohs, being children of the Sun? Apparently, all of them are powered by cosmic rays i.e. the sunlight. Alex is kidnapped, as is Cyclops, and just as Cyclops ponders how happy he is that Alex is not a mutant despite him having the X-Gene, he is attacked by the pharaoh and Alex saves his brother using newly minted energy powers! Oh, the irony.

when I say that I want Alex to wear his old costume, I obviously mean this sexy Egyptian skirt-ensemble (X-Men 55)

Alex and the pharaoh are apparently two sides of the same coin, being charged by the same cosmic rays: when one waxes, the other wanes. The pharaoh locks Alex away in a tomb, cutting him off from those sweet, sweet sunbeams and taking all the power for himself. Like a Power Ranger villain, he grows in size and becomes… the Living Monolith! The X-Men take him down while Alex accidentally blows up the Living Monolith’s temple.

Alex, afraid of his own power, flees into the desert and is apprehended by… the Sentinels?! Surprise, bitch! Lorna is also abducted by them out of her New York apartment. Their next victim is Iceman, and they deliver him to… Larry Trask! (Son of.)

My favorite thing about Sentinels is that, despite the fact that they are objectively huge, they are still able to sneak up on people. Apparently, these murderous periwinkle toaster ovens are so quiet, you only notice when they rip open a roof to get at you. (X-Men 59)

Larry Trask hates mutants because:

They killed his father;

He’s a racist.

Determined not to repeat the sins of his father, Larry has a helmet with which he can use to take direct control of the sentinels, so hopefully they won’t rise up and rebel this time. Somewhere, Asimov is rolling his eyes.

On live television, Larry Trask baits Iceman into attacking him, trying to smear him and mutantkind in general. In the mean time, the Sentinels strike everywhere, taking Unus, Angel, Banshee, the Living Monolith… Even Wanda and Pietro. It´s a literal who´s who of sixties mutandom! The only exempt ones are the Changeling and Magneto, the latter only because he’s been a robot for a while now. Mesmero is just as shocked by this unnecessary retcon as we are.

Just as Larry orders the Sentinels to kill every mutant in the compound (including Bobby, Lorna and Alex), a family heirloom is ripped off his neck. Apparently, this medallion was some kind of protection: the late Bolivar Trask knew little Larry was a mutant and tried to hide this fact from the Sentinels.

The Sentinels turn on Larry faster than you can say “Is being betrayed by AI a hereditary trait?” The X-Men intervene and, after unleashing the might of Havok, they end up in a debate with the Sentinels, turning their own logic against them:

Protecting humans is more important than killing mutants.

So, to protect humanity, they must destroy the cause of mutation.

The Sentinels promptly launch themselves into the sun. Neat.

On a side note, the relationship between Jean and Scott is shelved for now? It seems like they’re dating, but also not? It’s such weird storytelling, especially because their annoying will they or won’t they has gotten so much focus in the past and the relationship between Lorna and Bobby is crystal clear:

Scott. Jean. Is it really going to take Chris Claremont to DTR you two? Fuck’s sake (X-Men 60)

Because Havok’s powers still threaten to overwhelm him, the X-Men contact a former colleague of Professor X… Professor Lykos.

Let me tell you about the sheer, amazing sixties wonder that is Professor Lykos. Originally, Thomas envisioned him as a vampire, but the Comics Code forbade vampires. So, instead, Lykos ends up a human who was bitten by a magical pterodactyl at a young age and who can only survive by draining other people’s life force. He can also hypnotize people into doing his bidding.

Yes.

Lykos suspects mutants might be the cure to his strange, strange ailment, and begins to drain Alex. But to his (and our) sheer delight, he turns into a pterodactyl!

I just love this damn idiot so much (X-Men 60)

Be like Sauron! Choose evil!

The X-Men barely figure in this plot. Ordinarily, I’d be bothered by the fact that these three issues are more about the villain than the heroes, but given that it’s Sauron, I’ll let it slide.

See, Sauron’s tale is a tragic one. Not only is he a weird pterovampire, he is also in love with a sweet girl whose father forbids him from seeing Dr. Lykos, because he is… poor! Gasp! (Those billionaires, not even a doctor is good enough for their daughters.) Sauron, slightly corrupted by his dino-side, realize that it’s a lot easier to just kill Tanya’s father than to impress him by robbing banks for cash.

When he attacks the man and sees the reaction of his star-crossed lover, Lykos realizes Sauron is far too much in control. Sauron is too evil! Lykos/Sauron promptly flees to a cold, distant region, the same place where he got bitten all those years ago, figuring he’ll stay in isolation and starve himself of the human energy he needs. But, just as he is utterly ravenously out of his mind, Tanya finds him! In order to protect her, Sauron sacrifices himself by throwing himself off the mountain… straight into the Savage Land..

The X-Men (sans Angel) follow him into the Savage Land. (It’s unclear why? To retrieve his corpse? Annoyingly, in the next arc, Sauron is not brought up again.) There, they run into Ka-Zar, who’s embroiled in a fight with… prehistoric mutants?

Angel, meanwhile, follows the X-Men in their footsteps, only to end up on the other side of the fight, with a strange white-haired man named the Creator who claims to be the mentor of these Savage Land mutates. Angel pledges him his wings, gets a snazzy new suit and flies off to fight the X-Men. Only then does the man secretly reveal himself: he’s… Magneto! (The true one, not a robot.) And he wishes to rule the savage land!

Angel and the other X-Men briefly fight, but soon the situation is sorted out and the X-Men go and confront the Creator. Magneto, who is way too hammy to ever hide his true nature for too long, reveals himself and the fact that he created these… mutates, including the creepy Brainchild. (He’ll become important later.) The X-Men defeat Magneto and he seemingly dies again.

Without Magneto there, the mutates revert to just being regular cave(wo)men:

I love that Ka-Zar, WHO HAILS FROM THE SAVAGE LAND HIMSELF, has no scruples othering his own kin. (X-Men 63)

The comic accidentally ends on a sad note: the X-Men confessing that they’d give up on their powers in a heartbeat. Not to nitpick, but while I buy that coming from Beast and Cyclops, this issue is less clear-cut when it comes to Jean and Bobby, who have a much better handle on their powers and, more importantly, present as human. It could potentially be an interesting issue to explore, but instead, it is swept under the rug, presenting the team (once again) as a boring but unified front. It remains one of my critiques of this era: the X-Men barely get fleshed out as individuals, other than the broadest of strokes (Leader; Rich Boy; Joker; Smart Guy; Girl). Pity.

Didn’t you take Art History? One thing that has definitely improved is the overall art-style. Artists experiment with panels and splash pages, stepping out of the traditional 2 by 3-grid that Kirby loved so much. It makes the stories more dynamic and, because the writers get more issues to tell their stories, the artists get more space to do their art.

I mean, check this ish out:

Fuck yeah, mental powers represent. (X-Men 57)

Ugliest Costume: None! I really like Havok’s black bodysuit with white stripes and the Sentinels design looks so much less dorkier than before. A+.

Best new character: Sauron, duh. Does he team-up with Dr. Doom at some point? That would be some ham-to-ham combat.

Most audacious retcon: There’s a second Summers brother?

What to read: 57 to 59, which is the plotline dealing with the much improved Sentinels. 60 and 61 if you have a soft spot for vampiric pterodactyls.