#unintelligible Legolas

[coopsgirl]

Gandalf, who can understand everyone perfectly fine, is just keeping to himself smoking his pipe and enjoying the show 😉

Legolas pretty quickly gets in the habit of venting about his travelling companions in Elvish, so long as Gandalf & Aragorn aren’t in earshot they’ll never know right?

Then about a week into their journey like

Legolas: *in Elvish, for approximately the 20th time* ugh fucking hobbits, so annoying

Frodo: *also in Elvish, deadpan* yeah we’re the worst

Legolas:

[roselightfairy]

L/G ficlet: spring/morning after

I was missing Them, so I asked @deheerkonijn for a prompt, and she gave me first day of spring + morning after. Here you are: nothing but fluff here!

...

Birdsong eased Legolas from sleep to wakefulness: weaving into his dreams like the voice of a guide from one state to the other, leading him gently along a wooded path and out towards the eaves of the forest. He could see the sun growing brighter and brighter in the distance, glowing gentle welcome, and he took the last step out from beneath the canopy of trees –

And into his bed. His vision cleared to the sight of a sunbeam slanting its way through the window of his little home, illuminating motes of dust in the air and catching in green-gold reflection off the vines growing along the ceiling. The birds were still singing, their chorus changing softly into one of welcome, of warmth, of light.

Welcome, rather, to the warmth and light.

Spring had come to Ithilien at last.

A smile bloomed in Legolas’s chest, expanding in his throat and in his cheeks until his face ached with the motion. It had grown distant and dull over the last month of winter, the trees bare of leaves and sluggish in song; the elves themselves leaner and more haunted in memory learned over so many years that it would take longer than this to undo them. Winter in Ithilien was milder than in Lasgalen, the woods less haunted by danger and fell things despite its proximity to Mordor, but still the memory of it lived in their bodies: the instinct to huddle together, to hide, to jump at shadows and draw their defenses tight around themselves.

And Legolas’s heart too had felt slow and cold, loneliness creeping over him despite the warmth and care of his companions, aching with an absence that reached beyond the deprivation of the season.

But now –

He stretched his arms overhead and inhaled, long and full, the first deep breaths of spring.

And beside him in the bed, his companion stirred.

Gimli had tucked himself against Legolas’s side, cold still despite the warming of the season, as he always did on his first night of arrival in Ithilien as he adjusted to the light, airy wood of their home here rather than the snug embrace of their chambers in the stone of Aglarond. His hair tickled Legolas’s neck as he moved, and Legolas looked down at where it seemed to have bunched up overnight, fluffing out like the tail of a squirrel – and squirrel-red in the beautiful golden glow of the sun.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Legolas whispered, and the frizzy wisps of hair stirred with his words.

“Mmmrph,” replied Gimli, and burrowed his face tighter into Legolas’s neck like an affectionate cat. “Not yet.”

The affection swelled up in Legolas’s chest until he felt he would burst with the sensation, exploding into his own radiant sunbeam and raying out across the room. He buried his face in Gimli’s hair, instead, tucking a kiss against the back of his head. “But it is spring, my love. Do you not wish to see it?”

“I know,” mumbled Gimli against Legolas’s skin. “I was treated to many songs about it last night.”

Legolas could not restrain a laugh, a breathy thing that skipped from his lips lighter than a bird on the wing. “And perhaps a bit too much wine?” he teased. Gimli had been in fine spirits for the feast last night as they welcomed the oncoming spring – relieved of his own lordly duties and more than willing to settle into the more joyful role of consort for the coming month.

He grumbled something unintelligible against Legolas’s shoulder.

Legolas smiled again. This was the true joy of the oncoming spring – the spring in his heart, the joyful bloom of companionship and welcome and love born of the presence of his husband beside him, tucked so close to him in bed that Legolas could not work out where he ended and Gimli began. The joy of coming together after their separation, the knowledge that the season ahead was open before them, full of sunlight and birdsong and possibility and the scent of green things on the air.

The passing seasons had cause to remind him, sometimes, of the brevity of their time: of the fleeting nature of mortal life, of the deep grief that awaited him in years to come. But they were brighter, too, because of Gimli beside him: something new to discover each season, a new joy of homecoming and reunion and potential blooming between them each morning, each spring, each time waking in a shared bed.

He pressed another kiss against Gimli’s hair, and he felt his heart lift with the song of the birds, carried as if on wings into the day before them.

[silvantransthranduiltrash]

Silvans find Maglor, part 1 (my au)

Legolas didn’t know how he got into this situation. He doesn’t know how he ended up in Imlardis, practically begging Lord Elrond to take his dad back because Maglor would. Not. Stop. Wailing. 

He would like to blame Lasgen for the problem. But then he’d have to blame every single elf that was on her squad when they were doing a routine check up. And then he’d have to blame all the elves who had a hand in healing Maglor, and all those who agreed to keep maglor in Mirkwood. And his father because, elf who gave birth to him or not, Thranduil was a little shit who had no problem putting his kids into the line of fire.

All to say that everyone had a hand in what lead up to the current situation of Legolas trying not to loose his mind over the pure bullshit fate liked to spit at the Silvans.

Akami help him, he was to sober for this.

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

I suppose we should go back a few months in order to explain exactly how we ended up here.

It was a standard routine survey of the coasts of Middle Earth, simply to see if there was anything the silvans needed to keep an eye on in addition to Sauron and his bullshit, and some of the Avari sects that the Silvans didn’t have an alliance with. 

Being a silvan was hard, don’t let the Noldor tell you otherwise.

Lasgen, oldest child of King Thranduil, was leading the party at a steady pace along the beach. The sun was shining, the wind was a nice breeze, it was fucking hot but you wouldn’t be able to tell just by looking at the scene.

And the narrator is sleep deprived so if the narration doesn’t make any sense, she doesn’t care. I assure you.

Where was i? Oh yes. The weather. It was horrible, but Lasgen and her warriors kept on moving. And eventually,

Eventually, they came across a mound of ratty hair, scrappy cloth, and dried up seaweed that stunk more than a skunk with diarhea. Lasgen was debating simply ignoring the offensive smelling mound or practising some civic duty by shoving it into the ocean or burning it when an unintelligible garble rose from the pile. She supposed that it could sound fagually like a song, if you took ten steps back, cocked your head, closed your eyes, a payed attention to only every second note. 

Grimacing, she brought the group to a halt before disembarking from her horse and slowly approaching, trying desperately not to inhale anywhere near the abomination.

She grabbed a stick and poked at the pile. One poke, two poke, three poke. Groan. 

Ok so there was definitely something alive under all the ratty scraps.

She held her breath before quickly reaching forward into the pile and yanking at the solid mass in the center.

An. elf. 

There was an akami forsaken elf. In a pile of such disgusting stench it made horse poop smell nice. 

How was there an elf there? Why was there an elf there? Surely they would have at least managed to keep themselves moderately clean or in contact with one of the elven settlements. They weren’t even that far from the nearest one, surely they would have been able to make it to the harbors if they tried.

Wait.

Wait.

WAIT.

An elf. Near the ocean. Looking like the gods themselves went out of their way to trash him. Making weird gargling noises that could, barely, pass for music.

“Oh my god, why do i always find the weird ones?” Lasgen looked to the sky, begging for an answer she knew would not come. She turned to her squad, who had abandoned her to the stench and stayed a nice distance away. “Please tell me one of you has some nice deep reaching scents on you that will make it bearable until we reach back home. And some clothes? Anything to make this sad bag of bones more bearable.”

[ratsarecute4]

Things the Fellowship has argued about

What name to call Aragorn

What name to call Gandalf

What to call their meals. Boromir thinks, if it is eaten at dinnertime, regardless of whether it is the first meal of the day or not, then it is dinner. Sam thinks it isn't proper to call the first meal of the day dinner. Aragorn suggests they combine the two words but now everyone is fighting over whether it should be called breakfast-dinnner or dinner-breakfast. The fight nearly becomes physical

Whether Legolas or Gimli is winning their daily argument with eachother

If hobbits are regular sized and everyone else is really big, or if everyone else is regular sized and hobbits are small

The same as above except with horses and ponies

If Gimli's beard is real or not. This one started as a joke between Merry and Pippin but then Legolas saw how mad it made Gimli and so continues to bring it up

Inter-hobbit fighting about whether it is called pot-ae-toes, pot-ah-toes, or taters

"Can Legolas really talk to trees, or is he just fucking with us?" Aragorn and Gandalf refuse to weigh in on this

Whether the Ent-draught caused Merry and Pippin to grow or if they just did that on their own. This fight is Pippin vs. Everyone Else

Whether the non-hobbits of the Fellowship would be Tooks, Brandybucks, or Bagginses. This argument is unintelligible to most of them, although Gandalf has the knowledge to be offended when Pippin suggests he would be a Took.

"What would happen if someone ate the ring?"

Fights over whether the elves, the dwarves, or the hobbits tell the story of the reclaiming of Erebor most accurately. Even though Gandalf was there, he just shrugs when anyone asks him

Which variety of pipeweed is the best kind. Merry threatened Gimli to a duel over this one

Who gets next watch

[gossip-girl-of-middleearth]

Elf got your tongue? (Legolas x Reader)

Synopsis: When your tongue gets stuck on a pole in some snowy slopes, and orcs are approaching, the Fellowship has to get a little creative to unstick you.

“What is it?” you curiously asked, staring up at a glistening pole.

Under the morning sun, the snowy slopes sparkled like diamond crust. Yourself and the Fellowship had trekked far since Rivendell, and you now found yourself climbing high in the snow.

What you did not expect, however, was to stumble across a tall, silver pole.

“It is a landmark, Y/n,” Gandalf answered. His tone was edged in both fatigue and annoyance, from his place at the front of the resting group.

“A landmark for what?” Pippin pitched in, walking up to stand beside you.

Your hands were on your hips, as you squinted up at the sky to view the entirety of the pole. You felt your palms grow clammy at the thought of the tall height, as well as the blue eyes a few feet away sneaking a glance at you.

So much for the inconspicuousness of elves, you figured.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you fought hard to play it cool. Although, your feelings soon won you over, and you couldn’t help but steal a glance back. When you did so, however, you caught the eye of Legolas.

He widened his eyes quickly, and cleared his throat as he looked away. You smiled at the reddening of his ears, and resisted the urge to grin giddily with a chewing of your lower lip.

“It signifies our position in the north, Peregrine Took,” Gandalf snapped again.

Pippin clamped his mouth shut, and looked up at you with a mischievous smile. You then both tried hard to not snicker at the grumpy wizard.

“Speaking of which,” Aragorn piped up, with a keen eye trained on the horizon, “it appears our efforts travelling north will not benefit us. Gandalf, would we not be better off observing our path ahead from atop the slope?”

“Perhaps…” Gandalf agreed. He ultimately sighed and began stepping up the steep incline of snow. “The rest of you wait here by the pole, whilst I scope out our path ahead. Nobody do anything foolish! Especially you three—Y/n, Meriadoc and Peregrine.”

In response, the three prematurely accused friends upheld their palms. You all shook your heads and gave promising smiles to the wizard.

He merely only growled something under his breath, before slowly tearing his eyes away and beginning his ascent.

Dropping his hands slowly, Merry leaned across to you. “Bet you won’t lick that pole.”

“Bet,” you confidently replied back.

Only one minute had passed since Gandalf had walked up the slope, and only one minute had passed since you decided to lick the pole. With one long swipe of your tongue, you were alarmed to find your flesh frozen against the pole.

Merry and Pippin thought you to be joking at first, until they caught the panic in your eyes. With Boromir, Gimli, Aragorn, Legolas, Sam and Frodo a few feet away commenting on the path ahead, and pointing out at the slopes, you and the two other hobbits tried to remove your tongue.

However, it was to no avail. You whimpered at the burning sensation in your tongue, and pushed the two boys away as they tried to pull you free. All they did was cause your tongue further pain, for it appeared no such unsticking would occur.

Legolas caught your sounds of hurt, and like a mother drawn to a baby’s cries, he threw his head over his shoulder.

“Oh my…” he attempted to say, before his sentence trailed off with a shocked widening of his eyes.

He knew instantly what kind of trouble the two hobbits had put you in, and would have laughed loudly had Aragorn not spoken up in alarm.

“Nobody panic, or make any drawing movements, but we are being tracked by a group of orcs—below the slope, a league or less behind us.”

“WHAT—” you had gone to say, but mewled instead at the stretching of your tongue.

Catching your oddly muffled voice, the five other boys turned to look over their shoulders.

“Y/n? Oh, for the LOVE OF—” Boromir went to curse, but was cut off by Aragorn instead.

The ranger flew forwards to assist you, and to assess the severity. “We cannot linger by the pole! They’ll be on us in minutes!”

You made another string of unintelligible words, but ceased quickly with a wince at the tearing of your tongue. It was stuck, and stuck good.

“We need to boil water!” Gimli proclaimed, already fetching a pot from Sam’s rucksack.

“There’s no time!” Legolas answered, eyeing off the approaching orcs.

“It’s been an honour knowing you, Y/n,” Merry joked, placing his hand solemnly on your shoulder.

He then made a move to run away towards Gandalf, but was halted by an outstretched arm from Boromir. The captain gave an unimpressed thinning of his lips, but was still looking ahead towards the orcs.

“Maybe we can pee on—” Pippin had gone to offer.

“NO!” you cut off.

“Well, how else can we boil water quickly?” Legolas asked in frustration. “It’s not as though we were born with internal heaters!”

At that, everyone went quiet. Maybe he was onto something…

The elf’s hands were on his hips, as he shook his head at the ground in thought and tapped his foot. However, upon hearing nothing from his friends, he looked up.

All eyes blinked back at him, even yours, as you stared at the prince with your tongue still out and stuck against the pole.

“WE perhaps cannot heat anything very quickly as mortals…” Aragorn alluded. “But elves have different bodily regulations.”

“What are you—oh…” Legolas began to hiss, before he came to the same realization as everyone else.

He looked at a very sheepish you next, and swallowed his nerves. Sighing and holding out his hand, Legolas motioned for Aragorn’s water cannister.

The ranger complied, and handed the lifeline over with an apologetic look thrown your way. Legolas then eyed off the canister with an apprehensive expression, but soon sighed after.

He began unscrewing the lid, before he discovered that all eyes were still on him. He narrowed his gaze and furrowed his brows, and defended himself with, “Well, I can’t do it with you all watching!”

Giving one more glance down at the running orcs, who were gaining speed, everyone but you and Legolas nodded and jogged up the slope to advise Gandalf of the incoming attack.

Left alone in the cold, and shivering for more than one reason, you tried to look everywhere but at the elf taking a long swig of water. Dropping the cannister from his lips, with a glance over his shoulder at the orcs, Legolas swished the water around in his mouth until it was warm.

Walking over nervously, Legolas kept a good few feet between the two of you. He then caught your eye and asked for consent. Sighing and nodding your head, you looked back up at him.

Nodding back, with cheeks full of warm water puffed out, Legolas, spurting like a fountain, blew a stream down to where your tongue was stuck to the pole. However, it wasn’t enough—more a trickle, really.

“That’s not going to be enough!” you tried to say—muffled once again, though.

Making a scared noise of protest, with his cheeks still mostly full, Legolas stepped in closer to you. Hesitating for a moment, Legolas lowered and lifted his head a few times, finding the whole situation very uncomfortable.

However, with the roaring of orcs nearby, he was soon reminded of the hastiness of the situation. Lowering his head to become eye level with you, and holding your fixated gaze, Legolas tentatively leaned his mouth in close to yours.

Only a few centimetres away from your stuck tongue, he began slowly pouring the warm water out from his mouth past pursed lips. Both of your faces flushed at the closeness of it all—something so similar in action to a tender kiss.

Slowly, but surely, the warm water—intertwined with good old-fashioned royal spit—thawed your tongue. Feeling it unstick, you jolted away from the pole. At the same time, Legolas quickly stood upright and swallowed the rest.

Stretching your mouth out and running your tongue all over the inside of your own mouth, fighting against the fact that you could taste him, you quickly found your words again.

“Thank you,” you forced out.

“No worries,” he replied, in just as much of an uncomfortable tone as yours.

A few seconds of awkward silence passed between you two, before the reminder of orcs dawned on you both.

“We should probably—” Legolas began, nodding over his shoulder at the awaiting Fellowship.

“Yeah,” you agreed.

With that, you both nodded at one another, before sprinting up the slope.

[stormxpadme]

for whumptober can we get 15 with aragorn? bonus points if arwen is there

​

​Whumptober 2021

No. 15 - delirium So I was stupid and had like 2 hours of sleep this week and forgot to read that prompt again before starting to write, so Arwen is only mentioned. Sorry for that :(.

T.A. 3003

"You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

  "And you're dehydrated to the bone. Stop talking."

Legolas briefly rested two knuckles on his companion's sweat-covered forehead and cursed silently. The Ranger's body temperature was rising far too quickly, and Legolas had run out of means to do anything about it. Without provisions, his companion wouldn't make it through another day of their ordeal, if the spider poison in his cells didn't kill him before that. Where there were hallucinations, cramps and organ failure weren't far. By the stars, why did mannish bodies have to be so fragile?

  His harsh tone had apparently reached even Estel's heavily clouded mind. For a moment, he stopped his unintelligible mumbling and lay still, only a faint grimace of pain distorting his dry lips as cold shivers wrecked his body. It was getting worse.

  Legolas unclasped his cloak and wrapped it around the man's curled-up silhouette before rising from the muddy ground to peek through the cracks and holes of this hollowed tree that he'd managed to drag his hunting companion into at the last moment before one of them or both could have ended up as dinner for a whole flock of spiders.

  Unfortunately, those still hadn't given up on their prey, as the scurrying movements of thick, hairy legs, dark as a starless night, outside their hiding place let him know. Those bastards were patient and smart; they knew exactly that they outnumbered them and that Legolas had run out of weapons.

  His bow had fallen victim to the supernaturally strong jaw of the herd's leader when Legolas had had to give up his cover to pull Estel out of the line of fire, after his friend had got himself a new piercing right through his lower abdomen, in the shape of a spider stinger the girth of an arm. And while Estel's bow was still somewhat intact, they wouldn't make it far on the two arrows they had left. It was amazing how much could go wrong in one single attack maneuver. "How come you and I always end up in situations like this?"

  He hadn't even been really aware that he was talking loud but apparently, not all of Estel's senses were completely dulled by poison and sickness. "No idea," he slurred. "But when we get home, would you consider marrying me?"

  In spite of the dangerous situation, Legolas had to bite back a grin. "Estel ... I'm not Arwen. And even if I was: You two got betrothed more than 20 years ago."

  "Oh." Estel frowned in confusion, then the dreamy smile returned. "I'm a very lucky man then."

  Right now, Legolas would argue against that, but he was too glad that Elrond's foster son didn't seem to be in too much pain for the moment to remind him of his lousy condition. And well, when it came to Arwen, he wasn't wrong. As many doubts as Legolas had had in the beginning: The two of them were indeed made for each other. And the fact that his best friend among elves happened to be Estel's mate was a damn good motivation to get the two of them out of here alive somehow. If Legolas only managed to bring back the man's body damaged beyond repair or dead, Arwen would cut his heart out with a spoon before Lord Elrond had a chance to. But they were running out of time, he realized, his heart sinking, when he took a brief look under the makeshift bandage he had wrapped around Estel's waist after dragging him in here.

  The margins of the wounds were discolored almost black, angry red and dark blue stripes covering the man's skin all the way up to his fuzz-covered chest. If those poisonings reached his heart, there was little that even a healer could still have done.

  And Legolas was about the furthest from such a profession, in fact having learned most of the basic skills in treatment and herbology from his mannish friend right here in the last few years. "I really hope you are as stubborn as they say, Ranger." He rubbed his eyes tiredly, deliberately ignoring the sensation of a well-known burning in them that came neither from sweat nor from the tears of growing despair sitting far too close to the surface in the last hour or so. That was the last thing he could pay attention to right now. If he couldn't think of any solution soon, it wouldn’t make much of a difference if his eyes might fail him again in the process. Then this deep friendship with this courageous, intelligent, incredibly empathic man whom he was proud to call his companion, would be parted by their different fates before it had really began, ever until the world broke. Legolas was not ready to say good-bye to another person in his life so soon. "Estel." Ignoring the sour, unpleasant scent of too many days of no care and no provisions coming from both at them at this point, he bent down lower to take Estel's reddened face between his hands, humming a few words of one of the few songs of healing of the mind that he knew and could do, to try and clear those feverish thoughts of his patient at least long enough to make sure, the man would understand him. "I need to leave you alone. They'll never find us here in time. I'll try to outrun the spiders. Our marchwarden's nearest base isn't far, I can make that."

  Estel's eyes went wide. He arched up but fell back on the bed of moss that Legolas had built for him with a pained scream. "No, no, you can't …"

  "We have no choice." Legolas gently freed himself from a suddenly surprisingly strong grip around his wrist. "Stay low. They can't get to you." He shook off the effects of his own lack of sustenance and water and took a deep breath to focus before slowly edging closer to the hole they'd used to crawl in here, only to be stopped once more, this time by a far too-softly strung bowstring grazing his wrist. "We talked about this." He tried in vain to give the weapon back to his friend who would need it much more if the spiders should find a way to rip the frail bark of this oak after all. If he even remembered how to nock at that time. Not that a last shot or two would help then. But at least it was a chance. "I can't fight them armed so low. I need to be faster than them."

  "Not outside." Estel shook his head with as much determination as he could breathe through the fire burning in his veins. His words failed him, lost in another feeble groan, so he just nodded upwards towards the treetop.

  Legolas still had no clue what his friend meant at first, seeing as their hideout stood lonely in an otherwise barren field and he therefore had no escape route in the air. That would have cut this whole crisis a lot shorter indeed.

  But then Estel managed to get a small flask from his belt, in spite of his badly trembling hand. They'd both got one of these from Legolas' father before leaving the palace, only Legolas had emptied his morning booze on the way to this nest already. He should be thankful, his mannish friend was a lot less into liquid breakfast.

  Where had he been with his thoughts the whole time? "Great. You couldn't have come up with that idea two days ago?"

  Estel, albeit already on his way back into delirious- and unconsciousness, was still lucid enough to grunt an insult in his own language at him. At least some things never changed, not even closed in surrounded by spiders and on the brink of death.

  Legolas grabbed two rocks for the much-needed spark, their last arrows and that simply-built but quite effective bow and started to climb. One burning arrow in the sky and a few anxious minutes of waiting later, the sound of thunderous hoof beats brought the relief that his father's soldiers had already been nearby and now finally knew where exactly to look for them. With a hiss of relief, Legolas slipped back down the last few feet in the narrow tunnel of wood and crouched down next to Estel again, checking with nervous fingertips the man's breathing and pulse, finding both still to be sufficiently working. Once more, they were luckier than they probably deserved it, given how many mistakes they still made when they were out here fighting together. "You think we can make it not to almost get each other killed when you visit next, Ranger?"

  "Where would be the fun in that?" Estel chuckled.

  Legolas was too tired to even pretend to be shocked.

*******************************************************************************

@whumptober2021​ | @whumptober-archive

[thestuffedalligator]

@villainous-queer asked for this

There are, at the time of writing, 1,165 different pieces of fanfiction on Archive of Our Own that depict Legolas and Gimli as being in a romantic relationship.

In a post-Peter Jackson world, this fact may strike the casual fan of The Lord of the Rings as odd. Legolas is synonymous in pop culture with the image of a cherubic Orlando Bloom in his mid-twenties, while Gimli is associated with a decidedly grizzled John Rhys-Davies. Legolas is the heartthrob of many an early-2000s tween, while Gimli is the comic relief whose purpose appears to be to complain about ale, elves, and long-distance running. They develop a camaraderie in the movies but nothing that, except by generous interpretation, would imply a romantic relationship.

Despite this, the ship persists. On Archive of Our Own, an open source fanfiction website that allows its users to categorize different stories by romantic and platonic relationships, Gimli/Legolas is the second most popular relationship for The Lord of the Rings fandom, only slightly eclipsed by Frodo/Sam, which claims 1,176 different pieces of fanfiction. The third most popular category, Aragorn/Arwen, doesn’t even break quadruple digits, with only 888 stories at the time of writing.

Being a consumer and occasional producer of fanfiction, I was intrigued by this. Granted with the opportunity to reread The Lord of the Rings for the first time in years, I’ve spent this reread considering the character of Gimli and found myself surprised at how distinct the character from the book is from the character of the film. This is perhaps best exemplified in “The Breaking of the Fellowship,” the final chapter of The Fellowship of the Ring, when Aragorn suggests reducing the Fellowship to four members and sending the others home. Aragorn suggests that Frodo’s new companions should be Sam, Aragorn, and, significantly, Gimli (403). Aragorn does not elaborate on this decision within the text, but this moment speaks to the characterization of Gimli in Tolkien’s writing.

The Gimli of Tolkien’s writing is evocative of the image of a fairy-tale chivalric knight, intensely honourable, brave, and loyal, and yet at the same time eloquent, wise, and sombre. He’s young (by dwarf standards, being only 139 when the Fellowship was formed), was named Elf-friend, and is the only dwarf to sail into the Undying Lands with Legolas, “because of their great friendship, greater than any that has been between Elf and Dwarf,” (1081).

Thus, I am brought to an irreconcilable conclusion: Gimli is sexy.

Consider the other dwarves of Tolkien’s legendarium. Between The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings, the dwarves of Tolkien’s writing have been repeatedly criticized as problematic. Tolkien in his letters copped to the fact that the dwarves were in part inspired by Jewish culture:  “I do think of the 'Dwarves' like Jews: at once native and alien in their habitations, speaking the languages of the country, but with an accent due to their own private tongue…” Given that The Hobbit in particular goes into great detail on how the dwarves are greedy and unfeeling, and how “Dwarves are not heroes, but calculating folk with a great idea of the value of money... tricky and treacherous and pretty bad lots,” (200) Tolkien’s dwarves have been criticized as a scathingly antisemitic cariacature.

Gimli, however, seems to be written as a total subversion of the tropes that Tolkien himself created. From his very first line, “Faithless is he that says farewell when the road darkens,” (281) Gimli swears himself to the values of loyalty, bravery, and friendship. True to his words, Gimli spends the rest of the trilogy backing up this claim. When the Three Hunters are faced with “Saruman,” Gimli is the first to leap forward and attack when he thinks that the wizard has stolen Merry and Pippin (494). Yet at the same time, and here we unsubtly waggle our eyebrows at Peter Jackson, this does not mean that the character of Gimli is in any way unintelligent. The Gimli of the books is well-spoken and eloquent; his song in Moria is beautiful and mournful (315-317), and his description of the Glittering Caves below Helm’s Deep is enough to convince Legolas, who at first says of the caves, “I would give gold to be excused… and double to be let out, if I strayed in,” (547) to visit the caves himself once their adventure is done. When they do, Legolas praises Gimli’s eloquence once again, saying that, “only that Gimli alone could find fit words to speak of them” (978).

Speaking of elves, despite the books assuring us that there is a great rivalry between elves and dwarves, Gimli never seems to give serious weight to this cultural prejudice. Gimli even seems to actively pursue ending the cultural enmity between the two races; when confronted with Galadriel, Gimli asks for a single strand of her hair, to be set in imperishable crystal, “a pledge of good will between the Mountain and the Wood until the end of days,” (376). This is the same gift that Galadriel refuses to give Fëanor in The Silmarillion three times over, as Galadriel herself alludes to: “none have ever made to me a request so bold and yet so courteous,” (376) implying that it’s Gimli’s compassion and humility, as well as her own ability to peer into the minds of hearts of others, that results in Gimli receiving three strands of her hair. Similarly, Gimli holds himself to his own promise and rides off on a date with Legolas to Fangorn Forest, just as Legolas had travelled with Gimli into the Glittering Caves (981).

Thus, we have a full image of Gimli. A dwarf who acts against his cultural prejudices, a dwarf who is loyal, compassionate, well-spoken, articulate, brave, and humble. The Appendices claim that it is strange for Gimli to have sailed off to the Undying Lands, “that a Dwarf should be willing to leave Middle-earth for any love,” (1081) but hopefully I have illuminated the truth.

The fact of the matter is: Gimli is sexy.

[luxshine]

Voice Actors gone Wild!

I’ve talked about how dubbing works, how translating works and I keep telling you guys that there’s very rare occasions where the dub actors and translators are allowed to have a bit more creativity and may end up inventing their own lines. So we’re going to discuss that today.

Localization is a tricky business, because not all countries have the same cultural beats. A joke that is hilarious in the UK may fall flat in the US even if everyone involved speaks the same language, and may as well be Greek for Mexican audiences (In fact, the title of My Big Fat Greek Wedding in Spanish is Marrying is in Greek, even when the expression of an unintelligible language, the equivalent of “It’s all Greek to me” in English, it’s “It’s in Chinese to me” in Mexico. See how this can be tricky as hell?). So for comedies, there’s a lot more leeway for translators and voice actors than in dramas, and it goes twice for children animation.

An example that I adore, because I think that the translator went above and beyond with their excellent translation:

In the Peanuts movie, Charlie Brown goes to Marcie to ask him for advice for which book to do his book report. He can’t find Marcie, so he asks Peppermint Patty who, in her very special way, tells him that Marcie always said that the greatest book ever is “Leo’s Toy Store” by “Warren Peace”.

I will give you a second to laugh.

Now, THAT joke? Is at first glance impossible to translate. Because see, Leo’s Toy Store translates to La Jugueteria de Leo, which sounds nothing like Leo Tolstoy and War and Peace translates to La Guerra y La Paz, that can’t be misheard as Warren Peace. So, the only choice is to either lose the joke completely, or put up your big translator pants and try to adapt it logically even if it is not to the letter. And the Peanut Movie Latam translator did an amazing job as it became the book “Leo y no estoy” (I read, and I’m not here) by La Guera Ipaz (The Blonde AndPeace).

And now I will give the Spanish speaking people a second to laugh.

That joke was obviously from the translator and not the VA because it took a lot more time and effort that what actors have in the booth. And it’s cultural and perfect, and of course it was approved by Sony because how could you not?

Another, more famous example for Mexican audiences because when the series changed owners, from a local TV channel to Cartoon Network the actors were explicitly told to stop doing Adlibs, was Pokemon.

Everyone who knows Pokemon knows that the Rocket Team has an entrance speech. And it is pretty much always the same speech with little variation, at least in the original series:

 Jessie: Prepare for trouble!

James: Make it double!

Jessie: To protect the world from devastation

James: To unite all peoples within our nation!

Jessie: To denounce the evils of truth and love!

James: To extend our reach to the stars above!

Jessie: Jessie!

James: James!

Jessie: Team Rocket, blast off at the speed of light!

James: Surrender now, or prepare to fight!

Meowth: Meowth! That’s right!

 Which in Spanish translates to

 Jessie: Preparense para los problemas!

James: Haganlos doble

Jessie: Para proteger al mundo de la devastacion

James: Para unir a la gente dentro de nuestra nacion

Jessie: Para denunciar los males de la verdad y el amor

James: Y extender nuestro reino hasta las estrellas

Jessie: Jessie!

James: James!

Jessie: El equipo rocket viaja a la velocidad de la luz

James: Rindanse ahora o preparense para luchar

Meowth: Meowth! Asi es!

 And right there we have a problem in the second line, because doble doesn’t rhyme with problemas, so it was changed from the beginning to “Y mas vale que teman” (And you better fear)

 However, by season 2, the actors were given more leeway for improvisation, and Jame’s voice actor, Jose Antonio Macias, had gotten a bit bored of it, and the Dub director, Gerardo Vasquez, who also voiced Meowth, let him change the “To extend our reach to the stars above” line to… different places in Mexico and Latinamerica. And then finish the speech however he liked, with whatever accent he liked. Diana Perez, who voiced Jessie, was a bit more restrained but also joined in the fun.

 This gave us gems like the video at the end because I can’t put it here for some reason.

The dialogue of the video translates as:

Jessie: I want to tell you to prepare for trouble! 

James: And inform you you better fear us!

Jessie: To protect the world from devastation

James: And unite all peoples within our nation!

Jessie: To denounce the evils of a small bikini! (Said with “yucatan accent”)

James: And extend our realm to Caleta Caletilla! (Also said with “yucatan accent”)

Jessie: Jessie, so! (pue! Is the way they say “pues” which means “so”)

James: And your bro Jame-me-mes!

Jessie: The Team Rocket is surfing at the speed of light!

James: Surrender now, or prepare to eat a pejelizard! (“pejelagarto” or “pejelizard” is the derogative nickname to our current president)

Meowth: And a sea side that’s right!

 As a parenthesis, James is voiced by the man who also voices Legolas in LoTR and Meowth was originally famous as the Latam voice of Duncan McLeod. That’s some voice range right there.

Obviously, those weren’t translations. But at the same time, we can’t call them translations mistakes, nor bad dubs. On one hand, it keeps to the spirit of the original speech more or less, and to the Rocket Team’s role as the comic relief (They don’t do this when Butch and Cassidy appear). On the other, well, comedy. And it became so popular that when Cartoon Network asked them to stop the localization, people complained the translation was now “correct” again.

And, because Mexican VA s are pros, they changed it back. The old days of the Rocket Team Mexican speeches are gone now.

Now, this kind of localization for comedies was more common back in the old days pre-internet, and series like Get Smart, The Adamms Family and Gilligan Island would have the occasional joke that would only make sense to Mexican audiences. However, they never changed the plot or the personalities of the characters. Only the brand of humor.

Sure, I can think of TWO examples where the Mexican version of the series is completely off the script (One of the actors, the great late Luis Alfonso Mendoza, referred to the script of his show as “a bunch of suggestions that I never followed”, long before Jack Sparrow’s iconic line about the code being just “guidelines”) but those two series were a) cartoons for children and b)changed with the permission of their original owners. Oh, they also c) became beloved Mexican classics when forgotten by their own countries. Those series where Top Cat (Don Gato y su Pandilla in Spanish. So beloved we made TWO official movies recently), and Count Duckula (Conde Patula. Oh, how we miss our Patolin).

However, to explain how the translation and changes were made on those two series require more time than I have today, so I will leave them for a different day.

[worstjourney]

Terra Nova Himbo

I was going to sit on this one, because I was unsure exactly what the current definition of ‘himbo’ was, but @squad51goals​ sensibly and assuredly informed me that the Terra Nova Himbo was Tryggve Gran.

I had long ago ascribed Gran the same niche that fandom has given Movie!Legolas – he can walk on top of the snow! he is handsome and strong! he keeps a very secret diary in his special language! – and since the internet has informed me that a himbo is ‘a good-looking but unintelligent young man’, I’d say this is spot on.

‘Unintelligent’ may be a bit of an exaggeration – he did read Nietzsche, or at least understand him – but Scott called him lazy, Debenham called him immoral, and Cherry recorded that he could not grasp the concept of a ‘tournament’ (i.e. with brackets etc), so in the company of scientists, he may have been on a lower rung.

[writingfromkitchenator]

Gimli ~ Fuck You

1,300 Followers Challenge!

Masterlist

Requested by @emmagan

Words: 965

Warnings: Neutral Reader, unspecified argument, suggested hidden feelings, swearing

There were angry voices coming down the hall, ones that quickly had several of the staff leaving the room, making a quiet sigh leave you as you tried to keep your focus on the book in front of you.

You’d tried to warn him that it wouldn’t go down well, but it seemed, as usual, a dwarf’s stubbornness had no bounds.

Legolas entered first, looking irritated, followed closely by a very irate looking Gimli.  “It’s out of the question.”

“Why?”  Gimli huffed.  “It’s not like-”

“Because it makes me uncomfortable,” Legolas said.  “And that should be a good a reason as any.”

“We did worse on the quest with the Ring!”  Gimli exclaimed, the two of them staring hard at each other.  “Why should this-”

“I’ve said no and that should be more than enough!”  Legolas snapped, his voice starting to raise again.  “Why you even thought that this would be a good idea-”

“Are you my friend or not?”

“This pushes the boundaries of friendship Gimli-”

“This is normal for dwarves!”  Gimli said, making you smirk and quickly bury yourself in your book, not wanting to get yourself in trouble with a smart arsed comment.  “I would’ve thought that you would’ve understood that!”

“Well, it’s certainly not normal for elves,” Legolas said, his face starting to go pink.  “So my answer remains no.”

Gimli grumbled something unintelligible under his breath that just made Legolas face’s go a brighter shade of pink.  “I can still hear you, you know.”

“Oh, well it’s good to know that you can still hear something I say,” Gimli growled.  “I was starting to think I was talking to a wall.”

Legolas folds his arms and puffs himself up, purposefully towering over Gimli.

“I’m not going to do anything.  Fuck you.”  Legolas said sharply, turning his nose up at Gimli.  “You’re going to have to try harder than that.”

Gimli’s gaze burned into the elf.  “Try harder? Is that a challenge?”

Legolas scoffed.  “I’d like to see you try and challenge me in anything, dwarf.  Or do I need to remind you of all the times you’ve lost already?”

Red crept up Gimli’s neck. “And I could easily remind you of how many times you’ve lost, and even do you one better and have someone back me up.”

You glance up from the table, looking between the two of them.  “I’d much rather be left out of this to be honest.”

They ignored you.

“And that is where you are wrong,” Legolas said.  “Because we both know who Y/N would back up.”

“Who said I was talking about Y/N?”  You raised an eyebrow at Gimli.  “Who’s to say I wasn’t talking about Aragorn?”

“Aragorn is far too busy for such trivial matters,” Now your gaze turned to Legolas, starting to get a little annoyed.  “And we know how much of a spot-”

“You watch yourself there blondie,” Gimli growled low, making you sigh and shake your head. “Before I make you eat those words back to yourself.”

“That doesn’t even make sense!”  Legolas throws up his hands, done with the whole thing.  “This is outrageous!  My answer is remaining no.  End of story.”

“Oh no it isn’t,” Gimli said, marching towards him and jabbing him in the chest.  “This isn’t over because you owe me and you know it. Now it’s time to pay up!”

Legolas huffed and quickly sprung out of Gimli’s reach.  “I owe you? I think you seriously need to reconsider your friendship with me then.  I don’t believe any of that has ever been necessary.”

“Why you puffed up-”

“Don’t even start me on all the things that-”

“You can never just take something as a-”

“One day you’ll actually listen to-”

“I honestly don’t know why I asked-”

“I can’t believe you thought I’d agree-”

You stared down at your book as this continued, the two of them too busy talking over each other to listen to what the other was saying.  A part of you wanted to step in, but another part of you was somewhat glad that they seemingly hadn’t noticed you still sitting there.

Judging by the way this was going, then you knew it was better to stay out of it.

“Would you stop?” Legolas finally snapped.  “Just shut up already you stubborn fool!”

Gimli froze and went a furious shade of red.

Legolas let out a very steading breath.  “You are my friend, but that does not mean I have to agree and say yes to everything you come to me with.  Now, for the final time, as respectfully as I can, I am telling you no.”

For a moment you thought Gimli was going to snap, instead, he dropped his gaze and his fists clenched by his side.  “I wouldn’t have thought that this would be that difficult a request, cultural differences aside.  As your friend-”

“Gimli, just stop,” Legolas said irritated.  “This isn’t something that is going to go your way.”

“But-”

Legolas shouts in frustration, throws his hands up in the air and storms out of the room.

You watched after him, gaze flicking back to Gimli, who was still very red in the face, glaring after Legolas’s back.  “That went well.”

Gimli’s gaze flashes on you, his anger still burning brightly.  “Stay out of this Y/N.  This is between me and that-”

“Legolas.”  You said, smiling as his face matches his hair. “Believe it or not, you can make this worse.  I would suggest fixing it, maybe by talking properly this time.”  You thought for a moment.  “And technically, you did get me into it.”

Making a disgusted noise and shooting you a furious look, knowing you were right, Gimli storms from the room after Legolas, making your smile widen as you shake your head.

“Boys.”

[cowboylegolas]

elvish accents

aragorn: a relatively neutral rivendell accént. first learned from hanging out with elladan and elrohir so it’s kind of vulgar some of the time because they’re uhhhhhhhhhhhh teenagers

elrond slams the door shut and whirls around to face his children. “who taught aragorn how to say fuck?” he demands. 

arwen and the twins eye each other suspiciously because it honestly could have been any one of them

legolas: my url speaks for itself. he’s howdy at best and completely unintelligible at worst.

"how are you today?” frodo asks

“i’m finer’n frog hair split four ways,” legolas says, baring his teeth in a smile

“why can’t you just speak to me in normal elvish like a normal person,” frodo asks, ripping up his a-z elvish dictionary

galadriel: an absolutely disgusting lothlórien accent 

aye guv. whats news 

[thatgirlonstage]

God I fucking love the LOTR/Middle Earth fandom it’s such a breath of fresh air when every other fandom is consumed by The Discourse and you feel like even posting silly harmless headcanons might spark a flood of anon hate then you wander over to Tolkien land and it’s like, “Today, as we often do, we’re discussing Elvish linguistics. Specifically the fact that Legolas probably turned up in the afterlife with his boyfriend speaking an utterly unintelligible dialect and had to play charades about why a dwarf just tumbled out of his luggage.”

[joyfullynervouscreator]

A Wedding in Imladris

Inspired by this drawing, by stephescamora @motherofbees, thanks to @avoyagetoarcturus the detective ^^

 TA 109, somewhere in Greenwood.

Shifting his son on his lap, Thranduil, King of Greenwood, held his reins loosely. The large elk he rode – Dairon had died last winter, but his son Caranor was proving to be just as good a mount as his sire – shared its naneth’s colour, as well as her spirited temper. Firithel had died only a few years after his birth, defending her fawn from a large wolf, and it made him sad to see one more link to his lost Queen disappear from the world, even if it was something as comparably minor as her favourite mount.

“Ada!” Legolas cried out, breaking Thranduil free of his thoughts, amused when the elfling – had it really already been thirty years since the small leaf had been placed in his arms, all red and wrinkly and heartbreakingly beautiful? – pointed at the small yellow bird that had a nest in the tree they were passing. “Look!”

“It’s called an Eilinel, ionneg,” Thranduil murmured. Caranor snorted, moving with easy steps through the dense woods. His antlers were not yet as large as Dairon’s had been – Thranduil had a wry thought that his old mount would have needed to choose his path carefully to avoid getting stuck – and the new tines were still covered with peeling fluff. The little bird trilled, and then it was gone in a yellow flash of feathers. Legolas giggled, repeating the word.

“But Ada,” he objected, after some deliberation, “Eilinel is not a bird!”

“Yes, ionneg,” Thranduil chuckled, throwing a glance over his shoulder where one of his favourite singers was riding, “but Eilinel is named for the bird.”

“But she has brown hair,” Legolas said, and Thranduil could easily imagine the frown on his small face, trying to puzzle out the answer, even though he couldn’t see it. Twisting to look up at him, Legolas repeated his answer, as though Thranduil was being silly. “She has brown hair, Ada.” Tugging on one of the pale locks of Legolas’ own hair, Thranduil chuckled gently.

“Eilinel was named for her voice, Legolas.” For a moment, it looked like Legolas would object to that reasoning – Thranduil wasn’t sure he wanted to explain how the naming of elflings worked in this moment – but then he nodded, turning back to look at the forest, straining himself to see more elusive animals as Caranor cantered along.

“Where are we going, Ada?” Legolas asked, when it became clear that there would be no more birds keen for inspection in the trees surrounding them, the dark conifers stretching towards the sky.

“To Imladris, Legolas,” Thranduil replies, distracted by a commotion towards the back of their caravan.

“Why?” The small voice said, tugging on Thranduil’s green sleeve when the answer didn’t come quick enough.

“Hmm?” Thranduil hummed, twisting in his seat to look behind them. Someone had fallen off their mount; he recognised one of the younger ellyn – a troublemaker – but Captain Bronwe had already restored order among his underlings, and the young guardsman regained his seat with his ears flaming with embarrassment.

“Why are we going to Imladris?” Legolas repeated.

“Because a friend of mine is getting wed,” Thranduil replied patiently, steering his mount with his legs as he kept one ear on the goings-on behind him. “Lord Elrond of Imladris is going to marry Lady Celebrían, a kinswoman of ours through her adar, Legolas, and we have been invited to attend the celebrations.”

  “Ada!” The happy voice and the sudden weight attached to the train of his robes made Thranduil immediately aware of his son's desire.

“Legolas is sitting on your robe,” Elrond said, rather redundantly in Thranduil's view. He nodded. The Lord of Imladris did not approve of his robes, Thranduil had realised, but they had spent far too long in armour together for Erond to point out the large swathes of fabric trailing behind him. Thranduil thought these Elves – a motley mix of Sindarin and Noldorin Elves, with a smattering of his own Ada’s Laiquendi people thrown in – considered his robes an affectation of fashion, but he didn’t much care. At first, he had worn the voluminous robes as a sort of armour, a mask to shield his battered spirit from the world, and later he had worn them to hide his gaunt frame from his subjects, but these days they were as much a part of the Elvenking as they were a part of Thranduil himself. Looking at the younger – only by about three centuries, but Thranduil felt far older at times – ellon, the Elvenking of Greenwood smirked.

“Yes,” he replied evenly, having learnt self-control in Doriath and managing to keep his laughter from showing on his face. By now, he had spent so many years among the less formal Silvani in Greenwood that the stiffer etiquette he was once taught in Doriath sometimes took him by surprise when he was among other Sindar. The elfling he had been in Doriath never would have dared sit on Oropher's robes if they had been long enough for Legolas's favourite game. Well, he wouldn’t have dared outside their home, of course, Thranduil admitted to himself; Oropher had always been the image of a proper Sindar lord in the court of Thingol.

“Aaaaaaada!” Legolas's voice turned plaintive and Thranduil relished the flabbergasted look on Erestor's face at the sound. The former Seneschal of Eregion had always been a dour fellow, and peace did not seem to have mellowed him or his sense of propriety. Beside him, Elrond seemed to be having trouble deciding what to think of the small elfling demanding his Ada’s attention. Thranduil did not snicker, but only because he had more self-control than that and paid him no mind. Legolas was far more precious than any fancy artwork Elrond wanted to show off as Lord of the recently-named Imladris, the newly finished home of the survivors of Eregion as well as some of the former inhabitants of Lindon, who had followed their young Lord through the struggles of wartime.

“You will find, Elrond,” Thranduil said calmly, turning his head to smile at the small boy who shared so many of his features, “when you and the Lady Celebrían have elflings of your own-” pausing, Thranduil was rewarded by the sight of Elrond's ears reddening, “-that there are very few inconveniences you will not suffer to make them smile.”

“My Lord?” Elrond asked, apparently confused. Thranduil smirked, feeling the experiences that separated them keenly, like a mantle of wisdom born of the trials of parenthood.

“Watch,” he chuckled, handing Erestor the vase he had been meant to admire - it was lovely craftsmanship, made of thin-blown glass, but not particularly pretty in Thranduil’s opinion. Squaring his shoulders, Thranduil set off at his usual brisk walking pace; the Elves here might like their slow and steady meandering through their gardens, but Thranduil was used to an altogether different speed of motion. Not for the first time, he wondered what would have happened if Oropher had decided to head for Gondolin when Doriath was sacked instead of staying with Círdan’s people, wondered who he might be if the past nearly three thousand years had not happened the way they had, but he shook off the thoughts. Despite the grief he had suffered, he knew he would change none of it, choosing to dwell on the joys of his long life whenever possible.

“WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”

Behind him, sliding across the even floors on the long train of his robes, his youngest son squealed with laughter. The expected result made Thranduil chuckle into the goblet of miruvor he still held, turning around with a wry smirk in Elrond’s direction as he toasted his host with the goblet. Erestor looked sour, striding off in silence, but his absence was no great loss in Thranduil’s opinion. Setting off once more, he returned to Elrond's side, prompting another loud round of giggling from his Little Leaf. Thranduil smiled. The new Lord of Imladris stared. Legolas kept giggling to himself, and Thranduil felt his heart swell with love.

“Again, Ada, again,” the elfling begged, but Thranduil picked him up instead, putting down his empty goblet. Legolas snuggled into his chest, trying to hide a yawn.

“It is late, ionneg,” Thranduil murmured. “Why are you not in bed like Amathanar?” He had bid Legolas goodnight hours before, leaving him in the competent care of Maeassel, but he knew that the little boy’s mischievous spirit – a joy to behold, but also a piercing reminder of his oldest son, who had been the embodiment of mischief right up until the day an Orc’s spear claimed his life – had probably overcome him; his youngest son wanted to experience everything, rarely content with being sent to bed if his ada was awake and doing things. Thranduil knew that he indulged the boy, but he couldn’t find it in his heart to stop, even though he knew Nínimeth would have laughed at him a time or two if she could see them.

Legolas murmured something unintelligible in response and Thranduil wrapped a fold of his robes around the sleepy elfling, humming a soft tune.

“I... You do that often?” Elrond seemed to change his mind mid-sentence, but Thranduil just nodded. In fact, all of his robes had reinforced shoulder seams, precisely because Legolas liked to ride along behind him. In the beginning, Thranduil had found the habit peculiar, but slowly it became a simple source of joy to watch his son smile when his turn of speed made the small belly tickle with exhilaration. It was the same expression he saw when he took Legolas riding, the same expression his Naneth had worn when she challenged him to a race or a swim, dragging him anywhere in their vast forest home to show off all the joys to be found beneath the green leaves.

The habit had lessened over the years as Legolas grew capable of running around on his own, but it remained one of his favourite games; especially when he was a little tired and wanting reassurance. Thranduil smiled softly, pressing his mouth to the tip of a finely pointed ear. Legolas burrowed closer into his chest, his breath turning into soft snores as Thranduil rocked him slowly.

“If it makes my son laugh, there is very little I would not do,” Thranduil admitted, knowing that he did not need to add any other reason: Elrond had seen his Queen on her way to the Grey Havens, and he knew what it was to grow up without a parent, even if he claimed that the Feanorioni had loved him and his brother. The Lord of Imladris nodded silently, leading the way back towards the feast in the main hall where Lady Celebrían was looking even more radiant than her mother as she entertained the guests.

Legolas slept peacefully in his arms. The sight brought softness to many eyes, most of the assembled still remembering terrible years of warfare and the cost of the peace they had won. To many - and to Thranduil himself - little Legolas was proof that their peace would last: at the age of 30, he was still a young child, the slower growth a visible reminder that the Darkness had been defeated and Barad-dûr thrown down.

 Taking a seat by Elrond - he was among the highest-ranking visitors and merited a seat of honour even if they had not been friends - Thranduil shifted Legolas’s sleeping body into his lap and picked up a goblet of spring water, sipping slowly. Around them, the celebration continued, but Thranduil was content to hold his son and listen as he enjoyed the joyous feeling of celebration that hung in the air.

“May I?” Celebrían asked, and Thranduil couldn't find it in his heart to deny her, even if he would have preferred to spend the rest of the night holding his son. He nodded, letting her pick up the sleeping elfling and take him further down the table. When she was out of earshot, he chuckled lightly.

“Hmmm?” Elrond asked, pouring wine into their empty goblets. For a moment, he had been lost in staring at his radiant beauty, but Thranduil’s mirth made him turn his head away from the silver hair that glowed in the light of the moon.

“I dare say you will know the joys of fatherhood ere long,” Thranduil smirked, watching the soon-to-be Lady of Imladris cooing over his son. Elrond choked on his drink.

“Should I not wed her before you begin taking about elflings,” he spluttered, wiping ineffectively at his robes. Thranduil chuckled, handing him a napkin.

“I give you no more than thirty years before your first elfling arrives,” he predicted, feeling smug when Elrond's ears reddened again. Sometimes, Thranduil thought smugly, having had his elflings at a comparatively young age like most Silvans, the Lord of Imladris was far too easily flustered.

“You're on!” Elrond called, when he had stopped coughing and downed the rest of his goblet. Thranduil laughed outright.

“I shall expect settlement in silk, I think, my short-sighted friend. Enough for a new robe.”

In 130, Thranduil received a messenger from Imladris bearing a scroll with the single word ‘Twins!’ on it, and several bolts of fine silk cloth in a small wagon.

He laughed for a very long time.

[gossip-girl-of-middleearth]

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

~vaya

GAH YES I LOVE MY SOFT BAKER ELF BOY!!

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Emyn Arnen, Ithilien)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

An extract of chapter 2 underneath the cut!

I’ll get around to posting the story eventually lol

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

🥖🥖🥖🥖🥖🥖🥖🥖🥖🥖🥖🥖🥖🥖🥖🥖

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

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

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

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

The Elvenking was here, in Emyn Arnen?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At least most of it was unintelligible now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[stormxpadme]

10 for the touch prompts?

touch prompts 

10:  for luck

************* *************

“You do it!”

“No, you do it! It was your idea!”

“And it’s your second breakfast on the line. I told you not to bet, Pip. If we can’t prove it, you’ll be hungry for the next two days. And you’re insufferable when you’re hungry.”

“I am not ...”

“Now, you two, that’s enough. I told you to keep it down.”

When Aragorn’s warm, calm voice interrupted the excited bickering of two restless hobbits, Legolas quickly closed his eyes, stifling a grin. He could have listened to them for hours on end - their innocent levity was like a much-needed shower in a too-dry summer -, but Aragorn had made it very clear that Mithrandir and Legolas were supposed to use the lunch break for a nap, after almost a week of uninterrupted night watch since their departure. While the wizard was already breathing noisily a few feet below, propped up against the trunk of this very broad beech tree, with his hat deeply drawn into his face, Legolas had far too much on his mind to even try and get some rest. But he knew his old Dúnadan friend well enough to be sure, Aragorn wouldn’t order the Fellowship to carry on before he’d tried at least. Curiosity had always been second nature to him though, and the rest of the group was standing too close to his elevated spot up here to just shut his sharp elvish hearing off. Besides, he was dying to know who would come out of this little argument on top.

“What’s this about anyway? You two have been whispering ever since we left Imladris.”

“Sam doesn’t believe me,” Pippin declared, audibly offended. “But my father used to tell me when I was a kid, and our family knows all about the big folks! I just need proof! Maybe I can just sneak up to the elf while he sleeps ...”

“I would advise strongly against it.” Legolas could hear the amused tone in Aragorn’s words as well as the underlying hint of cynicism - that fight in Mirkwood back then had been one that they both had barely made it out alive. “The last creature I saw trying to do that ended up with a dagger sticking from its throat.”

Pippin grumbled something unintelligible and started pacing the small clearing again, the rain-damp undergrowth rustling and cracking under sturdy Hobbit feet. “There must be some way ...”

“You know, wild idea but you could just ask,” Merry suggested, munching on a last piece of apple from the opulent break meal.

“Ask.” Pippin sounded as if his cousin had suggested he’d just walk up straight to Sauron himself and punch him in the dick. “Have you seen how he looks at us?”

“Our elvish friend comes from a family where emotions are expressed in a very peculiar way, my friend.” Again that slightly cynical drawl in the Dúnadan’s sigh - Legolas’ father and he had never been exactly best friends. But there was also the soft cautiousness of deep compassion sounding through those discreet, brief explanations that Legolas had already come to appreciate Aragorn for shortly after their first disastrous meeting. “You should rather worry if they smile at you in the Elvenking’s Halls. Then you’re either about to be imprisoned or pulled into a really bad trading deal. When you’re important enough to an elf of this family that they start brooding about you, it means there’s no place on Middle-earth you can’t be safer.”

“Anyway.” Pippin didn’t sound really convinced. “If I’m going to ask him if it’s true that touching elvish hair gives good luck, he’ll probably eat me.”

“Don’t worry. I heard Elves are vegetarians,” Gimli threw in from the side, little charming and little helpful as ever.

“Only when Dwarves are around, Master Gimli, I assure you.” Aragorn could hardly hold back the chuckle from his throat. “And that’s enough superstition for one day. Make yourself useful and collect some of those berries over there. And by the way, Pippin, if you really want to learn more about elves, I suggest starting with the basics. I can tell you for a fact, for example, that they usually only sleep with their eyes open.”

Legolas startled and cursed under his breath, ruefully blinking at Aragorn through a half-opened lid, the smallest of smirks tugging on his lips when he saw the hobbits stare at him from afar in embarrassment. He demonstratively turned to his side on the limb that hardly even creaked under his weight, to at least try what he’d been told to do for another ten minutes or so. They could never linger in any place too long, and his strength reserves were far from even being touched. But his heart had not been that heavy in decades, and for the first time since leaving the palace for Elrond’s council, he felt homesick.

*

“Why is Gandalf so afraid of the mines?” After worrying for hours that they might lose the youngest member of their Company to frostbite, hypothermia, or sickness, it should have been a relief when Pippin finally stirred again in Legolas’ arms, finally breathing a little deeper and more even for the first time since they’d entered the shallow shelter of this little cave, to regather their strength before they could even think about leaving Caradhras behind. Unfortunately, the subject the hobbit chose was the last that Legolas was ready to talk about right now.

He was too glad that his young friend was finally doing better though to refuse him a conversation - as long as Pippin talked, he was awake and as long as he was awake, he would recover. Legolas wrapped Gandalf’s cloak a little tighter around the small, trembling body and pulled Pippin closer to his chest to allow his own, hardly faltering temperature to help stabilize the hobbit’s far too low one while Boromir thrust a big mug of tea into Pippin’s hand. “Those mines are going deep into the ground and much of them are unknown territory, Master hobbit. It’s easy to get lost there.”

Pippin slurped noisily on the acceptably warm drink, holding on to it tightly with his badly shaking hands. “Can’t be worse than here. I bet it’s at least warm there.” He looked back over his shoulder with a confused frown when it was suddenly Legolas, shuddering heavily. “What is it?”

“Not all heat is healthy, Pippin. There are creatures living down there very dangerous to anyone not watching their back.”

“Like what?” You couldn’t even rid a hobbit of their curiosity when they’d just barely escaped death.

Legolas saw from the corner of his eyes how Mithrandir shook his head at him in warning but chose to ignore it for the moment. No one could be sure that those unsettling rumors were true, that was right, but the little ones deserved to have at least an idea of what they were about to face. “Creatures of shadow and flame, bred Ages ago from nothing but hate and violence, and that it all they know.” Leaning back against the rough, uneven rock, suddenly feeling actually tired for the first time since starting on this quest, Legolas closed his eyes, not surprised that the first thing he saw on his mind was a glimpse of fabulous golden hair, a look of deep dismay and worry on a youthful, ethereally beautiful face.

His old close combat trainer had warned him about volunteering for this mission, and it had been these few brief words more than any lecture of Lord Elrond, any doubt from Aragorn and the bad conscience about how very worried his father must be for him right now, that had almost changed Legolas’ mind. For it had been Glorfindel who had not only told him that he might never come home again if he sought to destroy the Ring, never see his father again, but that when he might be brought back in another place far from everything he knew one day, his mother might not wait for him, seeing as she belonged to those who had chosen to stay and watch from the Halls of Mandos. In the end, Legolas had said yes after all - loneliness was something he could deal with, he’d never known anything but in his life -, and death had never been something he was particularly afraid of. What tormented him in the few lonely hours when he was supposed to sleep, was the fear of failing. Of not being able to be there anymore for his friends, his father, his realm. Not being able to save this world anymore. With the prospect of entering a place possibly haunted by an enemy far beyond his battle skills, that fear had suddenly become very real.

“So ... Lord Glorfindel died fighting that thing ... because his hair was loose?” After hearing the tale of the fall of Gondolin, Pippin seemed at least a little more respectful regarding the path they had chosen to take next, and when he reached for the next mug of tea that Mithrandir had heated with a quick blow of fire, he wasn’t shaking that badly anymore. That was all that counted in the end, no matter how much recalling that particular memory of the day before their departure had hurt.

“If you ask Lord Elrond’s librarian, he’d probably huff about how his dumb lover was standing far too close to the edge of that cliff, too. But yes, basically.” Legolas returned Pippin’s quiet laughter and signaled him with a gentle squeeze of his shoulder that he should scoot forward to let Legolas get up, now that he was feeling better. It was about high time to check if any of his arrows had survived this ungodly weather. He was only just busy drying the last shaft under his tunic and sharpening a slightly dull tip when his little hobbit friend sat down behind him, mirroring his gesture from earlier and started to comb through Legolas’ hair with still slightly clammy fingertips, without even asking.

“Better safe than sorry,” Pippin declared firmly, not a hint of his usual mirth in his green eyes when Legolas looked back at him with a frown, and held up a leather hair tie that Mithrandir must have given him.

The lump in Legolas’ throat was too big to answer but he suddenly realized, he hadn’t completely forgotten how to smile in the last three millennia after all.

Aragorn who had watched the whole scene from the side though, spoke up, pointing at Pippin’s surprisingly skilled braiding efforts with his half-lit pipe. “Besides, you know, it’s for luck.”

“I thought you said that was just stupid superstition.” Pippin tilted his head distrustfully.

The same shadow of unease that had Mithrandir brood quietly in his corner darkened Aragorn’s grey eyes, the chuckle died. “Alas, who knows? Your family knows all about the big folk, right? And the Valar know we can use all the luck we can get right now.”

*

“What are you doing all alone here, Master elf?” Pippin paused a few feet away from Legolas, shying from the hip-high wall protecting the tapered edge of Minas Tirith’s courtyard, understandably intimidated after having to watch the Steward of this land jump to his death here.

Legolas, born to a folk one with their environment by nature, couldn’t be scared so easily by height or the sharp wind blowing around his face, coming from the direction where Mordor lay. Besides, this was probably the only place in all of Minas Tirith where one could find some peace right now. But he didn’t have the heart to send his little hobbit friend away. Pippin had seen enough of grief in the last few days, he could use a few encouraging words, even though Legolas didn’t have an idea where to find them himself. “I’m not alone.” He nodded briefly to the very few stars that could be seen in the sky even through the mist of ash and death that was Sauron’s shadow. Then he went back to braid one of the seven thin strands of hair he’d cut from his neck earlier. Seven that should have been eight. “Did Aragorn send you?”

Pippin blushed a little and shrugged, caught. “He says, you should be sleeping. We’ll all need our strength tomorrow.” His voice faltered for a moment, his hand clenching around the thin belt around his hips, the gleam of his sword handle there. The hobbits were just as afraid as everyone, of walking straight up to Mordor tomorrow, but after hours and hours of discussion, they all had had to realize it was useless, trying to talk them out of it.

“Elves never need much sleep, don’t worry. Did Gandalf never tell you that?”

“Gandalf says, you’re full of it,” Pippin answered dryly. “Can’t fool me anymore, Master elf. Why are you never resting?”

Rolling his eyes, Legolas propped up his leg on the wall and shifted his weight to rummage for another leather tie in his breeches, to knot it to the end of the firm braid. When he reached for the next, he saw Pippin’s eyes that were following his movements go wide as his friend realized what it was that Legolas was using to make these special little bracelets. When the hobbit looked at his neck where another strong breeze was revealing a faint red glow of the jewel hidden there, Legolas quickly put up his collar. There were secrets in his life that even the Fellowship had no business knowing. “The night brings many unpleasant thoughts, Pippin. My mind needs to be free of all burdens if I’m not supposed to lose my focus. An archer has nothing but his focus, you know.”

"Tired eyes also lose focus.” Unfortunately, it wasn’t as easy as at the beginning of their journey anymore, to send an unwanted hobbit visitor away with a few mysterious words. “Merry and the Rohirrim, they rode through the night to get here, and look how many of them are dead now.”

Legolas couldn’t bring himself to tell Pippin that he didn’t expect any of them to survive the next few days either way and just shook his head with an uncertain smile before going back to work. “Why don’t you go to the Citadel kitchen? They should have some leftovers. Can't have a hungry hobbit going to battle tomorrow.”

Instead, Pippin overcame his fear with a jerk and sat down opposite to him on the wall with his arms crossed. “Aragorn also said I should not let you get rid of me,” he explained with his jaw thrust forward when Legolas looked up in surprise. “And that someone needs to look out for you, at least, seeing as the King has not even sent a message to ask about your fate.”

“We’ve arranged a full stop of communication when I left Mirkwood,” Legolas said defensively, in a reflex ingrained in his genes all his life, to apologize wherever he was going for the last member of his family remaining in these realms. “For the same reason, I’m trying not to let people know who I am. It’s safer for us both and for our people. Sauron has not forgotten Mirkwood.”

 “Pigeons usually don’t talk, do they?” The look of anger and lack of understanding on Pippin’s soft features quickly turned to shame about his impudence when Legolas’ back stiffened, his face almost going as blank as at the beginning of their journey, when he had tried to keep his distance from his Ring Companions, afraid of failing his job to protect them when his mind was clouded. ”I’m sorry. None of my business.” Pippin made a move to jump back to the ground and leave.

Legolas suddenly realized, he was sick of it. Whatever the fate of all of them would be, it would hurt either way. He shouldn’t be adding to the darkness weighing down on all their souls by pretending he hadn’t lost his heart to these people the moment they had left Imladris behind. “He doesn’t mean it, you know.” This time, it sounded more honest and less resigned. Legolas had long given up mourning or trying to change his father’s behavior. The only person who might be able to do that, they would only maybe see again one day if their path was to lead them west. Until then, they had to fight on their respective fronts alone, and in a way, it was easier for him than for Thranduil. Legolas was not petrified. He could still make this decision of letting the pain in, the worry, even the loss of saying good-bye to souls that he would not see again until the world would be renewed. Every smile of his companions, every glimmer of hope in their eyes, small as it might be at this point, was worth it. He could choose not to be alone anymore if he only found the courage. “My father has never learned how to handle grief. When my mother died, he shut out the world and forgot how to let it back in. We love each other, but hiding that most of the time is his only shield from his pain.”

“But that’s stupid.” This time, Pippin didn’t care about impertinence, which was a very refreshing change to Aragorn’s usually silent disapproval and Arwen’s and Elrond’s occasional over-protectiveness. “If you love someone, you need to tell them. What if you don’t and then something happens to them? I’m not that naive, Master elf, I know we are probably going to die soon.” A tear or two glistened on a too pale, too thin face in the weak torchlight, but this time, his voice did not break. “I could never leave for Mordor without telling my friends how much they mean to me.”

“You know, I’m sure you’re right, Master hobbit.” Legolas had finally finished the last of the bracelets and slipped most of them in his pocket to keep them safe while looking out of the rest of the people to give them to. At least those who were within reach. Only the one he had finished first, he kept in his palm when he reached out for Pippin’s arm and pulled it close to tie the little gift around his wrists. “Just remember that not everyone in these realms uses the same language.” While his little friend was still staring at him dumbfounded, he slipped down from the wall and pulled the hobbit with him, pretty sure that his Companion would actually manage to topple over and fall if he let him out of sight for even five minutes. A little bit of elvish luck could only get you so far. “So, shall we go see what’s left of dinner?”

The growl of Pippin’s stomach was all the answer he needed.

[cromulentbookreview]

Externally Screaming

Every now and again I come across a book I like so much I can't really express how I feel about it with words, just unintelligible fangirl squealing.

Aurora Rising is one of those books.

Seriously, the whole time with this book I was just

Sometimes, I will start reading a book and find I literally cannot stop. Other times I will force myself not to - to pace myself, rather than binge-read because I know that as soon as I’m done reading it, it’ll be well over a year until the next book. I am in general a slow reader, and for the most part it’s unintentional - I’m easily distracted, my attention span is shot, I work full time, have other shit to do, etc. - so when I tell myself “no, only a few chapters today, otherwise it’ll all be gone and then you’ll have nothing. NOTHING!” It’s kind of a big deal.

(Sorry, can’t not use a Ron Burgundy gif there).

I should preface my fangirling by mentioning that I am a massive fan of Amie Kaufman and Jay Kristoff’s last trilogy, The Illuminae Files, which if you haven’t read it, stop everything, go read it, I will wait right here.

Oh my God those books are so good, right? I mean, nothing makes my librarian brain happier than stories that are told entirely through documents. Aurora Rising is a more traditional narrative told from multiple POVs, but we do get the occasional “fun fact” in-between chapters. 

Behold! The jacket copy:

The year is 2380, and the graduating cadets of Aurora Academy are being assigned their first missions. Star pupil Tyler Jones is ready to recruit the squad of his dreams, but his own boneheaded heroism sees him stuck with the dregs nobody else in the Academy would touch…

A cocky diplomat with a black belt in sarcasm

A sociopath scientist with a fondness for shooting her bunkmates

A smart-ass techwiz with the galaxy’s biggest chip on his shoulder

An alien warrior with anger management issues

A tomboy pilot who’s totally not into him, in case you were wondering

And Ty’s squad isn’t even his biggest problem—that’d be Aurora Jie-Lin O’Malley, the girl he’s just rescued from interdimensional space. Trapped in cryo-sleep for two centuries, Auri is a girl out of time and out of her depth. But she could be the catalyst that starts a war millions of years in the making, and Tyler’s squad of losers, discipline-cases and misfits might just be the last hope for the entire galaxy. They're not the heroes we deserve. They're just the ones we could find. Nobody panic.

If you think “that sounds awesome” you’d be right. It is awesome. Poor Tyler Jones - he is indeed a golden boy of the Aurora Academy, but the night before the draft - the event where leader-types like him get to pick who will be in their squad with the Aurora Legion - Tyler, unable to sleep, decides to log some time in the Fold. Now, the Fold is, of course, the folds in space-time that allow for super-fun-and-quick space travel. So... a wormhole. Anyway, whilst cruising around the Fold, Tyler picks up a distress signal from a ship that famously disappeared two hundred years prior. On the ship he discovers a bunch of people dead in their cryopods. Only one is still alive: a girl with a white stripe in her hair. Tyler barely manages to rescue the girl and get back to his ship before a Foldstorm hits. 

One problem, though: while he was being Heroic McHeroface, Tyler missed the draft. He, the Academy’s #1 Golden boy didn’t get to pick the cream of the crop. Nope, he’s stuck with the population of the Island of Misfit Toys. 

His twin sister Scarlett sticks with him, though. So does his childhood best friend and expert pilot, Cat. The rest of the crew...well... There’s Zila, who is brilliant but not good with people.

She’s now the squad’s Brain - the Science Division type who also serves as the ship’s doctor. Yikes.

There’s Finian, a snarktastic tech genius Betraskan (a humanoid alien spices with super pale skin) who relies on an exosuit in order to move around. He’s the squad’s Gearhead.

And there’s Kal, a Syldrathi - another humanoid alien, only these look like elves from Lord of the Rings. Lots of Legolas references thrown around. Kal comes from a specific warrior cabal and has a reputation for getting into fights for funsies. He’s the Tank - the squad muscle / enforcer / bodyguard-type person. 

And of course, at first sight they all can’t stand each other. But they’re stuck together as Squad 312, so essentially, they have no choice. Hurray?

And if you’re wondering “but what about the girl with the white stripe in her hair?” - don’t worry, I’m getting there. Her name is Aurora Jae-Lin O’Malley, aka Auri. 200 years ago, she was living on a dying Earth, preparing to make the journey into space to the colony-planet of Octavia. She goes into cryosleep and promptly wakes up two hundred years too late, with the Aurora Academy, and no one has ever heard of Octavia. Plus, there’s something wrong with Auri - two hundred years in the Fold will mess with your brain a bit, but it doesn’t explain why she’s got one white eye, why she can move objects with her mind, and why she starts seeing visions of the future. At first, it looks like the Aurora Academy is going to send Auri back to Earth, but instead she ends up stowing away...with Squad 312, our favorite ragtag bunch of misfits.

Only it very quickly becomes evident that the powers at be want Auri, and they’re willing to kill anyone she comes into contact with. So Auri and Squad 312 end up on the run, and they’re all forced to work together in order to solve the mystery behind Auri’s strange powers. It all seems to have something to do with Octavia: why did the colony get wiped off the map? What happened to the people there? What happened to Auri in the Fold? 

Aurora Rising is the first in a planned trilogy, so, of course, we don’t get all the answers right away. There are enough answers to keep us from getting too pissed off, but enough unanswered questions to keep us on our toes waiting for the next book. And holy crap, I cannot wait for the next book. Aurora Rising starts out exciting and just continues to be exciting until the very last page (OK, maybe not the literal last page, those tend to be blank or just have information about the publisher on them, but you get my point). My one big complaint is that the one character I really wanted to get to know - Zila - gets the least amount of time in the limelight. Chapters narrated by her are mostly only a few sentences long - I know this is supposed to illustrate her blunt manner, but I was really looking forward to learning everything about what made her so peculiar. She does get a longer chapter later in the book, but we don’t learn all her secrets. And, I mean, come on, I wanted to know more about Zila, damn it! The rest of the characters are cool, though Tyler is a bit too much the bland leader-type and I had a hard time believing that Scarlett could be 18 and have over fifty ex-boyfriends (maybe they were just hookups and she just refers to them as boyfriends?). Finian’s chapters are fantastic because he is the group’s deadpan snarker - whenever things get intense, Fin’s ready to throw in some much-needed comic relief. Auri’s POV is by far the most compelling, though that may just be my own personal bias talking, because the Fish Out of Temporal Water is one of my favorite tropes ever...but it’s from Auri’s POV that we get all the Legolas references directed at Kal, and it’s just delightful. 

gard...gard...gard...gard...

In essence: I needed books 2 and 3 of the Aurora Cycle sometime yesterday, please. I need full chapters dedicated entirely to Zila and her history - she’s the one member of Squad 312 we know the least about by the end of Aurora Rising, and I want to know more! Maybe because she strikes me as a fellow girl on the spectrum and I desperately want to see more accurate depictions of autism in girls, something that doesn’t just depict us as straight-up psychopaths. We’re not, we’re really not. Our brains just work differently, OK? Stop judging Zila you guys, gah!

Anyway. I fricking loved this book, from beginning to end. Am I biased because I loved The Illuminae Files and think Amie Kaufman and Jay Kristoff are both fantastic writers? Yeah, probably. But, once again, I must direct you to the title of this stupid little tumblr blog. I promise cromulent reviews, not good or unbiased ones. Still - if any of what I described above sounds appealing to you, then you’re going to want to read Aurora Rising. And even if you’re still on the fence, read it anyway because some rando on a dying social media platform told you to. 

RECOMMENDED FOR: fans of YA sci-fi, fans of fiction featuring a ragtag bunch of misfits, anyone looking for an exciting YA cross between Guardians of the Galaxy and The Expanse.

NOT RECOMMENDED FOR: Anyone not a fan of YA, sci-fi, misfits, fun, excitement, joy...

RELEASE DATE: May 7, 2019 (Illuminae fans: check out Jay Kristoff’s website for details on how to get a free printed Illuminae novella with a pre-order of Aurora Rising!)

RATING: 5/5

TOTALLY UNBIASED FANGIRL RATING: 5,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000/5.

ANTICIPATION LEVEL FOR SEQUELS: Olympus Mons

GUARDIANS OF THE GALAXY RATING:

MY FACE WHEN I REALIZED I’LL HAVE TO WAIT A GOOD LONG WHILE FOR THE NEXT BOOK: