#the aragorn of our times truly

[shutupineedtothink]

Absolutely cannot wait for Lan Mandragoran to return to my tv screen in mere weeks and out-class, out-sword, out-king, out-man all other men in either fiction or real life

[ariadne-mouse]

Council of Elrond, worst cross-functional department meeting ever

[andhumanslovedstories]

Technology really is magic. I know that’s said a lot but like I’m sitting here looking at one of those chargers that you put your phone on top to wirelessly charge. And today is the first time I’ve really looked at it and gone “truly how the fuck does this work”

Maybe we stress about fantasy worldbuilding too much. We’re like “oh we gotta know the rules of the magic system,” no you don’t. I don’t know the rules of our magic system. If Aragorn, son of Arathorn got hit by a truck that orcs and goblins were driving flintstone style, and he transmigrated into my living room, I would not be able to explain any of the technology around me. I have no idea how I’m making this post. Imagine the first caveman who was like “oh shit the wheel” and I’m nodding along with that cave man. I understand how the wheel can roll. This next sentence was supposed to be about how I can sort of grasp how landline telephones work, but then I thought about it and no I don’t. I am surrounded everyday by mystical forces.

Anyway I have to use this particular charger because this miracle machine’s charging port is fuckin broken again

[torchwood-99]

Can you please develop more on what in your opinion makes Éowyn originally doomed by the narrative? I agree with the idea, I'm just curious as to what traits or parts of her narrative makes her doomed according to you!

In her first scene, she comes across as almost spectral.

First time we see her, she's stood in the shadows behind a decaying old man and his creepy, snake like advisor. Her nickname, the White Lady, conjurs images of phantom "white ladies", which are staples of supernatural mythology, and are usually found in rural places, and are associated with tragic histories and unrequited/doomed love.

When she is dismissed, she leaves, she doesn't speak, but goes silently from the room, and she passes judgement on those she passes. She looks on Theoden with "cool pity", and recognises the power in Aragorn. A pale, voiceless, woman, dressed all in white, passing judgement on those before her, before silently gliding from the room, like a wraith or spirit.

To further reinforce the ghost like imager, she is cold; "thought her fair and cold, like a morning of pale spring that is not yet come into womanhood." She looks on Theoden after his recovery with neither joy or love but with "cool pity".

Whereas warmth usually holds connotations with life, the cold conjurs images of corpses and the grave. Even the use of "spring" in her description, a season associated with life, birth and new hope, is described as "pale". The combination of "spring" (life) and "pale" (death), conjures an image of something that is at once living and dead.

A lot of our view point characters look on her with unease. She is repeatedly described as "stern", and the only time that stern façade cracks is when she shows emotions that are discomforting for other characters.

Her hand shakes when she serves Aragorn the cup, and Aragorn senses her attraction and is deeply concerned about. The intensity of her desire, and Aragorn's unspoken unease, makes for an aura of discomfort and dread.

The only time Eowyn shows "life" is when she's trembling with passion for Aragorn, a passion unrequited, or when her eyes are sparkling with visions of war and death.

The first time her stern face truly cracks, and she lets the feelings show, is when she breaks down in tears, begging Aragorn to let her ride with him. She's either frozen or weeping.

Everyone who observes this is deeply distressed. They find it painful to watch a proud and stern woman break down in tears and beg, a sensation the reader shares with them.

Aragorn himself is deeply pained and troubled by his concern for Eowyn. 'Only those who knew him well and were near to him saw the pain that he bore.'

Aragorn later admits in the Houses of Healing that his concern for her haunted him after their parting, and that nothing caused him so much fear on the Paths of the Dead as his fear of what may come to her.

In the same chapter, Aragorn likens her to a lily. Lilies themselves have connotations of death, and also harken back to Elaine, the "lily maiden" who died of heartbreak after being forsaken by her love, Lancelot.

So Eowyn is a figure of death, despair and tragic love. She is white, cold, lily-like, and is looked on with grief by many who perceive her. And not just grief, but discomfort. They don't just notice her distress, but are distressed by her.

When Merry meets her, he notices she seems to have been weeping, an image that is uncomfortably at odds with her stern manner.

Even Theoden, who cannot be credited with being that tuned in to Eowyn's feelings, notices she is unhappy, asking her how she is, and commenting twice on her obvious distress.

When Merry meets her in her guise as Dernhelm, he shivers, because he feels he is looking at someone with neither hope nor will to live. Their journey to the Pelennor passes in silence. Eowyn is a solitary figure, cut off from all those around her, riding to her death.

This culminates in Eowyn laughing at the Witch King, who brings despair to all who face him, because at this point she has literally nothing to fear from him.

The scene in which she faces him is written as a death scene. She fights him valiantly, but his destruction seems to be her own, and the consequences of her apparent death (Eomer's reaction) are severe.

Her tragedy appears compounded when Theoden bids her farewell, unaware she was with him the entire time, which rather sums up his fond, yet blinkered attitude towards her. She gives her life defending the dignity of a man, who is only half-aware of her existence.

Eowyn is mourned. Eomer rages against the heavens at her passing, and the riders of Rohan speak of their regret that she followed them without knowing. She is carried alongside Theoden, and it is only Imrahil's sharp perception and respect for her beauty that causes him to notice she is still alive, taking them all, and us, by surprise. Up until this point, Eowyn has been doomed, and she seems to have met her doom, heroically so.

But there's still a spark of life in her, still a weak breath in her lungs, and that's enough for her to be saved, and taken to the Houses of Healing. It's just a faint sign of life, barely noticeable, but it's life, which means there's hope.

As we look into Eowyn's mindset, we begin to see why she is such a tragic figure.

The first time she is addressed by name, she is being sent from the room. Her orders to take charge of the people of Rohan, which should be something of an hour of triumph and honour for her, feels almost insulting, in how her uncle would rather throw his crown to the people to take for themselves, than name her as an heir after Eomer, and then forgets she is even a part of their house, until Hama reminds him.

Our final scene of Eowyn in Two Towers is of her as a solitary figure, left alone to guard an empty hall, watching as the men ride away beneath their sparkling spears, a striking contrast between the camaraderie and fellowship we witness between the men riding out together.

That Eowyn is loved and respected by many, as revealed by Hama and her ability to safely lead the people to Dunharrow, despite their reluctance, compounds the tragedy, because she is not entirely alone and overlooked, but the people she wishes to been seen by, the people she holds in esteem, Theoden and Aragorn, rejects. Theoden, unthinkingly, by forgetting her worth until it is spelled out for him, and Aragorn in being unable to accept her love, or her offer of service.

Eowyn's driving conflict, the one that seems central to her character, is not even with the villains who everyone else is banding together to fight. She is part of that fight against them, but her personal struggles stem just as much from her conflict with her own family, her own people and her own society, as they do with the threat of Mordor. Victory over the Mordor does not necessarily mean victory for her, we know for Eowyn to be spared her doom, she can't just be rescued from the enemy that everyone else is fighting. She is trapped, caged, and would rather ride out and die, than live to see herself fade.

“What do you fear, lady?" [Aragorn] asked. "A cage," [Éowyn] said. "To stay behind bars, until use and old age accept them, and all chance of doing great deeds is gone beyond recall or desire.”

That whole exchange between Aragorn and Eowyn reveals that above all else, beneath her stern facade and dreams of valour, Eowyn is absolutely seething. She is burning up with rage and frustration, and it is not just her enemies she is raging at, but her allies.

Her narrative starts to turn in the Houses of Healing. Not only is Aragorn able to bring her back to life, but it's clear that despite her unhappiness, Eomer's love for her is still a comfort and a source of happiness. When she wakes up, her first words are joy of seeing her brother there. For a character who until this point has been a figure of sorrow and loneliness, for her to speak so instinctively of joy at the presence of another is momentous.

This joy seems well justified, as not only do we witness the extent of Eomer's love, we also see a change in Eomer, and his perception of his sister.

Her sufferings, and the causes of her sufferings, are finally acknowledged. But they aren't acknowledged as some ephemeral, intangible thing, caused by a broken heart and some vague sense that she's just "doomed", but as the result of a set of specific circumstances that naturally caused her great feelings of despair and hopelessness. Eowyn isn't tragic because "she's Eowyn and she's doomed", but because of Grima's manipulation, and the constraints inflicted on her because of her sex.

That Gandalf compares Eomer's lot to Eowyn's, and points out to Eomer the freedoms and opportunities he had which she did not, further emphasises that it was Eowyn's circumstances that made her so tragic.

Eowyn wasn't "just doomed" and Eomer wasn't "just not doomed". Had their roles been reversed, Eomer could have ended up in similar straits.

Eomer hears this explanation, and a change occurs. He looks on Eowyn differently, and starts rethinking their whole lives together.

In the causes of her suffering being recognised, there is now some hope for her recovery. Her "ailment" has been "diagnosed", and it's much easier to find a "treatment" and a "cure", when there is a "diagnosis". There's a practical solution to Eowyn's suffering, and the person closes to her is brought one step nearer to seeing it.

Eowyn remains in the Houses of Healing, something she sees as frustrating, unnecessary and pointless. She doesn't want to live, she doesn't expect to heal, she thinks herself fit enough to ride and die, and that's what she wants to do.

Eowyn still sees herself as doomed by the narrative, but the narrative and the cast no longer see her as such. She is kept in the Houses, she is encouraged to rest and to heal, she is encouraged by Faramir to have hope, and gradually she starts to thaw.

She also becomes more gentle and vulnerable. Her youth is dwelled on, and her former concerns about living forever in a cage for a moment lapse as she focusses on a more trivial worry that Faramir thinks she's childish. When she scales down her request from permission to ride to battle, to be allowed to walk the gardens and look east, she speaks as a "maiden, young and sad."

In becoming more vulnerable, she becomes more approachable. She is no longer the ice maiden, a spectre, but a living person, with worries large and small, and Faramir is able to smile at her and offer her consolation.

The requests she makes during her "thawing", to look east and not be confined to her bed, signals a slight, perhaps unnoticed by her, return to hope. East is, as Faramir remarks, where their hopes lie. In looking east, she is looking towards hope. Furthermore, her second request, to not be confined to her bed, is something that Faramir can provide a practical solution for. She can have a chamber facing east, and she can have freedom to walk the gardens.

He almost speaks to her like a conciliator, or a negotiator. He talks her down from asking for death, to having a chamber looking east, and freedom to walk the gardens and take in the sun, in return to her agreeing to 'stay in this house in our care, lady, and take your rest," . That he phrases it gives the sense she has agency, he isn't saying "you will stay, and you will have a chamber that looks east, and you will walk in the sun", but instead he says if she agrees to stay, this is what they can do for her.

Therefore, the choice to stay, the choice to walk in the sun, the choice to heal, is put back into her hands, and in accepting Faramir's offer, she accepts the chance to heal.

Both Faramir and Aragorn are struck by pity when they meet Eowyn, but Aragorn's pity makes him hold her at arm's length. He maintains a distance between them, he turns from her and rides away. When he does try to "reason" with her, he only makes things worse, twisting the nail into Eowyn's frustrating circumstances.

Faramir feels pity for Eowyn, but he also feels kinship. She isn't some strange, removed creature. He doesn't look at her and see someone who is doomed. Nor does his treatment of her isolate her, as the treatment of so many others have.

He speaks of the pair of them as a unit, right from the start. He notes that both of them are "prisoners" of the healers, he tells her that both of them will be able to fight the end, if it comes to them, if they rest, and that the hours of waiting are something both of them must endure, and that both of them have passed through a shadow, and in from kinship, he expresses a belief that he might find comfort in her presence.

Eowyn's isolation and lack of agency are key causes in her despair, so it is understandable how this man, who makes efforts to understand her, to get to know, to befriend her and to make a connection with her, is such a balm, and manages to cause such a turn around in her arc.

Through her friendship, and later romance, with Faramir, she opens up, and arguably becomes more emotionally resilient, neither freezing her emotions, "cold and proud", or breaking down, weeping or begging. She shows uncertainty and fear in more moderate, casual ways, instead of pushing them down until they burst out of her.

However, she is still Eowyn. She is still proud (Faramir describes her as looking queenly), she is still proud, strong willed and sharp tongued. Even in her happiness, when she agrees to marry Faramir, she teases him for his people's snobbery, and she refuses the Warden's attempts to "release" her into Faramir's care, by instead asking to stay at the Houses of Healing.

She doesn't go from Ice Maiden to Fragile Flower. Instead, in grasping her future by the hands, in choosing for herself what she will do and where she will go, in deciding her own fate, her own role (that of healer), she shows that she is as strong willed as ever, and Faramir, who re-iterates twice; when speaking of his plans to marry her and go to Ithilien with her, that they will only do so if she is willing.

Eowyn also makes it clear to Faramir that while she will return to him, she has other duties and priorities that will keep her. That is, the rebuilding of the Mark. She has to go, she will come back. A striking contrast to her first introduction, when Eowyn is told "go", then told "stay", as it pleases those around her. She now has freedom of movement, she now chooses when to go, when to stay and when to return.

That Eowyn speaks of how she must go back, must look on her country and help her brother, also indicates that Eowyn sees her own worth and importance. She values herself and feels valued.

At Theoden's funeral/Eomer's coronation, Eowyn plays an integral role in the ceremonies. She presents Eomer with a golden cup and gives the signal for the cups to be raised to drink to the new king. This in itself indicates the esteem in which Eomer holds Eowyn. However, she has arguably been a cupbearer before, and it hasn't been a role that has brought her much joy. While it is a position of prestige, and shows she is a valued member of the household, it's not enough. Luckily, here, she isn't just there to oversee the celebrations of others, but to be celebrated herself.

Eomer ends the ceremonies by announcing her betrothal to Faramir. His justification for doing so is because of Theoden's love for Eowyn, which he uses to argue that Theoden wouldn't begrudge Eowyn's announcement being made at his funeral. He also notes how great the gathering before him is, greater than has ever been seen before. That Eomer wants to announce his sister's happy news before such an assembly, speaks of how much he wants to honour her.

Eomer certainly appears to have taken Gandalf's words on board. When he makes the announcement of Eowyn's betrothal, he says that Faramir asked for her hand, and Eowyn granted it, full willing.

He doesn't say anything about whether or not he gives his permission, (as her king and head of family, he probably was asked, but considering Eowyn and Faramir made their plans to wed with total confidence, you get the impression this was a matter of form, they were going to marry, Eomer disagreeing would be a complication, not a defeat), but instead emphasises how Eowyn has agreed to marry Faramir, full willing.

The final image we have of Eowyn can be a foil of that image of we have of her at the end of her first chapter in Two Towers. Once more, she is bidding farewell to a loved one as they depart Edoras. However, this time, she is embracing Merry before he leaves. She gives him a gift, that speaks of the bond of friendship that is now between them, and a remembrance of the time they rode together to battle, comrades in arms.

Compared to her formal parting from Theoden in Two Towers, this parting is full of warmth and intimacy. She and Eomer both hug Merry farewell, and when Merry leaves, Eowyn is left with both Eomer and Faramir, the two people she loves best, Faramir himself putting off his own duties in Gondor, to be near to Eowyn as she does her duty in Rohan.

Even the parting of Eowyn, Eomer and Merry, which could be a sad thing, is softened with Tolkien concluding "and so they parted for that time".

Their parting isn't forever, it's just for the moment. They will see each other again. Compared to the jarring juxtaposition of the brotherly army riding out, to Eowyn left alone to guard an empty hall, which created a sense of dread and foreboding, the final lines here at this parting fill us with warmth, with them all embracing, and leaves us with a promise that this parting isn't forever, and that the friends will all be reunited soon.

So, to summarise, Eowyn at first appears "doomed by the narrative." She is cold, stern, ghost like, and carries an aura of tragedy and dread.

Her doom she seems to carry through to fruition, and she is mourned accordingly, but the smallest spark of life remains in her, and in the causes of her despair being acknowledged, in the people in her life reaching out to her, making an effort to understand her, and in her and those around her making practical changes, the characters actively defy the narrative that has apparently doomed her, and together, through their combined efforts, Eowyn escapes her fate

Eowyn feels hopeless and trapped, and the people around her struggle to relate, and in fact many of them contribute; some un-knowingly, some knowingly (fucking Grima), to her depression. It first looks like a force greater than herself (the narrative) is causing her despair, and it cannot be overcome, but will instead lead to her destruction.

But actually, there is hope, and there are practical measures that can be put into place, to help her overcome her despair. Medical treatment, a support network, and a greater understanding from herself and from others of what she is going through, enable her to defy the narrative and find happiness.

[even-in-arcadia]

I am watching Fellowship of the Ring and I noticed this small moment in the battle in Balin's tomb. Yes this is going to be about Boromir again.

It occurred to me that "They have a cave troll" is a great little pre-battle quip but if you take in the larger context of Boromir's arc I think it's important that he specifically says it while he and Aragorn are boarding the doors together. Aragorn has of course seen a lot out in the wilds and I'm sure this is nothing new to him. But it's Boromir who gets to toss off that line because he's spent his whole life besieged, fighting overwhelming odds to defend a walled sanctuary. This is just another Tuesday for him.

But the real moment I'm here to mention is after the cave troll smashes him against the wall. He's thrown across the room and clearly stunned - a blow that could easily have killed. Aragorn sees this and watches him. He watches Boromir slowly raise himself and shake it off, like he's already had to so many times both physically and emotionally. They see each other, give the smallest of nods, and and immediately launch back not just into battle but into defending the hobbits specifically together.

This is the moment when they see each other. Aragorn sees that when it comes down to brass tacks and cave trolls, Boromir will put everything on the line including his own life to defend Frodo and the hobbits. He is stalwart and relentless. Perhaps more importantly, Boromir sees Aragorn in action not just as a man who has been wandering the wilderness but as a fellow warrior, someone worthy of respect and who has his back. I really think this moment which is so small is a turning point in their relationship and its placement is key because it's right before they lose Gandalf and Aragorn truly steps into the role of leadership. This also sets the scene for Boromir's willingness to follow Aragorn into Lothlorien, a place which he fears.

To cap it off, this also foreshadows terribly the final scene. In this, Boromir is nearly shot by two arrows; later he is struck by three. He and Aragorn are in both cases both fighting to protect the hobbits. Finally, while in this scene Aragorn watches and Boromir is able to get back up and into the fray, in the last of course Aragorn can only watch as he dies. In the first, we have a nod, a small acknowledge. But that small moment is the direct foundation of the "Our people" - of "My brother, my captain, my king."

[shirefantasies]

Hey! Recently finished LotR for the first time and just wanted to thank you for sharing so much amazing writing with the fandom!

I was wondering, after reading the how many children they’d like hcs, if you’d be comfortable writing some characters(personally requesting Legolas and Eowyn, but whoever you’d wish of course!) meeting their(/them and their partner’s if they already have children ofc) firstborn!

Either way! Tysm for reading and have an amazing day!!

Forgot I had one more finished draft lmao sorry everyone🤙🏻 here's one more post

Bro OF COURSE I love doing parent AU stuff!!! This is such a cute imagine omg. Also thanks for the kind words & welcome to the fandom 🥰 consider this part 2 of the pregnancy headcanons~

Warnings: some descriptions/mentions of childbirth/labor pain/blood (not too graphic though!)

LoTR Characters Meeting Your First Child Together (Wife!Reader)

Aragorn

Concern paints your husband's handsome features, furrowing his dark brow and glittering deeply in his blue eyes at your sudden, frantic motions. You are too quiet, too focused. Hiding something, perhaps? "What troubles you?" Aragorn asks, moving to your side, a hand caressing your shoulder as he breathes your name. Eyes widening, you start for a moment before deflating in a sigh. "I think the baby is coming. But I did not wish to worry you until I was certain, until I had more prepared and-" Saying your name, this time a little more firmly and a lot more lovingly, Aragorn takes your hand. "Worry me? Cast all your worries upon me. I am your husband. My heart is yours, and my service. Come, we will go to the healing halls at once."

~

Aragorn smooths your hair, wincing as you cry out and calmly whispering encouragement. He quiets you down as the pain and stress wash over you in nearly blinding waves, your body writhing with each push. Hours pass like this, Aragorn your one anchor until finally, blessedly, your body can fall limp against your sickbed and pant and sigh in relief, the babe proclaimed healthy and taken to be soothed and cleaned. "What a marvel. Truly you prove strength beyond measure every day. Beyond that, I simply love you more every day," he adds with a smile. Leaning up to kiss him, you fix your husband with tired eyes, loving gaze broken only by the midwives' calls. "My king," they say, "a son was born to you! The prince of Gondor!" "A son," you repeat, finally breaking back into a grin as you accept your little boy. Aragorn looks down upon him too with as wide a smile, greeting him in Elvish. "My son," he says, "how loved you are, and how blessed are we your parents. May you grow strong, healthy, happy, our little gift."

Legolas

Even as far as you had gotten, an unspoken fear had crept up between you and your husband until the very day of your labor, but your twins held fast. Such a thought echoed through your mind as much as you could bear to will it between the waves of pain. They held fast, and so would you, your husband at your side stroking your head and holding your hand, whispering calming words in the language of his people. Through tears, you smiled at the beautiful sound, at Legolas's constant reminders that you are strong, you are the most amazing gift the prince has born witness to in hundreds of years. He reminded you to look into his eyes as you were urged to push harder, your hips burning like never before...

~

"A son. A son and a daughter,” Legolas breathed, pulling you and both your twins into a gentle embrace. “And my wife. What more could I desire? Nothing. Nothing indeed.” You feel moisture, realize a tear has slid from Legolas’s eye to your hand, and reaching up you dry his eye before bringing your hand down to stroke the side of his face. You can feel the bags of exhaustion circling your eyes and your whole body aches, but all you can do is smile, smile until your face is just as sore; with your aching pleasure glowing throughout you nuzzle the babe in your arms, your son. “Our dreams are finally reality, Legolas. I would ask for no more either.”

Boromir

"What for it? What can I do?" Boromir is less calm than you expected at your sudden pain, the downward rush you can only assume is the baby coming. Not that you have told him that already. "Let us go to the healers." You try to steady your breathing, praying your water will hold out and break only upon entry to the home of the dear friend you'd selected to aid in your birth. Grateful are you for the grasp of your husband’s hand and the strength with which his arm raises you, tugging you against him for support, even if you feel his heart racing like mad when your hand falls against his chest.

~

For hours you toiled, your body rent and torn in creative horror as Boromir tried his best with jokes and sweet words to keep your wits about you… for far shorter hours than usual in your friend’s words. “I find that hard to believe,” you panted as she cleaned the child. “No, truly that was quite amazing,” your friend shot back, stepping back your way with a bundle in her hands, “We’ve had them take twenty hours before. Five is quite fast I daresay.” Every orifice in your body cried out with pain, so all you could do was incline your head until you raised it again, saw the child in her outstretched arms and felt your lips part in amazement. Eyes still closed, your child groped for you, stilling a bit in satisfaction upon your acceptance, feeling the weight fall and rest gently upon your chest. “Impatient little man and with some fire too! He fought against cleaning quite well.” “Little man?” Boromir’s head snapped so rapidly up to your friend and back to your baby you thought he might snap something. “We have a son?” “Indeed you do, you old dog, you,” she grinned. “It’s a boy!” He shouted gleefully, one hand resting firmly between your son’s and the other cupping your cheek and yanking your lips to smash against his. When Boromir pulled away, he laughed aloud, hearty and triumphant. “Bless him and bless you for giving him to me! I never knew I could be this happy, love!” Your smile widened to match his grin. Suddenly your pain didn’t seem quite so bad.

Gimli

“Push! Push!” “Am I not?!” You reply, uncaring of the raise of your voice or the vice of your hand about your husband’s. For his part and quite in spite of himself, Gimli must laugh, for such was the fire that stole his heart some time ago and the fire from which your newest love was forged- though not without some trouble first. Chip off the ol’ block, indeed! “That’s it, that’s it,” the healer encouraged, “yer doin’ great, lassie!” “Doesn’t feel like it!” Even as he winces in pain by your iron grip, Gimli chuckles again.

~

“A healthy little lad!” Six more hours have passed, but finally he’s in hand and you won’t give him up for anything. Except Gimli- he is the only one to survive your death glares when he reaches for your son, and pushing some hair off his shoulder he gently extends his arms further when you acquiesce. His lips part in an o of endearment and shock at your son, crying moments ago but now laying peacefully in his father's arms. Breaking into a wide smile, Gimli stares down with moist eyes and it is like time is frozen. “My son,” he half-declares, half-sobs. His gaze tears from the babe after a minute or two only to meet yours and bring a wide, triumphant smile to his face. "And most importantly, son of the fairest this earth has yet set forth, she who gave herself that he should be here. You did wonderful, my love. Thank you." "Thank you for being his father," you reply, "and for loving me through it all, even when I was quite ugly about it." "Ah..." Gimli replies diplomatically, "you were in a great deal of pain." Of course he forgives you, he worships the ground you walk on, after all, and you have just gifted him the honor of a son, a little flame all his own! And who, the dwarf suspects with another smile, shall look a lot like his father too!

Frodo

Frodo walked you all the way to the bed and laid you down by himself before he would finally relinquish any care of you to the midwife, despite the fact that he had selected her. You knew it was borne of no distrust of her, however, only a sign of the immense care in his heart he felt for you and the sum of all the kindnesses done upon Frodo in his most difficult years. When you love someone, after all, you carry them up a mountain. You lay them down and take their hand and kiss their forehead, telling them you will never leave them in their greatest pain. Just as your husband now did, just as he spoke upon cradling you close, grip only tightening as you cried out in pain.

~

"You're doing so well," Frodo encouraged during your last pushes, stroking your sweat-beaded forehead, "This is almost over." Indeed it was, for minutes later your final whimper broke Frodo's heart, sending spikes of dread shooting down his spine until a new set of cries stopped them cold. "She's here," the midwife tells you, standing up and fetching the cloths she'd dunked earlier. "A girl," Frodo breathes, "A little girl!" "Our little girl," you agree, reaching out to accept the tiny babe. Frodo's heart melts at her now-calmed face, the way her tiny eyelids flutter and the spray of tiny dark curls already visible on her head. "Hello there," he whispers, "my beautiful little girl. Never did I think my heart could give any more, and yet here it is, doubly taken."

Sam

"What's wrong? You look a little peaky. Here, why don't we-" "Sam, I'm fine. I just think I twisted my- hngh!" Crumpling in half with a grunt of pain you cannot even complete your sentence. Sam is rushing to your side, taking your hand and leading you back to your shared bedroom. "Shh, shh, it's going to be ok, you'll see. I'll get the midwife and she'll know everything to do, alright?" Sam's green eyes are warm as ever, his tone the sweetest and most soothing thing you've ever heard and ever will. Despite the waves of pain and the gush you begin to feel soaking the sheets around you, you find yourself nodding and willing up a faint smile.

~

"You're a strong lass, aren't you?" The midwife remarks as Sam returns to the room with more boiled water, looking at you with wonder in her pale blue eyes. Panting, you manage to reply that you suppose so with a faint smile of amusement before being wracked with the pain of another contraction. The only thing that keeps you going is the way your husband is there, leaving only to help you both before tumbling back against the bedframe to grip your hand, never once losing his smile even as you crushed the life out of him. It feels like a lifetime and yet no time before cries fill the room, your head immediately whipping to Sam's and meeting the tears spiling from his kind, loving eyes. "You did it," he whispers your name with awe, kissing your head, then your cheeks sweetly and softly again and again until the midwife is ready with your bundle of joy. "She's beautiful," the older hobbit comments, handing your baby off to you and beaming as you pull your daughter into your chest, loosening her swaddle enough to see her peaceful face. "Lovely," Sam replies, tone even more awed now despite its faint sob, "she looks like her mother. Her mother who worked so hard. Look, she has your hair." "She sure does," you agree, "but I hope she got your eyes." "Nah," he shook his head, "that can be the next one. I love that she's the spitting image. You've earned it after all that, I fear." You laugh at that, still smiling down at your daughter's face, which is still red and calming from her cries of alarm. "That I have. But the only reason I could at all was because of you, Sam." Tears falling anew, he shakes his head one more time. "The thanks are all yours. I knew you could do it all along. It's 'cause of you we have our little beauty."

Merry

"Come on, come on, that's it," Merry coaxed, lowering you down into the squatting position you'd asked for. Inside he was screaming bloody murder, but it was no good letting you know that, not when he had a duty to do and the most important one at that. No indeed, courage was far beyond necessary. Just as he'd had on the battlefield, he was to have with you. For you. Merry only could thank his lucky stars that you began your labor at home while he was there. Once you'd gotten settled, he reluctantly began to pull away his hand from yours, face falling at the way your fingers trembled. "I'm just going to get help. I'll come right back for you." "I know," you whispered with a smile, and just as it had been broken Merry's heart was up and skipping beats.

~

What a good sport the midwife was, for she had been in the middle of her afternoon tea when Merry found her, but never had he seen a napkin thrown down so fast. She rushed with him back to you and found you there still squatting and wincing, this time with sweat beading upon your brow. For hours there you remained, flanked on both sides by husband and midwife, until suddenly your skirts were lifted even further and the lady was calling "He's out!" You cried out in pain and relief and Merry just laughed and gave a big smile before remembering you, looking down at you with great concern. At that, you gave a chuckle of your own. "Sounds like we have a son, Merry." "We have a-" "Certainly you do and quite a big one! Here, you can hold him if you like, but not after the missus has a turn," the midwife cut in, laying your son in your arms. Merry's jaw positively dropped at the sight of him, and he leaned down to speak at once. "Hello there, little one. It's me, your dad. You remember the sound of my voice, don't you?"

Pippin

“Pippin, it’s time.” “Time? Time for what?” You loved your sweet, wonderful, clueless husband, but now was simply not the time. “The baby is coming! Get my supplies, please.” Your command came out as more of a whimper, your face twisting into a grimace at the feeling of moisture trickling down your leg. Water’s broken, then. Pippin caught sight of this, paled, and tore off down the hall, a crash sounding and a handful of stomps before he emerged again, bag slung over his shoulder and a pile of rags in one hand. "You know, for your..." "Yes, I know," you nodded, smiling in faint amusement as he took hold of your arm, barely giving you any time to straddle the rags at all.

~

"Push!" "What am I doing, then?" Your reply shattered Pippin, for it dripped with no sarcasm, only broken tears as you struggled with the pains of labor. The midwife shed a tear of her own, promising you did well, but this went on for hours until suddenly, finally, cries pierced the room's tense air and a massive smile spread across Pippin's face. "You did it!" A loud, triumphant laugh. "You did it, my love!" "She sure did," the midwife agreed, handing the babe off to another older hobbit and chuckling at the way Pippin's open hands followed them. "Don't worry your head off, he's just getting cleaned up." "He? It's a boy! Love, it's a-" "I heard," you grinned, "A little mini-Pippin. Just what I always wanted." "Are- are you joking?" "No," you shook your head, accepting your son with open, grabbing hands, "Not at all. Oh, look, he really does look just like you, too! Oh, Pippin!" Another little Pippin. This time hopefully not one who'll make the same mistakes. No. No, he won't, because he'll have the big one to guide him. And you, oh, his lovely wife... "Pip, are you crying?" "Of course I am," he replied in a quiet, awe-filled voice, leaning to press his curly head to yours, "Our son. Yours and mine. What a glorious gift you've given me. I'm going to work every day to pay you back."

Faramir

Faramir would have given anything to escape the meeting he had become entrenched in, the droning on about some law or another that- Slam! A messenger came bursting in through the door, one of the young page boys whom Faramir had sent notes off with. Rather than pass a message, though, the young man strode right over to his seat and leaned in to whisper to him. Feeling his face contort in shock, then a smile, Faramir rose from the chair at once. “My apologies, gentleman, but my wife has gone into labor. I will review all notes taken at my earliest convenience.” So it seemed the twins inherited their mother’s sense of humor.

~

Watching you strain and hearing your ragged breaths, listening to every cry of pain, stabbed Faramir in the heart with a hurt of his own. He never let go of your hand for a moment, though, despite the ache in those muscles as well. For hours he whispered you words of encouragement, reminding you that you were his hero and that you were doing great, even if it didn’t feel such. And finally your grip was tightening one final time, one final cry of pain as the second twin was born. First your daughter had come. “A girl!” Faramir breathed. “We have a daughter.” And with that last push Faramir himself caught your son. “A son as well. Two beautiful children.” Tears welled up in his eyes, which quickly turned to you as your son was cut free, lifted from his arms, and cleaned. Thumb stroking over the back of your hand, Faramir leaned over, head resting against yours. His stubble tickled your face as he shifted to press a kiss to your cheek. “We got the most difficult one out of our way first, hm?” You joked. Breaking into a tearful grin at your words, Faramir nodded.

Eomer

He should never have agreed to ride out on that patrol, but the others were pushing harder than usual and Eomer knew they trusted him. Trust went far in the Riddermark. Hence his shouts of frustration upon returning to a herald rushing his way and telling him that you had gone into labor. Luckily only about an hour and a half back. He had plenty of time. Running to the halls of healing and all but throwing open the great doors, Eomer barreled in and was met with your smile, then your cry for him, to which he ran to your side and took your hand at once.

~

"It's a boy," he panted hours later, hand aching from your grip and mind fatigued by pained screams, "our son is here." How in this world could you have endured it all if it drained even a bystander so? What a warrior you were. And what a warrior your son would be! Taking in the cleaned babe being placed in your arms, the enamored smile upon his beloved wife's face, the great rush of joy finally overtook him, all pain and exhaustion melting away for a brief moment. "Our son is here!" He called out again, this time louder, more triumphant, and when you spoke it also in your softer tone Eomer pulled you gently by the back of your head into a kiss that spoke volumes, every year of your love story thus far and all of them to come.

Eowyn

The pains of birth were no stranger to your wife; in fact, Eowyn recognized them before you did, cutting into your panic that something was going wrong with the reassurance that things were going quite right. “Our baby is coming,” she told you with a small smile that quickly faded back down when your knees buckled. She was prepared for this, very prepared. Having been forced into work as a nurse for so long had some benefits, after all, and very quickly your things were in hand, your body settled into the most comfortable position possible, and your wife rolling up her sleeves and pulling back her hair to get to work. Her own child would not be the first she had delivered, simply her favorite by far. Spikes of pressure fought their way up Eowyn’s chest, but just like in the heat of battle they spurred her on and she got to work with renewed courage.

~

“You are doing so well, my love, there we are,” your wife coaxed, “almost done, in fact! Our little one is almost here!” “Really?” You smile widely before your next wince and Eowyn can see her words have encouraged you. You pushed with all you had, and crying out finally forced the head, then finally the whole of your child, out into the world. Eowyn cut the baby free quickly as she could, all her focus tied down to making sure she heard breath before she let herself truly look. At the first call of little lungs she sighed and collapsed down upon her knees, hugging the baby to her chest. “Healthy, perfectly healthy.” Hurriedly cleaning your child, Eowyn saw that you had delivered a girl. “You’ve birthed a healthy girl. We have a daughter, my love!” Hearing you sob, she hurried quickly over to your side. “We both did,” you told her, reaching out to caress your daughter’s reddened cheeks, “Both her mothers birthed her. Where would I be, after all, without you?” It was Eowyn’s turn for tears to fall at your words, smiling as she was when you pulled her close and kissed the crown of her golden head.

Haldir

Long, difficult months had led to the moment of your doubling over with the first pains of birth, hobbling out to where you could find a hand to lead you to the midwives. You were half-knelt at the side of a bed, gripping its post for dear life, when your husband burst in. “Your patrol,” you inquired between waves of pain. “Safely in the hands of another,” Haldir responded, hand groping for one of yours, hastily taking it, “and no, they blame neither of us. Nothing but the pain of death could have separated me from your side.” A smile crossed your face, but moments later another wave of pain split your smile into a cry of agony. “The little ones are coming very rapidly,” one of the midwives told you, “your labor will not be long, at the very least.” At that, you heard Haldir exhale in relief. After such difficultly carrying them, your struggles with the twins would soon abate. Soon they would be in your arms.

~

True to her word, the midwife saw you through every push of labor in just under three hours’ time, one of the fastest she had seen in her many years. Haldir’s grip upon your hand never faltered until the very moment one of the twins was placed wrapped up in his arms. The other held by you, exhausted, shocked, but joyous, tears of relief and celebration flowing. “Two daughters. Two fair and healthy little souls all our own,” Haldir remarked, his voice barely above a whisper and a stunned smile upon his lips as he glanced back your way. The moment your eyes met, tears fell from his, too, and you both let out another exhale in relief; shifting the little one in his arms, Haldir grasped your hand. Smiling up at your husband, despite every strain of pain and exhaustion upon your body, all you could feel was the glow of utter triumph and bliss. “I have said it countless times, I am sure, but you my fair maids have my sword, my word, my heart, my everything,” Haldir told you, leaning down to place a gentle kiss on your head, then that of the baby girl in your arms.

Galadriel

How Galadriel managed to remain so calm amidst your heaving breaths and calls of alarm, amidst a healer and midwives forgetting their place and trying to move her from your side, surrounded by bodies and screams and heat and fluid so serene, you would never understand. The way you’d doubled over in the middle of your wife’s vision, failing to smother the choked cry that escaped your lips, and she’d simply risen from the water with wide eyes and a nod, taking your hand. Had she let go? Not as you could recall, though memories blended and faded through great waving curtains of pain. Your strength is beyond admirable, my love. Head swiveling to meet your wife’s intense blue gaze, you smiled faintly. Comparable only to your beauty, her voice teased in your mind. Smile growing, the rush of joy gave you strength for another push…

~

“A daughter,” Galadriel breathes your name, joy permeating every faint crack of her so even voice, “you have borne us a daughter!” You see her extend a hand, accept a cloth you assume shall dry your little one off, but the midwife swipes your newborn for a moment and your wife dabs your tears, then the sweat clinging to your forehead. Setting the small piece of white fabric on the table by your head, Galadriel lets her hand drop down to trace the curve of your cheek, the ring you placed upon her finger some years back on your wedding day sliding over it with a pleasant cool. Your daughter, clean and swaddled, is placed in your arms, and beaming down upon you, your wife takes your hand. “A beautiful gift unlike any this world has seen,” she speaks out loud this time, though it is a whisper, “and surely with a heart as strong as her mother’s.”

Arwen

Pain rushed to you so rapidly it was as though you were stabbed. Crumpling and crying out was how your wife found you, rushing in with skirts held at her sides and dropped just as quickly so Arwen’s hands could close around both of yours, words of worry followed by encouragement whispered between you. Her father was the greatest healer you knew, thus he was to aid in his grandchild’s birth, the first of his family. Elrond was calm when through the veil of your pain you saw your wife bring him into the room, brows faintly furrowed as he pulled back his sleeves. Your hearing practically faded- or was it simply your memory?- as he began giving quiet but firm commands to another elf that followed.

~

Vision blurred with tears, you fell back against the downy pillow, breathing ragged. Much as Lord Elrond could do for you, the pain was still great. "The cord is severed!" You heard him announce and your head snapped back up to see your son in his grandfather's arms, hear him wail as breath filled his lungs. "Our little boy," Arwen grips your arm, grinning down at you, "He is here! Go on, Ada, keep us waiting no longer." Shaking his head at her teasing, Elrond gave you a wide, tearful smile as he lowered your son. Smoothing his dark hair, Arwen gazed down at him with loving eyes before leaning over to you, kissing your lips with such love and joy both of you were smiling into it. "My dearest love, he is so beautiful. Just like his mother."

Elrond

"My lord, your wife-" Lindir needn't say more. Elrond is already gathering up his robes and abandoning entirely the parapet on which he stood, regretting leaving you for a moment even if you had insisted he take some time while you rest. Hurrying down the staircase to your shared room, Elrond finds you sitting bolt upright in bed, brows furrowed and hand resting upon your middle. "I must get to the-" "No," calm as he is, Elrond seems to have developed a habit of interruptions, he thinks, "the midwife will come to you. Lindir?" "Sending for her now, my lord." At Elrond's side, you whimper. All too well does he remember this anguish; nodding, he presses a kiss to the top of your head. "Lie still. You will be well."

~

Thank the Valar for healing magic; soon your screams melt into whispers shared between you and your husband and winces become faint, tired smiles. Elrond feels the strain of each push upon you, but marvels at your strength, the midwife all but telling you to slow down. "I beg your pardon," you reply, gritting your teeth, "but I must be free of this!" And free you are, for not long later cries fill the air and tears of relief and joy spill down your cheeks. Elrond caresses your face and meets your eyes with a tearful smile; never does this moment stale, in fact nothing in this world can compare. As soon as the bundle is placed in your hands, you hold your newborn out between you, Elrond taking hold and reaching out his other hand, which your daughter grasps. "She looks just like her mother," he tells you with a smile. "But hopefully she inherited her father's wisdom," you tease back with a tired grin.

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[whiteladyofithilien]

Boromir the mansplaining Chad

Now I'm no Boromir hater, I often defend him from accusations of being a "bad guy". But he's weirdly the most commonplace in our world kind of man in Tolkien's work. He has a good heart but boy does his attitude reek of entitlement in many places. He lacks the humility to truly listen even when the wisest in Middle Earth are speaking. He seeks to push his will and if he can't reason his way into making people do what he'd like he attempts manipulation by pouting a bit "if that hasn't earned some payment then I'll go back to Minas Tirith alone." The whole trip he pushes for the ring to go to Minas Tirith no matter how much others caution him. He misses the cues to drop the topic and keeps trying to force his will upon the company. It smacks of a man trying to convince a woman to go out with him and he just ignores the cringes, the polite answers, the her removing herself from proximity, the gentle nos and when he's given a resounding no he loses his temper and gets borderline violent.

I don't think it's any coincidence that the real time seduction of the Ring on a member of the Race of Man is happening with a man who is in every way so commonplace to the men of reality. Tolkien had served in war, he'd seen the varieties of masculinity in all their shapes sizes and personalities. Who can say how many "noble fighting men" like Boromir he'd seen lose their lives some plausibly due to hubris as much as enemy missiles. Boromir is a good man but more accurately he is the perfect representation of a privileged man of our times trying to perform masculinity versus the Aragorns and Faramirs who possess the quiet confidence that they don't require thanks, submission, repayment, or accolades. The "blood of the men of Westernesse" feels like Tolkien's code for "less likely to be an entitled dick" when it comes to the trilogy.

But Boromir in spite of his flaws is still a good man, he's just a mega Chad and that needs to be acknowledged too.

[maul-of-shame]

You know you don't have to shove your disgusting elrondriel down people's throats right?

You know you don’t have to shove your whining and bitchy moaning into my inbox, right?

Like, was there a council meeting I missed where you were assigned as the fandom’s self-righteous taste police? Because if so, babe, I'm pretty sure the Fellowship didn’t vote you in.

I ship what I ship. You don’t like it? That’s a you problem, not a me problem. You could’ve scrolled, blocked, or gone outside to touch some grass, but instead, you chose pathetic bitchy whining in my inbox. Big brain move, truly.

The circus called, they want their clown back.🤡

And listen, I don’t know what your takes or ships are, but dude—DUDE—if you’re going to crumble into a puddle of salt over fictional characters and who people decide to pair them with in their own space, you might need to take a long, hard look at your priorities in life. Like, genuinely—are you okay?

Is this the hill you’ve chosen to die on? Out of all the injustices in the world, all the things you could be channeling your clearly overflowing energy into, you picked this? Really?

You’re here, furiously typing up your righteous little manifesto against my Elrondriel ship content, as if your dislike somehow validates barging into someone’s creative space like an uninvited party guest with terrible vibes. You know what would’ve been a better use of your time? Literally anything else. Picking up a book. Learning a hobby. Googling "how to mind my own business". Or—and this is just a suggestion—working on improving that personality of yours.

Because let’s be real, the way you’re carrying on here? It’s not giving "I have a valid point". It’s giving "I’m pressed because someone on the internet is having fun differently than me."

No one is forcing you to look at this content. No one dragged you into my space with a sword to your neck, shouting, "READ THE ELRONDRIEL POST!" You’re here because you chose to click, you chose to engage, and now you’re big mad because my fictional pairings don’t align with whatever pedestal you’ve put yourself on. Babe, that’s a you problem. The rest of us are here vibing, sipping tea, and enjoying our ships, while you’re out here acting like a one-person fandom inquisition.

So maybe the next time you feel the urge to go on a moral crusade over fandom ships, pause for a moment and ask yourself, "Does this make me look clever, or just pressed?" Because right now? You’re not Gandalf riding into battle with wisdom and gravitas. You’re Gollum, bitterly clutching onto your opinion as if it’s the One Ring, and nobody here is impressed.

If fictional pairings genuinely upset you this much, I’m begging you—step away from the keyboard, take a deep breath, and find something that sparks joy

Also, I’m truly not sure who appointed you the Mouth of Sauron for Fandom Canon Purity™ (if so, please go see your local dentist), but I don’t recall asking for your opinion, your sanctimonious tantrum, or whatever sad little hill you think you’re dying on?

You’re not Aragorn leading a noble charge. You’re that one orc who gets yeeted off Helm’s Deep for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

So, take your whining, your unsolicited opinions, and that big ol’ chip on your shoulder, and go find somewhere else to be miserable.

Bye Felicia 👋✨

[iusedtoweavecrowns]

On the oath of Feanor

Strap in for a long rambling post!

I've spent the last few days going down the rabbit hole of Bret Deveraux's blog - I'd already read his posts on the battle of Helm's Deep and the Siege of Gondor which I enjoyed immensely (I love analysing things I like and thinking about them from new angles if it's done from a friendly perspective even if it uncovers some faults (the faults in this case are mostly in the movies not the books)), this time I went in from the direction of Game of Thrones (I especially liked the posts on how the Dothraki hold up when compared with the Mongols and other real world steppe nomads - short answer, not at all) and found this post on how oaths and vows worked in the medieval times and before (ancient Rome and Greece) which got me thinking about the oath of Feanor.

Firstly, Tolkien (having of course worked thoroughly with medieval literature), really wrote in all the traditional components:

a) saying what you will do (this swear we all: death we will deal him ere Day's ending who findeth keepeth etc the silmarils (I took the text from tolkiengateway, I'm aware there's several different versions but didn't want to get into it that deep)). It's also common to name yourself in the oath which they do: it's clearly stated the relevant parties are Feanor and Feanor's kin

b) naming the godly party who is overseeing your oath (our word hear thou, Eru Allfather! and later calling upon Manwe and Varda as witnesses (I assume it's also witnessed by all the elves present, witnesses are important))

c) naming the price you will pay if you break your oath (in essence cursing yourself)(to the everlasting darkness doom us if our deed faileth)

(Another thought i just had on the wording of this particular version is if you remove the extra meat, the bones of this oath is they swear to kill anyone who keeps the silmarils from them (not just by holding them to yourself but also by casting away - the only way to be near a silmaril and not get entangled in this oath is to return it to Feanor's kin asap) and to pay the price (eternal darkness) if they fail in this task. There is no clause to absolve them of this failure through death for example (dying would be failure and result in eternal darkness?) so if you go with the idea that actually they just went to the halls of Mandos and could return from there, unless they are freed from the oath, it would absolutely still be in effect both in death (if the dead have agency - and there is presedence in the dead men Aragorn calls upon to fulfill their duty even from beyond the grave - whose very crime is breaking an oath!) and afterwards upon their return.

Thus the trap really is set and it made me think if all our modern thought on if they could have found this or that loophole or done this instead of that or just not fulfilled their oath is approaching this from the wrong perspective.

People believed in their gods. People believed in oaths, though saying belief here is perhaps the wrong word. An oath is basically a contract with a god as one of its parties and people truly did believe the god held them to it (I would imagine even more so in Middle Earth in an era where gods are literally right there and the question of belief in them is not relevant). Unless Eru themself releases Feanor and his kin (Manwe and Varda are just witnesses not the parties to whom the oath is bound) this is it. There are no loopholes I can see. And in-world people would know this and expect them to keep the oath, oaths and keeping them is on what the whole vassal system works for example. Forswearing an oath other than bringing divine punishment upon you makes you untrustworthy to the extreme (which is worse - being a kinslayer or forsworn? Either would make you a pariah I imagine).

"You swear an oath because your own word isn’t good enough, either because no one trusts you, or because the matter is so serious that the extra assurance is required. That assurance comes from the presumption that the oath will be enforced by the divine third party. The god is called – literally – to witness the oath and to lay down the appropriate curses if the oath is violated. Knowing that horrible divine punishment awaits forswearing, the oath-taker, it is assumed, is less likely to make the oath." (from the blog post)

If the oath is broken, you are breaking one of the systems on which the world functions (being able to trust someone who swears an oath of loyalty for example, knowing that this is not something anyone can simply back down from and go oh no I changed my mind actually) and if you break it and nothing happens? What does that say about the gods? For the gods' honour to remain intact they also must rain punishment upon you or all other oaths where they have been named come to question. I am not a feanorean apologist (okay I am but I'm not saying that kinslaying is good actually) but in-universe the other people around them would know and I imagine expect them to keep their oath (which once again has no back doors! no death we will deal them ere day's ending unless we like them and they actually do deserve a silmaril) and yet they do not deal death to everyone who holds a silmaril right away. They do hold back.

(This lead me down a line of thought of what if what's driving them mad there, as at least fandom likes to interpret it, is not the oath itself, what if it's the not keeping the oath? Because they are for a while there not keeping it (that they did nothing while Luthien held a silmaril is a big deal actually). Idk it's a subtle difference there but somehow it makes sense to me as an idea: what if the oath itself is not an evil entity whispering in their minds yearning to be fulfilled or whatever, it's the not acting upon it though the clauses are met - they are testing the patience of a god and of godly retribution. And whether Eru Iluvatar wants to be the enforcer of such an oath? Does Eru get a choice? (The blog post brings up that "in the literature of classical antiquity, it was also fairly common for the gods to prevent the swearing of false oaths – characters would find themselves incapable of pronouncing the words or swearing the oath properly" but Eru here has not stopped them nor sent some sort of divine message saying no I will not keep you to your oath, not until the very end.)

All this to say that it's hard for us in the modern world with a modern mindset to put ourselves in this space of mind. For us an oath is not the cornerstone of society, it's not something we believe in. We get a few oaths or vows here and there - swearing upon the bible to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth (at least they do that in American dramas), marriage vows, I recently encountered a soldier's oath of loyalty from WWI - are these still a thing? But they are just words to us, words you can break without divine consequences. Our words matter less to us in this way.

We think automatically that the honourable thing would be to break the oath and you know not go to war against innocent people (although honour is another category we don't put much faith into any more. We think of goodness but that's not the same thing). But I think in-world it really is a much harder dilemma because breaking an oath is about the least honorable thing you can do. And you are cursed. The oath doesn't need to be an evil entity like the One Ring for it to matter immensely and have great power. The oath itself doesn't need to be like an evil spell that affects the people who took it. The weight of it, the maddening distressing quality of it, can just be the dilemma, the eternal questioning it forces you into - to do horrible things but keep your word, your honour (you could argue the upholding of your word is the most important thing you have - even if you lose all worldly possessions your word's trustworthyness can't be taken from you unless you break your word yourself)(but can you keep your honour by doing something dishonorable?) and your literal safety from divine punishment or break it and save lives for the price of your own and if divine punishment doesn't kill you, being able to exist in the society. When your word, your oath, can be broken, how could you be trusted in literally any situation? (As a side note from the blog: "In the ancient world you might try to mend fences by consulting an oracle as to how to expiate the guilt of a broken oath (to be clear, you are mending fences with the offended god, not the mortal you made the agreement with)" - I now crave fics where the Feanoreans do decide to forswear the oath and are not like idk immediately swallowed by eternal darkness so they go on a wild escapade of Making It Up To Eru). In any case this is peak tragedy material - like prophecies that fulfill themselves in the effort to avoid them oaths too are meant to be inescapable. And the First Age is definitely a tragedy.

To end, a quote from the end of the blog post stressing something the author brings up often because we as modern people tend to struggle with it:

"People in the past generally believed their own religion. One of the most common – and most dangerous – pitfalls I find myself helping my students to navigate around is this one: assuming that because we don’t believe a given religion, no one of any sense at the time could have either. This is of course, when you think about it, obviously untrue. Moreover, it reduces people in the past from complex intelligent humans with agency to dummies who just didn’t know their stupid religion was stupid (it wasn’t, they weren’t).

What many of these examples of bungled oaths show is a kid’s understanding of how swearing and vowing works – they are little more than ‘pinky-swears.’ But societies in the past where these rituals were common believed they were effective – meaning that the ritual of oath-taking made the promise so given more trustworthy, more binding, more dangerous to break.

///

A formal oath, properly uttered and secured with appropriate sacredness, was a powerful, binding thing. These are people, after all, who thought the divine retribution on the other end of breaking that oath was very real. Even if we don’t believe that, we should take their faith seriously – if for no other reason than failing to do so often renders their behavior into nonsense."

[aifsaath]

I am continuously perplexed at how a show as objectively bad and problematic as hotd keeps inspiring outstanding fanfics like yours and @gwenllian-in-the-abbey’s. Truly it’s a mystery to me, especially considering that the books covering the dance are supposed to be quite mediocre as well from what I’ve perceived. Just so you know,with that trailer out now I’m gonna completely blend out the events of the show and consider our fathers clad in red canon

@gwenllian-in-the-abbey AAAAAAAAAAAAAA, I think George's gonna order a hit on us:D

I'm glad you like our slightly destructive approach to teh canon. I'm mostly fueled by spite and my dislike for George's and HBO's complete disregard for the historical context of the stuff they draw their inspiration from (you can't do the Matilda vs Stephen showdown and expect the same sense of injustice, when your main conflict is about Viserys' imbecilic approach to rules, Rhaenyra's weak-ass claim and papa/dragons being her go-to solution to all her problems, Daemon being a chaos gremlin, Corlys' malignant ambition and the Hightowers being the only ones who actually care about the rule of law.)

A lesbian romance doesn't automatically turn a story into a feminist manifesto, nor does a girlboss who's treated by the narrative as the second coming of Christ. Context matters and it's a mistake to view the Dance through the lens of modern ideals about egalitarianism.

GRRM's hubris when it comes to "Aragorn's tax policies" is just another thing that enrages me and Gwenllian, because the man completely misunderstands the medieval legal codes. Just because they were complex that doesn't mean they were fucking contradictory on their own; no one wanted civil wars breaking out each time a monarch died.

Problems happened when two countries with generational beefs worked on two different principles of succession, ie. England (male-preference primogeniture) vs France (male-only primogeniture), or if there was some dynastic fuckery that completely messed up the clear-cut succession lines with usurpations and cousin marriages (Yorks vs Lancasters).

Had Richard II (the son of the Black Prince) died peacefully without issue, the succession would have followed through the line of the Duke of Clarence, with Edmund the Earl of March eventually becoming the king (and he was Richard's heir, btw).

But that's not what happened. The son of John of Gaunt usurped the throne and it was then passed down through his line, because he was the crowned king. Now, you can argue whether or not he had any right to do the usurpation in the first place and whether or not he was the legitimate king and you bet people back then argued about that too. This ambiguity is how you create a proper narrative about actually conflicting claims. The only thing propping up Rhaenyra against her brother is the fact that Viserys is a moron.

How the fuck can I take F&B seriously and without the Dead Sea's worth of salt, when it pretty much blows Jaehaerys' posthumous dick about his wisdom when he "let" the council of 101 decide the succession (while politely ignoring the fact that Jaehaerys' own claim is legit only in the cases of either full salic or semi-salic succession, ie male-only), while never once it calls out Viserys out on his extremely dangerous decision. He gets to die venerated as the peaceful grandpa and all the blame for his incompetence is piled on Aegon II and Alicent.

Let's go through the possible succession systems, shall we?

If we follow male-preference primogeniture, the legitimate line of kings ends with Aerea because she was the eldest child of Aegon the Uncrowned, Maegor's eldest nephew. Only after she and her sister die without issue, Jaehaerys can become the king. Jaehaerys' canon ascension works only because Rhaena gave up her daughters' claims. The next in line would be Aemon and after him Rhaenys. But that's not what happened.

If we follow the salic law (male only), the legitimate line of the kings goes Aegon I -> Aenys I -> Aegon Uncrowned -> Jaehaerys I -> Viserys I -> Aegon II. This is probably what Jaehaerys wanted to ensure, since he challenged Maegor's kingship in the first place.

If a crowned king can choose his heir, then Jaehaerys was never a legitimate king and Aerea was the true queen, because Maegor, who had won his crown in the trial by combat, chose her as his heir.

What about the principle of seniority? Cognatic seniority where men and women have equal claims is out of the question since Aegon I was the crowned king, not Visenya. Male-only seniority would go Aegon I -> Aenys I -> Maegor I (uncontested!) -> Aegon Crowned This Time -> Viserys the Not Tortured to Death -> Jaehaerys I -> Aemon (only if his uncle Viserys has no issue) -> Baelon -> Vaegon -> Viserys I -> Daemon (EW).

Notice the distinct lack of Rhaenyra.

Team Black keeps mentioning the widow's law, but that's a bulk of nonsense. I suppose the misunderstanding originates from a (willful) misinterpretation of this passage. The book says:

Now, I highly doubt Jaehaerys intended for the law to mean that a daughter from the first marriage should come before the sons from the second. The wording is a bit unlucky, but I suppose the intention was to establish the legal position of the second wife and her children as united with the position of her step-children - she has the same duties towards them as if they were own, and the same goes the other way. Which would make sense. Because otherwise, no one would be desperate enough to marry a widower with daughters. Since we know that title and land ownerships have remained in the same families without changing hands once or twice since the implementation of the law, I really doubt the team black's literal interpretation of the passage was the one intended. Ffs, Viserys was pushed to marry again because he had only one daughter, meaning, this law wasn't viewed the way the Team Black wishes for. And I'm not even delving into the fact that this would be a female inheritance hack penned by Jaehaerys, if that was the case. Talk about ooc.

So, yeah, we're taking Gyldayne's interpretation of the past with so much salt our hearts are gonna fail.

[sindar-princeling]

(I was wondering for a while if I should edit this post to be neater, or erase the things I've already said, but after all I decided to keep it just as it was, because over the past few months I was adding more and more thoughts to it as I edited, and I wanted to keep them that way, unedited and just the way they came to me. so here are some thoughts I had while editing the newsletter)

editing LOTR to go chronologically felt like constantly finding some hidden gems that can only be found when you read that way, and wondering if they were put there intentionally (and knowing jirt, they most probably were). it was a truly, deeply special experience, and a unique way of experiencing LOTR to me

there are so many fragments where jirt says what happens after everything! the ponies were okay, Pippin cried when he heard horns after the battle of Pelennor fields for years to come, even the prologue reveals some information about who survived the War

the long breaks in Rivendell and Lórien were very interesting in this format. some people were remarking how they liked thinking about the fellowship just chilling during those breaks, and I think it created a nice effect of both the characters and us forgetting how close the danger is for them. it let us take those breaks with them!

the only part of the quest that doesn't have a date assigned to it takes part in Lórien, it's the one where Frodo and Sam sing about Gandalf. and it's SUCH a good detail! Tolkien kept track of every event, of dates and even times of day for the entire duration of the quest, but this fragment is just Somewhere There, because in Lórien time seems to stand still, and you can never know when you are

the only other fragments which are confusing time-wise take place during the dark days with no sun, which is of course a great writing choice, but even they are described in Appendix B - the Lórien fragment has no date, no reference point, nothing

it doesn't hit you that much when you read the book, but the battle of Helm's Deep happened literally just one (1) week after the breaking of the Fellowship. Aragorn was out there having the Worst Week Of His Fucking Life

I loved feeling the impact of certain events more while reading chronologically (the three hunters running for days made more impact on me when I was sending yet another entry and they were still running)

before actually going through TTT and ROTK, I was preparing for very long entries for each day. but after the Tower of Cirith Ungol and the Battle of the Pelennor Fields (March 15th), the next ten days before the Ring is destroyed are so... empty in comparison. and it works amazingly well when you read according to dates. we hear just enough from Aragorn and the Host of the West to let the tension grow and grow. we hear just enough from Frodo and Sam to feel the oppressive atmosphere of these entries. but on the other hand, the entries are short enough to set our imaginations to work and make them fill in the rest. to me it's the perfect balance of the horror you read about and the horror you know is still there even after you close the book. this is what I mean by hidden gems, because it works that well only when you read day-by-day - in the book those fragments are just a few pages long, and you can get through those ten days very fast. but when you read according to dates, the torment is spread over so much time

the previous point is why I loved seeing the pacing in LOTR this way. in LOTR, so much can happen in ten days; and yet so little happened between march 15th and 25th besides fear and suffering

there was one part that gave me a headache because I spent so long trying to figure it out I forgot to eat - March 10th-14th in the Frodo and Sam subplot. it was a huge relief when I opened my atlas of Middle-earth and found its author Karen Wynn Fonstad had the same doubts when she'd been researching for the book that I did (and also that she arrived at the same conclusion).

apart from the March 11th-14th fragments, the most challenging day to edit was March 15th because Everything Happened So Much, and many things - simultaneously. it was a choice between chopping certain fragments into really small bits or sacrificing the impact of certain scenes

the only thing I'm sad about losing in this format is the ending, because Frodo getting ill and leaving Middle-Earth in fall, the same season as when he first set out, brackets the plot of LOTR such a beautiful and heartbreaking way and underlines one last time that "there and back again" is never really just that - you always end up somewhere else than where you started

[aphroditesmoon]

hi can i request one where Boromir meets the reader during Elrond’s council and is doubtful of them when they join the fellowship because he doesn’t think they can handle themselves in a fight but they turn out to be the most skilled fighter out of the whole fellowship and basically falls in love with the reader? <3

when I knew love's perfect ache

boromir son of denethor ii x witch!reader

warnings: weapons

a/n: sorry I took awhile, hope u like this!! I added a bit of my own ideas<33

°°°°

You knew what you were there for. From the moment you saw crows filling the sky in one fast swoop, loud in warning. And the animals had fled from open spaces to seek shelter in the welcoming forests.

When you arrived in Lord Elrond's home, it wasn't unexpected in his eyes, nor was it in the wizard Gandalf's.

"You're late." The elf teases in his own manner with a raised brow. "Im never late, I'm where I'm supposed to be, when I'm supposed to be." You replied.

"If that's what you need to tell yourself to sleep better at night." You roll your eyes at that before following his lead.

Despite his scolding of you, it seemed you were actually early. You saw glimpses of two mortal men, one of them you recognized, Estel. Walking through his home, eyeing everything in the large halls of his beautiful place, you admire the elven architecture.

Your dark coloured dress and the haunted vision it gives to your appearance seems to have no effect to the servants leading you to your room and smiling towards you from corners of the halls.

They have heard of you, though you've always made sure your identity remains discreet, the elven ears and eyes sees and hears many.

Leaving behind the servants lead, you walk towards the ranger and his companion, a knowing smile on your lips. "Age seems to have nothing on you, Aragorn." He doesn't flinch at your voice, as he doesn't flinch at anything. Instead, he speaks your name first before turning his head towards you.

"Of course, I should've expected your presence, apart of the council for the horrors middle earth might be heading towards."

You let a hand move to his shoulder, squeezing it in comfort.

"And who do we have here? Captain of Gondor." You answer your own question as his face flashes in front of your face, and in your own mind.

"I don't believe we've met before." He concluded, frowning in question. "No, I believe we haven't."

You end it there before turning to leave the men to themselves, being the first to arrive to the meeting alongside the prince Legolas Greenleaf.

The elf greets you with a smile and a nod of his head before turning back to scowl at the entrance of a dwarf. You bite back a smile.

Once the required guests have all arrived, Lord Elrond wastes no time getting into the topic. Arguments were made and suggestions given. All you have seen forecasted earlier that day. You give Gandalf a look of consolation as he looks at you knowingly, the dwarf and elf arguing still.

What truly shook both of you out of eachother's silent conversation was when the son of Gondor began to speak. "My people-" You knew what he'd suggest. "-Have been suffering for years while-"

"And they will continue so suffering or even worse if the ring is not destroyed." Your voice thunders through the sudden silence, confident and sure.

Boromir's eyes snaps to you, and you could almost see resentment in them. "And how would you know what would happen?"

"I see...some, parts of the future.", His eyes shone in a glint of curiosity. "No matter what route the dark lord takes, either the ring destroys men by their own hands, or his own will."

He looks away from you immediately, you hear his low whispered name for you, that sounded almost like a curse. "...Witch."

Lord Elrond sighs deeply before speaking again, directed to you. "It would be wise for you to just tell us what you see now. I can tell you're enjoying the time wasting arguments, but time, does not seem to be on our good side these days. "

You nodded your head and searched through your mind for memories you've had for this day. "I do not see much recently. The eye, has shown me multiple ways it can take what it wants. But I am sure, that the burden of the ring will lie nowhere else but to the halfling, Frodo Baggins."

Nods and glances of understanding are shared upon the circle, it seems they've predicated as much, and this was all the confirmation they needed.

"And he will not continue this journey alone, I assume?" Gandalf pushes.

You smile warmly at him. "No, sons of Gondor and the prince of Mirkwood alongside Gimli son of Gloin, will join him, for his own safety for the journey." Sam Gamgee bursts out if the bushes as if summoned, apparently upset he was not mentioned.

Elrond sighs loudly. "What part of secret meeting did no one understood."

He gives you a look of question and you look towards Sam with understanding. "Wherever he goes, you must go with him." Sam agrees with a fervent nod, serious was his express

What you didn't expect was their two friends appearing from invisible spot, desperately wanting to follow. Elrond, with his patience thinning, concluded the meeting. "It will be called the fellowship of the ring, companions of 9." His own eyes search yours for approval, as if you should be disagreeing.

"10." You corrected, watching as he relaxes.

"A witch, as helpful as she could be, would only be so burdensome in such a dangerous journey." Boromir, son of denethor the second, spoke out immediately.

You flinch at such a public insult, brows frowning together. "She is as useful as any of you men, I can assure you son of Gondor, my words, surely would be enough?" Gandalf interjects before you could argue.

He eyes you suspiciously, but less threatening than before, and relented to the grey wizard.

You were the first to be ready for the journey, Packing some well needed knives and a spare sword alongside some fruits. Your head turn to look behind you when you hear footsteps.

Boromir carries a readied bag himself, walking closer to you, he eyes yours. "Hopefully you won't be needing to use that." he jokes, nudging to your sword. You smile at him before tying it and lifting it up over your shoulders. "We all do what we have to when necessary.

His eyes slowly rises up to meet yours with an unreadable gaze. "Yes, we do."

Visions be damned, for you see nothing of this man's future. and if you'd have to to take a bet, he was talking to himself more than he was to you. The image of the ring clouding his better judgement, you're sure.

The journey began that afternoon, the first day going smoothly as you expected. You notice how the walking was starting to take effect on the hobbits, tiring faster than the taller folks.

"We should take rest. The heat is taking a toll on everyone." You spoke to Aragorn as you walk past him.

You knew he'd prefer all to continue, but gives in instead, and announces a short break to restore some well needed energy.

Sitting on the edge of cliff, you find shelter under a large lonesome tree, watching as the hobbits attempt in fighting lessons with the captain. Absolutely failing too.

"It'd be easier for a beginner to practice with a blade, or anything smaller, nothing to do with your size I assure you." You called out as you start to stand up to walk towards them.

Pippin raise a brow at you, folding his arms together. "I don't know miss, it sort of sounded like we're being pigeonholed here." Merry agrees giving you a matter-of-factly look. "He's right, were stronger than we look like."

You laughed and didn't disagree. "She's right. Though, don't think I'd have a blade to spare." Boromir says.

You immediately pull out your own and passed it to him. He gives you a suspicious look. "And just how many weapons do you carry"

"Enough, hopefully. In case of unwanted trouble." You answered. "That is if you can you use any of them." He lets the words come out easily, unaware of how insulting it sounded.

Your hand, as if on impulse, unarms both his sword and blade barehanded, while the other takes advantage of his suprised state to pull him by his arm to you before twirling him around and twisting it to his back. You slammed him then, by your knee, letting him go as he jolts forward, the sound of Merry and Pippin's laughter fills the space.

"And what would you know of things I can and cannot know to use?" You question sternly, clearly offended. Boromir, collecting his stability and shame, turns apologetic.

"That is not what I meant-"

"No, what you meant is that you can't imagine how a woman of my physique and rank would even know how to wield a sword. And I don't appreciate judgements of my character being made, Captain." Chided like a child, Boromir turns his head down in a low bow.

"You are right, I apologize, I was ignorant of my words."

When he finally looks up to you, you spare him a second glance only before walking away, Merry and Pippin almost enjoying the dramatic argument. Seeing such a brave and large fighter like Boromir being scolded into an apology was a quite amusing sight for even Aragorn.

The ranger who's heard and seen all, decided that it was time to get moving again, the odds of the journey would most likely be on their side if they kept going and got less on eachother's throats.

"Well, I'd say that's enough re energizing. We shan't wait for Gandalf to appear, hell know where to find us." Aragorn speaks, giving you a look of warning to play nice, before urging everyone to get up and ready.

The journey continued in silence, night dawning upon you and your company, sun replaced by night stars and a cloud hidden moon. The sound of Legolas and Gimli bickering behind you starts to fill the quiet.

Another argument on Dwarf history being better than elves.

Ginlis yelling was cut off by Legolas with his questions. "And you say this as someone who's visited these caves, I assume?"

The dwarf turns silent. "I didn't say-". "Aha! So you speak of nothing more than stories." Legolas challenged before the two starts to talk over eachother again.

"Perhaps you should visit the caves together, once this journey is over, how else then can you prove yourself right?" You interrupt, tilting your head back towards them with a grin.

Gimli rolls his eyes and scoffs while Legolas actually seems to consider it. "I wouldn't go anywhere with an elf." Gimli answers.

"Well you're here with me now, aren't you?" Legolas taunts. And again, the argument starts.

The weary spirits of your companies slowly lifts after that, the tiredness didn't seem much as burdensome.

And whilst you smile at your friends debates and terrible hobbit jokes, you failed to notice the on man who's smiling as well while his eyes remains on you the whole night.

[tarabyte3]

I loved learning this lore about your AO3 username!! And also, I'ma share with you this most beloved YouTube video that I tormented friends & family with for-

*reads the year the video was posted to YouTube and has an existential crisis*

...17 years apparently!

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=RbstkXowlAc

I successfully tainted the song (and the associated film) for everyone, they all think of aralas when they hear it 😈

Oh BLESS YOU for this 🙏😂 nothing hits like early internet fan music video edits. Truly a magical time. And now I will think of Aralas everytime I hear it, too (bonus: Mr. Tara was nearby and confused so I showed it to him and now so will he 😈 your influence grows)

When we were planning our wedding, we did a LotR theme and I wanted Aragorn and Legolas figures as our cake toppers, but he didn't want to have to explain it to his super Catholic family members (which is fair I guess) so we settled on Aragorn and Arwen instead. But I kept Legolas nearby anyway, just as Legolas stayed in Ithilien 😌

[headspaceconversations]

>Random person in the back of our head (with NO context): me when the disorder starts disordering

>Me: sorry?

>Them: the disorder. It's disordering.

>Me: ..... Are you okay?

>Them: *[makes a random noise and leaves before I can figure out who they are]*

>Me: ?????

Aragorn fictive from @arboreal-collective

hehe, last one :3

Sometimes I truly think this is just a universal truth of systemhood. Someone will just say something that is just Utter Nonsense without context and then wander off leaving everyone else confused as to Who Said That. Half the time it’s someone you thought straight-up doesn’t use words for anything ever; the other half, it turns out to be the guy everyone thinks has no appreciation for nonsense. 11/10 batshit experience.

[tiny-tini-imagines]

Hey, I saw your post and just realised you're new here🖤.

I saw that you take requests so I was wondering if you would mind to write some headcanons about the fellowship members and how they would react to a female fighter from our world. (Maybe refuses to wear dresses and is very emancipated) Hope that's understandable & thank you 🖤

Re.: Thank you for your request! Never thought I'd actually get an answer xD. I tried my best and hopefully its what U wanted.

Headcanon Request - Lord of the Rings

incl.: independent female fighter, fellowship

(added: character art, what they would say to them, or about them)

Aragorn:

Respectful: Aragorn recognizes her capabilities and respects her as a fighter, acknowledging her contributions.

Gravitas: He conveys his seriousness through his tone and demeanor, showing her that he considers her an important member of the group.

Empowerment: Aragorn empowers her by entrusting her with important tasks and responsibilities, boosting her confidence.

Guidance: He provides guidance by sharing his extensive knowledge of the world and offering advice on surviving in challenging situations. He's secretly protective (just as he'd be with Arwen)

Comradeship: Aragorn actively involves her in decision-making and treats her as an equal, fostering a sense of unity and camaraderie.

"Your strength and determination are truly remarkable, my friend. In this fellowship, we stand together as equals, comrades bound by a common purpose, and I hold your skills and character in the highest respect."

Legolas:

Curiosity: Legolas' curiosity leads him to engage her in conversations about her world, learning from her experiences and perspectives. (based on reciprocity)

Admiration: He frequently compliments her combat skills and courage, demonstrating his deep respect for her abilities, especially since she's a human

Grace: Legolas appreciates her fluid movements and agility in battle, often complimenting her grace under pressure. (however he always keeps an eye on her, although he knows it's not neccesary

Friendship: Through small gestures like sharing stories (and defending her in battle - if ever needed), he builds a strong and trusting friendship, sometimes showing her how she can do better

Teamwork: Legolas actively collaborates with her during fights, highlighting her importance in their team dynamics.

(same "who can kill more?" competition as with Gimli)

"Your grace in battle is as awe-inspiring as the dance of the leaves in the forest, my friend."

Gimli:

Skepticism: Gimli's skepticism is rooted in his initial doubts about whether she can keep up with the group, which he gradually overcomes. (get's actually impressed by her)

Curiosity: His curiosity about her world leads to lengthy discussions, and they bond over shared interests and differences. (He'd often talk about his folk, and would rave about dwarves)

Loyalty: As she proves herself, Gimli becomes fiercely loyal, actively supporting her decisions. If a man ever appears who doubts her or doesn't take her seriously, he is immediately at her side

Surprising Friendship: Over time, his skepticism turns into a deep and surprising friendship, marked by trust and camaraderie.

Mutual Respect: They both earn each other's respect through their actions, setting aside prejudices and working together effectively.

"Aye, lass, ye've a fire in yer heart that matches the forges of Erebor. I doubted at first, but now I see - ye're a true warrior, fierce and capable, and I'm honored to fight beside ye."

Gandalf:

Wise Mentor: Gandalf recognizes her potential and takes her under his wing, teaching her about the world they traverse and imparting his wisdom.

Guidance: He guides her in decision-making, fostering her growth and helping her adapt to the challenges they face. (However he keeps an watchful eye on her, unsure about her intentions)

Empowerment: Gandalf instills confidence in her abilities, believing that she can contribute significantly to their quest. (Thinking that she might have another point of view/ sees things and details that the others don't notice or think are seemingly unimportant)

Trust: He trusts her judgment, showing it by relying on her insights and respecting her choices.

Strategic Ally: Together, they strategize and plan, viewing each other as indispensable allies in the pursuit of their goals.

"In you, my dear, I see a spark of inner fire, a potential yet untapped. Embrace your strength and let it blaze like a beacon in our dark journey, for you have the power to change the course of this quest."

Boromir:

Initial Skepticism: Boromir is initially skeptical of her abilities and her commitment to their quest, as he worries about her impact on the Fellowship's safety. (Believing they'd have to protect her)

Gradual Trust: Over time, her actions and determination gradually earn Boromir's trust and respect, and he slowly starts to see her as a valuable member of the group.

Protectiveness: Boromir develops a protective attitude towards her, ensuring her safety during dangerous situations (offering to train with her to improve her combat skills, however shes the one to beat him in a battle)

Mutual Respect: As they share the trials of their journey, Boromir and her come to respect each other's strengths, skills, and dedication to their common cause. He'd open up to her (when alone) and talk about Gondor and his fears

"Your strength is undeniable, but in this perilous journey, remember to heed wisdom as well, my friend."

Frodo:

Protective: Frodo feels responsible for her safety and wishes he could protect her in dangerous situations, although it is absolutely not neccesary. He might feel guilty to, however she is quick to sense that and makes sure to tell him, that he should not worry about her

Trust: He trusts her unconditionally, evident in his reliance on her during crucial moments and his openness about his concerns and fears. (He only trusts Gandalf and Sam more, however Aragorn might share the same level of trust with her)

Friendship: Their deepening friendship is built on shared experiences, mutual trust, and unwavering support for each other.

Empathy: Frodo's understanding of her struggles (as a woman) fosters a strong sense of empathy, and they confide in each other about their personal challenges. (him as a hobbit/ her as a woman)

Courage: Both exhibit courage in their own ways, inspiring each other to persevere and face adversity head-on.

"Your courage reminds me that even in the darkest of times, the light of friendship and determination can guide us through."

Sam:

Respectful: Sam respects her independence and appreciates her combat skills, addressing her with deference and showing admiration for her capabilities.

Trusting: He trusts her judgment and decisions, often turning to her for guidance in challenging situations.

Friendship: Their friendship flourishes as they share personal stories, trust each other implicitly, and develop a profound bond during their journey. (it's also a bit like a mentor - protégé relationship)

Loyalty: Sam's loyalty to her is unwavering, always putting her safety and well-being above all else. (He'd instantly worry if she would not eat something and insist, even if it was just a bite)

Kindred Spirits: They connect on a deep level, understanding each other's motivations and providing emotional support when needed.

"Ye've got a heart as brave as Frodo's, and I've seen it in action more times than I can count."

Merry:

Curious: Merry's curiosity about her world leads to inquisitive conversations where they exchange stories and knowledge.

Supportive: He is supportive of her choices and actions, often backing her up in debates and ensuring she feels included.

Friendship: Their camaraderie transforms into a genuine friendship marked by laughter

Encouragement: Merry frequently offers words of encouragement and praise, boosting her confidence and morale unknowingly

Wit: Their friendship is sprinkled with witty exchanges and playful banter, creating a lighthearted atmosphere (that she actually treasures)

"Blimey! You've got a spirit as fiery as a dragon's breath, lass! I reckon you'll give even the bravest of us a run for their money on this quest!"

Pippin:

Playfulness: Pippin's playful nature adds a touch of levity to their journey, lightening the mood when things get tough.

Friendship: Their friendship deepens as they share adventures and form lasting memories together. (He'd occasionaly offer her his pipe, but she'd politely decline)

Loyalty: Pippin's loyalty is unwavering, standing by her side through thick and thin. (She's often the one to watch out for him and safe him from dangerous situations)

Admiration: He admires her determination and independence, often expressing admiration for her spirit.

Growth: Their experiences together lead to personal growth, making them more resilient and capable adventurers. Pippin learns a lot from her, might get a bit more serious

"Y'know, I've never met anyone quite like you, lass. Your spirit's as fierce as the fire of the Shire's finest pipeweed! And I reckon that's saying something, coming from a Took like me!"

[agentrouka-blog]

The rulers of Tarth are called "the Evenstar" and "Evenstar" is the famous nickname of Arwen in LOTR. Does this mean that Martin is pointing out Brienne and Jaime as the Arwen and Aragorn of ASOIAF ? Since Brienne will eventually become lady of Tarth after the death of her father Selwyn. But Brienne is also a blonde warrior lady like Eowyn. Should either parallel be seen as meaningful ?

Hi there!

I am not a LOTR expert by any stretch of the imagination, so I wouldn't be able to give you a credible answer on the finer details of that nickname within those books.

(I do, however, doubt that it's meant to imply a parallel between this couple and Jaime and Brienne, mainly because they don't share literally any other parallels with these characters either jointly or separately, that I can think of. Eowyn comes closer, but that doesn't make Jaime any kind of Aragorn.)

An interesting I thing I found after a cursory search is that Arwen got this nickname in reference to the world as they knew it nearing its end. If that's true, then that's rather melancholy, but it would fit with the general theme in ASOIAF of upheaval, endings and renewal, best summed up by Leaf, one of the children of the forest:

The gods gave us long lives but not great numbers, lest we overrun the world as deer will overrun a wood where there are no wolves to hunt them. That was in the dawn of days, when our sun was rising. Now it sinks, and this is our long dwindling. The giants are almost gone as well, they who were our bane and our brothers. The great lions of the western hills have been slain, the unicorns are all but gone, the mammoths down to a few hundred. The direwolves will outlast us all, but their time will come as well. In the world that men have made, there is no room for them, or us." (ADWD, Bran III)

This imagery of the setting sun is matched by the concept of the Evenstar and both of these indicate endings.

Something often overlooked is that Cersei shares this imagery, too.

All hail his lady mother, Cersei of House Lannister, Queen Regent, Light of the West, and Protector of the Realm." (AGOT, Sansa V)

Also in reference to Tywin, her father:

By the time they left Maegor's Holdfast, the sky had turned a deep cobalt blue, though the stars still shone. All but one, Cersei thought. The bright star of the west has fallen, and the nights will be darker now.  (AFFC, Cersei I)

Warden of the West, in the westerlands, the Lannisters in all the glittering golden light are still associated with the finality of the sunset and evening.

The evenstar and the morning star both actually refer to the same thing, though: the planet venus, all depending on its visibility in the night sky. It was also historically referred to as "lucifer", which can be translated as "lightbringer", the name of the sword forged by Azor Ahai, which is a hugely ambivalent tale in the books and resonates with both Dany's dragons and several special swords named in the series. The powerful weapon as a mark of a hero or a knight is a central theme in the series, and GRRM is begging us to look closer at what is truly heroic and what is merely a show of power or conceit.

An interesting twist here is that Brienne's House and island of Tarth is equally ambivalent. Their arms are sun and moon both. And their seat has an interesting predecessor associated with a significant knight.

 The Sapphire Isle, as some call it, is ruled by House Tarth of Evenfall Hall—an old family of Andal descent that boasts of ties to the Durrandons, the Baratheons, and more recently to House Targaryen. Once kings in their own right, the Lords of Tarth still style themselves "the Evenstar," a title that they claim goes back unto the dawn of days. Many of the folk of Tarth, highborn and low alike, claim descent from a legendary hero, Ser Galladon of Morne, who was said to wield a sword called the Just Maid given to him by the Seven themselves. Given the role that the Just Maid plays in Ser Galladon's tale, Maester Hubert, in his Kin of the Stag, has suggested that Galladon of Morne was no rude warrior of the Age of Heroes turned into a knight by singers a thousand years later, but an actual historic figure of more recent times. Hubert also notes that Morne was a royal seat of petty kings on the eastern coast of Tarth until the Storm Kings made them submit, but that its ruins indicate that the site was made by Andals, not First Men. (The World of Ice and Fire - The Stormlands: The Men of the Stormlands)

Evenstar and Evenfall vs. the Morning. Obviously, there's a hidden history there that may be as interesting as the more recent connection of House Tarth to Duncan the Tall, another noted knight. But clearly, we are seeing a tension here between evening and morning. Brienne is the daughter of the Evenstar, but must she be an evenstar herself?

Given Brienne's connections to knighthood, to Galladon whose story she tells in AFFC, it may well be that she herself represents that renewal, a shift from evening to morning. Where the story of Duncan is one of disintegrating ideals, Brienne represents the choice to uphold them. She chooses to take up Duncan's abandoned arms, commissioning to have them painted on her shield:

It was more a picture than a proper coat of arms, and the sight of it took her back through the long years, to the cool dark of her father's armory. She remembered how she'd run her fingertips across the cracked and fading paint, over the green leaves of the tree, and along the path of the falling star. (AFFC, Brienne II)

Which GRRM goes out of his way to associated with finality and endings:

She had made a better job of it than he could ever have hoped for. Even by lantern light, the sunset colors were rich and bright, the tree tall and strong and noble. The falling star was a bright slash of paint across the oaken sky. Yet now that Dunk held it in his hands, it seemed all wrong. The star was falling, what sort of sigil was that? Would he fall just as fast? And sunset heralds night. "I should have stayed with the chalice," he said miserably. "It had wings, at least, to fly away, and Ser Arlan said the cup was full of faith and fellowship and good things to drink. This shield is all painted up like death." "The elm's alive," Pate pointed out. "See how green the leaves are? Summer leaves, for certain.  (The Hedge Knight)

The falling shooting being likened to death is another interesting nod to the comet that lights the sky through much of ACOK. The one that heralded the birth of the dragons. Death.

It is the tree that represents life here. Given this context, Duncan's arms may not be her final arms.

A parallel in terms of imagery, knighthood and even history, may be House Dayne. Much like House Dayne (of Starfall) has an ancient origin and a fancy special sword named Dawn, you could argue that it has fallen from grace, the last "Sword of the Morning" (named so for the star constellation only visible before dawn) having been killed after guarding an imprisoned teenaged girl dying from childbirth. That's not knightly honor. Gerold Dayne is called "Darkstar" and describes himself as "of the night". He does not carry Dawn. Ham-fisted metaphors, no?

This is all my convoluted way of saying that no, I don't think this nickname is meant to tie Brienne and Jaime to Aragorn and Arwen, but rather part of a broader metaphor for disintegration and renewal, especially in association with knighthood, all expressed through Brienne herself.

Brienne, caught between Duncan (evening) and Galladon (morning), represents renewal, life, the way forward.

Jaime lacks this imagery entirely. He's no Aragorn. He's walking into the sunset with the Light of the West.