havamal 71 my beloved…. havamal verse 71…….. everyone on the cast commentary talking abt boromir redeeming himself in death + i need to chew on sheet metal its just death!!!!! it’s just death there’s no redemption because its death!!!! you don’t die well or poorly you just fucking die and no good comes of it at the end of the day!!!!!!! when i am feeling slightly less. Autism Stare i might need to sit down and write a. direct sort of aftermath for a Boromir Lives situation because i just. hrrrrrrgh.

the verse for anyone who hasn’t read the havamal, + bc it is by far my favorite verse of the entire piece:

The lame rides a horse, the handless is herdsman,

The deaf in battle is bold;

The blind man is better than one that is burned,

No good can come of a corpse.

"Yet even so it was Gondor that brought about its own decay, falling by degrees into dotage, and thinking that the Enemy was asleep, who was only banished not destroyed. 

 'Death was ever present, because the Numenoreans still, as they had in their old kingdom, and so lost it, hungered after endless life unchanging. Kings made tombs more splendid than houses of the living, and counted old names in the rolls of their descent dearer than the names of sons. 

  Childless lords sat in aged halls musing on heraldry; in secret chambers withered men compounded strong elixirs, or in high cold towers asked questions of the stars. And the last king of the line of Anarion had no heir." 

Faramir's explanation for Gondor's ‘decline’ is... incoherent.. what the hell are you on about m’love?

The way this reads is so completely misleading when looking at the actual history and reasons for Gondor's receding borders and the loss of the watch on Mordor. Faramir puts the onus on Gondorian Kings wanting to live longer and not having kids... babe? Did you forget... the plague? Gondor WAS watching for activity in Mordor. For 1640 years! And then there was a plague so devastating that it turned the country’s most populous city into a near ghost town. It took 200 years for Gondor to recover, and even then it never truly reached the population levels it had maintained before. Osgiliath was never the same! And by then Mordor had taken the fortresses at the Morannon! 

There is absolutely no mention of Kings or Stewards who were desperately seeking to extend their life in Gondor’s history. Where are these tombs more splendid than the houses of the living? All the Kings not buried in Osgiliath are buried in the Silent Street... There is no mention of achingly elaborate tombs anywhere! 

There WERE however some Kings who did not marry or have children! ... Two, there were just two of them... out of thirty three. Narmacil I was Atanatar's son and reigned in the HEIGHT of Gondor's wealth. He essentially allowed his nephew Minalcar to run the country whilst he had a great time writing poetry and kissing men. And Minalcar did a really good job! He fought wars, he made alliances, he built the Argonath and when it actually came around to his time to be King, he had a nice and peaceful reign! And when his son Valacar wanted to marry a Northern Princess? Even though the worry in Gondor was that that would ‘weaken’ the King’s line and reduce their lifespan? He supported him! Gave his blessing! 

The other King who never married or had any children was Earnur! You all remember Earnur? Oh sure, he desperately wanted to extend HIS life past its natural limits! Fighting in two wars and then riding off into an obvious trap just because he'd been challenged really gives me a whole 'old man in his dotage fears death' vibe. And that was the ‘last king of the line of Anarion who had no heir’. You know WHY he was the last king? Because the King before his father Earnil II (King Ondoher) and his two sons had died! In a massive fuckall war with the Balchoth that nearly saw Gondor destroyed! PRINCE Faramir was TOLD to stay behind! But he was so anxious for his family and so wished to not simply sit and wait for death that he HID amongst the ranks of the Eotheod and went to war anyway!! AND DIED!! Asking questions of the stars??? Making strange elixirs?? Mused uselessly on heraldry??? WHEN? FARAMIR?? Was Ondoher daydreaming about stars and heraldry as he was cut down by a chariot??? Was Artamir brewing potions mid-battle?? WHAT are you talking about!!!

Where are these men fearing death who brought Gondor into it's decline that Faramir is talking about? Is he lying? No, I actually believe Faramir when he says he would not even snare an orc in a falsehood. The things Faramir says are things he believes. But then how, when he is so well known for his loremastership, can he be so misleading and plain wrong about something so basic to Gondorian history? Well I have a suggestion but it means Faramir’s at least a little homophobic so bear with me and I promise this is relevant.

So, obviously, the ups and downs of Gondor society in terms of queer liberation would be complex and rely upon a diverse number of factors. However, I’d say that, if you looked at an overall trend, it goes up in times of peace and takes a hit during times of strife. The basic reasoning for this is that one of the fundamentals of Gondorian society is the concept of doom and fate. This can give both correct and erroneous impressions of cause and effect throughout history. Gondorians tend to believe everything happens for a reason. And due to the (sometimes quiet but always present) elf-and-faithful-numenorean-ruled thinkers, who push ideas of proper marriage, celebacy, romance-superiority and other cis-het-normative agendas, the ‘reason’ that bad things happen is often blamed on the queer liberation of the times. The populace is open to being given reasons for bad things happening and Academia in Gondor is very much elf-revering, so it is often respected scholars who are pushing that narrative. 

HOWEVER, the queerness is rarely what is actually remembered or recorded in history, the wording of records are often bound up in the faithful numenorean rhetoric of ‘heretical kings’ and ‘they fell into the trap of king’s men ideology’ and so on and so forth. Scholars might understand what this means at the time, but it gets muddled further down the road and even academics in the future have trouble finding the intended emphasis. So! By the time we reach 3018 TA, the academic community as a whole has reached a general consensus that ‘the old sins of our past’ are to blame and that, whilst queerness was a part of it, it was more a symptom than a direct cause. 

So! The thought process I’m proposing for Faramir should be easy to guess at now, but I’m going to go more specific for the sake of... me uwu. 

GONDOR has not known peace for the last 500 years, not since Steward Denethor the first’s reign wherein the so called ‘watchful peace’ ended and Sauron returned to Mordor. NOW, before Denethor, his uncle Dior was the Steward and, as you’ve probably guessed, he had no children and nor did he marry. I would suggest that Dior lived through one of the most tolerant and open portions of Gondor’s history. I think he not only was open about his choice not to marry, but he also had a socially accepted partner and lived with him all his life with only a small, vocal minority voicing their objections. 

But then Sauron returned! And it was brutal, bloody and horrific. And that vocal minority saw an opportunity to use Dior’s life as a method to push Gondor once again into it’s regular crisis of conscience, faith and purpose. ‘We betrayed our founder’s’ and ‘We should have been ruled by Dior’s son but because of his weakness against his ill-fate we are doomed, he abandoned his duty! A pitiful fate but pitiful for us as well!’ And so on and so forth, there are reems of academic works written about it.

Now, this doesn’t have an immediate crushing effect on queer rights that one might fear. Denethor I loved his uncle dearly and would not hear a bad word about him, as did Boromir I! And Cirion? Cirion was almost more alternative than Dior. He sold off portions of land when the Stewards had been told to keep them IN TRUST for the king’s return. He made enduring and reciprocal alliances with the Eotheod ‘middle men’, he was very much anti-traditionalist! However, it was after his reign that Gondor truly felt the backlash of all this, spurred on by Cirion’s very alternative views, actions and methods. Because whilst he may have been an effective and charismatic Steward, Cirion had not found so much time to be a good father. And Hallas had been fifteen when his father had left him behind and ridden to war. He had a frightening and lonely childhood and was very open to the idea that his father was wrong, had gone too far, that things should be ‘brought back to normal’. Stability being key and all. The vocal minority had his ear. 

And since then, whilst opinion has still fluctuated, the constant unrest and simmering crisis of Gondor’s day to day has made progress against such concepts difficult and slow going. And it’s informed the opinion of history too, a lot more academic writing has compared Dior to Narmacil I (the first unwed and unmarried King) and has tried to find parallels between them and Earnur. Any explicit discussion of queerness has been relegated to Sindarin scripts (the language only really understood by academics and the upper classes), but the underlying tone is there HENCE! 

“falling by degrees into dotage, and thinking that the Enemy was asleep“ = Dior ‘abandoned his duty’ and Narmacil I ‘was indolent’.

“the Numenoreans still [-] hungered after endless life unchanging.” = A melding of heretical beliefs that occurred over centuries into one monolith that applied longing for endless life automatically.

“Childless lords sat in aged halls musing on heraldry; [-] compounded strong elixirs, [-] asked questions of the stars.” = This is all both reaching back to heretical practices in Numenor, whilst also harkening back to the periods of time in which Dior and Narmacil lived, peaceful times where more introspective and experimental pursuits could be indulged. 

SO! This is where Faramir’s erroneous and misleading opinions come from. And why he is at least a little homophobic. There, I told you all I’d get there. 

Aragorns ranked based on how funny they are

5.Rankin-Bass Aragorn:

Shows up late in the movie with little explanation. Gandalf’s like “you should do a suicide-mission march on the Black Gate” and Aragorn’s like “eh sure I guess I wasn’t planning on doing anything else today.”

All in all he’s not as funny as the other Aragorns, but he gets points for Just Rolling With It and for that sick helmet.

Funniness Level: 7/10 love how his fashion sense is the polar opposite of Bakshi Aragorn

4.Musical Aragorn:

The musical in general is a hilariously amazing mess and I love it. It was also drastically rewritten many times over its run, so Aragorn’s characterization varies depending on the version.

In the the bootleg I listened to, I *think* what they were going for was. 

Aragorn hides his true identity from everyone until the second act. Then he finally reveals he’s the Lost King of Gondor to Boromir, as Boromir is dying. And while that’s a compelling idea it’s also funny bc Boromir’s just like:

“Dude--”

“You couldn’t have told me this sooner???????”

If I remember right the musical implies that Arwen is also one of the few people Aragorn has told about his true heritage? I think this means Musical!Aragorn apparently only reveals he’s the Lost King to a) the pretty girl he’s crushing on and b) the handsome man he has homoerotic subtext with. VALID

Funniness Level: 9/10 your crush would probably be more impressed to hear you were the Lost King of Gondor if they weren’t busy dying from multiple arrow wounds

3. Book Aragorn:

FUN FACT: Aragorn sings more in the books than he does in the actual musical. The musical cut all of Aragorn’s songs. The cowards.

He’s only a “loner” for the Aesthetic....... He makes the hobbits feel sorry for him by saying “a hunted man often wearies of mistrust and longs for friendship” right before introducing them to his friend Glorfindel, and his friend Elrond, and his friend Arwen, and oh yeah he’s friends with Bilbo too, and---

Also. There’s a moment in the “Tale of Aragorn and Arwen” where Aragorn’s like “I’m in love with Arwen” and Aragorn’s mom says “well she’s out of your league” and Aragorn responds “so I have to be sad and alone for all my life???” and his mom is like “yup.” Iconic

Aragorn has way too many names and way too many of them have to do with his long legs. Strider, Wingfoot, Longshanks, Telcontar (Strider in Elvish, the last name he takes as King.) He’s got 50 names and half of them are variations on “Daddy Long Legs”

Funniness Level: 100/10 would be a lot higher but I deducted points bc I’m kinkshaming his obsession with legs

2.Peter Jackson Aragorn: 

PJ Aragorn is so terrified of the burden of being king that he tries to hide from it. He just wants to be free.

In the Two Towers Aragorn and Eowyn discuss what to do with an unruly battle-scarred horse. Aragorn tells Eowyn that the horse should be set free.

It doesn’t matter if the horse is kingly. It doesn’t matter if, as Eowyn says, he’s a  royal horse that once belonged to the king’s son. Because the horse is sad.

Even if he’s a kingly royal horse, he is very sad.  

People are expecting too much from the horse and it’s making him scared!!!! He’s not a bad horse, he’s just panicking because he feels trapped!!!! So they should set him free, Aragorn insists. He just wants to be free.

“He has seen enough of war,” Aragorn says as he walks away. And you wonder if he’s talking about the horse............... or himself.

Because PJ-Aragon just wants to be free! Free, like the horses! He relates to the horses! The horses are like him, because they too feel trapped and they’re rebellious and unruly and desperately long for freedom!!!!!!!!! 

“You just don’t understand me, mom Elrond!!!!!”

Funniness Level: 20000000/10, he’s the protagonist of a Horse Girl Movie who somehow stumbled into a fantasy epic

Ralph Bakshi Aragorn:

Ralph Bakshi Aragorn is serious, sober, noble, and regal. 

John Hurt voices him, and his performance is honestly one of the best parts of the movie. He’s legitimately a good Aragorn!!! And on paper, he seems like he would be the least funny Aragorn. 

But just.

Just.

He’s a Very Serious Aragorn but he dresses like:

The hobbits walk into the Prancing Pony and Aragorn’s sitting in the corner, no pants, with his bare legs stretched out like he’s trying to seduce them.

And no one ever comments on this!!!! Aragorn is always Rolling to Seduce but none of the other characters acknowledge it!!!!!

Then there’s the animation. The Bakshi film was made by a team of inexperienced animators who relied on tracing over live-action footage as a crutch, which is why the animation looks Like That(tm). The character’s faces float around their heads and their movements, especially in the battle scenes where the live-action reference wasn’t that good, are always.......hmmmmmm. 

 Aragorn vs Ringwraith WHO WOULD WIN???

Funniness Level: 3000000000000/10 sparks joy

Elmer's Glue pt.1

Éomer/Reader

God you just can't get his name right, and it's a shame cause's he's cute af

Awkwardness Humor and Fluff

----

Someone like you shouldn't have survived nearly as long as you did.

You first came tumbling into Middle Earth a few days before departing for some big important quest to destroy a powerful ring, having landed yourself in a place called Rivendell that's full of elves and lovely scenery.

You were presented at some meeting and urged to join this 'Fellowship' and became a valuable member of the group even despite your lack of fighting knowledge, because you somehow had some sort of 6th sense regarding things that have yet to happen.

Just barely did you and your friends survive Helms Deep, The Hornburg, after all of those horrible events (losing Gandalf, Merry and Pippin being captured, and Frodo and Sam departing to continue on on their own), but once all is said and done, you're ecstatic to finally have a moment of rest and celebration.

A grand party is thrown in the royal halls of Rohan, but you're none to interested in the drinking or dancing.

Instead, you opt to watch everyone else enjoy themselves.

At some point after Legolas wipes the floor with Gimli in a drinking game, the prince, and brother of the sweet woman Eowyn, ends up meandering over to where you idly sit.

You remember riding with him to and from Isengard during your journey to reclaim your hobbit friends, though the two of you didn't speak much. It was kind of embarrassing for you to sit so close to him and attempt to share a conversation while looking straight ahead, so you didn't speak much at all, and he didn't engage himself often either.

It was surprising to you how comfortable the journey was, though, all things considered.

His horse was huge and he was just as large, but you never felt afraid or feared falling even once during the ride.

It's not a big deal, but it still stuck out to you since he's so clearly a very skilled rider.

Even after all that, however, you still totally blank out on his name when he suddenly approaches after helping Legolas bring Gimili to the resting area.

Your mind begins to race as you try to remember the name that belongs to him, and all too soon do you realize that you're both staring at each other and he's waiting for your to say something (probably after greeting you, which you did not catch).

"L-Lord... Elmer..." You say slowly after a moment, praying to god you got it right since you took inspiration from your favorite brand of kids glue.

He raises an eyebrow when you say his 'name', and a smile creeps on to his face. "Elmer?"

Ah, shit. You definitely didn't get it right.

"Elmo?" You mentally kick yourself for that one, he's definitely not a small red puppet monster, you would've noticed if he were.

He shakes his head this time, amusement painting his features as you struggle to come up with his actual name.

"Emir?"

Another head shake, and also a full on smile.

"It's not Edgar, is it?" It definitely doesn't sound right, but maybe you'll get lucky.

At this point, you know for a fact that your face is on fire, this is so embarrassing, but you simply can't remember.

"Would you like me to tell you?" He offers after you don't guess again for a time, leaning his arm on the table next to you, leaning closer to you.

Getting help at this point would be mortifying, so you deny his offer for the proper answer and take another crack and guessing. "No, no wait. I've got it! Your name is... Elinor..." You mentally smack yourself in the face for that one; he doesn't even look like an Elinor (mostly because he's not a woman).

"Not quite. Eomer is my name may I remind you."

So your first guess was the closest, but still so far away.

"W-Well, this is extremely embarrassing." You stutter out, adverting your gaze from his eyes which have suddenly become so close.

Eomer can't help but to laugh, and the smile that graces his lips is positively dashing.

You glance back up at him and notice right away, and once more your face begins to burn like a furnace.

"I-I didn't mean to forget, I swear! And I definitely wasn't trying to make fun of you either!"

His chuckles die down when your slightly panicked speech betrays your concern of being disrespectful, and he wastes no time in assuring you that it's perfectly fine. "If you are worried that you've upset me, then do not fret. I'm not offended, simply amused."

Well, that's a relief.

"Um... well, that's good- I guess," you tell him your name, then continue, "I feel so bad. You took me on your horse and everything and I didn't even remember your name! Gosh, I suck."

The tall blond-haired man looks at you oddly when you insult yourself so strangely, and you realize that you forgot to keep your other-word slang to a minimum since it can be hard to understand.

"Right, well, I came over to ask if you would like to join me on a walk outside. Are you interested?" He leans down a bit closer when he asks you this, acting as if he doesn't want anyone else to hear.

Typically you'd be more cautious than this, but you find yourself nodding along regardless.

---

Lord Eomer (you'll definitely remember his name this time, you swear it) took your hand in his and led you outside after you nodded your assent, and while you'd normally dislike being grabbed so casually, you allow it for some reason.

He releases you from his gentle hold once the both of you are beyond the party halls and outside in the cool night air at the bottom of the steps, and you finally find your voice to ask about his intent.

"So... did you want to talk to me about something or...?" You look up at him curiously with your hands clasped in front of you, twisting your heel in the dirt to ease the anxiousness.

"No, nothing in particular. I do have questions, but I simply wanted a moment alone with you," he pauses, then adds slyly, "Your friends have taken up al your time since we arrived, so I had hoped to steal you away for a time."

You aren't sure if you should be flattered, flustered, or both.

"I-I see... well, you've got me now." You mean it as a joke but it's hard to sound humorous when you're so flustered.

He only smiles and nods his head once, "I do."

Cue the awkward silence.

It appears that he's once again waiting for you to say something, so you decide to pull no punches and go straight for the heavy hitting topics.

"So, hows about that battle, huh? Crazy..."

His eyebrows knit together as he thinks over your strange speaking mannerisms, but he doesn't question it and only nods his head instead. "You could say that. The men fought bravely and we lost many, but our victory does not go unrewarded."

"Are you talking about the party?"

"Yes. That, and the knowledge that some of my men get to return home tonight and see their families."

His words bring a small, sad smile to your face, and you speak much more softly this time, "I'm afraid it isn't over, though. With everything going on, it's only a matter of time before we're all sent away again."

"We?"

Oh, right, he doesn't really know about your role in this merry group of misfits.

"Um, yes. I fight, er, kind of. I do my own thing really, but I can't afford to stay behind." It's hard to explain since you aren't sure what the extent of his knowledge is.

His uncle, Theoden, knows almost all about your deal, but does Eomer? He should since he's a key part of this whole Rohan operation, but it's not necessarily your place to tell him either.

"A shield-maiden?" He wonders aloud, taking a seat on the stone steps next to you two.

Even when he's sitting down he's taller than you, and it shoots an arrow of envy through you. The bigger you are, the more intimidated your enemies are, after-all.

"Not quite. I'm not the best at fighting really." It's kind of a lie, actually, because you've got some hidden skill that makes you pretty good at that kind of thing, but it has to do with your foresight to you choose not to explain much further.

Your answer seems to only confuse him more, however, for his eyebrows knit together and his smile tugs downwards into a frown. "You are not? But they bring you into battle regardless?"

Well, shit, now you're making them sound like negligent, reckless idiots.

"N-No- I mean, I'm okay but, uh, it's hard to explain." It's like you somehow just know how to affectively fight; it's like something inside of you just takes over and keeps you from dying, and it proved to be both extremely useful and also unexpected.

They found out about this 'hidden ability' (for lack of a better term) during the battle in which Boromir was slain and you first lost your hobbit friends. You were surrounded and everyone else was fighting for their lives, and in that moment of hopelessness, something inside of you snapped and the floodgates were opened.

Your skill lies in defense, not offense, but it was all you needed to make it through the fight alive and intact.

"I-I know it seems like they were being irresponsible, but there's more to the story- I swear!" You try to defend, taking a step closer to his seated form, "Really, they need me, so it'd be even more irresponsible if they didn't bring me along."

He doesn't seem to get it, for his doubtful expression remains and his frown deepens, but he tries not to judge too much either. "I... see."

A subject change seems like the best course of action, so you decide to ask him a question of your own. "W-Well... anyways. Why'd you want me to come out here with you?"

"I simply wished to learn more about the beautiful newcomer that graced our halls, and I find that I'm even more entranced than before."

Lord Eomer's words bring a flush to your face and leave you flustered, and it seems you can't get your brain to form a coherent thought either.

"Have my words troubled you?" He asks when you still don't manage to find your voice.

"N-No, it's not that..." You trail off and cover your mouth and nose coyly, looking off to the side when you find that you can't meet his gaze any longer. "I'm just not sure how to reply to that. I've been here so long I don't even remember how to flirt." Your words are, of course, an embarrassed joke, and it seems to land well for he chortles with amusement.

"If that is all it is, then it must be fine that I say you've caught my eye, and I'm afraid I cannot get it back until I know more."

"Know more about... m-me?" You repeat slowly, simply trying to wrap your head around it all, "Like... Like what?"  

Another dashing smile brightens his handsome features, and this time your heart flutters nervously when he does, "Anything."

You twiddle your thumbs in front of you and dip your head down, racking your brain for any information that would be interesting but not super telling in terms of your 'earth of origin.'

"Um... I can do this-" You raise one of your hands and bend your fingers all the way back until they're perpendicular with your palm, displaying your double jointed fingers effortlessly.

He stares at your hand trick for all of 5 seconds before he's standing up and worriedly asking, "Have you broken your hand?" He takes your hand in his own, delicately turning it around in search of bruises.

"N-No," you pause and look at his larger hands taking yours, then add shyly after, "It's just a trick. I'm double-jointed."

"Double-jointed?" He repeats slowly, not releasing your hand though he does cease his search for damage. "I... see."

He sure does say that a lot.

"I can also do this." You take back one of your hands and reach into your pocket and pull out a lighter that you've had with you all this time, then you ignite a flame and brandish it proudly.

The blond-haired man looks on with wide eyes, and he reaches out towards it, asking with amazement in his voice, "You created fire so effortlessly!'

"Yeah, this little device has, er, oil in it and it ignites it using a spark." It has been helpful many a-night when everyone else has been out and about doing stuff and you were left to tend to the fires. "Don't get too close though, it's hot."

He nods his head once and drops his hands to his dies, watching the small flame dance on the lighter before you blow it out and place it back in your pocket.

"Where did you find such a magnificent contraption?" He asks once it's out of sight, looking down at you with curiosity sparkling in his eyes.

"I, um... made it." You think it best to lie, though he doesn't appear to fall for it, and change the subject. "So, how about that weather we're having?"

Your sudden and shitty subject change makes him raise an inquisitive eyebrow, but after a moment he starts to laugh, "Yes, the night sky's are very clear tonight. As it should be the morrow after a raging battle."

It's strange and none too awkward since you're no good at this, but this normalcy actually almost makes you forget all the shit you've seen up until now.

"I would very much like to see you again." He says suddenly when the conversation dies down and you both just stand there in silence.

You look back up at him and offer a small smile, repeating softly, "Sure. I'd like that as well. But I'm still here, so we don't have to talk about later just yet, right?"

"I suppose not." He reaches down and grabs your right hand gently, raising it up while he also leans down, then he presses a feather soft kiss to the middle of the back of your hand.

Eomer looks up at you while he does so, and you find that your face has begun to heat up once more.

When he doesn't move to stand normally and continues to look up at you expectantly, you ask uncertainly, "Am I supposed to kiss your hand too, or...?"

It seems you're quite the comedian to this guy, for he stands up straight again and bursts into joyful laughter, reaching down to pat your shoulders, "No no, but if you wish to offer me one somewhere else then I would not deny it."

People in this place really waste no time beating around the bush, though you suppose they can't afford to waste much time when things like the Battle at Helms Deep happen every so often.

There are murderous orcs everywhere and danger at every turn for them nowadays, do you actually feel a sense of appreciation for his forwardness.

This time you find yourself laughing too, and you readily reply, "Maybe next time, Lord Eomer. We only just met, you know. I could be trying to steal a place in the royal line, for all you know."

His smile does not waver despite your warning against yourself, for he only shakes his head and squeezes your shoulders gently, "No, such motives always make themselves clear early on. Unfortunately for me, you're honest."

"Unfortunately?"

"Unfortunate for my heart, yes."

so i am back on the grima train and i was reading through your posts (absolutely quality, for which i can only thank you !! 💓) and you mentioned in one about his use of magic that you have a Lot of Feelings about grima in relation to gender and plz i need to hear them!! (if you want to share? 👀)

LOTR: Grima & Gender 

Oh man, so Grima and gender. My favourite topic. Other than Grima and magic - but they’re linked! So, that’s a bonus for us.

I want to thank you so much for asking this question. I have wanted to rant about this for Forever.

This became incredibly long, but the long and short of it is that Grima undermines social expectations of masculinity in Rohan through his disdain for martial achievements, his occupying a more private/passive role within the king’s household rather than the expected “masculine” public/active, his use of spells and potions being an “unmanly” and “cowardly” approach to problem solving, and his reliance on language and soft-power approaches to politics.

All of this works to position Grima within a more feminine role and character - at least within the context of Rohan’s hypermasculine performativity of manliness.

[It does allow us to read Grima as trans with greater ease in terms of fitting into the canon than the usual favourites, other than Eowyn. So, you know, do with that what you will. Eowyn and Grima both want to be queen. Let them be in charge! I’m going to get my ass bit for this.]

-

Grima’s gender performance needs to be quickly situated within the broader context of masculinity in Middle-Earth. Gondor’s ideal of masculinity is the gentler masculinity that everyone focuses on when they talk about men in middle earth being good models of what masculinity can look like. It’s a nurturing masculinity, it’s gentle, it’s healing-focused. Aragorn and others try and take the first off-ramp from violence or conflict whenever they can. There is no enjoyment in warfare or soldiering. It’s done because it’s necessary. Dick-swinging is limited to non-existent etc.

Rohan is different.

Faramir touches on this when he speaks to Frodo of how Boromir was more like the men of Rohan and how he thought that wasn’t a good thing as it meant he was seeking glory for glory’s sake, relishing war and soldiering as an occupation rather than an unfortunate necessity.

Of course, Faramir was also making (some very dubious) racial commentary, but race and gender are often bound up together (e.g. hyper-masculinization of black men and the feminization of East Asian men in the North America).

As R.W. Connell says, “masculinities are congurations of practice that are constructed, unfold, and change through time” — and, additionally, masculinity must be defined in opposition to femininity but, also, other masculinities.

For Rohan, there is a strong, militarized hyper-masculinity that threads through their culture. One of the reasons Theoden was seen as a failing king was his physical decline and inability to continue being a physically strong king. His aging emasculated him, more so when compared to Theodred and Eomer. (Something Theoden believed of himself and Grima capitalized on.)

For this, I’m going to speak of masculinity of the upper classes, since that’s what we see for Rohan. Masculinity, and how it’s to be performed, is contingent on social variables such as, but not limited to: age, appearance and size, bodily facility, care, economic class, ethnicity, fatherhood, relations to biological reproduction, leisure, martial and kinship status, occupation, sexuality etc. and as we never see lower class Rohirrim men it’s impossible to say what the “acceptable” and “expected” forms for a farmer or cooper would be.

Upper class men of Rohan are expected to be militarily capable - ready to ride and fight when called by their king or marshal. They are to be men of action over word, and when language is in play, it’s to be forthright and plain. No riddling. Marriage/Husband-ing is an expected part of manhood. Being strong minded, and capable of taking charge and making decisions is important. Fatherhood is also clearly prized, especially fatherhood that results in son(s).

(Theoden only having one child could be read as another “failure” in living up to Rohirrim ideals when compared to the older kings of his family who were far more prolific.)

The appearance of an “ideal” man is tall, fair, and handsome. Physically strong and capable in all ways (martially, sexually, fertile etc.).

Men should be able to demonstrate that they are capable of being in charge, taking control, defending and protecting families and homes. This slots in with more generalized expectations around bravery, honour and glory.

[Eomer: And that, in summation, is how you are to Be A Man.

Grima: Well that sounds utterly exhausting.]

-

So, with all of that in mind, let’s talk Grima.

First, let’s address the name and character construction as this is the least bound up in how he acts and its tension with Rohirrim ideals of Being a Man. It’s also interesting in that it can give a glimpse into Tolkien and the possible thoughts he had when constructing Grima.

Grima’s Name & Beowulf Stuff

Grima’s name is from old Icelandic Grimr, which is a name Odin takes during the Grimnismal saga.

Here are some lines from Odin in the saga:

I have called myself Grim,

I have called myself Wanderer,

Warrior and Helmet-Wearer,

[...]

Evildoer, Spellcaster,

Masked and Shadowed-Face,

Fool and Wise Man,

[...]

Rope-Rider and Hanged-God.

I have never been known

by just one name

since I first walked among men.

Not only is Grima’s name from Odin, more importantly, it’s the feminine version of that name. No man in the eddas or sagas goes by Grima. Only women. And most often they were seidr-workers or healers/magic practitioners of some kind.

"Other healers include Gríma from Fóstbræðra saga and Laxdæla saga and Heiðr from Biarmiland in Harald’s saga Hárfagra." 

- “Hostile Magic in the Icelandic Sagas,” Hilda Ellis-Davidson

And

"There was a man called Kotkel, who had only recently arrived in Iceland. His wife was called Grima. Their sons were Hallbjorn Sleekstone-Eye and Stigandi. These people had come from the Hebrides. They were all extremely skilled in witchcraft and were great sorcerers." 

- Laxdæla saga

This is most likely something Tolkien was aware of — I would be flabbergasted if he wasn’t. However, did he fully appreciate the implications in terms of gender and subversion of masculinity? Impossible to say, of course, but he certainly knew he was giving his male character a name that has only been used by women in historical texts.

It would be akin to naming your male character Henrietta instead of Henry. It’s a deliberate, explicit decision. And while I don’t think Tolkien expected most readers to track down the origin of Grima’s name, the --a ending, to most anglophone readers, signifies a feminine name, more often than not. At least, it rarely, if ever, signifies masculine.

So the name alone brings in, at a subconscious level to readers, feminine qualities.

Alongside this, Grima is loosely based on Unferth from Beowulf. The entrance of Gandalf et al into Meduseld directly mirrors Beowulf’s into Hrothgar’s hall (complete with Grima lounging at Theoden’s feet the same as Unferth at Hrothgar’s). Indeed, it was clearly Tolkien’s intention to make a call back to Beowulf with that scene. (He was being all “look how clever I am. Also these are Anglo-Saxons on horses. As a general fyi”).

Unferth is a fascinating character in his own right ,and there is much scholarly debate around his role within Hrothgar’s hall, as well as the text more broadly. While there isn’t enough time/space to get into Unferth, I will quickly note that he is another character who subverts his society’s ideas of manhood and masculinity — particularly with regards to expectations of heroism and bravery. Yet, at the same time, Unferth is noted for being very intelligent, cunning, good at riddling, and overall quick witted (also, a kin-slayer. Dude murdered his brothers for Reasons).

Unferth’s contrary behaviour that flies in the face of Anglo-Saxon norms and ideals of masculine bravery is clearly reflected in Grima. Particularly in Grima’s fear of battle and lack of interest in taking up his sword when called by his king.

This leaves us with a character who was given a woman’s name and who is loosely based on another character who is known for his inability to follow through on his society’s expectations for masculine behaviour. 

Grima, from the first moment we meet him, clearly reads more feminine than masculine - this is amplified when he’s contrasted with the likes of Theoden and Eomer. And, not only is his aligned with traditional femininity more than other male characters, he is specifically aligned with the more negative tropes of femininity (i.e. lack of bravery, unreliable, dubious morals etc.).

-

That is a brief overview of the bones of Grima’s construction: name and inspiration. Now for actions and characterization within the text. This will be subdivided into comments on his use of magic and how that interfaces with Rohirrim masculinity then we’ll get into power and language.

Grima’s key point of power is his ability to weave words in so powerful a way he could convince Theoden of his own infirmity and weakness thereby securing control over the king. Alongside this, we know that he was using certain “potions and poison” to further weaken Theoden. Most likely to amp up the king’s physical weakness so it coincided with Grima’s mental magic games.

Magic for Anglo-Saxon and early medieval Scandinavians was heavily rooted in the power of the spoken word. Runes were probably used but the historical support of this is vague. Which is to say, we know they were used, we’re just not certain how and to what extent.

We do know that rune staves were a thing. They were most often used to send your landwights after opponents or wreck havoc on enemies from afar. To make one, a magic-worker would carve the prescribed runes onto a large stave and position it in the ground facing the direction of their enemy. On top of the stave was added the head of a horse. (Lots of horse sacrifice happened for early medieval Scandinavians, alongside some human sacrifice.)

But, the brunt of magic for Anglo-Saxons and early medieval Scandinavians was spoken word. Which makes sense as their society was, like Rohan’s, predominantly illiterate or, at least, para-literate (though, there has been some recent archeological evidence that is starting to call that into question, for what that’s worth).

In particular, Grima’s spellwork aligns most closely with seidr, a fact I’ve gone about ad nausea. And, again, something we can assume Tolkien was aware of, which means he was also aware of the gendered implications of a man practicing the craft.

The mainstay of seidrcraft is, but not limited to, the following:

making illusions,

causing madness and/or forgetfulness,

brewing of potions and poisons,

prophesying,

channeling the dead,

channeling gods,

removal of elf-shot, and

recovering lost portions of someone’s soul.

The first three bullets are things Grima does to Theoden. That kind of magic — the kind that fucks with your mind and your sense of self, the kind that is subtle and quiet and lurks beneath the surface so you don’t know it’s happening, that’s cunning — that kind of magic is what women do.

It was considered unmanly/effeminate for a man to partake in it as it undermined the hypermasculine militarized culture of the time. Winning a battle or a fight through spells and poison was cowardly.

Therefore, in Rohan where we have this hypermasculine culture that so prizes military glory and grandeur and martial might, Grima pursuing his goals through spellcraft and potions/poisons is Grima pursuing distinctly unmasculine, effeminate modes of action.

Indeed, within Rohan it could call into question the entirety of his masculinity. It would make him ragr (adj. unmanly) because his actions are the epitome of ergi (noun. unmanliness).

"In the Viking Age, homosexual men were treated with extreme disdain and a complex kind of moral horror, especially those who allowed themselves to be penetrated. Such a man was ragr, not only homosexual by inclination and action, but also inhabiting a state of being that extended to ethical and social qualities. This complex of concepts has been extensively studied, and in the words of its leading scholar, "the unmanly man is everything that a man should not be with regard to morals and character. He is effeminate and he is a coward, and consequently devoid of honour". [...] What we would call sexual orientation was, in the viking age, completely bound up with much wider and deeper codes of behaviour and dignity, extending way beyond physical and emotional preference." -Neil Price, Children of Ash and Elm: A History of the Vikings

Though Price references specifically homosexuality in this passage, a man could be considered ragr for more than just that — and one of the other ways was through practicing seidr.

We see this with Odin, who learns how to do seidrcraft from Freyja, and is then mocked by Loki for how emasculating the practice is for Odin to undertake (as if Loki has any room to talk). Odin’s made himself effeminate, he’s made himself unmanly, he’s allowed himself to learn spells that could enable him to take a cowards way out of a situation, to be dishonourable etc.

Which is a neat tie-back to Grima’s name being one of Odin’s names, particularly when he is in disguise and using seidrcraft and wily ways to escape various unfortunate situations that he ends up in during the Grimnismal saga.

(As Odin says: I have been called Evildoer, Spellcaster, Masked and Shadowed-Face, Fool and Wise Man.)

It also mirrors him to Gandalf - another character who bears an Odinnic name. Gandalf very much represents the masculine, “acceptable” aspects of Odin. Grima embodies the darker, more dubious, and more effeminate, aspects of the god. As I’ve said in other posts, they are two sides of the Odin coin.

Though both are temperamental as fuck.

-

Alongside the spellcraft and potions, Grima’s performance of power does not align with Rohirrim traditions and ideals. He relies on his wits and his skill with language to navigate the world. Succinctly captured in the epithet bestowed upon him: Wormtongue. This is the modernization of Wyrmtunga, or, Dragon’s Tongue.

Wyrm can translate to worm, sure, and we see Saruman doing this on purpose when he refers to Grima as a worm, a creature that crawls in the dirt. But Wyrm, of course, is actually a form of dragon. And in Middle Earth, wyrm is used interchangeably with dragon (Smaug is called both wyrm and dragon), rather than denoting a specific species/categorization of dragon as it does in our world.

Grima’s approach to power is that of a gentle touch. He speaks softly, but doesn’t carry a large stick. He’s not Eomer or Theodred, who are much more traditionally martial, aggressive and forthright in their responses to a situation. Grima is clearly all about influencing those around him either through persuasion/use of words, or through spellcraft. He manipulates, he uses linguistic trickery.

-

Additionally, how he undertakes his role as advisor to the king places him more within the private world of Meduseld and the king’s household than the active, public world of marshals and thanes. And, of course, the private world of households was traditionally considered the woman’s domain while men were expected to occupy the public spaces of the world.

Of course, being involved in court politics is a public role as opposed to existing within a wholly private space (such as Eowyn. Who, in the books, takes a mostly private role until she is required to rule in her uncle’s stead while he and Eomer are off at war, and even then it is clearly considered a temporary situation and part of her duty as a woman). But the manner in which Grima occupies that public position is a more “feminine” one.

We can assume that if Eomer or Erkenbrand or Elfhelm occupied the role as advisor to Theoden, they would have a very different approach to the position. A much more aggressive, active and probably military-focused approach. Less carrot, more stick.

A quick note on his appearance in the film, aside from being entirely in black with black hair in a land full of blonds because he needed to be visually distinct as the Bad Guy. He is dressed in longer tunics and robes compared to Eomer and other Rohirrim men (aside from Theoden, but as soon as he is “healed” of his possession(?) he returns to the Proper Masculine shorter tunics than the Weak and Effeminate longer robes and tunics of before). Grima’s hair is longer than Eomer’s and Theoden’s, he wears only a dagger and not a sword, the furs and quilting of his clothes indicate wealth and status, of course, but also decadence and effeminacy.

-

All in all, Grima’s performance and actions undermine and subvert Rohirrim expectations of masculinity. If not outright transgressing gender norms. He uses spellcraft to achieve his ends which is cowardly and effeminate. When it’s not that, he relies on language and manipulation to ensure his position and rarely, if ever, willingly takes on an active, martial role that would be expected of a man who is in the king’s household and serves as an advisor and a quasi-second-in-command.

Here is a man, occupying a man’s role, but doing it like a woman. Subversive! Scandalous! Underappreciated by fandom!

Grima lives in a liminal, marginalized space that is at once gendered and ungendered but is absolutely Othered.

-

As for my note on Grima and being trans - absolutely a trans woman. Grima suffers from that thing of “I want to be you and sleep with you” re: Eowyn. That’s my hot take. (Similar to me and Alan Grant from Jurassic Park - I want to be him and sleep with him.)

But no, in all seriousness, a strong argument can absolutely be made for Grima being not-cis, however that might look for Grima. Grima and Eowyn are the two, within the trilogies, that have the strongest arguments to be made for not being cis.

(Grima is a bit of a foil for Eowyn, I think, while also being a foil for Gandalf.)

On Gondor and Nationalism

Gondor, and particularly Denethor and Boromir, is characterized more than any other realm in The Lord of the Rings by nationalism, and there is a sharp contrast between its actual role in the war and the way Denethor and Boromir percieve its role. Two quotes in The Return of the King form the core of Tolkien’s discussion of nationalism, and both are conversations between Denethor and Gandalf.

The first:

Denethor: Yet the Lord of Gondor is not to be made the tool of other men’s purposes, however worthy. And to him there is no purpose higher in the world as it now stands than the good of Gondor; and the rule of Gondor, my lord, is mine and no other man’s, unless the king should come again.

Gandalf: ...I will say this: the rule of no realm is mine, neither of Gondor nor any other, great or small. But all worthy things that are in peril as the world now stands, those are my care. And for my part, I should not wholly fail of my task, though Gondor should perish, if anything passes through this night that can still grow fair or bear fruit or flower again in days to come. For I also am a steward. Did you not know?

And the second, discussing Denethor’s views on what should have been done with the Ring:

Denethor: It should have been kept, hidden, hidden dark and deep. Not used, I say, unless at the uttermost end of need, but set beyond his grasp, save by a victory so final that what then befell would not trouble us, being dead.

Gandalf: You think, as is your wont, my lord, of Gondor only. Yet there are other men and other lives, and time still to be. And for me, I pity even his slaves.

Denethor: And where will other men look for help if Gondor falls?

Both of these conversations point to the fundamental flaw in Denethor’s worldview, and it is a nuanced one. He is not the weak, selfish old man presented in the films; he is intelligent, pragmatic, and realistic, and his strategy and tactics are thoughtful. Again unlike the movies, the mission he sends Faramir on - to prevent the armies of Mordor from crossing Anduin, and cause them heavy losses if they do cross - is not a pointless suicide mission but a crucial and tactically necessary battle. He is wrong in his attitude towards and treatment of Faramir, not in sending him into danger.

Denethor represents (as, in another way, does Saruman) the wisdom of the world. His statement that, as the steward of Gondor, his highest purpose must be the good of Gondor, would be approved by many political theorists. But in the wider vision of the story of The Lord of the Rings, expressed by Gandalf, it is critically flawed in its narrowness and arrogance. The war against Sauron is not about the victory or preservation of one realm alone; it is about saving anything and everything good in Middle-earth, in the present or the future. This is the moment when Gandalf comes closest, of any point in the story, to stating outright who he is and what his purpose is; he doesn’t say outright that he was sent by the Valar to preserve the world against Sauron, but he comes near enough to it that Denethor, an intelligent and learned man, could pick up on it if he wanted to. It is important to Gandalf to at least try to get Denethor to understand the importance of what he’s saying.

In the second conversation, though, Denethor has fallen still farther from the truth. In the first one, he only said that Gondor’s good had to be his highest priority, as its ruler; now he says that if Minas Tirith falls, Sauron’s conquered the world anyway and it doesn’t matter if he gets the Ring. In his eyes, Minas Tirith is the only thing standing against Sauron, and the only thing that matters; its defeat is to him synonymous with the destruction of the world. People across Middle-earth are fighting against Sauron: on the very day of the Battle of the Pelennor Fields, the elves of Lothlórien are fighting off an assault by Sauron’s forces, as are the wood-elves in Mirkwood; the Battle of Dale in which the kings of both Dale and the Lonely Mountain fall will be two days later. Gondor is not alone in this war; it is not the only realm fighting and not the only one whose battles matter. It is not the bulwark sheltering the peaceful rest of the world from war; the rest of the world is fighting. But Denethor chooses to regard it as the only place of importance.

These are perspectives that he passed on, in part, to his eldest son, as seen in some of Boromir’s deeds at the Council of Elrond as well as in his later temptation by the Ring. At the Council, he takes the tone that Gondor is unacknowledged and unappreciated and is doing all the work of fighting Sauron: “Few, I deem, know of our deeds, and therefore guess little of their peril, if we should fail at last...By our valour the wild folk of the East are still restrained, and the terror of Morgul kept at bay; and thus alone are peace and freedom maintained in the lands behind us, bulwark of the West...those who shelter behind us give us praise, if ever they hear our name: much praise but little help.” He also - very importantly - instantly conflates “Doom” in the prophecy he hears with “the Doom of Minas Tirith”: the same thing Denethor is doing when he says that, if Minas Tirith falls, the world has already fallen and there’s no point in keeping the Ring away from Sauron. When he is told that the Ring cannot be wielded to defeat Sauron by force of arms, he acts as though the other members of the Council are abandoning Gondor. And so the Ring tempts him with the power to save Minas Tirith, because that’s the only way he can concieve of for the world to be saved.

Aragorn’s response to Boromir, in speaking of the Rangers, is not a counter-boast but an attempt (like Gandalf’s with Denethor) to give Boromir a broader perspective: many people are fighting and resisting Sauron and other evil things, in their own ways (“the servants of the Enemy...are found in many places, not in Mordor only”). Gondor is not alone; it is playing one particular role, while others play other roles.

This attitude, that its battles are the only ones that matter, is quite unique to Gondor. Legolas and Gimli, fighting in the wars of Rohan and Gondor, recognize that their kin cannot come to them: “They have no need to march to war...war already marches on their own lands”. The hobbits continually think little of themselves and their actions, even while achieving great things. (One example that amuses me is the contrast at the Council of Elrond between Boromir, who thinks his comparatively uneventful journey quite heroic - “since the way was full of doubt and danger, I took the journey upon myself” - and Frodo, who regards his achievement of escaping to Rivendell while pursued by all nine of the Nazgûl, and surviving a wound that would have been worse-than-fatal to most other mortals, with an attitude of ‘well, I rather muffed that up’.) The Ents very much have their own priorites - Treebeard says “I am not really on anyone’s side, as no one is really on my side - no one cares for the woods these days” - but they involve themselves in the war beyond merely defending Fangorn, by destroying the orcs who invade Rohan from the north. Théoden likewise keeps the big picture, not just the narrow ‘good of Rohan’ in mind, continuing with his army to the relief of Gondor even as news comes of Rohan being invaded from the north and east (the aforementioned orcs whom the Ents deal with).

Frodo comes closest to understanding what Gandalf is saying in the first-quoted conversation with Denethor. After seeing the Witch-king’s army march out from Minas Morgul, Frodo is tempted to despair: “Even if my errand is performed, no one will ever know. There will be no one I can tell. It will be in vain.” But he resists this: what he had to do, he had to do, if he could, and whether Faramir or Aragorn or Elrond or Gandalf or Galadriel or anyone else ever knew about it was beside the purpose. Aragorn, too, understands it: the march on the Black Gate is the antithesis of Denethor’s perspective: sacrifice of the armies of Gondor and Rohan without even knowing what may happen after they are defeated, in the hope that they may enable someone else to win the victory. They have no way of guessing that Frodo and Sam will reach Mount Doom at the same time as the armies clash at the Black Gate; their hope is founded on the idea of distracting Sauron long enough that Frodo and Sam can destroy the Ring days later, after the armies are all dead.

And Denethor and Boromir’s attitudes are all the more ironic because, in the end, Gondor doesn’t hold up very well. They fall apart and stop even trying to man the walls of Minas Tirith after a mere two days of siege, when food supplies haven’t even begun to be an issue. For a fortified city, especially one as well-designed for defense as Minas Tirith, that’s a very short amount of time to hold out against a siege! During the march on the Black Gate, even the sight of the Plains of Gorgoroth is too much for some of the men of Gondor and Rohan, and they can’t keep going. Yes, they’re just regular people and have never seen anything this horrible before, but Frodo and Sam and now Pippin are also just regular people used to peaceful lives, and they keep going. The purpose of this comparison isn’t to run down the Men of Gondor, but to point out how deeply wrong the idea is of them being the only ones whose fight matters, the only ones with the nerve and determination to protect the rest of the world. The hobbits, who don’t think of themselves as anything special or important or strong, are the ones who save the world, and they do it through hope, endurance, self-sacrifice, love, and compassion, not through military might.

I understand that the meme you're asking for is not a general headcanon meme but also I want to read about your headcanons about Boromir's first kiss with Theodred so........ yeah. awgiwjbgm

Ask me Headcanons about literally anything - Always Accepting!

Listen... you asked this question and my head imploded with all the THOUGHTS I have to share so I’m going to try and pair down as much information as possible (even though I deem it all VITAL)-

A lot... happens... between Boromir and Theodred before during and after Eomund’s death (so through their 23-24 yo years). What’s important to understand is that the ‘realising feelings’ part was not that difficult. They were very important friends for each other long before anything else. Boromir knew he was in love with Theodred early on, but Theodred realised he was loved back first. And there was about a year of time where they both silently, quietly, and with some sardonic bitterness, knew the other knew. 

Because the issue they actually- ahsd damn fuck there is SO MUCH in this that you need to know, it’s tied to this sense they have of not being made for joy, they weren’t made to succeed, they were here to try, they are made to defy the undefiable and lose because no matter the end, their people and these living homes of theirs deserve to be fought for, it’s an understanding that silently connects them, that they both do accept and they find it deeply aggravating and exhausting for people to claim it is otherwise- it’s still all about love for them, it’s all true, they’re happy to do it, they would have chosen these roles if they could have but!! But that drives them into these personas and mindsets of self sacrifice and somewhat mmm young concepts of hopelessness and effort-

The point is that the difficult part was getting to the point of agreeing that this thing between them, that would be just for them, was worth pursuing, was possible and that such a thing was meant for them. Over the year and during Eomund’s death so much happens and there’s this undercurrent that specifically for Theodred is... a kind of slow angry grief, that he wants this but it would just be adding to their obstacles, that BOROMIR wants this- it’s hard for him. 

BUT GETTING TO THE POINT, in midsummer of the following year Theodred comes to the festival at Minas Tirith at the Steward’s invitation (and Theoden’s encouragement, Eomer and Eowyn had to have his full attention and Theodred’s presence was as yet not a fully comfortable one for the two children) AND... Boromir had done this before, but Midsummer requires much more elaborate dress and Boromir had an outfit made for Theodred, in his colours, fitting him and his comfort, and he met him at Minas Tirith’s gates and they hadn’t seen each other a great deal since Eomund’s death and there’s a PAUSE to see each other that neither of them acknowledge and Boromir takes him up to Merethond and they get talking and Boromir shows him the garments he had made and Theodred tries them on and Boromir pulls on the waistband and collar to make sure it sits on him properly and Theodred has a look to him of withheld gutting frustration and- god, under the cut.

And in that moment Boromir thinks to himself ‘I’m going to fix that’. Good decisions are easier to make when it’s for the both of them and there’s a right kind of defiance that he feels when he nears this decision, a galvanising excitement, and when Theodred asks him what he thinks to break the silence, Boromir tells him he is handsome in a tone he’s never used before. 

Theodred turns to look at him and he can't look at Boromir without being IN THEIR WORLD with him, in their language and the flow they have together and Boromir's smiling at him, confident, so even if his smile's still a little painful, he looks at Boromir in his own celebratory garb that he wears so confidently and tells him he's handsome too. Which gives Boromir an expression that Theodred likes too much and that neither of them are turning away from, but Theodred’s still got a scowl in the silence before he breaks it. 

"No longer ‘unspoken’ then."

"It still is, in technicality."

"I don't see the difference."

"Was it so different before?"

And Theodred can’t help the quirk of his lip and the hand he brings down onto Boromir’s chest that he doesn’t take back. "Glibness doesn’t suit you, be serious, we won’t walk away from this unscathed."

"I am not intending too."

And Theodred is caught by that, a small "Oh." escapes him. Boromir waits but Theodred can't get the words out he's just... looking at him, trying to puzzle through Boromir’s mind. So Boromir takes in a breath and;

"I wanted to kiss you at the gates."

He says with an ease born of relief, just to say it out loud, Theodred's hand is still on his chest and his own covers it and holds it there.

"Am I allowed now?"

Theodred doesn't quite reply before Boromir's leans in. He’s not cautious, he tilts his head and pushes into Theodred’s space and his hand strokes up and over Theodred’s stubble like a man who’s been thinking about doing nothing else for a long long time. Theodred is still, partly on instinct and partly because he is too focused on seeking intent in Boromir’s eyes. But when Boromir pauses, their lips an inch apart, those instincts are gone. And all he can do is relax, mindless and focused, shaking his head in incremental disbelief as his hand on Boromir’s chest fists tighter into his coat.

“You- brave, reckless fool.” He barks in a release of nerves and laughter.

“Yes, finally,” Boromir says in an answering breathless laugh.

They meet in the middle. It is brief, awkward, they orientate, hands stuttering before finding strong, comfortable grips on one another, Theodred’s fingers find Boromir’s curls at long last, he’s been pining after them for too long to let go once they pull away for the first time.

The first rasped question that comes to mind is, “... Did you know… I would-?”

“No, not really.” Boromir answers.

“... Fuck.” Is really the only appropriate response.

“What do you think?” Is asked next.

And there is a great deal he should be thinking about, but all that’s filling his mind is Boromir’s voice saying ‘I wanted to kiss you at the gates’. And it might not be new and he might have thought it himself before, but it’s so meaningful for them both to admit a want. It’s so vulnerable. Theodred hears it with such love, he feels suddenly like he's holding something precious and fragile, secret knowledge of a moment when Boromir wanted. He's heard Boromir want before but those were different, this is just for them. And- god that really activates him in a vital and ferocious way, he wants to hear more, wants to want and admit it. It makes him feel positively ravenous for it, for more moments of Boromir wanting. So he says;

“That I’ve never wanted to think less. Not yet, come on-.”

This kiss is longer, exploratory, and something to easily get lost in. A relief. Eventually Boromir’s back is against a wall and both princes are dishevelled with wanting grasping hands. Theodred has to laugh, more confident, invigorated. This has tapped into his bitten, fierce determination, this dogged manner he has where if he’s grasped something then he’ll get it done. He suddenly has living, breathing energy.

“I feel so bloody young.” He grumbles, because he does. And he can’t remember the last time he felt this kind of nervous fluttering discovery.

“... We are young.” Boromir breathes eventually, between his near panting breaths.

That isn’t so funny, just too true, despite how false it feels. How it almost rankles them both to acknowledge, considering all they had seen and done and been. All the dead boys and men they’d shucked to become men that were needed. What on earth was young reckless action doing appearing to them now? And yet it’s also right because… their youth has always belonged to each other. 

As a thought it sobers them enough to give everything space to breathe. BUT THAT’S ENOUGH!! Oh my god!! This isn’t even finished- fuck, I suppose Skells has the right to make me show my whole ass like this, goddamnit, anyway. 

oh, how far you are from home

You know that I’ve got some nice inspiration for this, lmaoooo. Quick updates ftw!

Chapter 2: In which they reach Rivendell (as in canon), Boromir is irritating (as in canon), the Council convenes (as in canon), and Sansa finally has a breakdown (as not in canon)!

...

Uninteresting is definitely not what he’d call it. 

A sole man traveling the land is given little notice and a wide berth; a man traveling with his daughter- even if she’s young enough to have the coltish awkwardness of youth, Eru above- seems to draw more attention than Boromir’s entirely comfortable with.

Especially when he doesn’t have a horse, and cannot ride away quickly enough from them.

They stop at a few inns- more for Sansa’s comfort than his own- until she asks him if there’s no quicker path to Rivendell. 

“It cuts through the forest,” Boromir tells her. 

She fingers a strand of hair and lifts her chin to meet his gaze. “I’d rather return home,” says Sansa. “A few weeks in the forest would be worth it to go home quicker.”

“A forest is not anywhere near so comfortable as an inn,” Boromir says.

“No,” says Sansa. “But if lacking for that comfort is the price to be paid, I’ll pay it, my lord. I promise you’ll hear no complaints from my mouth.”

The next day, they cut into the forest instead of staying on the beaten path.

Only later does Boromir suspect that she’s seen his discomfort in the inns and taken steps to alleviate it. But then, they’d spent the time in towns telling everyone to call her his daughter, and that had been another measure of salt on her still-raw wound.

Boromir hears enough to know her reluctance well; they sleep in the same room, and though Sansa is perfectly courteous and calm enough during the day, she spends her nights sobbing and twisting in her dreams, making tiny sounds in the base of her throat that tear at Boromir and leave him sleepless on the cold ground.

No child should know that kind of pain.

She’s told him a little more of where she comes, and he’s stymied by it all. A kingdom as large as she speaks of should definitely be one he knows, but he’s never even heard whispers of it. Sansa doesn’t look addled, but she’s just lost her father; perhaps the grief has knocked something loose in her. Whatever it is, hopefully the elves will have a cure. 

Even if they don’t, she will be safe there. No king as evil as this Joffrey would be allowed within Elrond’s domain. 

If ever he has the chance to meet him... 

Well. 

Boromir is not a truly violent man. He wields his sword well- nay, better than well- but his captains and officers have never had to discipline him about overmuch enthusiasm in his actions either, as certain others have required. 

And yet, if Boromir meets Joffrey, he will not hesitate to strangle the king until his face turns blue. 

For all that she’s suffered, Sansa has remained a kind girl; unfailing in her kindnesses, and no matter how hard he pushes to reach Rivendell, she continues without protest. It must be difficult for her, for Boromir himself is exhausted by the time they rest- but she only retreats into herself and keeps walking.

A few days in, he hears her saying- chanting- something under her breath. It takes all his concentration to catch it, and when he does, something like shame rattles him: Sansa keeps whispering the names to her family, holding them close, like Boromir can remember he had done on his first campaign away from Minas Tirith.

“Tell me about them,” says Boromir finally, unable to take the silence between them. Sansa jerks, turning to look at him, and Boromir smiles a little, unbidden, at her astonishment. “You say I look like your- father. But you look nothing like me.”

“I take after my mother,” says Sansa slowly, jaw flexing as if disused. 

But she continues, and soon the words are coming easily, and she looks far more cheerful than she’d been just a few hours earlier. 

She’s a truly lovely girl in that sense- easy to get along with, intelligent, and funny when prodded at. Boromir laughs aloud for the first time since his dream of Isildur’s bane when she tells him about her brothers’ prank in their family’s crypts. Sansa’s eyes sparkle at that, and she keeps him supplied with such tales for long enough that Boromir calls for an early halt and collapses, sides aching with laughter.

“I’d like to meet them, I think,” he says, watching her duck her head, pleased. “All your brothers- and your sister- ah! Such rascals. Your parents must have been glad for you. A little peace in their lives.”

“What of you, Lord Boromir?” asks Sansa, gnawing on her lip. “Were your parents- did you make them worry?”

“I’ve only a brother,” says Boromir. He waves a hand. “He’s far the better child than I, though my father’s always found steel a better pursuit for his sons than books. My mother passed when Faramir was very young; if she’d lived, she might have allowed him to become a scholar. And worried more about me, of course.”

Sansa smiles, but it’s pale and shadowed. “I didn’t know your mother had-” she shakes her head. “My apologies, I-”

“It was a long time ago,” says Boromir firmly, and she falls silent, watching him with those blue eyes. They see everything, which Boromir hadn’t entirely expected from a girl of her age. But then again, few enough girls would have experienced as much as Sansa has. He finds his mouth opening, explaining things he has never wished to explain before. “The pain never leaves you, but it lessens. Like any wound: it will ache on rainy nights, or when you wish them most beside you. But there is a life beyond death, Lady Sansa.”

Her chin wobbles. “It doesn’t feel like it.”

“You are young. I was younger then than you are now- but old enough to know that my Ama would never return, and of an age to miss her terribly.” He clasps her shoulder and draws her into a loose embrace, because she looks miserable enough to warrant it, and promises, quietly, fiercely: “It will get better.”

...

They reach Rivendell soon enough- or at least Boromir doesn’t look irritated at any delays- and Sansa feels the difference when they enter the land.

“Yes,” says Boromir grimly, when he sees her eyes widen. “Elven magic. Be wary of them, Lady Sansa; they are not all as they appear, and can use words as prettily as any courtier.”

“What are elves?”

“Elves,” says Boromir, flat as unleavened bread. “The- the Immortal Ones. The first children of Eru.” Sansa shakes her head, still uncomprehending, and Boromir shakes his in response, as if in disbelief. “Your parents have kept you protected over-well.”

Have they? 

Sansa nods, but doesn’t say anything else; she has a feeling it’s more complicated than Boromir is making it out. 

“Anyhow. Keep your wits about you when speaking to them, lass. They are long-lived, and do not see the world as we do.”

“You don’t like them,” murmurs Sansa.

Boromir’s eyes cut to her. “They’ve left it to Gondor to defend against the south,” he says grimly. “Against the orcs and the darkness that lies there, there has been only one shield for the rest of the world, and that has been Gondor. Gondorian blood and Gondorian lives. But of course- elven lives matter more than men’s, and we must not quail from bitter truths.”

“But you’re still going to their home.”

“I had a dream.” Boromir tilts his head, staring into the distance. “The Stewards of old were prophets, and we have learned not to ignore such omens. When both Faramir and I dreamt of the same thing, we knew one of us had to come.” His face tightens, minutely. “I will get my answers from them, even if I must throttle one out of them.”

“I do not think throttling them will make them more likely to speak,” says Sansa, picking at the stitching on the side of her gown. She looks up through her lashes, but the tense anger on Boromir’s face doesn’t soften, and she continues, holding out a hand to the very air that feels golden and soft. “It feels beautiful, though.”

“Beautiful does not mean good,” Boromir says shortly.

Sansa remembers Joffrey and Cersei- how coldly, how cruelly they had decided to take her father’s head. She should have trusted Arya. She should have trusted her father. She should have learned her lessons already.

It’s fine, she reminds herself. I have Lord Boromir to warn me.

It’ll be enough. It will have to be enough. 

And hopefully this Lord Elrond will have the answers she’s looking for. Sansa can only hope that Boromir doesn’t know his geography- which is looking more and more unlikely as he tells her who he and his family are- or that Elrond knows something she does not. Otherwise, Sansa is lost: somehow, she is somewhere else, as in the stories of the fae. Only there is no fairy queen’s crown that she can steal to escape, and Sansa is all alone, is completely dependent on others.

Every time Boromir says something unthinkingly, assuming she’ll know, the knot in her belly twists deeper.

Still lost in thought, she almost flinches when Boromir’s hand comes down on her shoulder, and it’s only because of her trust in him that she doesn’t recoil when the elves spill out of- somewhere.

“Hail Boromir, son of Denethor,” says one of the- elves, it must be; for he is beautiful beyond imagining, with long, loose hair and eyes brighter than the stars, and ears that lengthen into sharp points at the very top. “Imladris welcomes you and your companion.”

“You have both mine and my ward’s gratitude,” says Boromir coolly, hand flexing on her shoulder before he lets go. “I’ve important matters to speak of with Lord Elrond.”

“The Lord Elrond is in private meeting with Mithrandir. Shall you partake in refreshment until then?”

“Very well,” says Boromir, and places a hand flat on her shoulder-blade, and propels her up the stairs without hesitance.

Sansa wants- 

She wants time.

One after another, the things are happening too quickly. And she cannot let herself think about any one thing too closely lest she miss what is going on in front of her.

Do what’s most important, she thinks. Quickly, now, Sansa; you are the nimble one. If you are to be queen, you must be able to master things more difficult than this.

Little matter that she’ll likely never be a queen. Sansa was born to be one; she was raised to be one; it doesn’t matter if she has a crown on her brow or not.

So she listens, carefully, to what the steward is telling them. She doesn’t speak much, but when they enter what is- ostensibly- her room and Boromir turns to leave, Sansa cannot keep silent.

“Lord Boromir,” she calls, and he pauses, and she nearly shrinks into herself. “I- that is- is it possible to ask for a room near mine?”

Boromir turns and approaches her. Sansa lifts her gaze to his and has to fight not to gasp at the dearness of those features.

“Do you remember who I am, Lady Sansa?” he asks quietly.

“Y-yes.”

“Tell me.”

“Lord Boromir,” says Sansa, ruthlessly battling the tears down. She knows this, down deep in her heart. This man is not her father, no matter how much she might wish him to be. “Son of Gondor’s steward, Denethor.”

“I am not your father,” says Boromir, and it isn’t half cruel.

But you called me your ward!

A ward is no simple thing to name someone; it is an honor, done between the closest of friends, family, or to maintain relations between noble houses. Boromir hasn’t known her for very long at all. He isn’t gaining anything by naming her his, but he’s placed her under his protection anyhow. 

Unless such practices are different in this land.

The dread of that thought cuts through the hurt, enough that she can answer.

“I know that, my lord,” Sansa replies. “But this is all so- new. And different. I simply wanted... I thought it would be more comforting to have someone I knew around.”

The shadows in Boromir’s eyes lighten, just a little. “Yes, I can understand that,” he says, and steps away. “I shall try, my lady. Ready yourself; once refreshed, we shall speak to Lord Elrond.”

Sansa nods, clenching her jaw to keep from saying anything more. It’s only after he’s gone and she’s in the room alone that Sansa lets herself think.

There are elves here, and magic she does not understand. The stories that her parents had sung to her mention them, sometimes, but not tales such as these- of immortal beings, with pointed ears and skin so bright as to be luminous.

Tales that she does not know, and people she does not trust. 

Save for Boromir.

For now, Sansa tells herself, looking around the small, airy room. But I loved Cersei so well, and Joffrey even sweeter than that, and both of them repaid that with murder.

Boromir bears my father’s face, but he is not my father.

In that sense, his reminder had not been anything but a reminder; the truth, bitter though it was.

And Boromir had told her, hadn’t he: Sweet truths can be told often and well. But the mark of a good man is one who does not flinch from even the darkest and bitterest of truths- even in the darkest and bitterest of times. Unflinching we must be, if ever we wish to rule any men; and we must never lie to ourselves, even if we let the rest of the world repeat those lies.

They had been lying on grass, watching the stars, weary after long hours of trekking- and he’d said it half-asleep; Sansa had learned, over the weeks, that Boromir did not speak well unless he felt it necessary, or he felt that none would pay attention to his words. But his voice more than the words had softened her, soothed that little hollow in her chest that had felt brimming with tears.

There shall never be someone so stalwart in your defense as your own memory, he’d said, and then Sansa had fallen asleep, and could remember nothing more of any of it.

Sansa surrenders to the ministrations of an elf, who shows her a gown and how to clasp it about her shoulders, then the private bath they’ve drawn for Sansa. But then she leaves, and Sansa allows herself a moment to press her forehead against the soft wood of the mantel, lets the weariness and terror swamp over her for a long moment. 

She wants her mother. She wants her mother to hold her close and promise her safety, and she wants Robb to be there beside her, warm and laughing, and she wants her father, she wants Ned Stark, who would hug her easier than Boromir, who laughed less but did not stoop as much, who would tell her stories when the night turned dark, who was her father.

“One step in front of another,” she murmurs to herself. 

The voice- despite how quietly she’d said it- is too loud in the silence of the bathchamber, and echoes around the stone. It gives her courage enough to slip out of the gown and into the water, which is hot and turns her skin pink.

Remember your family, she thinks, and closes her eyes, leans into the steamy warmth. You owe them that much.

...

Boromir shaves his face and washes the grime from his hair and face, though he doesn’t dare enter the full bathtub the elves offer him. 

If there is time after meeting with Elrond- both for his own dream and for Sansa’s matter- then he shall relax into it. But he feels the prickling of their condescension and the distant, sun-hot rage of it still, and anger has always sharpened Boromir’s mind into something far more intelligent than when calm.

It slows the world down for him; it speeds his reactions up to others. 

Better to keep himself off-balance for the length of time that it takes to finish this conversation, and then to shut himself up for the night. He’ll need the rest if he’s to be ready for whatever the morrow brings.

But he feels more human, too, with the crusted mud flaked off and the itches of too long in one set of clothes diminished. And with that comfort comes the guilt: he’d been harsh with Sansa, far harsher than warranted. A reminder might well have been necessary, but the method of the reminder had not needed to be like that. 

So he breathes in, sharply, when he knocks on her door, the words heavy on his tongue.

Only to stutter to a halt when he sees Sansa.

She’s lovely, yes, but that’s not what makes him almost swallow his tongue; it’s the glow to her skin, and the height the elvish gown she wears lends her slender form, and the brilliance of her hair, freshly washed and braided over her shoulder. Even in the childish lines of her face, there is something there- an edge, a promise of something far beyond the simple girl he’d met in the woods. 

Numenorean, thinks Boromir, but it isn’t that, not truly. 

He has known many beautiful and regal women in his time. Perhaps it is just the gown, which is certainly royal in cut and cloth. Perhaps it reminds him of someone else- some queen of old- but Boromir would not know enough to name what he thinks now, not even with access to Gondor’s libraries. All he knows is that Sansa looks different- and there is something to that difference that makes worry clutch at his heart.

These are difficult times, Boromir reminds himself, offering Sansa an elbow. Look not for hope in people that cannot give it.

“My lady,” says Boromir slowly, pushing the rest of the thoughts out of his mind, “I owe you an apology.”

“An apology?” 

“For my words earlier.”

“Ah.” Sansa smiles up at him, and though it is but a glimmer of what he’s seen of joy on her face, it is a fair enough attempt at one. “No apologies are necessary, my lord. It- was a timely reminder. One that I needed.”

“Sansa-”

“Unflinching we must be,” she says quietly, and Boromir falls silent, struck.

He hadn’t thought she was paying attention then. It had been an arduous trek that day, through bogs and under an unseasonably hot sun; Boromir himself had been so tired that he’d been half-asleep, and any words he’d said had been only the teachings of his own youth drummed into him over long years.

“Aye,” he says, patting her arm. “But we can speak the truth kindly. Remember that, too- cruelty is the last path to walk, and only when all others have been exhausted, though it may be easier and simpler. I should have remembered that.” Boromir smiles wryly. “And so: my apologies.”

The smile she gives him larger this time, and brighter. “Accepted, then, my lord.”

“Hmm. Unflinching- that we must be, yes, but also: we must know our own minds, even when all say otherwise.” Boromir turns to Sansa. “When you go to speak to Lord Elrond, speak your mind, Sansa. Do not be afraid.”

She nods and straightens, a little, spine going stiff; despite her age, Sansa almost reaches his shoulder. Her head goes up, and her chin tilts back, and her eyes remain calm even when they leave her chambers for the rest of Rivendell. 

The ages of queens has faded, Boromir reminds himself, once, and twice, and thrice- the third when Elrond comes upon them, and pales, seeing Sansa with eyes too wide and too old.

...

Do not be afraid, Sansa reminds herself. I am a Stark of Winterfell, and my blood is of the North. 

But this elf-lord is frightening. He looks at her like she holds secrets he doesn’t understand, and she remembers how Boromir had looked at her upon seeing her in elven garments: stunned, and scared, and a little surprised, like he didn’t recognize her at all.

“I am Sansa of House Stark,” says Sansa, and sinks into a curtsy. She rises, and looks at Elrond, and lets herself smile at him, gracious as any queen. “You have my gratitude for your hospitality.”

Elrond nods at her gravely. “We are glad to have you here, Lady Sansa. Please- come. I believe we’ve much to speak of.”

Sansa sits at the wooden table he gestures to, and places her hands on the table, flat, wrists bent. Her head aches a little; she thinks she needs to sleep, and eat some food other than the things she and Boromir could forage on their travels, and then likely sleep some more. But she wants to meet her family first.

“Yes,” she says, focusing on that desire, letting it burn high in her chest. “My lord- I come from Winterfell. I wish to return there- I’d require nothing, I promise you, just a raven to there and then Robb will come. Or one of Robb’s men. But-”

“Peace,” says Elrond, holding up a hand. “Go slowly; where is this Winterfell?”

Sansa’s hands spasm, nails digging into the wood. She closes her eyes. 

So. She is somewhere else, then. Sothoryos? But no, she suspects that this is beyond even that. How could she have gotten from King’s Landing to Sothoryos, anyhow?

“In the North,” she says quietly, but the hope has drained from her voice, audible even to Sansa. “Near the White Knife. Its walls are of grey stone and the direwolf is my family’s symbol.” She breathes in, shallow. “Tell me, have you heard of Robert Baratheon? Perhaps- the Targaryens? House Lannister? Ned Stark?”

Her voice breaks awfully on the last name, and Sansa averts her face at it, wishing Elrond would look somewhere other than her eyes. She knows his answer, even when he doesn’t speak. It’s all but confirmed when she looks up at him.

“No,” says Elrond.

“No,” echoes Sansa, shaking her head. 

“Perhaps a book from my libraries can-”

“This is not a history to be written of,” Sansa flares. “It is my- it is my family’s life. What we have been born into. And I have seen your land’s maps. They are not my own.”

“Perhaps you were mistaken,” offers Boromir.

“I’m not,” says Sansa. She turns to Elrond. “You don’t know who I’m talking about, and Robert Baratheon is a king who overthrew another after three hundred years of that dynasty. My father is Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North- he stood by King Robert’s side for all those days of rebellion, and the Starks have held Winterfell for eight thousand years, and I am his eldest daughter, and I know what I speak of.”

She is standing. She is standing, and shouting at Lord Elrond, at Boromir- who has never been anything but kind to her. Sansa feels the flush of shame heat her cheeks. She turns away, staring out at the balcony and its gently swaying branches. She will not cry here. She will not.

“I believe you, Lady Sansa,” says Elrond, finally. 

Boromir places a hand on her shoulder, and Sansa turns back to them. 

“I know them,” she whispers.

“Yes,” says Elrond. “You do. I believe I know what you are- there are tales of you, or people like you, through history. Travelers that appear and disappear, without history or name unless offered some by people of our own world.”

“You know what I’m doing here?” Sansa asks, the hope swirling back up her so fast it almost leaves her dizzy.

“I’ve heard of others like you,” Elrond corrects. “Often, I’ve found that it’s because of a- trauma in your homeland. A healing is necessary before you can leave, and you shall stay here until that is achieved.”

Sansa doesn’t dare let her eyes flick to Boromir. She slumps into the chair instead. “What kind of a healing?”

“Did you bring anything with you? Of importance?”

“No,” says Sansa. “Just- my shoes, which I didn’t keep, and the gown I came here in which is more rags than cloth. Nothing else.”

Elrond frowns. “That does not make sense.”

“The lass lost her father and disappeared from her land in one stroke, and it does not make sense?” asks Boromir. 

“Twice before have I seen this. And both times, it simply needed the action of a material.” Elrond rises and returns with a book. “Yes- once, the person simply needed to be reunited with their material; in the second, the person needed to go to the ocean after reuniting with their material. But both people knew what they were missing as soon as they came here.”

“I don’t,” says Sansa, throat dry, the whiplash of the lost hope 

Elrond nods. “Perhaps there are things I am missing, Lady Sansa. A few days- I shall be able to help you once some other matters are taken care of.”

Sansa blinks, only for Boromir to speak before she can: “I would have your word to watch over her.”

“And you shall have it.” Elrond inclines his head. “Lady Sansa- you are welcome here for as long or as short it takes for you to find whatever you need. If you wish to become a ward of Rivendell as opposed to Boromir’s, that can be arranged.”

“Watch over me,” says Sansa slowly. She looks at Boromir. “You are planning to leave?”

Boromir tilts his head backwards, looking at Elrond. Whatever is in his face, Sansa cannot understand it, but Elrond does; he leaves, with a sweeping bow and a swift stride.

“I’ve a responsibility to Gondor,” Boromir tells her. “I must return there, and quickly; there is a shadow that grows from the south. They have need of me.”

Anger prickles over her arms, like sunshine on a hot day. Boromir won’t even look at her before handing her over to someone else, like some- some unwanted laundry!

“You’ve a responsibility to me, as well.”

“I am a soldier,” says Boromir wearily. “What would you have me do? You are safe in Rivendell; Lord Elrond shall keep you safe until you can go home.”

“And if I would wish to be with my own people?” Sansa folds her arms about her waist, chilled to the bone. I am alone, always and always. I was right before; I should not have trusted him. Not even with a portion of my heart. Just because he looks like Father does not mean... “You have not asked. Just- assumed. I thought- I thought- my happiness mattered here. That I wasn’t just- another prisoner-price exacted to keep people well-behaved.”

Boromir’s face turns taut, like a chain pulled tight. “I am not your father,” he grates. “You are my ward, and-”

“-believe me, my lord,” says Sansa, drawing all her anger and all her fear and all her loss into a flowing, twisting shield about her body, “I know you are not my father.”

My father would not have done this to me.

She turns and flees, and does not let the tears fall until she is certain that Boromir has not chased after her.

...

Boromir sighs. He feels old and weary when he sees Sansa; she is so sprightly and so fervent, her angers high and her despairs deep. When have the years passed him by? When did he become this- this creature, so weighted by expectation and duty that the bright star of youth only tends to weary him with its untempered brilliance?

But he must go to the Council, now, and await the answers of both Gandalf the Grey and Elrond. Hopefully with less obfuscation than he’s experienced over the morning.

(When he walks in- there are elves there, and dwarves, and a single man: a Ranger, scruffy-faced and shadow-eyed.

Very well then, thinks Boromir, son of Denethor, heir to Steward of Gondor, and straightens his broad shoulders, takes up this burden unasked for and unwanted, unhesitatingly. If I am to represent Men here, I shall do that as well, and do the task properly.)

...

“Why do you weep?”

Sansa looks up from her hands to see an elf. A she-elf, this time, with dark hair and pale eyes, in a simple gown made of rich material, as everyone seems to wear here. Her throat hurts; she wants nothing more than to be left alone. What can this elf know of Sansa’s loss?

“I’m sorry,” she says, instead of any other words, and rises to her feet, brushes off the dirt from her skirts. "I did not mean to intrude.”

“It was no intrusion,” says the elf, stepping forwards and putting a finger under Sansa’s chin, lifting it to her gaze. “But when young women weep in my garden- it would be remiss of me not to ask why.”

Sansa looks away. “I cannot,” she says, and it wrenches at something deep, deep inside of her. “I cannot go home.”

The elf seats herself next to Sansa and pats the stone, waiting patiently until Sansa sits down again. “I’m sorry to hear that,” she says softly. 

“Have you ever known pain like it before?” Sansa asks. She looks up, up, up: to the sky, scudded with white clouds and as beautiful as on the day of her father’s death. “I did not wish to come here. I have lost- everything, now; my father, my mother, my brothers and my sister. My sister- I don’t even know where she is! She ought to have been with me, and then she wasn’t, and now I don’t- I won’t- ever see them again.”

“Is that so? Has my father told you that?”

“Lord Elrond is your father?”

“Yes.”

“No,” admits Sansa. “But he has said that he has never seen anything like me here before. That with the others he’s seen, a healing was necessary, and an object to take them back; but I’ve nothing that I brought with me.”

“A healing,” says the elf thoughtfully. “Are you a healer, back in your home?”

“I am a lady,” says Sansa. 

“And a lady cannot be a healer?” The elf seems amused. “Tell that to Lady Galadriel of Lorien, or Luthien of old. And anyhow, healing takes many forms; as many forms as a wound can take. Wounds of flesh, or the heart, or the soul; wounds of a nation, of a family, of yourself. Take heart, little lady. Keep faith.” She turns, staring at the sky herself, and her long hair stirs in a wind that does not touch Sansa at all. “And remember: when all looks darkest, there shall be a dawn.”

“And if there isn’t a dawn after all? If it only gets darker, and darker, and darker still-”

“-then,” says the elf, gentle as a falling leaf, “it is not yet the darkest times yet, and there shall be a dawn to come.”

She rises and helps Sansa up, too, and smiles, plucking a leaf out of her hair. Sansa doesn’t recognize it; the leaf is narrow, with little golden veins that illuminate it from within. 

“These are dangerous times,” says the elf. “Dark times. I regret that you had to come now, when you are likely to see the worst of us.”

Sansa bows her head. “Dark times,” she echoes, slowly. “Why?”

“There is to be a Council,” says the elf. “One where the future of Middle-Earth shall be decided; attended by dwarves and elves and men alike. I believe your foster father is there now.”

Foster, Sansa reminds herself fiercely. Not father.

“It sounds- important.”

“And so it is. Do you wish to see?”

I want to sleep. I want to be held by my mother. I want-

But her desires have not mattered since leaving Winterfell. Not since Lady died. She has watched her father die and her sister disappear; she has watched her world be made anew. I must choose between comfort and curiosity, thinks Sansa, and closes her eyes, and opens them, and lets the part of her that still wants to weep shrink and shrivel within her chest. 

“Yes,�� she says, and takes the elf’s hand.

...

The dread that curls over Boromir’s heart is nothing new. He has known it well; he has lain beside it, and fed it, and tended to it with the grim surety of a man who knows his actions are necessary. Such fear keeps men’s minds sharp and so has Boromir let it hone his own. But here do five stand: men and wizards and elves and dwarves alike, and of them all Boromir does not see the fear that sings in his own heart.

Only with true fear can a soldier know true courage.

The prickling in his mind, the weight across his lungs- he steps forwards, lets it carry him to the forefront of the rest of the Council, and only then does he speak.

“If this is, indeed, the will of the Council-” he breathes, in, out, watches the rest of them, “-then Gondor will see it done.”

“No,” he hears, through a small bush, and amid the clatter of other halflings- Valar, but they’re numerous; are they dividing before his eyes?- a pale, red-haired shadow lunges forwards and seizes him around the wrist.

“Sansa,” says Boromir, startled.

She glares back at him. “Mordor,” she bites out. “An evil ring- you cannot.”

“Someone must,” he says quietly. “There is no other. What are you-”

“Arwen,” says Elrond, exasperated, and a tall, black-haired woman steps out of the shadows from which Sansa had done just a few moments earlier. “I believed this to be a private Council.”

“Private indeed,” says Arwen, arching an eyebrow. “Nigh on twenty members of three races, with all of Imladris knowing what the topic of conversation is on.”

“She is a child.”

“Whose only link to this world has just volunteered for the most dangerous quest in all of Arda. She deserved to hear of it.”

“And I would have told her,” says Boromir. “Just-”

“-after the decision,” finishes Sansa tremulously. She shakes her head. “You cannot go. You must not go. You said it yourself- your people need you!”

“I can best serve them by delivering this ring.”

“I know what happens to men that walk into evil lairs,” whispers Sansa. “Please, my lord, please- that is not a fate I would wish on Joffrey himself, much less you!”

Boromir slowly extracts his wrist from her death grip. Places it on her shoulder. “I shall go,” he tells her, and watches Sansa’s face crumple in on itself like paper on flame. “I shall try to return, Lady Sansa. Until then, you shall be a ward of Lord Elrond- and safe, in Rivendell.”

Sansa backs away rapidly, pale as death; her gaze is on his face, but she is not seeing him. Boromir knows what she sees instead: her father. Her father’s execution, and the pain of everything that came after. He curses his features, holding out a hand to her, and Sansa shakes her head once, tears standing in her eyes like ground diamonds.

“I saw my father’s death once,” she whispers. “And I’ll see it again, and again, and again-”

She cries out and turns and, dodging those that try to capture her, flees. Arwen follows after throwing him a dirty look- apparently Boromir is to blame for simply telling the truth- and when Boromir looks around, everyone’s staring at him suspiciously save for Elrond, who looks utterly resigned.

As everyone is leaving- with the Council disbanded- Boromir walks up to Elrond.

“Tell me she doesn’t have the gift of foresight,” he says lowly.

“I did not believe she did,” says Elrond, just as quietly. “But now... her face... Be careful on this quest, my lord. Be very careful.”

...

Sansa watches Boromir from afar the rest of the day- he spars for some time with one of the elves, and though he is not so fast or so strong as the elf, he holds his own well enough; Boromir’s a fair swordsman, better by far than Sansa’s own father, and knows his own abilities well. Sansa takes heart in it. 

But this enemy is thick and swarming, with numbers enough to blot out the very sun.

And any man may be turned aside by an army, and there are things here that Sansa could never have imagined to exist in reality; dreams, the wildest tales of history, now breathing and ruining even the world of her songs with their cruelty. Things that are a thousand times larger than any man, no matter if that man is king of the Iron Throne or heir to the Steward of Gondor.

It had not been a prophecy that she spoke in the Council. 

But it had been a fear, now her deepest fear; to see Boromir’s head again, only this time detached from the body and sightless, long hair hanging limp about slack features. To see the blood run, thick and red, and be unable to stop it.

“Sansa,” she hears, and looks up, and sees- Arwen, yes, that had been what Lord Elrond had called her. 

Arwen, who kneels, and captures Sansa’s wrists, and draws her into an embrace so tight and warm and motherly that Sansa cries out, succumbing to the twisting grief in her chest.

“He’ll die,” she whispers.

“Have you seen it?”

“I don’t need to see something to know that he is a man alone among legends and myths,” cries Sansa. “A man bound by duty and honor- what nonsense! Why? Why? Why send me here, and bind me to him, only to lose him here, now- like this?”

“You haven’t seen anything,” cautions Arwen. “It is a- fear, yes, but-”

“I saw the way you looked at King Aragorn,” snaps Sansa. She feels the guilt of her words when Arwen pales a little at her words, but does not stop. “You don’t mean to tell me that you’re glad he’s going, too.”

Arwen shakes her head. “I am not. Only, I know that he shall not be turned from his path. My gladness does not mean that I’d keep him safe in Imladris; such a wish would turn him away from me, for I could not ask him to put my desires above his own.”

“His life matters as well,” Sansa tells her sharply. “And I am not like you- I’m not in love with Lord Boromir. All I know is that he has protected me, and cared for me, and treated me as well as my father ever treated me, and it would break my heart to see him dead in the same manner.”

“Oh, Sansa,” says Arwen sadly.

“Call it selfishness. Call it greed.” Sansa rises to her feet. “Call it what you wish. But I have seen what happens to good men in this world. And I’d not wish that death on Lord Boromir.”

Arwen looks at her, and her gaze is piercing; in that moment, for no longer than a heartbeat, moreso than Elrond’s. She is very beautiful, and likely has been alive for longer than the Red Keep has stood, and Sansa wants to shrink away, wants to cry at it.

She’s so tired. 

“Sink your roots into the rock and face the wind,” murmurs Arwen, “though it blow away all your leaves.” She bows her head. “You asked me if I could imagine leaving my home behind, Sansa, and I answer you now: if I wish to live with Aragorn, I must. I must choose mortality. I must choose to never see my father or brothers, and fade into the fabric of the world for the sake of the few years I would get with him.”

“Highborn women do not get to stay with their families in my land,” Sansa tells her quietly. “Once wed, we go to our husband’s homes; to their castles, to their realms. And it is... I loved the idea, when I first left my home. I still loved it. I loved it, right until Joffrey took my father’s head.”

“It does-” Arwen wrinkles her nose, “-sound like something to be endured.”

Sansa laughs, a little, despite herself. “But my mother loved my father, and they built a home in the North that they could both love. Queen Naerys and Aemon the Dragonknight- they never even got a home or family together, but they loved each other from afar.”

“Now that sounds like a tragedy.”

“It’s the romance of it,” Sansa tells her. She sighs a little. “The tragedy is in the ending, but the beginning and the middle... that was lovely.” She sneaks a look at Arwen. “You know, if you asked my mother- or Naerys- if they’d exchange another lifetime’s worth of time for none with my father or Aemon- I’m fairly certain they wouldn’t take your offer.”

Arwen lifts a brow, and she looks amused again, eyes aglow. “And what about you?”

Sansa traces the ground with the toe of her boot. “It depends on the man I’d wed, doesn’t it? If it were Joffrey- likely always. But with someone else? Someone kinder and better, good and sweet and strong and handsome? I don’t know why I would.”

“Well.” A smile still plays about the corners of Arwen’s mouth. “Are you still afraid for Lord Boromir’s future?” She doesn’t wait to hear Sansa’s answer, just continues on. “It will mean hard work for you- harder work than you’ve ever done before, and I will not be an easy mistress.”

I am a Stark of Winterfell, and I do not shrink from challenges.

“I don’t mind hard work,” says Sansa stoutly.

Arwen’s smile grows, to a grin bright enough to rival the sun. “Very well,” she says. “Let us keep this between us, then, Sansa. But take heart: this shall not be the last time you see Lord Boromir. That much I can assure you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You need not; not yet, at least.” She winks. “For that which you do not know cannot be revealed. Bid him goodbye tonight, when they leave. And keep your head tilted high, Lady Sansa of House Stark. Your tale of Middle-Earth shall not end in the safety of Imladris.”

...

Sansa approaches him in the evening. She is still pale and red-eyed, but her gaze is steady and her voice soft when she hands him a ribbon of silk.

“Be safe, my lord,” she tells him.

“I shall,” says Boromir, and embraces her, and Sansa returns it with enough warmth.

He does not ask her to stay safe as well, or to heed his orders. 

He does not even think on it. 

Boromir has heard his uncle Imrahil curse his daughter Lothiriel many times in his life; for all that she is a kind and good woman, there are times that Lothiriel can act without thought and bring down the best-laid plans, plans years in the making, within a scarce few moments. But Boromir doesn’t remember that then. He only smiles down at his ward, and thanks his stars that she’s proven to be so understanding.

Later, Boromir curses himself to be a fool.

Gwenspiration: The Wacky Version Vol. 3 - The Moodboards

So, here I go again parading myself and tooting like there is no tomorrow.

As people still brave enough to follow me on Tumblr will know, I do a lot of moodboards, or at least I call them such. Others call them collages or storyboards or pictures with random text. Either way, for me, moodboards became a neat tool to somehow capture story ideas not yet anywhere near a level that I could write fic about them - or serve as inspirations for fics I am actually writing.

And it gives me opportunity to hoard unhealthy amounts of Gwen and Nik pics, in the name of moodboards. And science. And stuff. Whoozah!

So yeah, in this post, I want to share some of my personal favorites. A lot of them actually, because I can’t decide, really.

I will start off with a group of moodboards which took inspiration from the Marvel universe, since the Marvel universe was my gateway into the more active parts of fandom.

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An all-time fave is the Iron Man AU... I mean, what not to love about a JB AU with Jaime as sassy Tony Stark and Brienne as the not-taking any shit from you army doctor, am I right? But yeah, seriously, Jaime *is* the Tony Stark of the GOT universe, and I can’t be convinced otherwise. And neither should be you.

Also, the Iron Man suits just totally fit the color scheme for both, which made creating the moodboards all the better for me. Jaime and Brienne were made for armor, now in medieval or modern times, let’s not kid ourselves.

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Another Marvel fave has got to be Captain Westeros. Because if there is a female GOT Version of Steve Rogers, it’s gotta be Brienne of fuckin’ Tarth. This one is really close to my heart because it gave me a lot of feels coming up with plot bunnies for it, and the tragedy of those two people missing each other in time over and over again, always trying to protect one another, only to end up on opposite sides because of the machinations of others... *sigh*

And I mean, one guy loses an arm. The other is blond and strong... I don’t make the rules but this delivers me enough material to re-imagine this as a JB AU... so yeah, I do kinda make the rules after all. Anyway.

Since I realized that this post’s gonna get even looooonger, I decided to make a cut here and put the rest below, so not to have you scrolling for five hours.

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Although it’s not the most popular moodboard amongst my followers (you brave people, I can’t parade you enough for staying through the madness lol), I really, really love that Fantastic Four moodboard and the concept behind it. And I just know a lot of effort went into making Valyrian Steel Brienne, which took all of my three computer editing skillz brain cells. But yeah, here again, I liked to play with the idea of them not admitting to their love until shit hits the fan and then they hide behind that because... drama, angst, feels, pining, yadda.

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And we go from Marvel to DC little quick. Because Brienne is, most certainly, a Wonder Woman. Nuf said.

Now, let’s move on to other big movie franchises that give me all the JB feels:

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Jurassic Park (aka Valyrian Park) evidently holds a special place in my heart because JB fighting dinosaur-dragon hybrids and kicking ass while being disbelieving about what was bred out in Valyria thanks to some certain someones to rescue Brienne’s adoptive daughter Arya is just... a thing? For me anyway.

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More down memory lane, I don’t know how often I watched the LOTR movies, suffice to say it was a lot a lot. We had the extended versions DVDs of the first two and basically it was the one thing to watch when nothing was on (which was the case a lot). Either way. JB in MIddle Earth long after the days of Frodo et al. - why? Because I just loved the idea (and aesthetic) of Jaime as a ranger and Brienne as a knight of Gondor working in disguise. And Hobbipod. I mean, Pod as a Hobbit. Come the fuck on. And Tyrion as an asshole wizard. What could possibly go wrong? This moodboard was very time-consuming as I had to do a lot of edits (pointy ears, tiny up people, smudge Brienne’s face on a lot of Boromir and Faramir images, smudge Jaime’s face on a lot of Aragorn images, you name it). So yeah. No matter its popularity... I dig it. Despite not having read the books yet (I know, shocking), I continue to ogle at the idea and go like: Must. Write. But. Must. Resist. Either way. Mood.

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So yeah, I grew up watching these movies a lot, too (I grew up watching a lot of TV, period). And when Gwen was cast as Captain Phasma, I got a lot of JB juices flowing as a result. Mehe. I found it was a fun idea to play with, to basically *kill* Phasma so *Brienne* can come into play and assume her identity. And a rundown Jedi!Jaime who’s lost faith in himself and everything else safe for his partner in crime/resistance is just... I needz. So you gotta cope with it. I still adore this concept a lot even if others may not. :)

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This one’s just... gah. Feels. And I really liked the color scheme lol. And I watched Horse Whisperer A LOT. Because of feels. And horses. And Honor is a horse and he deserved better than be barbecued at Highgarden, dammit.

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The No Reservations AU definitely has to be in this post because I live for this dynamic. Brienne taking care of the girls, not knowing how, though, constantly doubting herself while always trying to be perfect and composed, not just in life but on the job as well. And Jaime being the laid-back guy who’s just a darn good chef but may carry his own baggage of problems that keep him from his happy ending story is just... mah jam.

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This one was a lot of fun to do because you don’t really think about Erin Brockovich when you say Brienne of Tarth in terms of character. But when you scratch away the boob jokes and the differences in where they come from, what you find are two hard-working women who fight for justice, so I found that close enough. And it was excuse enough for me to go down the lane of biker!Jaime because... dayum.

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Music and Lyrics is an all-time guilty pleasure romcom of mine. It’s so light and easy and I kind of love how everyone is basically a bunch of awkward losers. All the more perfect for Jaime as a singer (we need that in our lives after the infamous video Nik was in to sing to us about global warming...) and Brienne as the unexpectedly gifted songwriter. What I like about the moodboard per se is how the color scheme turned out because it’s all warm and bright and... makes me happy.

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Very much in contrast to the former stands this one. I still love the overall mood of it and I dig the story idea because I dug both The Prestige and The Illustionist because they presented something dark yet very different, which made it all the more appealing to put into a moodboard for me. While not the most well-known moodboard of mine, I keep going back to it time and time again to basically lust at all the illusions and magic and drama. And blue butterflies.

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What is there not to love about a Pacific Rim AU for JB, am I right? Right?! JB ain’t just compatible when it comes to the Drift, yo, that’s all I’m gonna say. Reasons why I like the moodboard a lot is that it’s very different, flashy colors, gigantic robots, and I was mostly alright with how the edits turned out. It is tough to get images that fit the angles, yo.

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Jumping back in time once more, I really adore this one even though it’s not one of my popular moodboards. I dug the fusion of elements from Cinderella Man while granting Brienne as the female lead more space to develop as a character and make her a badass sniper nurse who is about to get her doctor’s degree. And Jaime doing anything to make it work because he owes her a debt (and his love) by boxing his way to their shared life is just... nice.

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Another supposedly lesser known moodboard is this one, though I really adore it for its premise and the amount of work I put into it (all the giffing and moodboarding). I also found use for that image of Gwen with what looks like the veil of a nun, which was probably what had me inspired in the first place lol. The plot bunnies revolve less around Se7en and more the novel El ùltimo Catón (2001) because it has a nun solving a mystery revolving around Dante’s works. But Se7en gives us the Seven, which is a delicious parallel too hard to ignore. For me at least. If only I knew how to write crime, dammit.

Now, to  move more into the serial (smooth transition from serial killer to serial TV shows, I know, I know) way of life, here is some moodboards inspired by TV shows (although some have since gotten movies which I also took inspiration from... yadda):

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Childhood memory galore. I spent many weekends watching The A-Team with the whole family. When the movie came out, I was happy about the feels it gave me (and the “you spin my head right round” scene still cracks me up more often than it should). Either way. I found it absolutely necessary for Jaime to be Face, for Tyrion to be Hannibal, for Bronn to be B.A. and cuss at everyone and everything and Brienne giving us the strangest genderbend of a Howling Mad Murdock. It added some angst, which I always need because I am a thirsty hoe for it. In case no one noticed yet. Ha.

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This one is very remotely inspired by The Bletchley Circle and the Imitation Game (because both feature encryption and one features Charles Dance already, yo.) I just really dug the idea of Brienne being so good at this because she is such a straight thinker but being underestimated because “she a woman.” And of course her not being done just encoding messages but getting into action, very much to the dismay of the stupid soldier wanting to defend the bae from harm. What could possibly go wrong? Right. A lot.

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Then. Elementary. Let me count the ways in which I love that show... ALL THE WAYS. And I really dig it as a JB AU. I have so many thoughts and feelings, I can’t even begin to tell you. I especially had my fun basically making Jaime Sherlock without making him really Sherlock because that guy was the one who taught him how to be an investigator before disappearing and fucking up his life for bad. And Brienne as the army doctor turned sober companion turned private investigator turned love interest is just too delicious to ignore.

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Pants down I mean hands down, this may be the actual favorite (currently) amongst them all for the plain reason that I also grew up watching that series and still watch it and keep obsessing about it. Ever since Discovery launched and has since given me both joy and grief, I found myself intrigued by the premise of a JB Star Trek AU where Brienne would be standing *with* the Klingons during the war around the time Discovery takes place, and Captain Jaime Lannister having lost far too much to this war already to truly trust anyone, even less so a woman who ran to the Klingons, for what it seems.

You would not believe how many ideas I have for a fic based on it. You wouldn’t believe that I basically have a sequel to that fic already in mind. And you would definitely believe, knowing me, that I am nowhere near writing that fic. But a fangirl can dream and moodboard, right? The moodboard was such a fun way of going about it, not only for the edits but because I could sneak some secret Klingon messages in there. :)

Now, on to the last part, which are the moodboards not inspired by movies or TV shows primarily but really just spewed out of my wacky, wacky brain:

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This has a special place in my heart because it combines military and the traumas it comes with for JB and.... the aesthetic of farming. And both finding a kind of peace they didn’t know they were looking for as they struggle to adjust and find their way back “to normal” after the horrors they have both seen in war. And did I mention the aesthetic? And Jaime in plaid? All dirty and sweaty? Do I have to say more?

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Why this one? Because it combines angst and romance and falling in love twice because DESTINY. And paintings. I love me my artist AUs. So that was my go at it, combining it with the “mystery” to be uncovered about what history Jaime and Brienne actually share as he tries to put his memories back together.  Also. This moodboard gave me opportunity to try out new filters and create JB paintings. :)

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This one’s gotta be on the list since I also added the Horse Whisperer. Now it’s Dog Whisperer Jaime and Brienne who won’t give up on her dog who’s seen some shit in the warzone (as did she, but Brienne will put it all aside for her doggish best buddy, of course). While it’s not a very popular moodboard of mine, I really enjoy the premise of it and how the dynamics can so easily change between the two of them if you see it in comparison to the Horse Whisperer AU. Also. I just really think Jaime is a total pet person.

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Another lesser known moodboard, I’d assume, but I really dug the premise of it (still do), and it was intriguing to do some edits to make Jaime’s hand *truly* golden lol. With people having developed strange mutations which aren’t nearly as much fun as they are in Fantastic Four AUs. What I liked about it was the idea that Brienne would have a kind of mutation/ability that links to the mind, since she is such a physically strong fighter that she may rather rely on that than on her own mind, fearing that she cannot control that with discipline the same way she can train her body with it. What unites the two is their strong wish to protect the people in their care, in a world on the verge of collapse forcing two unexpected allies together (okay, I totally expected it, but they didn’t). Either way. Much love for this one. :)

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Aaaand the last one (not of all the ones I made but the ones I picked for Gwenspiration). I really, really, really adore this one because I was so happy with how the aesthetic turned out and how the colors all match. And I dig the premise. Like holy moly do I dig it deep. Jaime and Brienne both serving in military, but on different fronts, and almost accidentally ending up writing each other letters? I mean... the PINING. And Brienne having to decipher Jaime’s chickenscratch. Yeah no, but for real. I just love the idea so much. That they are both committed to the cause while also yearning for a home, for peaceful times, for sweet, sweet love. And them meeting up and acting like stupid teenagers, only for drama to keep hitting because. It’s eh me angsty Wacky.

Either way. I dig the premises of a lot of my moodboards (in fact... basically all of them or else I wouldn’t be making them, I guess). I spared you listing all of them, though I listed a whole damn lot already. Moodboards are an awesome means for me personally to visualize and (re-)imagine. And since quite a few people seem to continue to be onboard with them, I am all the happier to keep making them.

That’s all for today.

Much love! ♥♥♥

*flies away*

so like could you tell us why strickler deserved to die

Lol I was not expecting someone to ask about that tag!

Boy oh boy ask and you shall recieve

(I did not intend for the reply to be this long but like here’s another essay length meta)

I don’t think Strickler as a character deserved to die, he’s far from the most heinous character in TH. But from a storytelling standpoint, I think killing him off in the s3 finale would have improved Trollhunters as a whole. For that point to make sense I’m gonna need to explain a few things first:

~1700 words under the cut

1) It is more or less an unspoken rule that if an action/adventure oriented story (be it a show, film, book, etc) wants to feel like it has real stakes, a character needs to die. Not just any character, but a main character or an important side character. This isn’t always the case, and I personally don’t think that there needs to be a death to make a story feel more real (No one died in ATLA’s finale), but that’s the trend and is often the easiest, most basic way to things. If utilized right, it can have a huge impact (Ned Stark in game of thrones, Boromir in fellowship)

2) A good finale/climax of a story wraps up the story’s themes and emotional core. It emphasizes it in some way, or offers commentary on it. IMHO a lot of TV and comic book finales can fall short because this. And its not necessarily the creators’ faults, its simply the structure of the industry. Often times a tv finale will be made before the creative team knows whether or not there will be a next season, or they’ll only be given a handful of episodes to wrap up the series. Same with comics. Good climaxes that incorporate a story’s theme off the top of my head are TAZ Balance, Guardians of the Galaxy, and Rocky.

3) A character death needs to mean something, either as a way to complete their character arc, or to comment on some overarching theme, or even to further another character’s development. (Boromir again, Gamora in Infinity War - yes I know she’s coming back - all the fucks that die in Last Stand of the Wreckers)

4) Positive actions should have payoffs. This is kind of cynical, but narratively, if a story wants to say that something is good, there should be a tangential positive effect for that action. For example, in TAZ balance, the theme is that you should choose love and that the bonds we build in life are just like really awesome man, and in the finale those bonds were actively used as a positive game mechanic which helped the heroes to defeat the enemy. Even if the story’s message is that we should do good even if it doesn’t benefit us, there’s still a positive effect to doing good that needs to be portrayed, for instance it could be “gets you into heaven” “makes you happy“ or “helps other people”.

Okay so that out of the way, I’m going to look at all of this through the lens of Trollhunters as a standalone series, instead of a trilogy. I know that there might be reasons the creative team decided to kill off some characters and not others that’ll be made apparent in Wizards. But since Wizards is a separate tv show from TH, its quality and the quality of Trollhunters should be looked at both individually as well as together. And since Wizards ain’t out I’m looking at TH on its own.

Oki Doki so, onto the meat of it. Trollhunters doesn’t really have any overarching theme or message. Bravery and becoming a hero could be contenders but imo that’s kinda lukewarm. I think an unrealized theme that could’ve been is that of redemption, and the idea that people can change if motivated to do so or offered a chance. One of the things that makes Tollhunters interesting and unique is its sheer amount of redeemed villains. We have Draal in the first six episodes, then Strickler, NotEnrique, Nomura, and Angor Rot. Not to mention Steve, and Aaarrrgghh, whose redemption arc happened before the show started. There are more redeemed villains than villains that stay villains.

And then there’s the people that change but not for the better, like Merlin, who apparently was once a pure and ideal heart, and potentially Morgana.

And then there’s Jim, who is remarkable because of his heart. He gives people chances, offers them friendship where other Trollhunters would have antagonized them. The theme would be basically give people a chance/the benefit of the doubt, reach out an olive branch, it might just make them friends. (And if they don’t take the opportunity to improve murder their faces.)

The TH climax was adequate, it wrapped up the plot, set up for a sequel, and had a decent escalation of action. But honestly, I personally thought the build up to the finale was much better than the finale itself. Though this is just like my opinion man, and if anyone thought it was great, cool.

The character that dies in the finale is Angor Rot. He changes sides and sacrifices himself helping the team battle Morgana. And, like, I always found it just kind of… meh? Like I’m sad that he died he was a great character but his death scene seems so pointless (like Draal’s). As I mentioned on point 3, Angor’s death doesn’t really mean anything. It doesn’t further another character, comment on a theme, and it’s an okay I guess conclusion to his redemption arc. The issue I have with it is that it’s not the natural conclusion to an arc for a character like him to have. We are never told that Angor Rot fears death. He died once and was miffed about it, but we never see an aversion to dying again. No, we see that Angor’s greatest fears are Morgana, and fading away or some shit. If the creators wanted to really write Angor off the show what they should have done was have him be the one to tackle Morgana into the shadow realm and never come back, thus facing an eternity with the one he fears most, the person who stole his soul and turned him into a slave.

BUT IF SOMEONE HAS TO DIE I think an even better death that would have been even better for the show, would be if Strickler sacrificed himself instead and Angor Rot was used to parallel Draal at the beginning of season 1. This would ultimately bring the show full circle and tie the finale in with the rest of the show, and helped realize a theme about redemption.

Strickler would have to sacrifice himself at some other conveniently point that relates to his character more, and the whole finale would have to be restructured, but here’s why I think it would’ve been better:

Strickler is a character who is introduced in the very beginning of the show and remains a constant throughout. He has the most nuanced and prolonged redemption arc of all the characters. He starts out as a self-serving Starscream trope who looks out for himself above all else. Throughout the show, he falls in love with someone and forms a father/son bond with Jim. If you follow the sort of character arc of someone who starts off cowardly and selfish and then learns to care about others to its logical conclusion, you find yourself at the point where the character must sacrifice something in order to prove their change, usually what they originally value most. Throughout the show we see Strickler try so hard and do so much to preserve his own life. What Strickler at the beginning of TH values most is obviously his own life. This is a man who greatly fears death. I’m sure you see where I’m going with this.

It would have been a great conclusion to his character if he sacrificed himself in order to save Barbara and/or Jim. Also it would show that positive payoff to Jim choosing to trust Strickler. If Jim hypothetically didn’t trust Strickler and give him a chance to redeem himself, then hypothetically Strickler wouldn’t be able to sacrifice himself and thus Barbara would hypothetically die.

But who knows, Strickler could die in wizards ;)

Strickler dying would also leave room for Angor Rot surviving. And Angor Rot surviving if done right, could be used to further development with Jim and reinforce that he still has his heart despite sacrificing his humanity. It could also give a reason to Draal’s pointless death (further Jim’s and Angor’s developement).

Here’s what I propose could’ve been done with Angor Rot if he didn’t die: He can turn on Morgana and maybe even appear like he’s going to die. Jim is given a choice of whether or not to save Angor Rot, and maybe at this point or sometime previous in the finale reiterate that Angor killed Draal and Jim’s mad about it. Jim is half troll now, he’s different, angrier and less forgiving, maybe all of its getting to him and the audience is made to wonder if Jim might become more like Merlin (who was once like Jim but became crueler) or if he still has the heart that made him so great in the first place. He’s at a crossroads deciding which path he’s going to go down. And then Jim saves Angor. Have it mirror in some way when Jim spared Draal that first time. Have Angor react similarly, being confused about it and be like “but I killed your buddy, you should let me die as revenge”, and maybe have Jim say something about how that’s not how he does it.

And then, and now I’m just going off and doing that whole “what I would’ve done” thing, but like and then as positive payoff to the good action of choosing to save Angor what if there’s one last scene at the end and it’s in Merlin’s tomb. We see Draal’s stony corpse, and then before it is a cauldron like how we saw with Aaarrrgghh, and it’s all steaming. And Angor’s hand stirs it. Then there’s a wide shot and we see Angor Rot standing before Draal’s corpse as it starts to fade back to living stone. Then Draal opens his eyes. And then cut to black credits role.

But like all of this just my opinion man. My rambling overly critical opinion that would get me weird looks if I talked about it irl lol

I continue to read in Elf Problem fandom, just not terribly fast--which pretty much describes the pace of Tolkien fandom in general. (EXCEPT LATELY, HOLY CRAP, THE FALL OF GONDOLIN IS GETTING A BOOK, THAT WAS JUST ANNOUNCED TODAY!!) But I still have a lot of feelings and there's still some absolutely gorgeous, utterly rewarding fic being written, so here HAVE SOME ELF PROBLEM FEELINGS.

TOLKIEN FIC RECS: ✦ Bridges by Bodkin, thranduil & legolas & ocs, valinor, 27.7k       Legolas and his wife's father just cannot get on. But elven life is long - and understanding will grow in time. If only they can learn to listen to each other... ✦ Boromir's Return by Osheen Nevoy, boromir & entire lotr cast & some ocs, 522k       Boromir awakens from his death and finds himself in an unexpected situation. ✦ The Dragon of Rohan by French Pony, faramir/eowyn & appearances of aragorn & gimli, 11.2k       Following the first real fight of their marriage, Faramir learns a little bit about Éowyn's past, which prompts a change in their relationship. ✦ Quenta Narquelion by bunn, feanor & maedhros & maglor & elrond & elros & feanorians & cast, 119.5k       Fëanor, dead, watches the First Age unfold and from time to time, joins in. Canon-compliant character death and a detailed account of the Eastern Front of the War of Wrath. ✦ In Courts of Living Stone by ncfan, maeglin/finduilas & eol/aredhel & melian & cast, 31.2k       Maeglin and Aredhel never flee Nan Elmoth for Gondolin. Twenty years later, Maeglin finds himself in Menegroth on a mission for his mother, seeking another road to freedom. But he is unprepared for what awaits him there. AU. ✦ Three by Geale, aragorn/legolas/arwen, nsfw, 7.3k       One is unbearable, Two is desirable, Three is completion. Legolas left Minas Tirith soon after the War to spare himself the pain but when duty calls him back, everything has changed. ✦ Tales from Vairë's Loom - Estel en-Aderiad by Fiondil, celeborn & galadriel & elrond & glorfindel & elladan & elrohir & legolas, 3.4k       A group of Elves journey to Mordor at the end of the Ring War to find closure and something else. ✦ Tales from Vairë's Loom - The Blue Wizards’ Dilemma by Fiondil, the blue wizards & ocs, 3.7k       They were sent to bring help to the tribes of Men who had rebelled from Melkor-worship in Middle-earth. They were doing well in their mission until a fateful invasion put an end to their plans. Now they had to come up with a new one. ✦ This Taste of Shadow - "in sickness, in health" by Mira_Jade, beren/luthien, 1.6k (for this chapter)       It came upon her slowly, like a whisper of the wind before the rains came. ✦ This Taste of Shadow - "who touches the pupil of my eye" by Mira_Jade, aule/yavanna & saruman & namo/vaire & thingol/melian & luthien & nerdanel, 1.5k (for this chapter)       Prompts: See, Hear, Touch, Sense, Smell ✦ This Taste of Shadow - "so there will be no forgetting" by Mira_Jade, bilbo & glorfindel & thorin, 3.2k       Magic, Gandalf had said when they entered the valley, but Bilbo Baggins was quite certain that the Grey Wizard was mistaken. For this had to be more than even that. ✦ Return to Aman by bunn, elrond & maglor & cast, 151.6k       A loosely associated series of stories about Elrond's return to Aman at the end of the Third Age. All these assume that Maglor son of Fëanor was one of the other unnamed Elves who accompanied Elrond, Galadriel, Gandalf, Frodo and Bilbo on the ship when they left Middle-earth. ✦ Oropher, Thranduil, Legolas by KayleeArafinwiel, thranduil & legolas & cast, 1.1k       Snippets and bits about the journey of three scions of the House of Elmo, the burdens of lordship and kingship, and the joys of fatherhood and childhood. ✦ This Taste of Shadow - "made for whispers" by Mira_Jade, celeborn/galadriel, 4.6k       There were times when the knowledge of just how far away from home she was caught her by surprise. full details + recs under the cut!

✦

Bridges by Bodkin

, thranduil & legolas & ocs, valinor, 27.7k

     Legolas and his wife's father just cannot get on. But elven life is long - and understanding will grow in time. If only they can learn to listen to each other...

      I never used to think too much about reading fic with a lot of OCs, but Tolkien fandom (at least the Thranduil & Legolas parts of it) almost kind of demand it, if you want to build something for them, and I'm at the point where I hardly even notice it anymore and instead just jump right in with those authors who are really good at building up the world around them, while not losing sight of the characters that I'm really here for. So, Thranduil and Legolas and their family in the Fourth Age in Aman? Where Legolas is hurt and trapped in a cave-in with his father-in-law who doesn't really like him and they have to find common ground and a better understanding of each other, while the rest of their family searches for them? Sign me up for that! And it was like sinking into this nice, warm bath to read, it was so easy and comfortable and warm and spot on for what I wanted, that there was some satisfying Legolas whump, there was Elves being Elves, there was just really good, lovely writing and fantastic characterization (they all felt 

spot on 

to me!) and it was incredibly engaging. It was the right length for the story being told, it did a great job of balancing all that it was trying to put in there, and was just a really, really good read that got me back into wanting to read about these characters again! ✦ Boromir's Return by Osheen Nevoy, boromir & entire lotr cast & some ocs, 522k       Boromir awakens from his death and finds himself in an unexpected situation.       I do not know where to begin with this rec, because I'm not sure how to encompass everything that this fic is! When I first picked it up, it sounded like it could either be great or it could be terrible--such an unassuming title and summary, using a first person narrative, the importance of an OC in the beginning, a truly impressive length at well over 500k. All of these seem like red flags being thrown up, if you've read much fic over the years. But I thought, well, I can just read the beginning, see how it goes, it's long enough that I can read quickly and not have to worry about savoring it. So, I started to read and was nearly instantly sucked in--and maybe it wasn't until a chapter or two later that I realize it, but this fic is masterful. Every choice the author makes in this fic is one that I support--the OCs are absolutely necessary, but even more than that are wonderful, I came to care about Boromir's new friend just as much as any canon character, he was beautifully written and the friendship between them tugged at my heart something fierce. The first person narrative is actually a great choice because it allows for getting into Boromir's head in a way that a third person fic would not, it allows the fic to show so much more of his character than could have otherwise been achieved. And, holy shit, the length was pitch perfect. This fic never flagged, it never felt overly drawn out, every scene was a joy to read, everything contributed to the greater whole, the pacing was fantastic so that I kept wanting to read what was coming next, no climax felt like an ending or the aftermath a let-down. Instead, I can scarcely look back to the beginning and see how far these characters and this story came without it feeling like I started the fic another lifetime ago, in the absolute intended way that I should feel looking back on this fic.        It covers so much of the events of LOTR, but from the point of view of Boromir in Gondor, unable to return to help the rest of the Fellowship, to give new events that found the perfect balance of what happened in canon versus how things would change in this AU. The events themselves were true to the spirit of the story and the narrative, I 100% believed this fic every step of the way--and the author showed their work, making every step clear how things happened and unfolded and made it so interesting along the way. The blend of action versus the moments between the fighting, the rebuilding of Gondor and Boromir's life, all of it was incredible.        But, oh. The best thing about this fic. The characterization was magnificent, every single step was brilliant for every single character. Boromir himself is breathlessly perfect, but also the characters around him shine with such fascinating presence, from the Hobbits to the other Men to the rest of the Fellowship, everyone is seen through Boromir's eyes, how he feels about them, but also you understand that he comes with his own biases. It was incredible to read every single scene with Aragorn, how human he is in this story without making him anything less than the incredible figure of the books. It was fucking awe-inspiring how well Denethor was written, how complicated and difficult and charismatic he could be, how Boromir saw all his faults, how he was not an easy man to be around, but you also saw his strength and his motivations and what drew people to him. I never doubted why Boromir or Pippin or the rest of Gondor loved him so much.        I've been reading this fic over the past two months and it's been my comfort place, the fic I pick up when I just want to read something that totally engrosses me, the fic that just made me happy to read, even when things were difficult for the characters. I could have easily read another 500k or more of this fic, I feel a little bereft now that it's gone from my life, and it still stuns me how well used everything is, how everything is so incredibly true to the canon, and everyone is so layered and individual and fascinating. It might seem daunting or not that interesting, but it's truly one of the best fics I've read in any fandom, not just this one, and the length doesn't matter because time seemed to lose all meaning while I was reading, it just slipped by me as I was engrossed in the world this author created. Everything is done to perfection and I honestly am sad that I have no more of this author's work to read. ✦ The Dragon of Rohan by French Pony, faramir/eowyn & appearances of aragorn & gimli, 11.2k       Following the first real fight of their marriage, Faramir learns a little bit about Éowyn's past, which prompts a change in their relationship.       I enjoyed this story so very much, both for the building of Faramir and Eowyn's relationship as well as the glimpses into her past, why she feels so strongly about a certain element in her home. I love how their relationship is portrayed here, it's not perfect, but it's so good , they're still somewhat getting to know each other, but they manage to work things out and make everything even better between them, and I'm just delighted by the sense of a beginning here, how they're building their home and their marriage and their life together. The addition of Aragorn and Gimli in their respective scenes was further a delight and it made the whole thing just an absolute joy to read. ✦ Quenta Narquelion by bunn, feanor & maedhros & maglor & elrond & elros & feanorians & cast, 119.5k       Fëanor, dead, watches the First Age unfold and from time to time, joins in. Canon-compliant character death and a detailed account of the Eastern Front of the War of Wrath.       Rec #1: When I first picked up this fic, I wasn't really sure what I was going to get or where it would be going, with Feanor's spirit refusing the call to Mandos and how that would affect things and what it would all mean. What I got was a bit of an exploration of what it meant to be a bodiless spirit in Middle-Earth, but then more and more an exploration and expansion of the storyline of The Silmarillion from that point on. It's gorgeously written and pulled me in hard, it gives such detail and depth to the storyline and the events that happen, especially once the attack on the Havens happens. It's also an exploration of what the Oath does to the sons of Feanor, how they do/don't react to it, how it drives and directs them--in a way that's woven around all the other plot stuff that's happening. This is fascinating all the more because Feanor himself is watching as a spirit, one who cannot really speak with the living without danger (as the living and the dead should not speak to each other) and this gives him the breathing room to step back from his anger and really see how his actions have created this tidal wave of effects. It's beautifully done for how it doesn't excuse Feanor or his sons or their followers, it doesn't try to make villains out of the people they attacked, but still makes you understand why they do what they do and have such deep sympathy for them. You understand why Elrond and Elros love them so much. You understand why the Dwarves are such longtime friends of them. You understand why many Men are longtime friends of their as well.       This is also in a fic where there's such thought put into the magic and arts of the world, the music and spirits that linger and the words of power and how they're tied to the fate of the World and what it means to be Elves. It's a fic that has so many moments from The Silmarilion given life , like what it's like to be in that part of the world when the Valar themselves finally come to fight Morgoth and the devastation it leaves in their wake, what it's like to spend that many years fighting and fighting and constantly having to struggle to get up when you have no hope left, all of it wrapped up in really beautiful, thoughtful characterization. I wasn't sure I'd like another fic (at least not for a long while) after Return to Aman hit so many of the buttons I wanted, but this one just knocked me over and wouldn't let me get up until I'd read my way through all of what was available (and I'm recommending this now because it's regularly updated, so even as a wip, the rec will stand!) and it's one of those that makes this fandom satisfying to be in!       Rec #2: I wasn't sure what to expect when I first picked this fic up--Feanor as a spirit watching over the events to come? And what I got was one of the most satisfying pieces I've read in awhile, that it starts as a Feanor piece, but it's also just as much (and sometimes moreso) a story about giving detail and breathing life into the story of the First Age, the story of the Feanorians. It's got gorgeous worldbuilding (the use of songs and various abilities, the power in words and voice, the touching of minds, the ability to call on things, all of it is blended together with the story in a way that utterly made sense to me, it felt like Elves, especially ones from the First Age) and it's gorgeous characterization and it's gorgeous canon gap filler. It's a story that takes the frame of canon, then builds and builds on it, so that it's this really coherent narrative, both in terms of the worldbuilding and in the characters--you get why the Feanorians do what they do, your heart breaks for them as they slide more and more into evil, because they aren't evil, but they have done so many evil things that they are inseparable from it. It doesn't dismiss the terrible things they've done, it doesn't deny that they truly did evil, but also it shows why they're so beloved, why Elrond and Elros love them, why their story is worth telling. On a narrative level, it's kind to both sides and that gives the story such depth and brilliance that a flatter reading of it (one side or the other being entirely ~bad~) would never have reached.       I enjoyed the story for the structure of it, the building up of various abilities (the Elves' magical powers just fit so well into the world that I could easily take it all for canon) or the Dwarves or various other Elves (besides the Feanorians or the Peredhil), all of that is gorgeously done. But the moment I will always remember most came in the second to last or last chapter, with Feanor watching over Maedhros and Maglor at the end of all of this, that got me. It got me so hard that I sat there in public, with tears welling up in my eyes, because I was affected by these characters and their journey, the way they were written. It's a beautiful piece for the Feanorians, you can feel the affection for them as characters without losing what makes their story tragic, that they have become evil through the sheer scope of the things they've done, and yet I want so, so badly to save them, because I fell in love with them over the course of the story all over again. And it's not just me being a fan of the characters, it's truly that the writing is gorgeous, that everything the fic sets out to do, it achieves, and I wish I could articulate it better, how much I loved reading this, how good it was, how well it did everything, because it really helped me through some tough times when I needed it, just by being so good. ✦ In Courts of Living Stone by ncfan, maeglin/finduilas & eol/aredhel & melian & cast, 31.2k       Maeglin and Aredhel never flee Nan Elmoth for Gondolin. Twenty years later, Maeglin finds himself in Menegroth on a mission for his mother, seeking another road to freedom. But he is unprepared for what awaits him there. AU.       I did not know how much I needed this AU fic until I read it and had such trouble putting it down! Maeglin accompanies his father to Menegroth, a letter from his mother hidden on him to ask for help, and there he meets Finduilas and tries to find the best way to speak to Galadriel and pass her the letter without his father noticing. There's such thought and care given to the worldbuilding of Menegroth and the Elves here, what that place must have been like, what it's like for the Elves living there, what it was like for Maeglin and his limited experience. It's such a great piece for his character, it really does such a fantastic job with this poor kid who has been hidden away and is so inexperienced and so ground down, but still desperately wants to do something , even amongst his fear. It's a really lovely look at how things could have gone better for him if he'd met someone more suited to him, the dynamic with Finduilas just sparkles here, it was a relationship that I absolutely fell in love with and it had such a natural grace.       But also Menegroth as a whole! The little details of how it affected Maeglin, the stars on the ceiling, the pulsing feeling of everything, the way Melian was so otherworldly, like she was there and yet not, the way she felt alien and such a heavy pressure to her. She's like Menegroth here--there's something genuinely terrifying about her, yet also beautiful and wonderful. The way such life was breathed into Finduilas as a character, she had such a vibrancy about her that you could believe everything here was plucked straight out of canon! It's a fic that achieves everything it set out to do and, sure, I'd loved another 30k for a sequel fic, but also I was satisfied with what was here--it was fascinating and a beautiful piece to read. ✦ Three by Geale, aragorn/legolas/arwen, nsfw, 7.3k       One is unbearable, Two is desirable, Three is completion. Legolas left Minas Tirith soon after the War to spare himself the pain but when duty calls him back, everything has changed.       Every time I read Aragorn/Legolas/Arwen fic it just further cements that I really do love this trio more than any single pairing and this fic just fed further into that. It's wonderfully balanced, especially the way it starts as more Aragorn/Arwen + Aragorn/Legolas, but eventually does become a trio, because, you know, Elves. It's a blend of angst and happiness, it's aching to read at first, but such love comes through that I felt entirely warm after reading it. There's a brief bit of sex that's lovely and hot, too, but it's mostly that I believed this scenario for them that really got me. ♥ ✦ Tales from Vairë's Loom - Estel en-Aderiad by Fiondil, celeborn & galadriel & elrond & glorfindel & elladan & elrohir & legolas, 3.4k       A group of Elves journey to Mordor at the end of the Ring War to find closure and something else.       This wound up being one of my favorites in this fic collection, where a group of Elves journey to Mordor to see for themselves the land of their fallen foe. Once again, the balance between all that's been lost, the heart of things, and the hope found amongst the rocks and hard ground, is wonderfully done. The moments each character gets to think on what (and who) they've lost, the aches they still carry with them, but that eventually they pull through to a lightness of heart again, it's very Elven and had me eating this fic up like candy. It's nicely done as a group piece (which is not always easy!) and as an aftermath piece. ✦ Tales from Vairë's Loom - The Blue Wizards’ Dilemma by Fiondil, the blue wizards & ocs, 3.7k       They were sent to bring help to the tribes of Men who had rebelled from Melkor-worship in Middle-earth. They were doing well in their mission until a fateful invasion put an end to their plans. Now they had to come up with a new one.       Given how little we know of the Blue Wizards, it could be difficult to come up with an interesting story to tell about them, but given how much I've enjoyed the other fics in this collection, I was perfectly willing to give this one a shot as well. And it is interesting to see what the author did with the scraps of information we have, how much was built up in such a short time, how the focus on these singular moments in the middle of greater plot machinations tell so much and how humanized these characters (both the actual humans and the wizards both) were. Even going in knowing very little, I felt like all of this absolutely made sense to me and that's a great achievement. ✦ This Taste of Shadow - "in sickness, in health" by Mira_Jade, beren/luthien, 1.6k (for this chapter)       It came upon her slowly, like a whisper of the wind before the rains came.       This was a really lovely and sweet moment with Beren and Luthien, how she gets sick for the first time after becoming mortal and how it's kind of quietly terrifying, but she embraces it in the way she always does, as well as Beren is just so kind and charming here, you can absolutely see why Luthien loves him so very much, why this life with him is so very worth living. It's a sparkling, warm-hearted piece that really captured one of those quiet moments that shows just how much deep and true love there is here. ✦ This Taste of Shadow - "who touches the pupil of my eye" by Mira_Jade, aule/yavanna & saruman & namo/vaire & thingol/melian & luthien & nerdanel, 1.5k (for this chapter)       Prompts: See, Hear, Touch, Sense, Smell       This is a series of shorter ficlets connected through a themed prompt set as well as a sense of loss and difficulty, how each of these characters deal with such things. Aule's loss of Mairon, a favored pupil, Namo trying to understand the process of death in the early days, Nerdanel mourning her losses, and so on. It's a lovely set and adds these little touches of something you can really empathize with when it comes to all these characters. ✦ This Taste of Shadow - "so there will be no forgetting" by Mira_Jade, bilbo & glorfindel & thorin, 3.2k       Magic, Gandalf had said when they entered the valley, but Bilbo Baggins was quite certain that the Grey Wizard was mistaken. For this had to be more than even that.       One of the most frustrating parts of Peter Jackson's movies is what they've done to the Elves, especially the Hobbit movies, even having set them from the Dwarves' point of view. This is a lovely look at Bilbo learning a bit more about the swords they carry from one who is very familiar with them and then another lovely look at Bilbo telling Elven tales, showing the depth of them to some who would like to deny it. It was a nicely cathartic read for me, as a fan of these characters and this history, but it's also a really great look at giving depth to the time Thorin's company spent in Rivendell, fitting between the scenes of the movie very nicely! ✦ Return to Aman by bunn, elrond & maglor & cast, 151.6k       A loosely associated series of stories about Elrond's return to Aman at the end of the Third Age. All these assume that Maglor son of Fëanor was one of the other unnamed Elves who accompanied Elrond, Galadriel, Gandalf, Frodo and Bilbo on the ship when they left Middle-earth.       I don't even know where I'm going to begin with this! I read this entire series over the course of about a week, the only thing that kept me from devouring it all at once is that I didn't want to run out of it too quickly--and, yet, here I am all caught up and desperately wishing I had another 80k+ to read through right now. It's a collection of stories about Elrond and Maglor journeying to Aman in the Fourth Age, about healing and humor and what comes next for the Elves, now that their time in Middle-Earth has ended and they have to actually deal with seeing a son of Feanor again, that Maglor has to deal with the Oath and what he's done and his sorrow over it. I'm interested in these things just for themselves, of course, but this fic series has been absolutely incredible at giving such sharp personality to everyone, that Finrod has such an incredible sense of humor and rolls with a joke, that Nerdanel has such common sense, that Elrond may be younger than most of the Elves here but he's Seen Some Shit as well as he has an incredible way with building bridges between people, that Bilbo and Frodo are such Hobbits and genuinely feel different from the Elves, that Nimloth has to be experienced rather than described, that Celebrian seems so delicate and yet has such strength to her, all of it is incredibly sharp and brilliant. I came to this fic for the concept and the lore, but wound up staying even more for the sheer gorgeous characterization and deftness at which this really feels like these characters' thoughts, feelings, and actions.       Which isn't to say that the lore isn't incredibly well done, too! The story feels just a little bit formal in the way the Elves speak to each other, there's just a touch of poetry in their words and actions, but in a way that's incredibly smooth and engaging to read! And the bits of worldbuilding, the way they see into each others' minds or the way their power works, that Maglor knows he could use his harp and voice as a weapon possibly even more deadly than his sword, that the Oath is a burning thing in the minds of Feanor's sons, that the time in the Halls of Mandos is not so easily described. All of this add such richness to the story being told, all of this is why I'm fascinated by the Elves! And I wish I could write a better rec for this series, I wish I could write a rec for each of the (at current) eleven stories, because they deserve it, because they utterly enraptured me and satisfied me on an emotional level. It's a story about forgivenes and where that line is, that Maglor has regretted so many things, that they weren't just monsters, they were thinking and feeling creatures as well. That he has to live with the fury that's aflame around so many Elves that he hurt, but also that he struggles with pride and his own wounds, the loss of family.       It's a story that makes the Feanorians sympathetic again, that doesn't excuse what they've done, but that holding onto grudges never heals anything. I'm incredibly on the side of the people that they hurt, but this fic got me feeling things for the Feanorians all over again, especially because it's so very clear that Maglor loves dearly and hates what happened, that it destroyed him in a way he'll likely never recover from, especially not with the strength of Elven memory. But it's still a road worth walking, coming back to life and healing. And, oh, even the one conversation between Nerdanel and Feanor here had me practically rolling over in my bed to clutch my reader to my chest for the sheer amount of feeling it gave me. It's a fic that's so beautifully written all the way through, that has such care put into it and different perspectives considered and finely written dialogue that it really, really earns the slow burn redemption that it's going for. It's an incredible story that I'm so glad I'm getting to read. ✦ Oropher, Thranduil, Legolas by KayleeArafinwiel, thranduil & legolas & cast, 1.1k       Snippets and bits about the journey of three scions of the House of Elmo, the burdens of lordship and kingship, and the joys of fatherhood and childhood.             These were very short snippets of fic that were lovely to read and I picked them up because I, too, headcanon that Oropher was from Elmo's line, though, I don't think you really have to be that familiar with The Silmarillion to enjoy this! They're shorter fics and really cute scenes, very much about the care and feeling between the Elves, just little details to fill in the world and connections between them all. It was a lovely read today! ✦ This Taste of Shadow - "made for whispers" by Mira_Jade, celeborn/galadriel, 4.6k        There were times when the knowledge of just how far away from home she was caught her by surprise.        I have definitely been on a Celeborn/Galadriel kick lately, especially takes on their early courtship days and how the reveal of the Kin-Slaying events and the tension between the Noldor and the Sindar would have affected this relationship. It's a look at such a strong character like Galadriel, who has her pride and her sorrow both, that she feels stained and cursed, that in a way she truly is, and doesn't want to spread that to this Elf she is coming to love, but also will not settle for crumbling under the weight of what she bears. The way she moves from Artanis and Nerwen to Galadriel, the way she is proud and unbreakable, the way she grieves for what they've all been through, all of it is so Galadriel. And the way these two interact with each other, the sharp connection between them, the pull that neither of them could possibly deny, the strength and elegance and grace of both of them, the sheer might of both their presences in a room, all of it is very, very nicely done and suits them so well. I can easily see this as how things might have gone!

once again you made me deeply emotional over boromir. i don't have the fellowship (much less the english edition) at hand, so i can't even re-read my fav parts with him. any particular boromir-related stuff you may share?

FUCK ok I’ve got a migraine and a passion and I do not know how to use either of them but I’m gonna use this ask to talk about something I’ve been thinking about for months, not kidding on that one. 

Galadriel... was the direct cause of Boromir trying to take the ring- HEAR ME OUT. 

There are some very important things to remember about Boromir when you’re considering his actions and motives.

- He explicitly came on the quest assuming it would lead them all to Minas Tirith, because that’s where he needed to get back too. It’s very clear, he and Aragorn are literally going because Minas Tirith is on the way to Mordor. And every detour and every delay of the Company amps up his frustration and worry. 

- He left Gondor with the certainty that his city would be besieged VERY soon and that they would not be able to break it. His trip to Rivendell is desperation based in it’s entirety, he’s looking for anything that might help. 

- He knows absolutely none of these people from adam and whilst he very much wants to trust them, they have yet to win his loyalty or faith in ANY capacity. I’m sorry! I know everyone wants the Fellowship to be that good good found family foundation but it simply isn’t that for Boromir and never has been.

Okay so when they finally leave Moria and Gandalf’s dead, everyone’s grieving and miserable. They are also worried, Gandalf was their guide and as much as Aragorn’s a tracker he doesn’t have Gandalf’s expertise. Then again, Moria had been entirely Gandalf’s decision in the first place, claiming there wouldn’t be many orcs in there at all in an argument he has with Boromir about how dangerous the mines would be in comparison to the Gap of Rohan. Indeed, if Bilbo hadn’t given Frodo the mithril shirt then Frodo would be straight up dead and it would have been Gandalf’s decisions that caused it. 

So at this point Boromir’s faith in Aragorn’s ability is pretty low. And no one else in the Fellowship has any interest in leading. Boromir deferred to Aragorn’s judgement because Aragorn’s more knowledgeable of Eriador and also just... a dude who needs to be in control, it’s easy to tell. But now Boromir’s not so sure Aragorn’s up to it, since he seemed to rely on Gandalf so much. 

And then Aragorn tells them all they’re going to go through the Golden Wood. Now Boromir knows from the Rohirrim and Gondorian legend that the Golden Wood is Strange And Scary And Dangerous And Men Who Walk in Never Walk Out Again. And he says this, politely. Aragorn tells him he’s foolish for fearing it and essentially that if people got hurt in the Golden Wood then they deserved it. Again, despite the general discourtesy of these comments, Boromir chooses to believe Aragorn’s judgement. 

The next thing that happens is they are accosted by Haldir, treated like possible enemies or spies (despite Haldir admitting that Elrond had already told them they were coming) and a day and a lot of dwarfphobia later Haldir is threatening Gimli with death. No I’m not joking, Haldir says there’s a law dwarves can’t come into Lothlorien without a blindfold. And when Gimli gets justifiably angry about this and wants to go back if he’s being treated this way, Haldir says he WILL be killed if he tries to leave. Weapons are drawn! The only reason this de-escalates is because Aragorn suggests they all go blindfold because ‘it is hard on the dwarf to be so singled out’. I cannot express to you how soon this happens after Aragorn assures everyone that Lothlorien is safe. I also cannot emphasise enough how Gimli does absolutely nothing to deserve this, he’s polite and kind as ever until Haldir instigates it. 

So again!! Another mark against Aragorn’s reliability! And then we come to the CRUX of the matter, the meeting with Galadriel and Celeborn. 

A lot happens here, some of it very funny in terms of Galadriel’s treatment of Celeborn, but the important part is at the end where Galadriel mind-interrogates all the fellowship but Aragorn and Legolas. Again, this isn’t subtext, in-text it says interrogate. And the fellowship discusses it afterwards. Gimli, Sam, Merry and Frodo all agree that ‘Galadriel offered them a choice, to go back home where they would be safe, or to continue on with the quest though there may be far greater perils ahead’. 

But that couldn’t have been the choice she gave Boromir. Because he can’t go home to be safe and sound away from the evil!! He lives there!! This has been Boromir’s fight his whole life, it has never BEEN a choice for him. And from this moment on Boromir’s manner changes dramatically. He questions Frodo about what Galadriel asked him, he expresses concern about Galadriel’s motives, he says he believes she was TEMPTING HIM (remember that for later), concerns which are, once again, sharply and cruelly dismissed by Aragorn. 

There is then a MONTH of a time skip, we get descriptions of the how the other fellowship spend their time in Lothlorien. Gimli and Legolas become friends. Everyone else grieves Gandalf and has a lovely time in Lothlorien... apparently. 

But Boromir has never had any real positive feelings toward Gandalf and did not show any real grief at his loss initially. And whereas the rest of the fellowship seems respectful and awed by Galadriel and Celeborn, Boromir replies to their questions at the end of the fellowship’s stay in Lothlorien with what I would call veiled anger. `As for me,' said Boromir, `my way home lies onward and not back.' Which is a callback to the interrogation, the stark difference between the motivations and priorities of the rest of the Fellowship in comparison to Boromir. Which became VERY obvious to him in that moment. So I would posit that! Boromir did not have a good time at all! Boromir was stuck somewhere he felt unsafe and unwelcome and every extra second they spent in Lothlorien was yet another moment he was away from his currently-at-war home!!! 

Anyway just before they leave the fellowship is privately discussing what road they should take when Boromir makes a slip of the tongue, where he’d always been articulate and clear before. 

‘But if you wish to destroy the armed might of the Dark Lord, then it is folly to go without force into his domain; and folly to throw away-’ He paused suddenly, as if he had become aware that he was speaking his thoughts aloud. `It would be folly to throw lives away, I mean.'

It is very obvious to Frodo what he actually meant here, and this is where essentially Frodo’s inner monologue lays it all out!

Frodo caught something new and strange in Boromir's glance, and he looked hard at him. Plainly Boromir's thought was different from his final words. It would be folly to throw away: what? The Ring of Power? He had said something like this at the Council, but then he had accepted the correction of Elrond.

The important points in this section are that 1: Boromir has started thinking about the Ring of Power as something usable. 2: He did not think this before now, he had accepted Elrond’s words. This is ‘new and strange’. Something changed here. 

And of course it did! Boromir doesn’t trust any of these clowns anymore. 

Boromir’s advice, priorities and concerns have been almost entirely ignored and derided throughout the fellowship, even from the very moment he arrived in Rivendell! And after nearly freezing on a mountain, being chased by wargs, dragged through a mine of Orcs, a Balrog, threatened by supposed allies and then mind invaded by some elf he’s told to be in awe of, whatever will he had to trust and stay faithful to Aragorn’s decisions is barely hanging on. 

And Galadriel didn’t just invade Boromir’s mind, she was tempting him! He says so himself! And considering the circumstances and how he speaks about it, the only logical conclusion is that she is tempting him with the ring, because Boromir’s shown no sign of conflict or interest in the ring before now. So Galadriel was the one who put that concept into his mind in the first place. It’s Galadriel who initiates Boromir thinking again on whether this was in Gondor’s best interests. And Boromir recognises she’s trying to manipulate him!! Which is fucking heartbreaking!! 

'To me it seemed exceedingly strange,' said Boromir. `Maybe it was only a test, and she thought to read our thoughts for her own good purpose; but almost I should have said that she was tempting us, and offering what she pretended to have the power to give.’ (--)  `Well, have a care! ' said Boromir. `I do not feel too sure of this Elvish Lady and her purposes.'  `Speak no evil of the Lady Galadriel! ' said Aragorn sternly. 'You know not what you say. There is in her and in this land no evil, unless a man bring it hither himself. Then let him beware!’

Do you see?? Do you all see?? Am I making any sense at all?? Well I make sense to ME so lets continue- Here, you see how Aragorn puts all the blame on Boromir again? The twisted knot Boromir is in at this point is unfathomable and EVEN STILL! Boromir resists! For a very long time! This is what I mean when I say any characterisations of Boromir being overemotional or somehow out of control get at me so much, NEVER has a man had so much self discipline in his wholeass life. Boromir’s entire civilisation could be being bulldozed by Minas Morgul at this very moment and yet he takes everything that’s thrown at him without malice and internally continues to desperately hold onto his integrity. 

But that’s what’s at stake! His integrity! Because now he’s grappling with what seems like a choice to either keep faith with the fellowship, stay with them and go where they go despite how much his country needs him, or potentially do something drastic in order to bring a the powerful weapon Gondor seems to have ALWAYS been looking for home to finally actually save his people. Because that’s what Galadriel offered him! And whilst he doesn’t trust her, it’s also in his head now as a logical thing to want! He doesn’t trust Elrond either at this point, so why should he believe what he said about the ring! It’s obvious everyone has boundless ulterior motives!!

Oh! Here’s a good place to try and explain my theory of how the ring’s temptation actually works. The Ring can control people one of two ways. The first we see with Frodo and with Boromir, it takes FULL control of their actions for a split second when they are vulnerable. For Frodo it made him put it on on Weathertop. For Boromir it made him attack Frodo. However this effect is exceedingly temporary and the person effected immediately comes back into themselves and recognises that what they did was outside of their control. 

The other way is often thought of as this like pervasive constant pull to the ring that effects you even just by being around it, wearing you down etc. But I don’t think that’s what happens. I think, in order for the ring to start exerting real dangerous persistant power over you, you have to know it’s power and logically want it. You have to come to that conception yourself, you have to think about it. 

And I have a lot of reasons for this but where it pertains here-!! Boromir is a fine, reliable and solid member of the fellowship RIGHT up until Galadriel’s mind meld. It’s not gradual, he goes from making jokes, carrying Hobbits and fighting Balrogs to BARELY being able to control his speech and biting his nails and staring at Frodo creepily. There is barely any easing into it and it starts with Galadriel!!

And you know what! There’s an even more sinister layer to this because like... WHY was Galadriel doing this mind stuff in the first place? An immediate obvious answer would be to test the fellowship, to make sure everyone was solid enough to carry on, to ensure the folk who continued were focused. But... If that’s the case... and Boromir’s test was the Ring... like... he obviously failed that test right? She was reading his mind! And she does it again before they leave! If we’re to assume that Galadriel’s mind powers are greater than Boromir’s ability to deflect them then... surely she would have known! That this turmoil was in him! And if she KNEW then why didn’t she say anything to anyone? To Aragorn?? But I don’t think yall are ready for that discussion yet tbh and I have to stop typing or I’ll go blind.

TL;DR Boromir didn’t want the Ring until Galadriel tempted him with it and made the idea of it saving Gondor a possibility to him. 

The Three Fandoms Asks

I keep seeing this around tumblr, and it looks fun. 

3 fandoms (I chose three important ones from my childhood)

1. Harry Potter - The Original Fandom. I mean, not the original original obviously, but probably the original for my generation. It was a huge part of my childhood and the story itself formed a lot of my opinions about how to tell good stories. I also have fond memories associated with this series -- Harry Potter was the first reason I ever had for Googling anything. “Harry Potter Book 5 news” and “Harry Potter Book 6 rumors” became frequent searches of mine. (The rumors took me to a lot of chat rooms where I read up on the wildest theories. It was a blast.) And then there were the midnight visits to Barnes and Noble and, in one memorable case, Walmart the nights of the book releases. Harry Potter was my childhood.

2. Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit - Like Harry Potter, these books (and movies) taught me a lot about storytelling. Tolkien’s works have become more complex to me as I’ve gotten older, and I’ve found there are plots and characters I like more now than I did as a kid (as opposed to Harry Potter, which my opinions about have mostly stayed the same). I also love Tolkien’s writing and world building. I’m one of the few people I know who enjoys reading all the poetry, and I read “The Council of Elrond” chapter three or four times before I got tired of it on Fellowship rereads. Lord of the Rings is a fantastic example of a really good book being adapted into really good movies. Both the book and the movies are each their own thing while also complementing each other. Just -- Lord of the Rings, man. I love it.

3. Charmed - Not as good, quality-wise, as the other two I’ll admit, but damn do I love this show. Before Charmed, I kind of watched whatever my family or friends watched -- my brother was a TV hog, and while I liked his cartoons ok, I didn’t like them nearly as much as I did Charmed when I discovered it. I got my dad watching it and it kind of became our thing. The Charmed Ones were kind of role models in a way. I can remember thinking, This is what being in my 20s will be like. Not the magic, but dating and clothes and deciding whether to go corporate or pursue your dream job or go back to school. People accuse the Charmed Ones of being boy crazy, but what I remember most about them is their work ethic. I thought, Prue prioritizes work, and I want to be like Prue. I love this show.

First character I loved:

1. Professor McGonagall is, has been and will always be my favorite character in anything ever. I also remember being small and redheaded and really liking Ginny Weasley before many other people did.  

2. Arwen was the first, but that was only because she appears in the movies before Eowyn.

3. Prue. Although I like all four sisters.

The character I never expected to love so much:

1. Sirius Black is obviously introduced as this terrifying villain, so when I started reading Prisoner of Azkaban, I didn’t expect him to become one of my favorites. To be honest, my fan girl love of him has waned since I was a teenager, but I still appreciate him.

2. Sam Gamgee. Another of my favorite characters in all of literature, though I had to mature a bit before I felt that way. But Sam is so small and overlooked, yet he’s so loyal, brave, determined, sassy and just all around good. He’s a gardener, which is a profession Tolkien holds in high esteem. Also in the books he doesn’t have that awkward break-up with Frodo that he does in the movie, plus he’s less whiny. (To be clear, I’m criticizing the movie’s writing, not Sean Astin’s performance. He did great especially considering the material he had to work with, and he feels the same way about the character I do. Also, his book about making the movies, There and Back Again, is the first nonfiction book I ever read for fun.)

3. Cole Turner. I came into the show in Season 4 right as his baby was turning Phoebe evil, so I was like, “Ah, ruler of Hell, not good.” My dad and I had to start the show over and watch Season 3 to realize he’s one of Charmed’s most complex characters.

The character I relate to the most: 

1. Probably Ginny, especially as a kid. We’re physically similar, but there’s also the temper and the fact that people always end up being surprised she’s as tough as she is. She and I also had to both grow out of self-esteem issues, though hers were more severe since they came from Chamber of Secrets-related trauma.

2. Pippin. He’s not sure if he’s actually qualified to be on that adventure, but hell if he’s being left behind. Also he’s small, like Ginny and me.

3. Prue. Sort of opposite of the Ginny stuff, she’s got the older sister syndrome of being responsible, in charge, bossy and often feeling like the only person who can get a job done right.(I don’t like having help with dishes or laundry, nor do I like assigning other reporters crime stories at work, as a couple of examples.) I am pretty protective of my younger brother and my mom always quoted It’s a Wonderful Life with the “you were born older” line when talking about me. Also like Prue, I tend to over-focus on work and not enough on my social life.

The character I’d slap: 

1. Percy. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a fabulously complex and underrated character, but I would still slap him silly.

2. Denethor. I used language I’d never used before in the theater when he sent Faramir off to fight in Return of the King and I started laughing a few minutes later when Gandalf knocked him out with his staff.

3. Ugh. Leo. (Also Sam.)

Three favorite characters in order of preference: 

1. McGonagall, Harry, Ginny. (That last one was insanely difficult as I also considered Snape, Lupin, Regulus and Luna.)

2. Sam, Eowyn then Aragorn (movies) and Bilbo (books).

3. Prue, Piper, Phoebe (Sorry Paige.)

Character I liked at first but don’t anymore: 

1. I mean, I’m not going to say I don’t like Hermione, because I definitely do, but the movies wore me out by over-glamming her to the detriment of Ron Ginny other characters.

2. I like all the characters except Denethor, who I never liked. Ditto Grima Wormtongue.

3. Believe it or not, I liked Leo when I was a kid. (*shakes head at how naive 13-year-old Iz was*)

Character I did not like at first but do now: 

1. Narcissa and Snape. This is not to say their views or the pro-Death Eater actions are ok, but they were both smart, they surprised me (always a plus) and they helped defeat Voldemort.

2. Didn’t like Boromir or Faramir at first, but now I love them.

3. Paige. 

Three OTPs:

1. Harry/Ginny, Ron/Hermione, Lily/James

2. Arwen/Aragorn (in a doomed, tragic way. Seriously, read the Appendices.) Eowyn/Faramir and Linsdey Ellis got me liking Eowyn/Merry

3. Piper/Mark Chau (I will never be over it!), Paige/Henry, Phoebe/pretty much anyone, including but not limited to: Cole, baby Misha Collins (Eric Bragg) and Aviva from Season 1 (#Phoebeisbisexual).*

* I really just think that everyone Phoebe interacted with before Season 3 should have come back as a love interest after she and Cole divorced. Aviva would have been old enough for that by then, and we could have gotten great sub plots of Eric Bragg’s little conspiracy theory brain trying to figure out which secret organization the sisters work for before Phoebe tells him they’re witches. (Then he and Henry could meet for beers after work and talk about how goddamn weird their lives are.) Any of that would have been better than the post-Cole love interests Phoebe got. (One of them was named Leslie?? And he took her job?? Fuck Brad Kern, honestly.) 

I’m going to break the rules by not tagging people, but whoever wants to play should go for it.

Cave

Faramir x Reader

I’d love some more Faramir action! He’s so underrated IMO. I’m imagining a mutual admiration scenario that turns into more. Maybe they’re out riding and get ambushed/injured or a massive storm comes and they’re forced to camp out for a few days and wait it out? Nothing like a good dose of adrenaline to get the passion flowing and those declarations of love out in the open ;) 

For as long as you've known Faramir, you've always been impressed. 

He lives in the shadow of his elder brother, yes, but it seems the dark is where he has learned to thrive. 

While Boromir is stronger in body, Faramir is stronger in mind. Boromir is the favored brother of their father, Faramir is favored by the city guard and the people who reside here. And where the ladies are big fans of Boromir, you're a big fan of Faramir. 

It's not that you don't like his older brother because you really do, he's very kind and, yes, handsome, but you've always preferred brains to brawn. 

The two of you like to go out on rides together outside the city a lot of the time to explore and just have some time away from his father and your own parents, and you're allowed out under the pretense that he's your armed guard while you're out looking for specific flowers for your mothers shop. 

It works like a charm. 

That's where the two of you are now, in fact. Heading towards the forest to the right of the mountainous kingdom, fully intending to waste the day away pretending to be hard at work.

Only the two of you end up riding much farther than usual, and at some point, you actually realize this. 

"Wait, Y/N stop the horse," Faramir says from behind you suddenly, squeezing your waist lightly to gather your attention as he speaks. 

You do just that, pulling back lightly on the reins to make your horse, Mona, slow to a complete stop. 

Once she's halted you turn your head a bit to look back at him, "What's wrong?" 

He gazes around the clearing and past the trees for a few moments before looking back down at you again, "We haven't been this far before. I think we should turn back."

You pout at him but don't argue, tugging the reins to the side a bit to make her turn around. "Oh you old man, don't know how to have a bit of fun." Of course, you're joking, and he can tell as such since you love to jest with him. 

As you begin to urge her forward, though, something very unexpected happens. 

Mona spooks suddenly and takes a few steps back, refusing to go forward anymore, and at first, you just assumed rodent or snake passed by.

You lean down and rub the side of her neck gently, eyebrows furrowed as you ask in a soft voice, "What's wrong Mona?"

Of course, she can't verbally tell you what's wrong but you hope your voice will soothe her a bit. 

You weren't excepting any sort of answer since you thought you already knew, but when 4 orcs jump out of the thicket you really understand. 

As soon as they appear Mona panics and rears back, and unfortunately Faramir is only holding on to you so when she does this both of you are sent toppling off. 

You land on top of him with a groan, but you don't have much time to recover from the wind being knocked from you since those same 4 orcs are heading straight towards the two of you.

Mona wasted no time darting off back towards the city, and unfortunately, she took most of your things with her. 

One of the orcs jumps forward with his curved blade pointed at you, and when you glance back at Faramir he's still rather out of it. To be fair you both did just fall off of a horse and he broke your fall, so you don't blame him for being a bit dazed.

You reach down and unsheathe his sword with slightly shaky hands, meeting the blade of the foul orc halfway as you push yourself to your feet and kick him backward. "Stay away!" You call, swinging your sword out at them in an attempt to be threatening. 

They cackle and crow at your pathetic attempt at being brave, relaxing their stances slightly since they can tell they're not dealing with a seasoned warrior. 

The same creature from before takes another swipe at you, this one a bit lazier and less offensive as if he wants to mess with you, but you meet him halfway and your swords clang together. 

Before he can recover you remove your blade from his and step forward, thrusting the blade forward and into its chest. 

It makes a horrible choking sound, you've punctured it's lung no doubt, and tries to grab for you but you rip the blade free and stumble back a bit. The orc goes down seconds later, sprawling out on the ground as it continues to gasp and choke as it fights to breathe. 

There are only 3 left now, but it seems the others have wised up and are no longer planning on playing with you. 

You glance back at Faramir and see that the only change is that his eyes have closed, and you begin to worry that he hit his head. 

Though, your concern for him doesn't last long because when you look back at the orcs you barely have time to raise your sword and block a slice that would've definitely taken off your head. 

Luck seems to be on your side, for when you pull your sword back it swings a bit further than you intended and slices down along the arm of the beast coming up on you, making it drop its weapon and hiss out in pain. 

Not wanting this chance to pass you by, you lunge forward and dig the blade into its head to stop it for good, but that victory is short-lived because when you try to pull the weapon back it doesn't budge. 

You pull harder but still, it doesn't give, and so now you've found yourself on the defensive against 2 other orcs. 

It's easy enough for you to dodge their individual attacks, but when they realize that teamwork makes the dream work, they manage to stop you. 

The bigger of the two steps in front of you and stops you short during one of your dashes, and once you're distracted the other swings his weapon and cuts along your calf. 

A cry escapes past your lips and your leg gives out from beneath you, and then they begin to laugh at you once more. 

Since they believe they've gotten their prey, they don't go for the killing blow right away and instead one grabs your arm and the other walks over towards Faramir. His weapon glints and shines with blood,  your  blood, when he lifts it above his head, and in a moment of desperation you grab a rock from the ground and bash it into the face of the orc holding onto you. 

It makes a weird screaming noise as it reaches up to grab its nose, and when the other turns and sees you've still some fight left in you he speeds back over. 

"Shoulda killed ya at the start!" It screeches in its horrible voice, running towards you with its weapon lifted and ready to kill. 

You dive forward between its legs before he can get in the final blow and pick up a discarded sword from one of the others, turning onto your back and jamming it upward into it's lower back before it can even blink. 

It slumps forward and hits the ground, landing on top of it's rolling and crying buddy on the ground. You didn't think such a hit would kill it so easily, but you don't stop to ponder on that and instead get up on shaky, burning legs and stumble over to Faramir (sure to grab his sword and re-sheathe it). 

You shake his shoulder roughly, glancing back to see if the other has come to its' senses yet (it hasn't) and whispering urgently, "Faramir! Faramir, please wake up!" 

He doesn't stir. 

As much as you don't want to, you know you're going to have to drag him away from here, and that's exactly what you do. 

As quickly as you can manage you prop him up and wrap your arms around his middle, pulling him back a few steps on wobbling legs. 

God, he's freaking heavy. 

Quiet grunts and groans of exertion and frustration leave you as you drag him away from the area, more than anything hoping to hide from that damned orc before it moves its buddy to come looking for you. 

By some luck, there is a cave not too far off, and as soon as it's within eyesight you head towards it. 

The orc has begun to croak and call for you, only making your movements more desperate as you try to make it to shelter before it finds you. 

Of course, all it really has to do is follow the blood and drag marks, but it's much too dumb to think of such a thing. 

The cave is at most 6 yards away now, but your energy is draining and the calls of the orc are getting closer. 

An idea then strikes you.

You lay Faramir back upon the dirt and scramble around the ground looking for a rock. Once you find one at least the size of your fist you stumble to your feet and then throw it as hard as you can in the opposite direction, diving for Faramir and pulling him into some bushes to hide while the creature follows the sound.

A good minute or two passes before you finally peek out and see that the coast is clear, so, without further ado, you grab onto the heavy man once more and resume your dragging.

It takes 5 whole minutes for you to finally get him into the cave, and as soon as you do you collapse to the ground.

The adrenalin has long since dispersed, and without that, you now begin to feel the exhaustion and pain that your body blocked out mere moments ago. 

When you go on these rides with Faramir you usually wear a tunic and men's trousers, and this time is no different, so when you go to look at the damage done to your leg you don't have to fuss with your clothes too much. 

You wince at the depth and length of the gash left along your calf, reaching down with shaky hands to rip away the fabric rubbing against it so uncomfortably. 

A quiet groan registers less than a foot away and you suddenly remember that Faramir has been out of it for no less than 10 minutes now. 

With that thought you crawl over to him and push his hair away from his eyes, looking and feeling along his head for any blood or bumps. 

At the back of his head, you feel a rather large welt that had begun to form, but there's no blood thankfully. It doesn't look too bad either, but it definitely knocked him out cold. 

A sudden shiver goes down your spine, a chill, and you realize that this area is very cold. The sky has turned cloudy too, so it's no doubt going to rain soon. It's dim inside the shallow cave, but it also provides good cover and is rather inconspicuous. Really it's lucky you saw this little shelter at all. 

As much as you don't want to, you know you have to go gather some wood for a fire. There's no way either of you will be able to travel at this rate, so the best thing to do is gather materials before it's too late.

With a quiet groan and a few tears, you fight your way to your feet and limp out of the cave, surveying the area for any signs of the orc before moving ahead. 

---

You had to bring back the logs and sticks in little shifts, for you couldn't carry very much at a time, and soon you had quite a nice pile going. 

You'd decided to go out on one more run for kindling and dry leaves when it begins to rain. 

Not a gentle sprinkle or sudden light shower, but full-on raining. It's like someone pulled a lever to the sky to release all the water it has accumulated because in near seconds you're soaked to the bone and chilled inside and out. 

As soon as the pouring begins you stagger your way back to the cave, fighting through the rain and wind to find the entrance, and when you do you feel a moment of relief, quickly followed by nothing.

Black.

You aren't sure how long you were out of it, but the next time you woke you were engulfed by a wonderful warmth and an achy body. 

A quiet, pained groan leaves you as your eyes crack open, and the very first thing you see is the roof of the cave you dragged Faramir to. 

You feel something shift beneath you and suddenly a slightly blurry face comes into view. It takes you a moment to realize that face belongs to Faramir, and the thing moving beneath you is the body attached to that face. 

Gentle fingers glide against your cheek lightly and you unconsciously lean into the touch, your eyelids fluttering closed again. 

"Y/N...," he whispers, his eyebrows knit together with worry, "How are you feeling?" 

You slowly start to sit up, wincing quietly when pain shoots up your leg.

"Ugh, god what happened?" You ask, leaning back down against him when he urges you to lay back down. 

"I'm not so sure myself... I woke up and saw I was in this cave, and then when I looked out I saw you just... laying there." He gently strokes the top of your head, laying your hair flat. "You were shivering and bleeding all over the place..." 

After a moment of silence he continues, "What happened? I can't remember anything after falling off Mona." 

"Mona bucked us off and then I had to fight the orcs and... well, I got cut a little and then I had to find somewhere to hide and I found this place, so..."

"You dragged me all the way over here?" He asks incredulously, "And went out to get firewood? Are you daft?" His voice is rather harsh, but you know he means well. 

You avoid his gaze and look back up at the ceiling, "I had no other choice... and we would've frozen if I didn't get wood." 

Sound logic he has to admit, but that doesn't make him like it any more. 

He doesn't say anything to that and continues to look down at your face somberly. "I should've protected you."

"Faramir, I'm no responsibility of yours. You could've died yourself, so maybe you should think more on that." You didn't intend to be so sassy, it just kinda happened. 

"Yes you are!" His reply is a bit louder than he meant for it to be, but he hopes his message gets across to you nonetheless, "You are. I would never forgive myself if something were to happen to you." 

At that admittance your eyes flicker back to his with no small amount of frustration, "And why is that? Because you can't stand the thought of letting someone die under your watch? Because you don't want others, me, to defend you since you'd rather defend yourself?" The bitterness in your tone betrays your anger, but it shows more than just that. It shows your exasperation of not being seen as more than a friend or someone to protect. 

"No! You know that isn't why!" He shoots back, his gaze hardening as his jaw sets in irritation.

"No, I don't know why!" You sit up quickly despite his protests to lay back down, turning with no small amount of difficulty to face him properly. 

One of your fingers jams against his chest as you lean forward and continue, "All I've ever wanted is to make you happy! Your father is a very cruel man, and when he makes you feel down I try to lift you back up. I take you out on these rides and spend hours and hours just speaking with you! I look forward to seeing you each day and I want nothing more than to protect you!" You don't mean to shout, but you've long since reached your boiling point, "A-And I do this," you gesture to your leg, "And drag you all the way here only to get scolded for saving your life. So please, Faramir, enlighten me as to why!"

"It's because I love you! I always have!" 

Oh. 

You don't say anything, though your face does all the talking for you. 

Your eyes are wide and face stricken with shock, and you've unconsciously leaned back a bit as if his words physically pushed you backwards. 

He sighs shakily, reaching up to thread his fingers through his hair and looking anywhere but at you. 

For once you're at a loss for words, because what he just said is something you've wished for, for a long time, but the circumstances of this aren't what you were expecting. 

Softly and shakily you ask, "Do you mean it?" 

Faramir looks over towards you quickly at your hesitant question, nervousness practically seeping out of him. Just as softly he replies, "Yes." 

Suddenly a dazzling smile breaks out onto your face, and if it weren't for your damn leg you probably would've tackled him with a hug. "You love me?" 

A small smile works its way to his face too, and he nods quickly, "I do. I've loved you for almost as long as I've known you." 

His words hang in the air between the two of you, and this moment would probably be suffocating if it weren't for the pure, unadulterated joy coursing through your veins at this very moment. 

"I love you too." You reply breathlessly, reaching up to cup the side of his face, "Very, very much." 

He scoots forward at your confession and wraps his arms around you, pulling you carefully into his lap so he can just hold you. "You've no idea how long I've wanted to hear that..." 

You sniffle quietly and bury your face into the crook of his neck, wrapping your arms tightly around him and relishing in the warmth he provides. "T-This isn't quite the way I imagined this going." You admit after a few moments of this silent embrace.

Faramir chuckles when you say that, squeezing you gently, "Me neither... but I suppose this is better than nothing." 

"Yes, you're right." 

"I never would've thought it would take an orc attack for us to come to our senses." He jokes, pressing a kiss on the top of your head. "Once the rain lets up, we will head back for Gondor and get you healed... and then perhaps we can tell my brother."

You nod your head in agreement, mumbling against his neck, "I'd love that. Your father always did approve of me, so maybe he'll be happy for you." 

"Maybe." 

Silence washes through the cave once more, nothing to be heard other than the crackling of the flames and loud crashing of the rain, but it's a comfortable silence. A nice one that wraps you up and makes you feel at peace and calm. 

"I love you." You repeat once it's dragged on for a minute or so. 

"And I love you. More than even I know." 

so @ahufflepuffhobbit  tagged me in the First Line game which is great. :D I think I’ll probably end up doing a mix of fic and original writing.

Rules are: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line.

God this got long: 

Cycles of Song (lotr, boromir/aragorn): Men who dream by daylight with eyes open are the most dangerous, Denethor said. It was after a council meeting and Denethor was wanting for the sun so they were in his favourite courtyard looking southward over the city. 

Hungry Ghosts (original, in progress): The birth chart must be drawn up with care if it’s to be accurate. A city’s history, though, can be as variable as the water’s of the planet. 

Palmdale (original, w/ sinking city review): Ruth wants to clutch entrails. Death is final and lacks decorum. She cannot walk back from this scene with its burnt coffee smell of off-brand hazelnut, its sound of screen door flapping in breeze. Praise Jesus this be a consumptive country; surely it will drown her.

be not afraid of plenty (lotr, grima/eomer): It’s a filthy winter. A filthy, filthy cold winter. Everything that is about to unfold is winter’s fault.

My Land is Bare (lotr, boromir/aragorn): It is in dusk’s purple blanket when Boromir stops running. Hands on knees he calls out, ‘I think I see something.’ This brings the other three to a halt. Aragorn is at his side and they’re being strange and shy so not looking at each other. 

Pale Before the Fall (original, complete & being pitched): Once upon a time, Napoleon saw a dog howling over its master’s body. He looked at it and as he stepped forward his foot went through a man’s face. Half the skull missing from cannon shot.

I’ve been fucking dinosaurs in an effort to reclaim my ability to transform into a velociraptor (original, forthcoming in Humber Literary Review): A velociraptor lives under my bed. His name is Claw and I turn into him if I jump three times. Or he becomes me.

Sweet is the Air (lotr, boromir/aragorn): ‘Did you forget?’ Aragorn asks.  ‘I didn’t,’ Boromir says. 

Naming the World (lotr, boromir/aragorn): North of Minas Tirith there are a series of interconnected ponds, fearsomely ringed in fog, Boromir was taken to them as a child. They were foreign to him, at the time, only eight years old and uncertain. He gripped the pommel of childish sword as his father led him away from men and horses into mist. 

This multiplicity (star wars, Tarkin/Krennic): Krennic falls. He knows moving one part of your body will cause you to flip because trajectory is overly affected by such minutia when in free fall. He twists, slightly, and yes, flips, so he is falling face first towards the planet’s incredibly firm surface.

The Lament of Geography (original, in progress): The Beginning was discovered in an outcropping of chalk at the border of her father’s fields. Bellefry and her sister had been at work digging up tubers to throw at one another when her hand trawl’s wooden spade hit something. 

To-morrow and to-morrow (discworld, vetinari/downey): Every year at the Assassin’s Guild the seventh form is required to put on a play of their teacher’s choosing. Most often, it’s something with a good deal of blood as Guild teachers know what keeps their students’ attention and it’s generally endemic violence, witty one-liners, brutal executions, rolicking brawls, and vile political machinations. 

Every creature responds to light (discworld, vetinari/downey): Downey once saw a man get his head blown off a mishap with fireworks he was ten years old the man was older, twenty or twenty-five, his head became crushed persimmons on cobblestones. His head became overripe strawberries caught in fingers a sticky summer afternoon spent with his grandmother and his mother a ghost in the background washing fine, thin china edges coloured Agatean blue. 

To Conjure a Man (discworld, vetinari/downey): They were loved. This is clear in many burial sites exhumed by archeologists and, occasionally, farmers, carpenters, the Watch. There will be signs that the dead were tended to, cared for, and left with different objects they were understood to need in the afterlife.

Thus, Always  (discworld, vetinari/downey): History is a cyclic poem written by time upon our memories. Take assassination as key example. There was the first assassination on the Disc. The details of it do not matter, only the fact that it happened. All assassinations after all are performances. They are theatered mimicry of the first.

The Mask of the Ordinary (discworld, vetinari/downey): One of life’s unexpected turn-ups was the time I found myself living with Vetinari when we were in our mid-twenties. While the fact that the Patrician attended the Assassins Guild is well known much of his early years are a blank slate for the denizens of this fine city. A state of affairs I believe Vetinari to be rather keen on maintaining. Naturally, I am here to put a small cat amongst the metaphorical pigeons.

A Year Out of Order (discworld, vetinari/downey): August, it always starts here although this is not the new year it ought to be. There should be a celebration like that Small God’s Eve but Small Mercies Eve or Small Miracles Eve. They do not call the days that allowed Vetinari to become Patrician a revolution or a rebellion or a revolt. A man for subtlety it simply was he was not there then he was. If you blink, you missed it.

Propagating Structure (star wars, Tarkin/Krennic): As a child Krennic once read that nothing enjoys the process of entropy, although it is unavoidable and the ultimate fate of everything including the universe. The universe most especially. Of course being hit with a laser from a machine of your own (mostly your own) creation is another level of something-literary-that-he-forgot-along-the-way entirely. Inertia is the end goal. Regardless of the means of getting there. Inertia. Nothing likes that either.

Wrack and Ruin (historical, Napoleon/Wellington): Getting to America wasn't the difficult bit. Which is, perhaps, the most shocking part to both parties involved. That it had taken so little to catapult them across the Atlantic. 

no more a desolate thing (discworld, vetinari/downey): Vetinari is considering language, a hardly unusual occurrence, and he is deep in hazy recollections of ancient Ankh-Morporkian and modern Klatchian and the nature of vernacular languages in their relationship with the State.

I was trying to see themes or patterns and I suppose it’s mostly style. I tend to start with firm statements or action. Also, I think my writing of opening lines could be called muscular. Not all, of course, but it’s enough to be a thread. 

My favourite? Probably Palmdale, Cycles of Song, Mask of the Ordinary and Palmdale. But it’s hard to choose a favourite - I can certainly say which are not my favourites haha (looking at you Propagating Structure and No More a Desolate Thing). 

I’ll tag a few people: @pipuhattar and @becumsh @tatzelwyrm @tauremornalome @squadron-of-damned @suburbanbeatnik 

I have followers & mutuals who may be writers and I’m unaware of it so if you want to do it please consider yourselves tagged!

A Black James Bond ?!

Recently I heard a rumor that I admit made me slightly aroused with excitement. Word on the streets is my adopted father Idris Elba may find himself portraying the most badass figures in literary and film history, James-Goddamn-Bond. As a fan of Luther, and Elba’s other works, I was pretty fuckin’ stoked. In my opinion, Idris Elba is a truly spectacular actor, and also as a fan of the Bond films I am curious to see his follow up after Daniel Craig's awesome run. In my excitement I took to social media to make my excitement known and too revel in the possibilities, this was, of course, a fatal error. As pretty much everyone knows at this point, the internet is not a place to express your joy and happiness, because the internet feeds off of them and spawns hatred. That hatred manifests itself in the form of people who are pissed off about a black James Bond.

Yes. In 2017, there are people who have so much free time and so little to truly care about what they have to spend their limited time on this earth bitching about a black James Bond. Now, of course, I recognize that this is only my opinion and in all reality, it is but a drop in a bucket of rainwater, none the less this is something I think we should be examining. While I do think it’s a silly thing to care about in the first place, I can’t deny I understand why this might be a hot topic in today's climate. Race seems to be a very divisive topic these days, and this is, of course, a subject that is centered around the race of a widely admired and traditionally white character. That being said I think the fact that I just used the word “character” should be taken into account, James Bond is indeed a fictional character and not a historical figure. If you had Spielberg pitching movie ideas about a Vietnamese Abraham Lincoln I would understand the outrage, but in this scenario, James Bond was never real in the first place. I think that this distinction kind of opens the door for interpretation and further plot development by fans of the said character, for an example just look to the disturbingly large world of fan fiction. If some thirty-year-old dude can write uncomfortable sexual stories about scandalous trysts between Boromir and Aragorn why can’t Bond have some melanin? I don’t see anyone getting mad at some of the downright scandalous shit I've seen on Harry Potter message boards.

Now before I get into the meat of my own views, it is only fair to try and get to the heart of the outrage the best that I can, obviously I might not get it right but believe me when I say this is my best attempt. It seems that there is a lot of scapegoating going on today between many communities, and regardless of the merit of these accusations, a lot of it is being directed towards the Caucasian population. As a person of color, specifically a racially mixed individual, it looks like being white eats a bag of dicks. I mean even white people hate white people right now, I have a white friend who shits on white people all the time. Yes, white people have done some things in the past that would most likely get you tried for crimes against humanity today, anyone who denies that is a fool. That being said, as a person of mixed race, a large portion of that mixture being French and Canadian, there is a lot that caucasian nationalities have contributed to the world and those, as well as the atrocities, need to be considered in equal measure for the sake of harmony. Again I can see why white people who some might say have been under attack lately, might be feel a little strange about the usually white Bond being Black now.

Now, while i do understand that side of the argument and WHY one might feel upset about such a change in such an iconic character, I think it’s fuckin’ silly. I have seen the comments and arguments people have left on social media and other internet forums, and while I see the reasoning behind some of them, the majority of them seem like the blind babblings of stupid people. I actually saw a person on a facebook post say “James Bond wasn’t black”, yes they said “wasn’t”. Actually you silly bitch, James Bond WASN”t real in the first place so in all actuality he can be whatever race they want him to be and it is just as valid as the works considered “canon”. I admit that I may be a little biased as someone who has african descent, it would be kind of cool to see a black Bond, but for me atleast that is the most inconsequential part of the rumor. If Idris Elba was white I would still think he was a good actor, and I would be just as excited for him to be the one taking over one of my favorite film characters. Even acknowledging this bias though, I have never really been one to get upset over changes like this, it’s a very passing consideration for me. When I saw Matt Damon inexplicably playing the lead in a movie about China’s greatest landmark I thought it was a little odd, but as the movie itself looked silly I didn’t have two shits to give. When Scarlett Johansson was cast in the live action Ghost In The Shell movie, I noticed the strange decision to not use an asian actor in the role, but it barely registered beyond that acknowledgement. Ghost In The Shell also turned out to be pretty damn awesome too so that might have helped. In the case of Idris Elba as Bond, Idris Elba as an individual, disregarding race is about as fuckin’ James Bond as you can get. He’s tall, he’s a god damn beautiful man, he’s smooth as a babies ass and he is still british. I mean for god sake Pierce Brosnan was Irish !! They hate the British and no one even said shit about that !! Idris Elba is actually British and actually could be a convincing choice, but people are getting hung up on such an inconsequential thing. I mean are you gonna get pissed if you're gardner shows up and isn’t mexican? I could just be a naive millennial, but it really does seem like a silly thing to get hung up on, no one is saying a black Bond is better, it’s just something new and that in itself should be exciting too any Bond fan. I mean shit I love Harry Potter, but I sure as hell wouldn’t mind seeing a hood version with Morgan Freeman as Dumbledore. Lord of The Rings is sick … but an Ecuadorian Frodo would still merit a viewing from me because I love those movies so goddamn much. I feel the need to once again reiterate that this is purely my opinion, but none the less I felt the need to express it.