#tolkien saw himself in faramir

[torchwood-99]

Arwen was a last minute inclusion.

If anything, Aragorn was getting in the way of Eowyn and Faramir.

Imagine that. You're Aragorn. You're Isildur's heir. You inspire loyalty wherever you go. All who know you love you. Your people will follow you into the gates of hell. You're a deadly and valiant soldier, yet your hands also have magical healing powers. You save Middle Earth and become a great and beloved king.

You're own creator still says you're not good enough for Eowyn

[from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras]

Inspired by the last question you answered (or at least the last one I saw; the one about animals in the afterlife) I’m curious what other headcanons you have about spirituality among the Rohirrim in general? What sort of relationship do you imagine the average person in Rohan having with the afterlife or with the Valar? I know this is a broad question and it is intended as such; I mostly would just love to hear more of your thoughts on this topic!

Oh, hey, what a great day for me to get multiple chances to muse about Rohan!!! ❤️🗡️🐎

I always try to start with what I can take from Tolkien’s actual words, and the big takeaways from that (to me) are:

The Rohirrim are aware of at least *some* parts of what we’d recognize from the Silmarillion as the metaphysics of Arda. According to the appendices, they know who Oromë is even though they call him by a different name, and they know he lives in the far west. 

That being said, we never see them talking about or engaging in spiritual or religious practice. Unlike Faramir and his facing west before a meal, in Rohan all of that stuff is either nonexistent or not such a significant part of the culture that we see evidence of it in the story.

The one exception to that is that they’ve got some specific beliefs around an afterlife, as reflected by Théoden’s reference to joining his fathers after his death. That’s a bit different than what we hear from other communities of Men in Middle Earth, where death was either feared or acknowledged as an unknown.

SO, from that, I landed here:

Rohirrim spiritual and metaphysical beliefs are a mix of the Silmarillion-style telling (sometimes modified in unexpected ways as those tales were handed down) and some of their own homegrown ideas and traditions that came to them from their non-Edain ancestors. They acknowledge Eru and the Valar as “the gods,” generally, but all of the details and specifics didn’t necessarily translate. They’re particularly attached to Oromë (Béma) as the god who was most associated with their own ancestors and who bestowed horses on them, and a lot of their culture is modeled on attributes of Béma himself — horsemanship, obviously, but also a primacy on coming to the aid of allies (as Oromë rode against the servants of Morgoth on behalf of the Children), a tendency toward sternness of personality (doing hard things with grim determination), announcing themselves with the blowing of great horns, etc.

They don’t believe the gods are overly involved in the ordinary lives of Men (seeing very little evidence for this), but they do occasionally make appeals to the gods for help in desperate circumstances and phrases like “Béma help us” are just a standard part of the lexicon. They might sometimes leave little offerings to him around when they need particular help, but this is more cultural practice than a religious expectation that a god is going to directly intervene in their lives. There’s no organized religion in any sense — no holy men or common rituals, prayers or practices — and a lot of what they believe is just handed down informally within and between families.

They do believe that Béma’s wife comes to get them when they die (per the Silm, flowers bloom in her wake, and they see the appearance of simbelmynë on their grave barrows as evidence that she has been there), and they go on to an afterlife in the halls of their forebears if they’ve earned the honor. (Anyone who hasn’t doesn’t get condemned or left behind — they get put in service to the gods until they’ve earned their place.) And that hooks back in to part of my answer to the last ask, about it being an afterlife but not a pure paradise. 

I wrote a more detailed version of this early last year, but this is the overall gist of it! And, as always, I’m always super interested to hear others’ takes and opinions. Since this is almost entirely head canon territory, there’s room for so many different interpretations and directions!

[edges-of-night]

hi! I've just discovered your blog and I love it - from the url, profile pic, everything 😍 and most importantly your writing, it's so cute and you're able to write so many characters 🥰 as a fellow fic writer - I'm impressed 💜 can I request how they would first realize they love you, and how they would say it for the first time? No pressure, and thank you so much if you end up doing it. 🥰

- @wordbunch (sadly can't send asks from my Tolkien sideblog, so I'm on anon lol)

Thank you so so much for your kind words!! ♡ I’ve actually had this scenario in my “to do notes” already, so I’m very happy you requested it haha! Sorry again for posting so late, I hope you enjoy the read!

･ﾟ✧ Aragorn.

Aragorn is not someone to make the first step in romance, even if he is the one falling in love first. He’d probably realise it during the ranger job you do together, like looking for herbs or reading traces – where his hand brushed against yours! But Aragorn is very much the person to respond to a love confession of yours, after which he tells you that he reciprocates your feelings in a very romantic manner: “Me too. I am bound to you by honour and affection alike. If you would have me…”

･ﾟ✧ Arwen.

Arwen would fall in love with you after dancing together. It could be on a ball her father’s giving, or just the two of you under the moonlight, where she’d laugh of bliss. You’d notice a slight change in her behaviour afterwards, more smiles, stolen glances – but you could only be sure after she finally told you, “It is because I have fallen for you, melethel. And there is nothing you can do about it!”

･ﾟ✧ Boromir.

Boromir takes a casual approach to love and romantic relationships. This is why his love confession to you would be rather nonchalant, maybe over a lunch you’re preparing together over the fire. “I love you, you know that?” he’d say, all cool – as if he didn’t fall for you when he saw you fearlessly wielding a sword and shield during combat training…

･ﾟ✧ Elrond.

Elrond would fall in love with you so gradually he wouldn’t be able to pinpoint an exact moment of realisation. Maybe it would be over a book you’re reading together, or when he told you about all the ancient stories he witnessed himself – or a grand love story. And then he’d turn to you and say, “Are you aware that this is how I feel about you as well?” He’d be very tender and playful about it, but earnest at the same time. He is very considerate toward you.

･ﾟ✧ Éomer.

Éomer doesn’t fall in love easily. Maybe due to this lack of experience, he has trouble expressing his feelings after that one horseback ride you did through the rain, where he helped you out of your dirty clothes afterward. His love confession would be a tedious process, with lots of phrases like, “Don’t make me say it. I lack the words to tell you…” – before he eventually leans in for a kiss and quietly adds, “Forgive me. I hope this tells you all the same.”

･ﾟ✧ Éowyn.

Éowyn is always brash and joyous around you, so her love confession would take you quite by surprise. She’d pick “an old Rohirrim tradition” to show you, maybe a special exchange of gifts, a traditional dance routine etc. “This is how the people of Rohan express their love,” she’d tell you with a soft smile and hopeful eyes. If asked, she would tell you when she realised she loved you: during sword lessons, of course!

･ﾟ✧ Faramir.

Faramir falls in love with you as soon as he meets you. He’s always been like that, heart racing with as little as a soft look or touch of a hand. For this same reason, and Gondor’s marriage policy, he swallows down any confessions because he has little hope in his own feelings. But after months, maybe years of courting and mutual affection, he’d finally tell you, in some grand romantic spot he chose – on his knees – because he’d connect it to a marriage proposal!

･ﾟ✧ Frodo.

Frodo would realise he loved you on a warm summer morning, as you’re walking barefoot in the grass – and then not tell you. He’d keep his secret to himself (haha), just smile to himself and subtly check the way you’re feeling before confessing to you – probably while holding both your hands, because that’s how sincere he is! “It gives me hope to hear you say that, because I, too, hold you very dear and love you very much!”

･ﾟ✧ Galadriel.

Thanks to her powerful telepathy skills, Galadriel probably knows you love her before you yourself do. She knows all about your feelings – but nothing of her own. I like to imagine her as blissfully oblivious, right up until the moment you confess to her. Then something would click inside her, and with a blank stare ahead, she’d whisper, “I love you, too. I haven’t realised it until now – but I do.”

･ﾟ✧ Gandalf.

Gandalf would realise he loved you after you’ve said or done something incredibly smart, like maybe found the solution to a problem that he was unable to solve. It’d make his heart skip a beat, he even looks away with a blush! And then he’d despair trying to find a “suitable moment for courtship”, as the old ways suggested, full of ceremony – and probably end up telling you his feelings very casually over a cup of tea he invited you to.

･ﾟ✧ Gimli.

Your usually hard-shelled Dwarf gets very flustered when he says the three words to you – followed by some nervous babbling, like, “There! I said it first. And I mean it very earnestly.” The moment he fell for you was probably connected to seeing you in a new light: Working in the mines all day leaves little room for elegance, but after seeing you in your beautiful banquet outfit, Gimli was walking into walls for the next three days!

･ﾟ✧ Haldir.

Haldir has always dreaded falling in love. But when you smiling at him makes his heart skip about three beats, he cannot lie to himself any longer. He can lie to you and everyone else though, needless to say. Not that anyone actually believes his denials… But Haldir would only confess his love in a life-or-death situation, when he thinks he’d never get the chance again. Then, of course, he’d be as elegant and romantic as all Elves are.

･ﾟ✧ Legolas.

If you are near Legolas the moment he realises he loves you – on a scouting trip, for example, or during preparations for a ball in Mirkwood – he’d tell you right away. He’d give you an analysing look, with a smile dancing around his lips, and say something like, “How I love you right now! I love you very much, my dear.” Thanks to his royal training, of course, he’d respectfully draw back until you’ve made your own feelings clear.

･ﾟ✧ Merry.

While he’s usually rather easy-going, Merry would plan out his love confession (meaning: a speech!) step by step, including an outfit plan and meal schedule designed specifically for you. He is the thinking type, and when it comes to this, he tends to overthink. He’d include a line like, “From the moment I first saw you…” when in reality, he probably fell for you when you joined one of his shenanigans without any reservations, proving just how similar you two are at heart.

･ﾟ✧ Pippin.

Pippin strikes me as a very “love at first sight” kind of person. At the same time, he’s really casual and playful about it. He’d only talk about it in return of your confession to him, like, “I never thought about that! I fell in love with you the first time we met!” – and probably shower you in a million compliments in the process!

･ﾟ✧ Sam.

Sam would realise he’s in love with you while thinking of new poetry to write – because all he thinks about is you! Somewhen along the line, he’d lean back in his chair, starting at the dozens of pages he wrote about you – and then have the overwhelming urge to go up and meet you to tell you right away, in his adorably sincere and gentle manner ♡

[anghraine]

i just saw someone say that faramir is infuriating because he's self-aggrandizing in claiming that he won't act in any way that doesn't befit his status, and on one hand - i understand the root of it? he does have a courteous, almost formal style of talking. he does openly claim that he would not take this mysterious power (before he knew about the ring) if it was on the highway. he agrees to denethor's characterization that he wants to appear noble like a king of old.

but on the other hand i'm straining at the bit to defend my baby because - infuriating?? when he lives up to the words he is saying?? when the text shows over and over that he's loved by his people, that he genuinely tries to live by those standards (and seems to succeed) - him not killing even animals unnecessarily, him riding back for his men. even his proclaimed dream to see gondor's tree bloom and peace restored, is supported by him seemingly making that transition from steward to king as smooth as possible?

maybe it's because i instantly liked him so much. it just caught me so off guard because this particular criticism never ever crossed my mind. so funny how people will interpret the same thing differently. to some internet user out there, his words are self-aggrandizing. to me, his words are straightfoward and supported by actions - dreamboat central.

Hi, anon! I'm pretty much with you on this one. I've seen the occasional post like that, and I can understand finding his style grating (though I personally love it) or disliking the general baggage associated with Tolkien's handling of Númenóreanness (there's a considerable degree of classism and racism built in to the presentation of Elves and peredhil/Númenóreans in LOTR in particular, while later texts like "The Mariner's Wife" are relatively more nuanced).

But the idea that Faramir is essentially just performing the appearance of high virtue as a sort of imitation of Númenórean cultural values without actually possessing those values or the virtues of the best of them just seems a profound misinterpretation to me. He has flaws, but he's not a hypocrite and he does not fail to live up to his presentation of himself at any point.

He's exactly what he appears to be, a stern and intelligent young man out of step with the current trends of his culture, who still cares deeply about his people and their allies. He's potentially highly dangerous in the way of Denethor and Aragorn, and like them, his personality is hard and unbending when it comes down to it, but he's also gentler than either—the combination of his willingness to act on the threat he represents if necessary and ethically justifiable, with a deep compassion and sympathy for others (even animals), is distinct and really interesting.

I think there's a very important distinction between Faramir performing virtue and gentleness and putting on the persona of a great Númenórean lord in times of peace, and Faramir presenting himself as he truly is and then suiting actions to words, despite the fundamental antipathy between his temperamental inclinations and the circumstances he's been placed in.

[eye-of-mordor]

Hi! Lovely blog. I was wondering if "Eye of Mordor" is canonical from Tolkien's literature? I seem to not be able to find any reference to it and was wondering if you took it from his lore.

Hello. Yes, it is. Let me cite three examples from the LOTR books. The first one is from the fifth chapter of the third book of The Two Towers:

‘Ah! now you are asking much,’ said Gandalf. ‘The little that I know of his long slow story would make a tale for which we have no time now. Treebeard is Fangorn, the guardian of the forest; he is the oldest of the Ents, the oldest living thing that still walks beneath the Sun upon this Middle-earth. I hope indeed, Legolas, that you may yet meet him. Merry and Pippin have been fortunate: they met him here, even where we sit. For he came here two days ago and bore them away to his dwelling far off by the roots of the mountains. He often comes here, especially when his mind is uneasy, and rumours of the world outside trouble him. I saw him four days ago striding among the trees, and I think he saw me, for he paused; but I did not speak, for I was heavy with thought, and weary after my struggle with the Eye of Mordor; and he did not speak either, nor call my name.’

Then the other two are from Return of the King. The first one is from the tenth chapter of the fifth book, and the second from the first chapter of its sixth book.

But against this Gandalf had spoken urgently, because of the evil that dwelt in the valley, where the minds of living men would turn to madness and horror, and because also of the news that Faramir had brought. For if the Ring-bearer had indeed attempted that way, then above all they should not draw the Eye of Mordor thither.

There he [Sam] halted and sat down. For the moment he could drive himself no further. He felt that if once he went beyond the crown of the pass and took one step veritably down into the land of Mordor, that step would be irrevocable. He could never come back. Without any clear purpose he drew out the Ring and put it on again. Immediately he felt the great burden of its weight, and felt afresh, but now more strong and urgent than ever, the malice of the Eye of Mordor, searching, trying to pierce the shadows that it had made for its own defence, but which now hindered it in its unquiet and doubt.

This is one of the fewest known names of Sauron, of which does not appear on his article on tolkiengateway, only simply as 'The Eye.' One of the great things about some names of his are their ambiguity. Saying 'Eye of Mordor' does not explicitly refer to the entity behind the Eye, which fuels its cloak of secrecy and sinister mystery. As I've hinted in some posts before, I prefer gray areas when it comes to comparing extremes of black and white.

Thanks for the ask.

[hobbitwrangler]

Couldn’t help but notice in your comment response on The Face of Spring that you seem to have some HCs in mind for the unnamed sisters of Théoden. If there’s anything you’d like to share on them, I am (as always) DEEPLY interested in thoughts about the most obscure of the Rohirrim! (No pressure, though, if there isn’t anything you want to say beyond that comment or if you’d rather keep it all for a fic or something going forward! 🙂)

I know I said I would take a while to answer this, but I was on public transport for hours today and this lot took over my brain, so here we go!

First of all, I would like to say that I have been influenced by your headcanons in some regards (highly recommend to fans of Rohan and obscure female Tolkien characters). For example, Théoden’s two eldest sisters have Gondorian names, although only one chooses to continue going by hers her entire life, and some of them also share similar fates.

Secondly, it is very important to me for the sake of torturing myself and the House of Eorl that Thengel and Morwen’s children die in the reverse order that they were born in, i.e. Théodwyn dies first and Gildis outlives all her siblings.

There is a noticeable bias towards Gildis in terms of headcanon material. This can partly be blamed on her living longer but is also just because as an eldest sister I am biassed toward my own kind (see Ivriniel).

Gildis (T.A. 2945 - Fo. A. 4):

Morwen chose this name as a means of honouring her husband’s heritage (since in Gondor the Rohirrim are traditionally seen as being direct descendants of the House of Hador and Gildis was Hador’s wife) while still choosing a name which would not be too out of place in Gondor.

The shortest of the siblings, at slightly smaller than Thengel’s height.

She had the strongest connection to Gondor, due to leaving it at age 8, and left Rohan in her early 20s to return to Minas Tirith. It was very difficult for her, since she had the distinct impression that her sisters resented her for leaving and her parents envied her. Before she left, Théoden and she definitely had a long, oldest siblings chat about the whole thing and he was the one she left on best terms with.

The child that Thengel was closest to and in whom he saw most of himself, which caused a fair bit of strain when she left. She wondered sometimes if her father’s coolness towards her came from the feeling that she was repeating what he did to Fengel.

Had the true ‘girl who is just like her father’ experience and she hated it.

She would become a scholar and an expert in women’s writings from early Gondor, even organising for several collections of old poetry to be properly translated and (re)published. Thanks to her time in Rohan, she also had a higher interest in oral histories than most Gondorian scholars.

She and Théoden continued to write to each other up until Gríma’s influence grew and Théoden sickened.

One of her favourite memories of Théoden was when he came to Gondor to attend the wedding of Caeveneth (one of Denethor’s sisters). The wedding itself was a bad start to a bad marriage but you wouldn’t know that talking to Théoden and Gildis because they spent the entire time catching each other up on gossip and becoming giggling drunk messes (once out of the public view of course).

She loves Gondor and does not regret her decision to leave Rohan, but she does miss her family a lot (nothing like moving to a different country to make you forget how annoying your baby sisters can be).

She’s something of an introvert, so wasn’t close to any relevant characters in Gondor (although I like to think that she and Faramir had a few nice conversations and that she has desperately tried to correct Duinhir’s pop-culture understanding of some historical events).

She's aroace (a concrete sexuality headcanon? from me?? will wonders never cease!?).

Has massive guilt surrounding the deaths of all her siblings, despite knowing logically that she couldn’t have stopped any of them. Elfhelm had a chat with her after the war about everything that went down with Gríma and Théoden and the kids and it was definitely one of those conversations that has both of you leaving it with a splitting headache, sore eyes and the feeling that someone just ripped your chest open with a saw.

She definitely helps Faramir learn Rohirric (although she is a bit rusty, it has to be admitted) and she develops a friendly relationship with Éowyn, although she does struggle at first with how closely she resembles Théodwyn and her mother, it’s vaguely disconcerting to her.

She outlives all her siblings and lives to see the Fourth Age of Middle Earth, dying in her sleep.

Moriel/Hrithwyn (T.A. 2952-3010):

The only one of the siblings to have Morwen’s hair colour, for which she was named. When they moved to Rohan, she pushed for a Rohirric name since, as she pointed out to her parents, she was too young to even remember Gondor when they moved, hence Hrithwyn, which means ‘storm-joy’ or ‘lover of storms’.

If you deduced from the name that she was the type to go for a walk in the rain then you are right and it drove Morwen round the bend. 

She loved riding and horses and just generally doing her own thing, something which she never lost throughout her life.

Drove Morwen to despair through her sheer inability to just sit still and do as she was told. They definitely had a few fights about her being irresponsible, which Hrithwyn always thought very ironic since she considered herself very responsible in view of the fact that she looked after Cyrtenes, her younger sister, who Morwen invested very little time in.

She liked her husband and they got on well, but they just weren’t really interested in each other, so no children came from that marriage, much to her parents’ frustration.

She spent most of her time with horses and actually oversaw the breeding and training of quite a few. Partly because of this and her generally very straight-forward nature, she was quite popular with the people she worked with, making her probably the member of the family most connected with people on the ground. Quite a few of these horses and their descendants were still in use by the Mark’s eminent warriors at the time of the War of the Ring (and quite a few of the black ones - which were Hrithwyn’s favourites - were in the service of Sauron :( )

She was the one who made sure that Éowyn got Théodwyn’s dagger that she has in A Monster in the Shadows and helped to teach her and Éomer how to ride.

She also had a massive sweet tooth and would bring her nieces and nephews sweets. She continued to do this for Théodred way into his adulthood (he did not complain).

Tended to be a bit bluff and was probably the least politically in tune of her sisters. Even Gildis, who was not into politics, would send Théoden info that she thought might be relevant to him about goings-on in Minas Tirith and Cyrtenes’ gossiping tendencies did come in handy now and then. Hrithwyn just struggled to care about things that weren’t horses, bless her.

She died due to taking a fall while out riding.

After her death, Théoden had a tapestry commissioned of her. It showed her astride her favourite massive black horse, on top of a ridge as the clouds came in. This tapestry was one of the decorations which Gríma had removed when he was securing his influence over Théoden, partly because it depicted his sister, partly because she was looking a little too capable and defiant in front of those rainclouds for Gríma’s liking.

Her death was something of a problem, since it marked the end of Théoden having a sibling at his side to act as an advisor and support. This also happened right at the start of Gríma’s tenure and it definitely did not help stop his rise to power.

Cyrtenes (TA 2955-3007):

Her name means ‘elegance’ or ‘beauty’, the latter of which she had from pretty much minute one and the former of which she eventually got as well.

Tended to get ignored within the family. Gildis was the oldest girl, Théoden was the only boy and heir, Hrithwyn tended to get attention because she was constantly riding off somewhere and Théodwyn was the baby of the family, so Cyrtenes kind of slipped through the cracks, which she did resent just the teensiest bit.

Wasn’t necessarily that close to Théodwyn because of this (and the 8 year age gap) but by the time they were adults they got on okay, even if she was at first jealous of her younger sister’s more successful marriage.

Morwen and Thengel were both kind of going through parental fatigue at the time that she was born, plus her being the first one born outside of their preferred home of Gondor, which all definitely contributed to the problem. Ironically, Cyrtenes was the daughter who tried the hardest to conform to Morwen’s idea of what a noble/royal woman should be.

Definitely the sibling most likely to pick a fight. Gildis was too mature, Théoden was too nice, Hrithwyn was not paying attention/not there and Théodwyn was too young most of the time, which left her free to be the difficult one. 

The most conventionally attractive of the sisters. Théodwyn was known for being beautiful, but in a bit of an austere, Númenórean way (I say this as someone who loves people who look that way, by the way), while Cyrtenes was softer and more ‘Rohirric’ looking.

Her own marriage was a bit of a disaster. It went okay for the first few years, but it rapidly became clear that she was putting more into it than he was (and more for the sake of that being ‘the thing that was done’ than because they were actually good together) and that they ultimately weren’t that well suited.

Still, they managed to have a daughter, Idis, who unfortunately suffered from bad health and eventually went to stay with her Aunt Gildis.

As time went on, Cyrtenes did learn the hard way to get on by herself and became a very efficient lady of the house, accidentally coming the closest to being her mother than all of her siblings. 

She’s probably the sister who grows the most over the course of her life. For her teen and young adult years she’s shallow, anxious, fretful and a bit mean, but over the course of her adult life, she gained a calmer, more mature outlook and greater confidence in herself outside of playing a part. Her temper was still something to be watched out for, but she tended to direct it more calculatedly when she was older.

Resented Gildis for getting to essentially be mother to Idis, but by that time she was old enough and mature enough to eventually realise that she wouldn’t want Théodwyn to resent her for helping look after Éowyn and Éomer. Towards the end of her life, she struck up a correspondence with Gildis for the first time since she left and they were able to develop something of a friendly relationship. In one of them she made a joke about the habit ‘among Thengel’s children of passing their children between each other for mothering. Anything to avoid looking after our own offspring.’

Had a few affairs over the years (Elfhelm, I’m looking at you) but they were all pretty lowkey and short-lived since she was quite busy and didn’t want to cause a scene (we can’t all be Ivriniel, after all).

She and Théoden became closer after Théodwyn died, as she helped to look after Éowyn and Éomer, which is nice since they weren’t really that close before.

She died of cancer after a long and indignant struggle, with Hrithwyn, Théoden and Elfhelm in the room with her. She was the only one of his sisters whom Théoden was able to be with when she died.

Thank you so much for this ask, it was so fun to firm up my headcanons about these three and expand on their personalities more. I love the chance to blather about textual ghosts, and this was so enjoyable, so thank you! 💚💚💚

[whiteladyofithilien]

Tolkien Theory Time

I posit that in the Palantir one of the many possible futures Sauron caused Lord Denethor to see was a future that when both his sons had died there was no hope for Gondor. That this was somehow a sign of things he had seen. Losing Boromir was the first crack but so long as Faramir lived there was a glimmer that maybe Gondor would somehow survive and that there was a purpose in continuing to strive against the Dark Tower then when Faramir returns near enough to death to be mistaken for dead the last tiny thread of Denethor's hope and sanity snaps and with his city nearly in ruins he's like 'yep this is definitely the doomed future I saw in the Palantir one there's no purpose in living any longer when all is lost' and decides to turn himself and his son into a human smore party.

[ecthelionofthefountain]

Till Death Reunites Us - Ch3. Ascent

Humour (Mostly); A non-traditional ghost story; Canon-compliant, as long as one ignores ghosts; Fix-It, but I'm not going to change any book-canon for it; More urban legends about the effect of Elvish lineage; And more urban legends about what wizards can do.

Based on Tolkien’s writings, not the film trilogy. Main Characters: Théodred, Boromir Rating: PG

Previous: Chapter 2. Free Rides

Chapter 3. Ascent

Boromir made his way up through the City—not as directly as he had hoped.

He had imagined that, as a ghost, he might be spared the winding roads and endless switchbacks. But no—whoever had designed Minas Tirith, or its earlier form of Minas Anor, had clearly decreed that no one—living or dead—should reach the Citadel without a proper climb.

Some invisible barrier kept him to the path—so here he was, rushing along the Main Street, through shattered gates and past fire-scarred ruins in the lower circles, pressing ever upward toward the heights.

It grieved him to see his people suffer, his City aflame. Yet amid the cries of pain and the wails of sorrow, as word spread—of the Rohirrim’s arrival, of southern reinforcements coming up from the river, and of a banner bearing the White Tree, unseen for a thousand years—he saw their faces, no longer veiled in doubt.

They had hope.

I thank you for that, Aragorn, son of Arathorn.

Fate was a strange thing, he thought as he pressed on. When he had fallen at Parth Galen, he had been full of regret, frustration, and anger—anger at himself for what he had done to Frodo, for the heavy truth of the burden the Halfling had borne in growing silence, and for the heavier truth still: that he had failed his people, his lord father, and his brother.

And yet, even then, he had not given his full trust to Aragorn—the liege lord to whom he was bound, if the heritage he claimed was true. As he urged Aragorn to go to his city, and as the gaze of death settled upon him, a thought rose within him—clear as the silver trumpets that broke the dawn upon the white walls: It was still too soon to tell. The test was not yet over.

But now that he knew Aragorn was none other than Thorongil—now that he had seen, with his own ghost-eyes, how he had commanded the Dead and released them with ancient faith and quiet grace—now that he rode the wind and the ships back to the City he had once loved so dearly, he saw it again, with the same clarity as before—and perhaps greater still: The King they had long awaited had returned.

And yet, alongside wonder, a different kind of doubt began to stir within him.

His grandfather, Lord Ecthelion, had known this man as Thorongil—had trusted him, even above his own son, so far as Boromir had learned. And yet, the man had left, choosing to bide his time. Why? Why had he not revealed then who he truly was? My father would have— 

Then the thought came. Cold, and unbidden.

—Or, would he? 

Unease crept into his heart, growing stronger as he neared the Sixth Circle. And when he stepped out from the gate tunnel, he came face to face with a company he had never expected: Gandalf the Grey—now robed in white, though stained with fire, soot, and battle—and beside him, a small figure clad like a Guard of the Citadel… though only half the height.

“Peregrin Took!” he exclaimed—though he already knew, from Legolas, that the two little ones he had tried to protect with his life had survived, and gone on to wonders of their own. What caught him off guard, however, were their words: “Faramir, in the Houses of Healing.” And—“The late Steward.”

Boromir froze, his heart stuttering—if a ghost could still have a heart.

Just then, the wizard looked his way, and Boromir felt as though he had been pierced by the gaze beneath those thick brows. He braced himself, expecting to be called out. But to his surprise, the wizard said nothing. He merely sighed and walked on, something like pity flickering in his eyes.

Boromir lingered for a breath—or whatever passed for a breath in his state—then turned and made his way swiftly toward the Houses of Healing.

This had never been his favorite place. It was too quiet—bordering on ghostly—and given its purpose, the feeling seemed justified. His mother had spent her final days here, and Boromir had loathed it ever since, for taking her from him.

Now, with war raging below and beyond the walls, the Houses had lost some of their usual stillness and composure. Moving swiftly past the wounded borne in from the field, Boromir shut out the moans and cries that echoed through the halls, focusing only on the path ahead. If what he had heard was true, his brother would be in the chambers at the back.

And soon enough, he saw him.

He had seen him once before—when he rode the Elven boat down the river—his younger brother standing on the bank, eyes full of disbelief and sorrow. He hadn’t spoken to him then, of course—and had even felt, strangely, a kind of gratitude that he could not. For what could he have said? That he had failed? That his pride had led to presumption, and presumption to ruin? That he had taken the burden upon himself—and been crushed beneath its weight? That it had been sad, and bitter, and utterly devastating?

And now his brother lay here—unconscious, stricken with a darkness that Boromir could see spreading through him, down to the very core. It was a shadow steeped in malice, thick with despair, and it held Boromir at bay, forbidding him to draw near. And there was nothing he could do to stop it—not in his present state. Not even if he were still alive.

“Brother,” was all he could say. For the first time since his death, Boromir was seized by something that could only be called fear—raw, choking, and helpless in its grip.

How did it come to this? 

He knelt beside his brother and watched him burn with fever, eyes closed, the Black Shadow creeping over him like a shroud. At his side stood Beregond of the Guards of the Citadel—utterly unaware of Boromir’s presence—his sword still unsheathed, his black-and-silver uniform torn and bloodstained, his face drawn with grief and weariness.

Just then, Ioreth—an old wife who had served in the Houses longer than Boromir could remember—entered, her arms laden with cloth and basin, her voice low but sharp with urgency.

“Valar be thanked you stopped him,” she muttered, not even sparing Beregond a glance. “To think the Lord Steward would bear his own son to the Hallows and light a pyre beneath him—madness, I say. Madness!”

Beregond said nothing—he only bowed his head.

But Boromir had heard enough.

He rose in rage, a storm of fury and sorrow surging within him—only to feel it break, once more, against the same unseen wall. He was utterly powerless—yet utterly restless. In the wrath born of despair, he turned and swept out, making his way toward Rath Dínen. If I linger, perhaps my father lingers too, he thought. He was always so strong-willed. If I could only catch him— 

Yet he did not reach it.

For even then, a new procession was making its way up the road—bearing two more beneath the banner of the Rohirrim and a host of torches, with Gandalf and Pippin at its head. One was shrouded in a great cloth of gold, beyond all healing, and was borne straight to the Citadel; the other was carried swiftly toward the Houses of Healing.

And beside them, silent and spectral, rode a ghost upon a white, ghostly horse.

Boromir and Théodred sat in silence on the steps before the Houses of Healing, Snowmane standing quietly at their side.

The sun stood high in the sky now, but neither of them could feel its warmth. That was part of death, as they had both come to learn: nothing could warm you anymore—save, perhaps, something as old and enduring as hope.

As they sat, Boromir saw Meriadoc Brandybuck being brought up by Gandalf, with Pippin at their side. Now, within the Houses of Healing, lay his brother—and with him, the two small friends he had come to know and hold dear. Beside them rested Éowyn, daughter of Éomund—niece to the fallen King, and cousin to Théodred. And above them still, in the Citadel, within the Hall of the Tower, lay Théoden King of the Mark, honoured in death.

For a long time, neither of them spoke nor stirred.

“My father was not there,” Boromir said at last, his voice hollow and worn. The fury had passed, leaving only emptiness—and a grief too deep for words. “The dome of the House of the Stewards had fallen in flame.”

“Old men have their reasons,” Théodred said, having already learned what had come to pass. He was still pale—if a ghost could grow paler. “Even if, at times, those reasons lie beyond our understanding.” 

“I had never thought of my father as an old man,” Boromir said. “Least of all one who might lose his reason, his composure, or any of the qualities that mark a ruler. Your father’s condition startled me when I came to Edoras last year. At the time, I counted myself fortunate that mine still seemed sound and steadfast—only to learn, in the end, that he was not.”

“My father remembers your visit,” Théodred said. “He would like to meet you again—properly, this time.”

“You found your father’s… presence, then?” Boromir asked, though Théodred’s words had already made it plain.

“Aye,” Théodred confirmed. A faint smile ghosted across his face. “But he would not come to join us. I think he was rather put out that it did not all end in glory, renown, and the like.”

He cast a glance toward the winding path below, where the living moved to and fro. “I do understand him, in a way. It is not a pleasant thing, to believe your tale is ended… only to discover you still have a host of unfinished business. I will find him in the Citadel later. After all, I suspect he cannot move as freely as we do.”

Then, after a pause, he added, “Truth be told, I still do not know how we manage it. Death is full of mysteries—more so, I think, than life itself.”

“At least he learned that your young cousin is alive,” Boromir said.

Théodred gave a faint nod. “Aye.” His voice was quiet at first, touched with something like fondness. “But he was all the more upset that she was hurt—and might have blamed me for it, had he not remembered, just in time, that I was already dead when it happened.” He smiled, then rose to his feet. “Come—let us go see them. Your brother, and my cousin.”

Boromir gave no answer. For a long while, he sat utterly still. Then, in a low voice—barely audible even to a ghost—he said, “I am afraid.”

I am afraid to see him pass. I am afraid to watch him die. My father is already gone—lost to flame and despair—and I fear I will lose my brother too. And more than that… I fear I will not be able to bear it. Not anymore. Not in life, nor in death. 

“And that is why we must see them,” Théodred said firmly. “For I think you would fear more the thought of lingering—knowing you were not there, if their time truly came.”

Then his voice softened, and a small smile touched his lips. “And besides—if it did come to that, would you not wish to be the first to greet them? After all, they too carry the Elvish blood.”

At that, Boromir sprang to his feet and gave Théodred a solid slap across the chest—the kind born of long-tolerated mischief and well-earned payback. Snowmane snorted beside them, as if lending his own dry approval.

Next: Chapter 4. Dead But Unquiet

[rarepairnation]

elrond and elros and earendil [hamilton voice] and faramir! i must know about this!!!!!

oh man a concept that puts my brain cells in a claw machine… (@sweetshire asked about this one too so ria this is 4 u as well<3) i knew i was gonna be building to this scene the whole time from the moment faramir crossed the borders of rivendell and i hope i executed it well. i locked onto eldritch numenoreans as a concept so intensely and it’s just so important to me that not only are they obviously strange but they LOOK weird as fuck. like no that isn’t quite an elf but they’re DEFINITELY not some normal guy. so faramir sees elrond for the first time and he sees elros, preserved through time. and elrond sees faramir and he sees elros in his face and it breaks his fucking heart! :). and also faramir has dreamt of numenor all his life right. and elros was the first king of numenor...who followed the light of gil-estel the north star to find his promised land...and who carries that star...earendil his father.......YOU KNOW??? it makes me feel crazy. like that is a literal real connection that they all have.

the air seems to shimmer about him as he turns, the light radiating from his very skin, star-like even in the bright sunlight. faramir raises his head, prepares to meet the lord with all the reverence he knows. and then he sees his face, and all his breath leaves him in an instant. he knows this face. has known it all his life, as close to his as any kin. its carven gaze stares down from a hundred statues in minas tirith, and chief of them all the face of the steward, as it had been in faramir’s youth, now so distant of a memory. dark-haired, grey-eyed, noble and kind and true. the echo of a choice made thousands of years ago. elros tar-minyatur brought to life. “my lord elrond,” he says, through a mouth dry as the desert. drops to a knee, overcome. ever since he had stepped past the borders of this land he has walked through his most beloved legends, and yet his mind now cannot believe what he sees. here now is the scion of gil-estel, the one son of that star who will endure past the breaking of the world. and faramir is only the most distant of relations but in this moment he is as númenórean as he has ever been. time and space and the changing of the world separate him from the sons of eärendil, yet all this time he has followed in the footsteps of his greatest forebear, seeking starwards.

this is also very like…dont worry professor tolkien i saw that everyone you think is hot looks exactly like your wife. dont worry i ALSO think they’re hot. u can rest now.gif.

“we remember the first king of númenor, in gondor,” says faramir softly. “there are fewer, now, who know the old tales. but elros tar-minyatur will be last to be forgotten, ere the white city fall and the world end.” a gentle smile blooms across the lord elrond’s face. he does not weep, but in the lines of his face lies a sorrow so large and ancient that faramir can hardly conceive of it. “i do you no more honour than you deserve. i did not think to look to the stewards of gondor, to steward my brother’s memory. now i see that i have long been mistaken. the memory of númenor yet lives on in the men of the south.” “my lord,” is all faramir can think to say. he had not thought he would find so many reminders of home, so far from it, in this land where there truly are none like him. or so he had believed. he will never know tar-minyatur and yet something of that lord of legend lives on in him. when he looks far enough into the grey horizon, into times and futures that have not yet come to pass, there is a part of him that looks through those ancient eyes. the first king of númenor lives on in the streets of gondor, in the quiet of the standing silence, in the tales of the West passed first from his father to himself, and then from him to his men, weaving stories late into the night in the glow of the fire. yet of his brother he knows little, and he is nothing like he had imagined. he had expected distant, remote lordship, not untouchable like a statue but untouchable like a star. gil-estel, after all, shines cold and bright each night over ithilien. to be the immortal scion of the north star - it is a burden that could freeze any heart. yet in the scant time they have stood here, around the lord elrond’s feet, flowers have begun to grow.

its also like an Elrond Learning Moment. the blood of numenor is spent situation at the council in the book versus what i, PERSONALLY, know about the blood of numenor being alive and fucking well is always soooo....elrond i Love You but that was a pretty crazy thing to say. and now here he is realizing and acknowledging and reevaluating his biases. yeah this is my i am fixing something about canon moment. i just think elrond and faramir should Understand Each Other.

[airandangels]

Further anent my listening to the LOTR audiobooks:

When Pippin runs to find an Adult* because Denethor has gone barking mad due to his diet of Fox News via palantìr and is trying to set himself and poor Faramir on fire, he finds Gandalf squaring up for what looks like it's going to be an epic rumble with his old foe the Nastiest Nazgùl, the Master of Disaster, the Witch-King of Angmar, who has come in through the broken gate (grondgrondGROND!) riding on his beastly dinosaur bird bat thing, in contrast to Gandalf sitting on his very pretty and intelligent horse Shadowfax (I don't think we know if the Witch-King's beast had a name but I'm going to say it was Prince Snarles)

but the thing is

Gandalf's strategy appears to be to tell him very sternly that he is not allowed to come in

and honestly we saw how well that strategy turned out for him the last time he tried sternly telling an ancient evil being that it couldn't go where it wanted

anyway Gandalf is spared from finding out whether he'd get clobbered and have to regenerate again as the Witch-King is distracted by the sound of the arriving Riders of Rohan and beetles off to deal with them

and in due course Éowyn and Merry, while being not ancient wizards who have tried to mastermind this war, being instead mortals who are terrified, confused and grief-stricken about Théoden, arrive at the efficient strategy of (1) chopping his beast's head off, cutting off his retreat into the sky, (2) stabbing him in the back of the knee, causing him to pitch forward, (3) stabbing him right in the face, wrecking his shit.

Anyway I don't think anyone in the book actually gives Merry and Éowyn nearly enough credit for such a ridiculously difficult and high-value takedown, and I hope whenever the story was told thereafter Merry was Éowyn's biggest hype man, telling everyone (as the only eyewitness) how she laughed in that eldritch bastard's non-existent face.

-----------------------------

*the first Adult he finds is his new friend Beregond, who for reasons known only to himself Andy Serkis has chosen to voice as a Scouser (which you know what, go for it, you have dozens of characters to try to differentiate, you're only one man and regional accents are your friend) so it's a bit like a guest appearance from Ringo Starr, ironic given that Tolkien vocally disliked the Beatles

[bradysbigblog]

You nailed it on the head actually with "Villain or asshole? HE THINKS HIMSELF NEITHER! "

True! Denathor was using a palantir, the seeing stones that Pip touches and sees and talks to Sauron, and he's been fed lies by Sauron to make him make bad decisions.

The palantir basically says "look bud, some no namer came is saying he's king and has called your authority, which has been your family's for hundreds of years, in to question. Your sons, one (your favorite) dies for him, and the other disobeyed you because he thinks you are a fool and unknowing of how it really is. He's polluting them and taking them away! Bad ranger! EVIL RANGER!. You should fight just like you have been! Look! The White City still stands! Osgilliath was but a setback and can be retaken if you just try hard enough! Go send that disobeying son to retake Osgilliath, and he and the whole of Gondor will know that Denathor, Son of Ekthelion, knew more than any man and saved the world."

He was fucking duped. Yeah he might have thought he was being hard, but I do agree he never EVER saw himself as the antagonist.

Not until the very end.

When Faramir lives at the end before Denathor catches fire, It's then that Denathor realizes his mistake. And he's heartbroken. So much so he throws himself from the battlements to his death. He catches eyes with his still living son who he was about to burn alive! And it causes so much pain for him. Look at him and tell me he isn't sorry!

Amazing writing and acting by LOTR and Tolkien.

I don’t think any movie will make me feel the same ethereal sense of otherworldly sorrow and disembodied awe as that scene in Lord of the Rings where the loyal son is sent off into a doomed battle to please his vindictive father while Pippin sings a mourning song of his people

I was like 12 and high off this shit

[user230507021118079]

Light Under the Shadow of Black Wings - Ch. 6 𓆰𓆪

summary: ❝​🇭​​🇴​​🇲​​🇪​ ​🇮​​🇸​ ​🇧​​🇪​​🇭​​🇮​​🇳​​🇩​…​🇹​​🇭​​🇪​ ​🇼​​🇴​​🇷​​🇱​​🇩​ ​🇦​​🇭​​🇪​​🇦​​🇩​…​🇦​​🇳​​🇩​ ​🇹​​🇭​​🇪​​🇷​​🇪​ ​🇦​​🇷​​🇪​ ​🇲​​🇦​​🇳​​🇾​ ​🇵​​🇦​​🇹​​🇭​​🇸​ ​🇹​​🇴​ ​🇹​​🇷​​🇪​​🇦​​🇩​…​🇹​​🇭​​🇷​​🇴​​��​​🇬​​🇭​ ​🇸​​🇭​​🇦​​🇩​​🇴​​🇼​, ​🇹​​🇴​ ​🇹​​🇭​​🇪​ ​🇪​​🇩​​🇬​​🇪​ ​🇴​​🇫​ ​🇳​​🇮​​🇬​​🇭​​🇹​…​🇺​​🇳​​🇹​​🇮​​🇱​ ​🇹​​🇭​​🇪​ ​🇸​​🇹​​🇦​​🇷​​🇸​ ​🇦​​🇷​​🇪​ ​🇦​​🇱​​🇱​ ​🇦​​🇱​​🇮​​🇬​​🇭​​🇹​…​🇲​​🇮​​🇸​​🇹​ ​🇦​​🇳​​🇩​ ​🇸​​🇭​​🇦​​🇩​​🇴​​🇼​, ​🇨​​🇱​​🇴​​🇺​​🇩​ ​🇦​​🇳​​🇩​ ​🇸​​🇭​​🇦​​🇩​​🇪​…​🇦​​🇱​​🇱​ ​🇸​​🇭​​🇦​​🇱​​🇱​ ​🇫​​🇦​​🇩​​🇪​…​🇦​​🇱​​🇱​…​🇸​​🇭​​🇦​​🇱​​🇱​…​🇫​​🇦​​🇩​​🇪​…❝

"You have to stop." she whispered urgently. "You're placing too much of this war onto your own shoulders, when you have hundreds of men behind you willing to help you carry it."

Her words evidently managed to pull his attention back up to her face, his eyes only a little bit wide at her declaration. Underneath his suddenly intense gaze, she felt her throat begin to grow dry.

𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘰, she wanted to say but simply could not find the courage to do so in that moment…

author's note: ​all credits go to jrr tolkien and peter jackson. i only own deora and her story.

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Upon Denethor’s orders, the Rangers of Ithilien spent nearly all of their time on the Western Shores in the wake of the attack on Osgiliath. They were to remain on constant guard, in case the Orcs once more made an attempt to take the city. They spent their days either camped on the literal shoreline, or taking refuge within the abodes of civilians that were kind enough to quarter them for short increments of time. 

One night in particular, Deora had taken charge of the night watch, trading off the hours with Faramir, while the rest of the Rangers got some well-deserved rest back in the safety of the village. 

In the deadest point of the night, she had been in the middle of repeatedly stalking along the edge of the river, completely and utterly lost in her thoughts. 

The past few months or so had been tense beyond belief, and she realized that she hadn’t taken so much as a moment to breathe, let alone think about it all.

But now, she had suddenly found herself with far too much time to do so. 

And many of her thoughts, she discovered, were swirling around the youngest son of the Steward of Gondor, who was sleeping in a tent only a few yards behind her current position. He had clearly not gotten over the words his father had spat at him the day that Boromir had left for Rivendell. And even though he was still trying to be the best Captain he could for his Rangers, his spark had been significantly dulled. And that was something that physically pained Deora to watch happen. 

She wished, more than anything, that he could see himself the way that his Rangers saw him. Or even just the way that she saw him. She thought that she had been doing everything in her power to help him do so, but all of her efforts appeared fruitless.

The slim remainder of her thoughts lingered on the fact that she truly did now bear the symbol of Gondor across her chest. 

She was living out the very dreams that she dreamt of as a child. All of the goals and ambitions that had consumed both her waking and sleeping hours had finally come to pass, and yet…something was wrong. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, and whenever she felt herself moving towards what she thought could be an answer, it quickly darted out of her reach.

Her brows had been furrowed so deeply in concentration, that it took her an entire pass along the shoreline before she noticed the low, muffled sounds of distress that were coming from the tent to her right. 

Someone was crying out in the dark, murkiness of sleep. 

Deora’s head snapped to the right, immediately honing in on Faramir’s tent. There, she could see the light of the small lamp that sat within the canvas shaking slightly, as if being pushed around. 

Without thinking, she had rushed forward, shoving the flaps of tapestry inside. Within the tent itself, she found Faramir thrashing around, rather violently, in his sleep. Her eyes flickered worriedly over towards the lantern. One more tilt to the side and its flame would find the flowing tapestry and set it ablaze. Lunging for it, she managed to snatch it up and into her hands just before it finally lost its balance for good.

In the seconds in which she had moved, Faramir’s eyes had shot open, a strangled gasp tumbling out of his throat. His breathing was heavy and frantic as his eyes began to dart around him. His hands flew up to his hair, pulling at it slightly in an attempt to ground himself back in reality. 

Quickly setting the lantern down safely outside the tent, Deora then reached forward, grabbing onto either side of her Captain’s shoulders. 

“Calm yourself, Faramir.” she whispered urgently. “It was only a dream.”

“Deora-” her name fell out of his mouth in an empty breath of air, his eyes still searching around the tent for a moment before finally coming to rest upon her face. “What happened?”

She shook her head. 

“You were having a nightmare. Nearly knocked the lantern over and lit your tent on fire.” she chastised gently. 

Faramir glanced down in momentary shame, taking in another gulp of air as shaking fingers continued to thread through his locks.

Deora gave him a moment longer to calm himself, dropping her hands from his shoulders, and resting them back on her own lap.

“What is it?” she asked quietly. 

She hadn’t asked as his Lieutenant in that moment, but rather as his childhood friend. It was a voice of hers that had been scarce recently, absorbed rather in constant battle and the duties of a Ranger serving her Captain and Kingdom.    

“What troubles you, Faramir?”

He took another moment to slow his breathing before he finally stilled. His hands fell away from his hair, momentarily dragging down the sides of his face.

“I saw a darkness rolling over all of Middle Earth.” he began to describe in a shaky voice. “Something told me that our doom was coming. And that Isildur’s Bane has something to do with it…” his words trailed off for a moment, finally daring to glance back up at Deora, his eyes beginning to shine with tears. “I fear something has happened to Boromir.”

Deora had done what she could to reassure him that it had only been a nightmare and nothing more, something that must have been a result of all the days he had spent recently without true rest.

“In fact-” she said, shifting back on her legs slightly as if about to stand. “I’ll take your half of the watch. You need to regain your strength.”

As her arm reached back to push aside the tarp and disappear out into the night, a hand had suddenly materialized around the wrist that had momentarily remained inside. 

Quickly glancing back at Faramir in surprise, she found his eyes had yet to leave her face. His mouth was parted slightly, as if about to say something, but ultimately, he had hesitated.

“Faramir?”

She watched her Captain swallow.

“Could I request that you remain here?” he asked quietly. “I think I would…I believe I would sleep better with the knowledge that you are nearby.”

At the sound of his words, her entire visage had softened, and she was nodding her head without hesitation. 

“Alright.”

So, she did just that. She posted herself up right outside her Captain’s tent, keeping a wary eye on the shoreline, while absentmindedly listening to the soft sound of his breathing back behind her. 

Unfortunately, in the end, Faramir’s fears had been proven right. 

One afternoon, as he had been standing watch on the bank of the Western shore, something had floated down the Anduin River. The current had pushed it straight up and onto the rocks by the Captain’s feet, and he had just stood there, staring down at it for several long minutes, trying to decide if it was a figment of his imagination or not. 

Or if he actually was seeing the Horn of Gondor lying at his feet. 

His brother’s horn.

Cleaved in two.

Deora had walked down for the changing of the watch, finding him standing there with the horn in his hands. And as he slowly turned to face her, rivers of tears tracking down his cheeks, her heart dropped into the pits of her stomach. 

And she knew, as did he, that Boromir was gone. 

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The Rangers had brought their dark findings back to Denethor in Minas Tirith. 

It was a solemn scene to say the very least. Most of them had gathered in the training grounds, waiting for their Captain while he met with his father to deliver the news of the evident passing of his eldest son. 

Deora was pacing anxiously just outside the doors to the throne room, unable to monitor what was going on inside the way that she wished to. 

When they did eventually creak open, she had spun on her heels to watch Faramir slip back out into the hallway. His eyes were downcast, looking just as forlorn as he had been consistently for the past couple of days. 

Deora hurried over to her Captain’s side.

“How did it go?” she asked in a whisper.

Faramir shook his head.

“He didn’t say anything. Couldn’t even look at me.”

Deora bit down harshly on the inside of her cheek, reaching out to gently place hand against his forearm. 

“Come.” she commanded as softly as she could. “Your men are waiting for you.”

Begrudgingly, Faramir had allowed her to lead him to where the rest of the Rangers had gathered. The men, who had clearly been whispering amongst themselves, immediately grew silent upon his arrival. Most of them had known Boromir personally, as he had simply been that sort of man. So, they were all dealing with his loss in different, but equally deep ways.

But to lose a brother…a brother that had always defended you and fought beside you throughout everything…that was a loss that none of them could truly comprehend.

Faramir had tried to go about his business to the best of his ability, informing the Rangers that they would restock their defenses along the shores of Osgiliath with their numbers, that they couldn’t dare to leave it totally abandoned, not while this darkness continued to grow. 

But before the young man could continue speaking, Madril had suddenly stepped forward out of the assembled.

“My lord, Faramir-” he interrupted. “Apologies. I do not mean to burden you further. But with Boromir gone, the Captainship of the White Tower now falls to you.”

The field fell totally silent once more, and Deora glanced warily over at the man standing to her left. She knew, better than most, that Faramir had never once wished for this life. The life of a soldier had never suited him, and that was one of the things that she admired the most about her friend. But now, even more responsibilities of war had been placed upon his shoulders, and she could almost see the way that they were physically pulling him down. It appeared as if all of the blood had been drained out of his body. He looked immensely frail and weak, but only for a moment, as he was quick to force back on a facade for the Rangers still standing before him.

After leaving half of the new combination of their forces to defend the city of Osgiliath, the remaining Rangers acted as, for lack of better terminology, a pack of hunters. They traveled to take on the waves of armies that Sauron was continuously calling to himself as they marched through the lands just outside the reaches of their kingdom. 

Faramir, wanting to be as far away from Gondor as possible, was leading said hunting party. And naturally, Deora was right there at his side. 

One night, they had set up camp deep within a far away forest, stationing themselves next to a small lake. The body of water shone in the moonlight as Faramir glowered down into it, as if waiting for some sort of message to appear. At his side, Deora had been continuously skipping rocks out along the surface, working to ensure that it never sat still, not as long as they stood there.

“I am never going to be good enough for him…am I?” Faramir had suddenly whispered, his words nearly blending in completely with the breezy nighttime air.

Deora heaved a sigh, tossing another rock into the water and watching as it immediately sank instead of bouncing across the surface. Despite him having not mentioned the name for the better part of their recent travels, she knew exactly who he was talking about. 

“Do you wish for my honesty?” she asked her Captain.

“Yes.” he replied quickly.

Deora set her shoulders with a purpose.

“No. You won’t be.” she began. “That man’s mind is twisted, and no amount of reason or even magic could ever change that.”

She heard Faramir let out another shaky breath. It clearly had not exactly been the words he was hoping to hear, despite knowing deep down in his own heart that they were true.

Deora watched him carefully for a moment longer. 

“Faramir…” she gently called out.

The Captain slowly turned towards his Lieutenant. 

“It does not matter.” She began to proclaim. “You are on your way to becoming one of the most notable people in Gondor’s history. You are the youngest to ever be named Captain of the Rangers of Ithilien. You have defended your people with poise and bravery. You named a woman Lieutenant despite the entire world telling you that you were crazy and wrong to do so.”

At that, Faramir managed to crack the smallest of smiles.

“You have the respect and devotion of the men that you lead.” she continued boldly. “As you have mine. So please do away with your despair, I beg you.”

Faramir continued to stare forward at his Lieutenant, his best friend, for just a moment longer. His eyes were shining with something that she couldn’t quite make out in the darkness of the night.

His silence seemed to tell her that she had done all that she could. So, after nodding her head politely, she had turned to make her way back towards the camp with the assumption that he needed a moment to be alone. 

“Deora-” Faramir suddenly called out, a cold hand materializing around her arm.

Turning back around, she found a half-smiling face staring back at her. A sight so very rare in those days that she was stunned into a near-complete stillness in its presence. 

“Thank you.” he said earnestly.

After a beat, Deora nodded her head again. 

“Always, Faramir.” she whispered. “Always.”

⊰∙∘⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⊰∙∘

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[headcannonballs]

On Temptation and the Power of the One Ring

So I had planned to write something like this for quite a while but couldn't quite find the words (and the time) to write it out. But a particular comment on a reddit post inspired me, and suddenly I could express what I mean exactly.

This is going to be about how most adaptations just don't get what the One Ring's actual deal is, how temptation works, and the very Christian idea of the Fall of Man. So if you are an avid Peter Jackson defender, or someone who despises Christianity (but if that is the case why are you reading Tolkien?!) please just don't bother leaving rants.

Temptation and the Fall of Man

The reddit comment in question is here, but the main point that struck me is:

People who don’t cheat recognize the danger and remove themselves from the situation. People who cheat don’t. It’s really that simple.

The comment itself had plenty of upvotes, but also multiple replies claiming that they are somehow defending cheaters and that cheaters are just that way and non-cheaters cannot be tempted to cheat. And it just struck me how similar that argument is to some people's view of the One Ring.

I had previously mentioned in another post a point on how most of Samwise Gamgee's most avid fans do not recognize that he was actually very succeptible to the One Ring's pull, having held it only for a short amount of time but already having false delusions of grandeur. Yes, he rejected it, but it was just the first temptation and already he could picture the whole thing in his mind.

To fans they just see him rejecting that one instance, and think: that is it - Sam is impervious to the One Ring, and maybe he would have made an even better ringbearer than Frodo (WTH are they smoking really?).

But that is not how temptation works.

Temptation is a process, like water flowing over stone, taking a very long time but also inevitably eroding the defenses slowly and surely. That is why the duration of having borne the One Ring matters. There are of course people more susceptible to the temptation - people who are open to trying new things, people who are at a vulnerable point and desperate, people who do not know better - but the one thing for certain is the only 'safe method' to protect oneself from temptation is to remove it completely.

In Christianity, we term this 'the Fall of Man'. All humans have the propensity for sin, and in fact do sin at least once but more likely multiple times in their lives. No one (except for Jesus) is perfectly good and is able to remain as such. In fact plenty of the 'restrictions' that so many people outside the religion see as being oppressive is actually not directly ordered in the Bible. Things like abstaining before marriage or restricting violent material or works promoting violence are not in the ten commandments. And not every Christian adheres to it either. So why do we do it?

Because of temptation. Because if you give yourself enough rope, someday you might actually hang yourself with it.

King David fell to adultery not because he is a sinner (we all are). It is because he saw the temptation of Bathsheba, and instead of removing himself from the situation, he allowed it to fester to the point where he kept making one bad decision after another.

That is precisely how temptation, and the One Ring, works. No matter how 'good' you think you are, if you are in its presence long enough, you will fall.

The Faramir Problem and What it Actually Means

So why do I state that the adaptations of LotR don't actually understand temptation or the Power of the One Ring? Well, I don't really want to touch RoP (but their version of Sauron should be obvious enough), so I'll illustrate my point with the Peter Jackson adaptation.

And we come to the Faramir Problem.

There are fans of movie-Faramir who love the movie version because it gave Faramir an arc. Even though I don't believe he needs an arc, I also wish to point to the fact that even in the interviews, Peter and co had explained their reason for changing Faramir and it was not because he needed a character arc. It was instead because, and I think this was the exact quote:

It (Faramir rejecting temptation) stripped the One Ring of all power.

And it is this intepretation that is the root of the problem. The fact is: rejecting the temptation of the One Ring the way Faramir did, does not actually strip the One Ring of any power - instead it acknowledges the One Ring has incredible power, one that is even more dangerous than Faramir trusts his own willpower. And so Faramir does not chose to confront the One Ring - he chooses to avoid it.

Multiple times in the book we see this same situation happening: Frodo almost offers the One Ring to a powerful person, and that person rejects the offer vehemently, and always keeps a distance away from it. Gandalf, Galadriel, even Faramir all wanted the temptation kept away from them, and not the chance to confront the One Ring and reject it. As Gandalf explains:

Do not tempt me! For I do not wish to become like the Dark Lord himself. Yet the way of the Ring to my heart is by pity, pity for weakness and the desire of strength to do good. Do not tempt me! I dare not take it, not even to keep it safe, unused. The wish to wield it would be too great for my strength. I shall have such need of it. Great perils lie before me.

It is not that the One Ring itself is a power that cannot be fought against or even overpowered. If so, Sauron could never have been defeated in the first place. Instead it is that the One Ring offers power that would inevitably tempt people into doing evil. It is the temptation to use it that, if given the chance to fester, cannot be fought against or overpowered. And that is why so many people chose to remove that temptation altogether by never possessing it in the first place.

Even Sauron himself could never believe that anyone can possess the One Ring and not use it. That is the true reason why he panicked so badly once he heard the One Ring was found - Sauron was afraid of his 'rival' becoming too powerful and that he in his diminished state would no longer be able to fight against this new power. And so he decided to strike before his powers were all ready, to catch the new bearer unprepared and take the One Ring back.

So why is this a problem in the Peter Jackson films? It is because they had erroneously attributed the power of the One Ring to some corrupting force that is inside it, and that can be rejected outright if the person has enough willpower in them.

Let us consider the following.

In movie scene that is analogous to my Gandalf quote above, movie-Gandalf instead says:

Don't tempt me Frodo! I dare not take it. Not even to keep it safe. Understand Frodo, I would use this Ring from a desire to do good. But through me, it would wield a power too great and terrible to imagine.

On first sight, it would seem very similar in meaning to make it almost annoying that I'm splitting hairs. But in actuality, they mean different things.

In the book, what Gandalf means is: don't tempt me with the One Ring, because if I have it I will be tempted to use it, and thus become just like Sauron.

Whereas in the movie, it is instead: don't tempt me with the One Ring, because if I use it when tempted, I will be turned into someone just like Sauron.

In the former, Gandalf requests the temptation be removed because he knows he will not be able to withstand temptation. Whereas in the latter, Gandalf requests the temptation be removed because the end result should he be tempted is far too devastating. That is the subtle but important difference: in the book temptation will win and a new Dark Lord will happen, whereas in the movie temptation might win and only if so a new Dark Lord can happen.

Another scene for contrast would be Tom Bombadil playing with the One Ring versus Aragorn rejecting the One Ring. Both scenes are not present in the other medium, but again illustrates how different their One Ring is.

In the book, Tom (an almost divine being) is not tempted be the One Ring at all, instead seeing it as a trinklet with no power. This is the scene that actually strips the One Ring of all power. And the reasoning is simple: Tom has no need for that power (being incredibly powerul himself) and so there is no temptation for him. There is no wavering, not even for a second, and it illustrates that the One Ring is not all-powerful in and of itself - an impossible foe. Instead it is the human condition of falling prey to temptation, and the test for everyone is whether they know to avoid situations where they can be tempted.

In the movie, we have a small scene where Aragorn comes across Frodo in Amon Hen, and Frodo tempts Aragorn with the One Ring, testing if he will turn out to be like Boromir. And after a tense moment, Aragorn rejects the One Ring, claiming he would have gone with Frodo all the way to Mount Doom. And despite the reason they would give for the Faramir change in the Two Towers, this scene actually strips the One Ring of power as well. Because the direct contrast with Boromir before him seems to be saying: look if you are actually good enough, you can reject the One Ring, all the way to Mount Doom. Boromir was just not good enough, unlike Aragorn.

And this part also shows Peter and co.'s biases.

In the book, the reason Tom can be not tempted is because he is essentially 'not of this world' and so not bound by its problems. Everyone else is susceptible to falling to temptation, and the best way is to avoid it altogether (by destroying the One Ring).

Whereas in the movie, the temptation is very strong, but the best and purest and 'goodest' can defeat it. The heroes that the movie makesr wished to push (Aragorn and Samwise) can outright reject the One Ring, when everyone else (including Frodo) falls short. That is why Faramir cannot reject the One Ring - he is lesser than Aragorn.

The films missed the point: the test is not to reject the One Ring. The test is to avoid the One Ring altogether. As Faramir states:

Or I am wise enough to know that there are some perils from which a man must flee.

Plenty of fans fixate on his earlier quote of not taking the One Ring if it lay by a highway, not actually catching the essence of the statement, but this later quote actually illustrates it quite well. Faramir does not only reject the One Ring because he is humble and good and will not use the evil thing. He rejects it because it is a temptation and thus a danger to Minas Tirith, even if it gives great power when used. To even allow this temptation into Gondor would be poison to all its people, and so he refuses to bring it home.

And for the final thing to show how the One Ring is misunderstood in the Peter Jackson films, we have Frodo.

Frodo and the Temptation of Christ (but Failing)

I think the book portrayed Frodo as tremendously heroic, but also as ultimately human. As Tolkien states in his letter:

I do not think that Frodo's was a moral failure. At the last moment the pressure of the Ring would reach its maximum – impossible, I should have said, for any one to resist, certainly after long possession, months of increasing torment, and when starved and exhausted. Frodo had done what he could and spent himself completely (as an instrument of Providence) and had produced a situation in which the object of his quest could be achieved. His humility (with which he began) and his sufferings were justly rewarded by the highest honour; and his exercise of patience and mercy towards Gollum gained him Mercy: his failure was redressed.

Throughout this entire piece I have been repeating that the best way to counter the One Ring is to be away from it. It is not just the best way, it is the only way. So what about the one person who is not allowed to be away from the One Ring?

As Faramir says:

If you took this thing on yourself, unwilling, at others' asking, then you have pity and honour from me.

Honour is easy enough to understand, but pity? Because Faramir, right from the start, knew it was an impossible task, and Frodo would be forever changed by it. That is why he was so keen to avoid seeing the One Ring himself.

In the book, we have Frodo Baggins: a 50 year old man who embarks on a journey to save the world. He is old enough to be in possession of himself, he is clearly in-charge among the hobbits, and even able to converse with the other more noble members of the fellowship with dignity and wisdom.

When he took the One Ring at the Council of Elrond, he may not have understood all its implications, but he knows it is life-changing and it is after much consideration that Frodo took up the burden. And Elrond's quote after demonstrates the enormity of the task:

But it is a heavy burden. So heavy that none could lay it on another. I do not lay it on you. But if you take it freely, I will say that your choice is right; and though all the mighty elf-friends of old, Hador, and Hurin and Túrin, and Beren himself were assembled together, your seat should be among them.

Frodo saw the temptation, and instead of avoiding it like everyone else, he took it upon himself and weathered it all the way right till the end at Mount Doom. Where he failed.

Because at the end of the day, Frodo is just human, and could not do the impossible. No one can. He may have eventually gave into the temptation, but he did his very best, and that gave the world a chance to be saved (by Gollum). That is why so many readers would say Frodo makes an almost Christ-like figure, choosing to be tempted instead of avoiding it because the world needs him to do so.

On the other hand, the Frodo in the movie is just barely out of his teens, and portrayed to be full of youthful wonder and excitement. He is frequently protected by Samwise, and even Merry and Pippin at times, and is treated as a protected youth more than a fellow comrade by the others in the fellowship.

When he took the One Ring in the Council of Elrond, he was essentially forced to step in between the quarrel between the dwarves and the elves. He didn't seem to grasp the actual hopelessness of the task, and Elrond and Gandalf didn't really enlighten him either.

Slowly thoughout the three films, we see the bright and cheery Frodo fading away to the influence of the One Ring, described as almost drug-like. He is not longer really in control of himself, and depends very heavily on Samwise and even Gollum. This culminates in the "go away Sam!" scene where Frodo seems to even lose logical thought and his rationality.

But the one scene I want to highlight is the scene right at the slopes of Mount Doom.

In the book:

With a gasp Frodo cast himself on the ground. Sam sat by him. To his surprise he felt tired but lighter, and his head seemed clear again. His will was set, and only death would break it. He knew that all the hazards and perils were now drawing together to a point: the next day would be a day of doom, the day of final effort or disaster, the last gasp. “Now for it! Come now master” said Sam as he struggled to his feet. He bent over Frodo, rousing him gently. Frodo groaned; but with a great effort of will he staggered up; and then he fell upon his knees again. He raised his eyes with difficulty to the dark slopes of Mount Doom towering above him, and then pitifully and with sobs he began to crawl forward on his hands. Sam looked at him and wept in his heart, but no tears came to his dry and stinging eyes. “I said I’d carry him, if it broke my back,” he muttered, “and I will!” “Come, Mr. Frodo!” he cried. “I can’t carry it for you, but I can carry you and it as well.”

The reason why I quote the whole section of the book in full is that many people when recalling this scene have in their mind the images of the movie: Frodo caught in the throes of a living nightmare and unable to escape much less move forward in his mission. Samwise sees his torment and makes the decision for both of them to carry Frodo forward when he is unable to do so himself, and proceed with the destruction of the One Ring.

But that is not the case in the book at all. Instead Frodo had not given up and even though his body was hurting with every step and temptation haunted his mind, he was still determined to crawl his way to the Crack of Doom to complete his mission. It is the sight of Frodo suffering so much but still so determined that caused Samwise to take action - he cannot do what Frodo can, bearing the One Ring the way Frodo had done. But Samwise had promised to carry Frodo because that is what he can do, and so he did it.

Again we have the difference between book and movie in the in handling of the One Ring. In the book, Frodo is nearing the end of his impossible task, and doomed to give in to temptation. But he struggles every step of the way, proving his moral fibre. He fought the good fight, and even if he lost right at the end, Eru Iluvatar will see it done.

But in the movie, Frodo has given in. He can no longer fight. Instead it is Samwise, the movie producer chosen hero, who has to step in and fight Frodo's battles for him. In the book, even if Samwise wasn't there, Frodo would have crawled every step of the way. Samwise's presence is an aid to help shorten the distance and torment. Whereas in the movie, if Samwise wasn't there, the quest is over. That is such a major difference, but because throughout the whole three films watchers have been conditioned to a different Frodo, we are persuaded to accept this narrative - Frodo isn't the hero, it is Samwise who is the true hero instead.

Conclusion

I actually first came into contact with Tolkien through the movies (unlike Tolkien's bff's work Narnia where I knew of the books first). However watching the films and reading the books gave me an almost surreal experience of feeling like they are at times two completely different stories, despite sharing the same characters, storylines, or even exact quotes.

I pondered really hard on this and the conclusion I came up with is that LotR and all of Tolkien's works are fundamentally Christian (despite not being allegories like the afore mentioned Narnia). Because of Tolkien's deep belief in Catholicism, the Bible themes and Christian way of thinking are all woven into the fabrics of his work. When you share these values, everything makes sense and proceeds rationally from each other. The characters come alive, the society feels real, the history is believable.

Why are word convents so important that Isildur could curse people to be bound to his word even after they died? Isn't it stupid to blow a loud horn to announce partaking in a secret mission? How is it that Eowyn chose to give up fighting and become a healer despite wanting so badly to be in the battle just days earlier?

These are just some questions that secular people, when faced with a Christian answer, will feel baffled by. And in a certain way, I understand Peter and Co. choosing to 'go secular' with their intepretations so that a larger audience will be exposed to Tolkien's works.

Telling people to bind themselves with restrictions and avoid temptations is not what the modern freedom-loving audience wants to hear. Instead what they really want is a hero, seemingly relatable and humble, but also capable of doing things that no human can do (rejecting the One Ring).

They want to be told that: "There's some good in this world, Mr. Frodo, and it's worth fighting for."

And not: "‘Few may do that with honour,’ he answered. ‘But as for you, lady: did you not accept the charge to govern the people until their lord’s return? If you had not been chosen, then some marshal or captain would have been set in the same place, and he could not ride away from his charge, were he weary of it or no.”

[torchwood-99]

While Tolkien debated on having a few endings for Eowyn, such as marrying Aragorn, there was also working plan for Eowyn to die avenging Theoden, and for Aragorn never to marry, but spend the rest of his life mourning her.

Christopher Tolkien revealed in Treason of Isengard that on his draft Aragorn wrote

“Cut out the love-story of Aragorn and Eowyn. Aragorn is too old and lordly and grim. Make Eowyn the twin-sister of Eomund, a stern amazon woman… Probably Eowyn should die to avenge or save Theoden.” (448)

However

But my father added in a hasty scribble the possibility that Aragorn did indeed love Éowyn, and never wedded after her death.

It's interesting you mention flaws, especially in contrast to Boromir and Denethor, because I've got some rambly thoughts on that.

I think Eowyn is quite a similar character to Boromir and Denethor, especially Denethor, which is interesting because of her romance with Faramir. That he fell in love with her, and healed her with his love, after losing his brother and father and being unable to save them, is quite interesting, and allows Faramir a final triumph, won not through martial skill but through virtue.

Eowyn is perhaps one of Tolkien's more obviously flawed heroes. Being a women in such a patriarchal country, she perhaps has no choice to be, if she is to take control of her own life. She has to not only resist the enemy, but the heroes as well.

Some people look at Eowyn and see her character flaw to be her disobedience of Theoden's orders, due to the responsibility he gave her, and the fact she was the last of their bloodlines, however I don't think Eowyn disobeying Theoden's orders is a flaw she needed redeeming for, or indeed a flaw at all.

Practically, there was never an intent for her to be queen, her people were settled in Dunharrow and Erkenbrand had rule, and not only does the narrative never condemn disobedience as a failing in itself, Eowyn's act of disobedience is justified in her eventual victory over the Witch King, which is celebrated in text by those around her. Aragorn says he deeds put her on a par with the queens of old, Faramir says she will never be forgotten for what she did, and the appendices said that she was remembered in Rohan as "Lady of the Shield Arm". By contrast, Sauron's evil stems from a genuine belief that everything would be better if all was controlled and ordered.

However, in Tolkien, despair, the act of embracing despair, acting on despair and rejecting hope, is a failing. Boromir succumbed to the Ring because he was despairing, for the fate of his people, amplified by the Ring, and thought they could only be saved through the Ring.

Denethor fell to despair after years of carrying the burden of defending Gondor, and Middle Earth, from Mordor, losing one son, looking into the Palantir in order to gain insight into Sauron's plans, and seemingly losing Faramir. His despair caused him to give up the fight, refuse to face the enemy, and instead trying to burn himself and Faramir before the enemy came for them.

In contrast, Eowyn also gave into despair, which was noticed by others around her. Merry said he saw nothing in "Dernhelm's" eyes, and Aragorn said that after leaving Dunharrow he feared nothing more than what might befall her. However, instead of giving up the fight like Denethor did, she decided to make a glorious end. Choosing to fight, even when all seemed lost, is a recurrent theme, and Eowyn riding to battle, and then standing in Theoden's defence, even when she knew him to be dying, fits into that theme.

Crucially, even when she wished for nothing more than an honourable death, she still had compassion enough, care enough, to notice Merry's own desire to fight, and honour that wish and carry him into battle, which results in Merry helping her to destroy the Witch King. Eowyn, like Boromir and Denethor, fell into despair, but that despair wasn't enough for her to give up the good fight, or to forget her love of Theoden, or fail to notice the merit of others and wish to do them kindness, and that's what saved her, where Boromir and Denethor died.

I do love that you can see the influence of Tolkien meaning for Eowyn to die throughout her arc. That girl just screams "doomed by the narrative". She's set up for this grand yet tragic death, and wants for nothing else than a grand exit and a glorious end to all things.

But having her live is so much more interesting. And having her live to find happiness especially. She seems like a tragic character. She thinks herself a tragic character. She is overwhelmed by a sense of doom and helplessness. Her narrative is overwhelmed by a sense of doom and helplessness.

But she isn't doomed.

Turns out, decent healthcare, clued in and concerned family members, and a decent support base, go a long towards towards un-dooming her narrative.

[iliaclwrites]

everybody’s talkin’ up a storm (act like they don’t notice)

summary: The one where the boys don’t know that Eddie Munson is dating the pretty assistant librarian that always helps them out. Dustin has a crush on her. Mike thinks it’s fake. Erica just wants to get home to watch Thundercats. 

“Uh, Eddie?” Lucas started, voice small. “Do you have someone over?” 

Eddie blinked. “Uh. Just my girlfriend,” he said flippantly, tossing himself onto the sofa and taking a slow drag of his cigarette. “Keep it down for a while, would ya? She had a long night.” 

There was silence. 

“Your what?”

warnings: none! wholesome fluff here lmao. a lot of d&d references -- curse of strahd is a banger

“You kids okay?” you asked, setting down the collection of Tolkien books they’d recalled from the front desk. “Fresh out of the returns bin, I thought I’d better bring them over here before I reshelved.” 

“Thanks,” Lucas breathed, grabbing the top one from the pile and hauling it open. He’d always liked you. You’d started as assistant librarian two years ago, and had always had a soft spot for them, wheeling them straight to the fantasy section when they’d stumbled in as wide-eyed kids on their first day. 

“Now, what’s all this about?” you asked, leaning over to read Dustin’s notes. “Book report? I didn’t think Fellowship was on the syllabus.” You pressed one manicured nail to the paper. “You’ve spelled Lothlorien wrong, honey.” 

“You’ve read The Lord of the Rings?” Dustin demanded, his hair flouncing as he peered up at you from his book cavern. “Really? What’s your favourite book? Favourite character?” 

You laughed. “The Two Towers, and Faramir,” you said, and chewed on the edge of your thumb. “Pippin is a close second, though. Are you guys just in a book club?” Your eyes lit up as you took a seat next to them, leaning forward conspiratorially. “Can I join?” 

“It’s not a book club,” Mike said, and chewed his mouth a moment, obviously debating admitting something. “We’re doing research for a Dungeons and Dragons campaign.” 

You stared at them. “You’re in Hellfire?” you asked, and then pulled their notes over to you, nodding at the numbers you saw. “Ah. That makes sense then. Yikes. Five charisma, Lucas, really?” 

Lucas yanked his notes back as Dustin’s mouth fell open a little bit more. If that were possible. “You play D&D?” he asked, voice going shrill. 

“Dustin, honey, this is a library,” you said, pressing your index finger to your mouth. 

“I’m sorry,” he said sarcastically, and lowered his voice to a stage whisper. “You play D&D? You know about Hellfire?” 

You snorted, and twisted in the seat, looking very unlike the prim and proper librarian you had been moments ago. The way you were lounging sparked something in Lucas’ brain, something familiar, but he pushed it down. “Do I know about Hellfire,” you muttered, shaking your head. “My brother was the first DM.” 

That caused an absolute uproar. Their pencils flew about the room, papers shoving, and you tried to no avail to calm them down. You could feel the gaze of Mrs. Leibniz, head librarian, burning into the back of your skull. 

“Boys, boys,” you said, waving your hands. “Okay, Jesus Chr– yikes,” you corrected lamely. “One at a time, one at a time.” 

“What did you play?” Mike asked. 

“Do you still play?” That was Lucas.

“Do you want to come to Hellfire?” Dustin, sweetly, hopefully. 

You smiled at them, twirling a pencil as you cast your mind back. “God, back in the day? I think my character in my Hellfire days, before I was a DM, was an Elven rogue,” you said, nodding as it came back to you. “Tinuviel, of the Woodland Realm. She was such a knockoff Eowyn it’s kind of a wonder Tolkien never sued. I do still play, a little, when my brother has the time to do a oneshot. I can’t come to Hellfire, it clashes with my shifts. Satisfied?” 

The boys nodded, and you smiled at them firmly, glancing down at a sheet of paper. There was a beat of silence, and then – 

“Wait, sorry, did you say you DM?” Mike said, twisting in his seat to look at you. 

You shrugged. “We had a rotating DM base back then,” you said, scratching the back of your head. Again, the motion pinged something in Lucas’ skull, but he wasn’t sure what. “Once my brother left, I shared the year with Eddie Munson – you guys must know Eddie, right?” 

They nodded. You leaned forward conspiratorially. 

“I made him cry when he faced down Strahd.” 

“No way,” Lucas said, rocking back in his chair. Your hand shot out, slamming it back onto four feet before he would tumble. “Shit, I mean, dang. Sorry. But you made him cry?” 

You grinned, remembering it fondly. “Yeah,” you said, and Mike saw your librarian persona totally slip away in exchange for a totally feral smile. “He didn’t speak to me for a weak after he died. God. Good times.” 

“You’re crazy,” Dustin said, pointing a pencil at you, “and you’re everything we need.” 

You blinked. “Huh?” 

“It’s simple,” he said, pointing at the paper. “You can help us outwit Eddie. Run circles around him. You’ve almost definitely played Rahasia before. He won’t know what hit him!” 

You wrinkled your nose. “Dustin, honey, doesn’t that defeat the whole purpose of D&D?” you asked, and he shrugged. “You’re better off without me, kids. Just–” You stopped, looking up at them from under your eyelashes. “Does Eddie still do that thing when he DMs, where he, like,” you chewed your bottom lip, “starts singing?” 

“I hate the singing,” Mike groaned, and Lucas nodded in agreement. “He writes all these songs! And then he sings them! Sometimes with guitar!” 

“It’s great for worldbuilding,” Lucas said quickly, “but. It does go on for a bit.” 

You bit back a smile. “Some things never change.” 

Dustin shot you a quick grin. “We’re actually going to Hellfire after school today,” he said, “if you want to come with us? Break out that old Elf rogue.” 

You shook your head. “I’m a Halfling now,” you said, quirking up a smile. “Rindi, of the Shire. Master thief. Besides, it’d clash with my shifts. And then where would I be? You don’t think you guys are my only kids, do you?” 

With that, you stood up, leaning over to whisper, “If you’re playing Rahasia, make sure you’ve got a bone dagger on you,” before moving back to the reshelving trolley. “Good luck, boys! Tell Eddie I say hi!” 

++

“Hey Eddie,” Dustin chirped as he headed into Hellfire. “We bumped into an old friend of yours at lunch.” 

He quirked an eyebrow, munching on a sandwich from his backpack. “Uh-huh?” Eddie said, not really listening to him. “And?” 

Dustin shrugged, and looked at Eddie slyly. “Tinuviel says hi.” 

Eddie blinked, and swung his leg down from where he was sprawled across the chair. “You met my girl!” he crowed, throwing the sandwich down onto the table, sending bits of lettuce careening across the minifigures. “She’s a spitfire, that one.” 

“She’s the assistant librarian,” Mike supplied helpfully, and Eddie shot him a weird look. 

“I know,” he responded, furrowing his brows. “We’re literally on the same campus, like, all the time.” 

Mike flushed. That much was obvious. 

“Anyway, enough chitty-chatty,” Eddie said, and leant over the gameboard. “You last left Rahasia in the dark of the night, exhausted and weary from a skirmish…” 

++

“Hi,” Dustin said to you, meekly. You peered over at him from the books you were checking back in, locked up in a cavernous stack of AP Calculus texts and editions of Hamlet. “This is. This is kind of a weird question. You don’t have to say yes.” 

You shoved some of the books out of the way to look at him, and pressed your glasses up your nose. “Hey, everything okay?” you asked, gesturing for him to take a seat. “Take deep breaths, Dustin.” 

He shook his hair out. “Well,” he said, taking his hat off and holding it in front of him like a Regency era gentleman. “It’s my birthday next Saturday–” 

“Happy birthday,” you said automatically, and he shot you a nervous smile. 

“I was wondering. Well, we were wondering. Mike, Lucas, and me,” he clarified, “if you’d like to come over and play a oneshot campaign with us? I’m DMing for my birthday, and it’s my first time, and I’m kind of nervous. It’d be really cool to have more people in the party.” 

You winced. “Dustin, honey,” you said, and pulled another returned copy of Hamlet toward you. “That’s not really appropriate. I’m a teacher here.” 

He rolled his eyes. “You’re an assistant librarian,” he countered. “Plus, you know what you’re doing! It’ll be fun!” 

You scratched the side of your nose, glancing down and away from him. “Sweetie, I’m sorry. It’s against policy, I can’t just show up. I could get into a lot of trouble.” You shot him a smile, unhappy with how crushed he seemed to be. “Look, look, tell you what,” you said, pressing your thumb to your mouth and chewing at the nail as you scrawled out your shift timings. “If you meet me in the library on the days you don’t have Hellfire, I’ll help you with your oneshot, okay?” 

He brightened. “I get to hang out with you?” 

You blinked stupidly. “Uh. Yeah, I guess,” you offered, and shoved the paper toward him. “I’m kind of rusty, but I’ll see what I can do. How many are in the party?” 

“The usual Hellfire guys,” he said, “so four. Oh, and Lucas’ sister. So five,” Dustin said, and you nodded, wheels in your brain turning as you tried to think of a good campaign for them that’d be finished in time. “You’d really help me with this?” 

You grinned, and nudged his elbow with your pen. “Once in Hellfire, always in Hellfire, kiddo,” you said, and he shoved his bookbag down on the table. “Hey!” 

“You’re free now,” he said, pointing at the sheet, and started pulling reams of paper from his bag. “I was thinking, like, a desert campaign. You know. Caravans and camels, that sort of thing.” 

You bit back a fond smile, and watched as he laid out the bare bones of his first ever Dungeon Master session. 

“There you are,” said a voice, after nearly half an hour of you helping Dustin build the stats of his Lizardfolk NPC, and you grinned at the sight of Eddie Munson standing near the desk. “Dude, we thought you died. You’re gonna miss lunch. Heya, teech,” he added, winking at you. 

You smiled up at him beatifically, and pushed Dustin’s papers back toward him. “Hey, honey,” you said to Eddie, and glanced back at your desk. “You’re gonna do great, Dustin. Don’t worry about it, okay? You’re a natural.” 

“Can I come back?” Dustin said quickly, and Eddie glanced down at him in surprise. “Like. To work on the campaign. With you. Here. Or other places. So it’s perfect. You know.” He smiled again, and you sighed, rubbing your temples. 

“Of course you can, Dustin,” you said, and looked up at Eddie above Dustin’s head. “He wants me to help build out his birthday campaign.” 

Eddie grinned, and clapped his hands on Dustin’s shoulders. “And you’re enlisting my girl Tinuviel?” he asked, and Dustin smiled nervously up at him. “There have never been safer hands, my friend. This will be a campaign to remember.” 

With one hand on Dustin’s head, Eddie wheeled him out of the room, before turning around surreptitiously to blow a kiss at you. You jumped up from the desk slightly to catch it, nuzzling it softly, before biting down viciously at the fake kiss. Eddie gasped in horror, and shielded his eyes, parting his hands slightly to shoot you a wink before he vanished out the door. 

It was a few days of this, of Dustin appearing in the library at lunch with an apple for you in one hand and a binder in the other, as the deadline of his birthday loomed. You helped him take detailed note of his characters – who did what voices, where did people stay, what was a catchphrase you could use to slip into character. He was sweet. You understood why Eddie was so fond of him. 

“You’re gonna do great,” you told Dustin on the Friday, as he was packing his things up. “Seriously. I wasn’t this prepared for my first campaign. Just remember to keep your character sheets–” 

“Right where I can find them,” Dustin agreed, zipping up his backpack. “Thank you. I’m really sorry you can’t come.” 

You shrugged. “Policy is policy,” you said, and ruffled his hair. “Knock ‘em dead, champ.” 

++

“What do you mean we can’t use the room?” Dustin demanded, staring up at the custodian. “I booked it today! I need it!” 

The custodian shrugged, grimacing as he turned back to the door. “Pipe’s faulty in there,” he said, scratching under his chin. “We need to seal the area. Should be fine in the morning.” He paused. “You got stuff in there? We can get it out before it gets too wet.” 

Dustin groaned. “Party’s off,” he said, crossing his arms across his chest. “Unless you want to play an underwater level.” 

Mike sighed. The rest of Hellfire were gathered around the door, looking at it despondently. After a long moment of silence, Eddie turned to them, looking more serious than he ever had before. 

“Okay,” he said. “We can use my trailer–” They chorused a cheer, but he held up a hand. “Best behaviour, okay? We spent all week cleaning that thing up, and I can actually see my reflection in the countertops now, so if any of you fuck my hard work up I’ll rip your tiny little balls off.” He paused, and looked at Erica. “Or, uh. Lady balls.” 

“Freak,” said Erica. 

They piled into Eddie’s van, Dustin calling shotgun, as they careened down the road to Eddie’s trailer park. The windows were open to the trailer, and laundry was hung on the line, Eddie snatching a shirt from it as they walked in. Lucas stared at the pairs of bras dangling from the line. Hold the fucking phone. 

“Yeesh, yeesh, keep it down,” Eddie said, settling the kids down at his trestle table. “God, I never should’ve let you guys drink all that Coke. Sugar is bad for you, you know?” 

“You’re smoking,” Erica said bluntly, and Eddie nodded sagely. 

“That’s because I’m grown,” he told her. “I can do what I like.” 

Inside the trailer, Lucas froze. There was a pair of shoes by the door, heeled, small. He blinked. He knew those shoes from somewhere. “Uh, Eddie?” he started, voice small. “Do you have someone over?” 

Eddie blinked. “Uh. Just my girlfriend,” he said flippantly, tossing himself onto the sofa and taking a slow drag of his cigarette. “Keep it down for a while, would ya? She had a long night.” 

There was silence. 

“Your what?” Mike practically yelled, Dustin and Lucas joining. “Since when have you had a girlfriend? Why have you never brought her to Hellfire? What the hell–” 

“What the hell is going on?” 

Their heads snapped up to see you, standing blearily in Eddie’s doorway and rubbing at one eye with the cuff of Eddie’s shirt, hanging loose over your frame. Dustin screamed. You flinched, before pulling your hand from your face to stare at the group. “Uh.” 

There was a long pause. 

“You’re not wearing pants,” Erica said, helpfully, and you vanished back into the room with a squeak, before reappearing in a pair of shorts. 

“Eddie,” you hissed, and your boyfriend looked at you askance. “Why in the goddamn – cover your ears,” you barked at the kids, “everloving fuck are the kids in the house?” 

“That’s not the important question,” Dustin hissed. “What are you doing in Eddie’s trailer?” 

Eddie froze, his head darting between the two of you like a lost puppy. “Dude,” Eddie said, looking at Dustin in confusion. “She lives here.” 

“She’s your girlfriend?!” Mike demanded, staring at you in shock. You blinked the sleep blearily from your eyes, and head over to the counter, pouring instant coffee into a mug while shooting daggers at Eddie – he was mouthing, sorry sorry sorry. “The assistant librarian?” 

“Uh. Yeah?” Eddie said, his eyes jumping from each of the kids’ expressions. “You guys didn’t know?” 

“No, we did not know!” Dustin snapped, and you swallowed a tentative sip of coffee, coming out from the kitchen to stand by Eddie. “You never mentioned having a girlfriend!” 

“I’m pretty sure I did,” Eddie said, turning around to look at you. You were unimpressed. “I’m literally always saying, I gotta go see my girl, or hey that’s my girl.” 

“Oh,” Lucas said dumbly. “I thought that was about your guitar.” 

You snorted so hard you felt the coffee shoot up your nose. Dustin looked crushed. 

“My gui– You guys seriously think that looking like this, I hadn’t snatched up the prettiest girl in Hawkins High in my time?” Eddie demanded, tugging you by the beltloop of your shorts to come closer to him. “Guys. Come on. I was beating them off with a stick.” 

Your hand settled in Eddie’s hair, sleep still making you hazy. “You asked me out fifteen times, Munson,” you muttered, and he swatted at your scratching fingers. “One time you even wrote me a song.” 

“Shut up,” Eddie hissed. 

“But– we never see you guys together,” Dustin said, voice going slightly shrill at the end. He was alternating between staring at you, and then at Eddie, and then at you, over and over that you thought he’d get motion sickness. 

“I’m a librarian,” you said, not unkindly, coming to perch on the arm of the sofa as Eddie’s hand settling lazily across your thighs. “I can’t exactly come sit at the lunch table, Dustin.” 

“That checks out,” Lucas muttered to Mike, who was still taking in the scene. “Like. Damn. Uh. Congrats, I guess?” 

“Thank you,” Eddie said, sending you a genuinely happy smile before squeezing your thigh. “Sorry for the wakeup, Tinuviel. Hellfire flooded.” 

You hissed sympathetically. “Yikes.” 

“I’m sorry, this is great and all,” Erica said, and put her hands on her hips. “But are we ever gonna play this campaign? Because there’s an episode of Thundercats tonight, and I never miss Thundercats.” 

You bite back a laugh, and disentangle yourself from Eddie. “You guys set up. I’ll –” You glanced back at the kitchen thoughtfully. “Dustin, sweetie, do you like cake?” 

“Um.” Dustin blinked a few times. “Yeah?” 

“Then happy birthday. I’ll bake you one.” You smiled sweetly as you headed into the kitchen portion of the trailer, sipping your coffee thoughtfully as you heard the boys start to interrogate Eddie about the relationship. “Oh, and Dustin?” 

His head snapped up, sheepishly pulling away from where he was furtively whispering with your boyfriend. “Yes?” 

You winked. “Save me a seat. Tinuviel’s coming out of the woodwork.” 

++

(You and Eddie had met in middleschool, with his hair buzzed short and yours long enough to reach the small of your back. There was a copy of the Lord of the Rings that was two weeks overdue, after a lot of begging and pleading with Mrs Leibniz (Miss Franks, back then), she had finally released the culprit’s name to you. 

You shoved Eddie in the playground and demanded he return the book, standing on top of the sandpit in a blaze of righteous fury. 

Eddie asked you to be his girlfriend there and then. 

It took three years, ten campaigns, and one drunken proposal after prom night for you to finally say yes.) 

[anghraine]

I think it's interesting that when Gandalf describes Denethor's ability to "perceive, if he bends his will thither, much of what is passing in the minds of men," he ties it less to his wisdom or general insightfulness (though he possesses both) than to his difference from "other men of this time," his near total Númenóreanness, and as bolded here, the active exercise of his will.

Tolkien also attributes Denethor's resilience against Sauron (by contrast with Saruman) to not only his right to use the Anor-stone, but "great strength of will." He notes that Sauron had no servant with greater mental powers than Saruman or Denethor, and Gandalf remarks that Denethor was "too great" to be subdued to Sauron's will.

Denethor and Gandalf have a strange and unsettling silent confrontation, carried on by their gazes, yet it strikes Pippin as like "a line of smouldering fire" and "as if reading each other's mind." Gandalf afterwards says Pippin was stuck between two "terrible old men," lumping Denethor in with himself. Pippin also sees some kind of kinship between Denethor and Gandalf, as Sam saw between Faramir and Gandalf.

In his letters, Tolkien said that the ancient Númenóreans became barely distinguishable from Elves in appearance and in their powers of mind. In Unfinished Tales, he notes that they loved their horses, and when a Númenórean had a strong bond with a horse, it was said that the horse could be summoned "by thought alone."

In LOTR, Faramir—who has inherited Denethor's Númenóreanness/wizardliness—has a reputation for command over both animals and men. When everyone else is thrown by their horses upon being chased by five Nazgûl, he not only keeps his seat, but mysteriously gets his horse to ride back towards the Nazgûl. And during the retreat across the Pelennor, the soldiers in the city conclude that Faramir must be with the men who are managing to retreat in order, repeating Beregond's remark that he has some undefined command over both men and beasts.

Gandalf suggests that this is a result of Faramir pitting himself against the effects of the Nazgûl in some way, but his abilities (whatever they are) are outmatched. In the event, the effect of Faramir's Aura of Courage commanding abilities remains until he's shot and finally falls to the Black Breath.

Faramir also makes repeated references to perceiving or reading things in Gollum's mind. At one point, he describes Gollum's mind as dark and closed, yet unable to prevent Faramir from detecting that he's holding something back about Cirith Ungol specifically. Noticeably, this only happens when Faramir orders Gollum to look at him (which Gollum does "unwillingly"), and the light drains from his eyes as he meets Faramir's. It seems decidedly reminiscent of the later Gandalf vs Denethor duel-by-eye-contact.

Faramir's exact words about Gollum's secrecy are "That much I perceived clearly in his mind," in reference to his earlier questioning of him. He says that he can "read" previous murders in Gollum and Gollum cries out in pain when he tries to lie to him.

When Faramir gives staves to Frodo and Sam, he says that a "virtue" of finding and returning has been placed on them, with zero explanation of what he means by that. He adds a hope that the virtue will not altogether fail under Sauron's power in Mordor. He describes the people who did the woodwork but not who placed the virtues (it doesn't seem inherent to the wood itself, given his phrasing).

We do know that Dúnedain can potentially embed enchantments into items. The Barrow-daggers carried by Merry and Pippin are specifically enchanted against the Witch-king of Angmar by an unknown Dúnadan of the North, and when Merry stabs the Witch-king, the dagger breaks enough spells for Éowyn's ordinary sword to finish the job.

Meanwhile, Aragorn uses his healing powers to help the city, wishing for the presence of Elrond, because he is their eldest of their kind and more powerful. Aragorn, also, has at least some part of this ability to actively exercise his will and mental powers, perhaps an equal share, though he uses it less often.

In the book, he doesn't physically attack the Mouth of Sauron, but instead holds his gaze (again, eye contact is important!). There's another silent struggle that involves no weaponry or any other contact.

He prevails in some way over the Mouth of Sauron (not a warped creature of Sauron in the book, but a cruel Númenórean who has "learned great sorcery"). The Mouth indignantly says he has diplomatic immunity and can't be attacked like this.

But, I mean, maybe they're all just smart and perceptive, it's really unclear.