J R R Tolkien - Tumblr Posts
The Monster Who Ate Words
Request: Hello (*^^*) Can i please request an Arranged Marriage AU story for Maedhors x Vanyar Reader? Let's say reader is a bit intimidated by Maedhors ( who has not shown much interest in her ). And Maedhors doesn't want to scare her so he keeps his distance.
Pairing: Maedhros x Reader
Genre: Arranged marriage au
Summary: Nelyafinwe was good. Good enough in your books. Good looking from the times you had met in childhood, a great politician if rumors from Tirion were to be believed, and tall enough to expect respectably tall elflings in the future.
AN: Thanks for requesting! I hope you like this :3 I really enjoyed writing this. Unedited for now don't kill me pls I have 3 little fish to feed.
“He hasn’t bothered to show face even once!” You scowl adjusting the errant pendant. “So why should I be the one to write to him?” You turn to your father, who by now has folded into himself like a petulant sunflower at sunset.
“He is a prince!” Your mother roars undeterred. “He probably does more than just writing children’s fables in his free time, daughter mine.” To this your father protests silently to your mother. Only to flail helplessly.
Such has been the case for your parents. Your father- the distressed damsel and your mother- a fire-breathing drake.
And you were nothing if not her rage personified. Which was wildly out of place in most Vanya settings. Some astray friends of yours had even jested in passing about you taking after your father-in-law, Crown Prince Feanaro more than his eldest.
An arranged marriage to Nelyafinwe hadn’t been the most unexpected. Born to Ingwe’s brother, you expected such. Given that you rarely held the passion and patience for sweet nothings for a romance of your choosing.
Nelyafinwe was good. Good enough in your books. Good looking from the times you had met in childhood, a great politician if rumors from Tirion were to be believed, and tall enough to expect respectably tall elflings in the future.
Additionally, much to your ire and your friend group’s joy, if a certain Telerin minstrel was to be believed then, the son of Feanaro possessed worthy assets. A fact that you swore did not bother you to anyone who dared to bring up the topic.
Your betrothal to him had been set up 2 loar ago. An agreement was established through embellished scrolls and a piece of jewel exchanged by each side. That jewel now the emerald that had been forged into the pendant that hung from your neck for the past 2 loar.
Binding you to the Feanorian with the dignity less than that of a stabled mare.
Love, you did not expect. But such coldness had hurt. Absence of even a single acknowledgement had hurt. This your mother knew well. Better than your soft-hearted father could ever understand. For even rocks nestled in the depths of Earth crack under the pressure of an unyielding hammer.
“My letter or the absence of it will make little difference.” You whisper and what follows is your mother’s uncanny silence.
You have written to him. For two loar, you have written. Every week at the beginning of your betrothal, letters about Vanyamar, about your favored writings, or scents and silks that you would like for your wedding.
Those soon dwindled to monthly updates with perfunctory greetings and everyday happenings. Sometimes about stories that you wrote for the children in court. Or about elflings born to your siblings.
No matter what you wrote, Nelyafinwe never once did reply. As if your letters by some sorcery never slipped past the borders of Vanyamar.
The last one had been short. A last-ditch effort on your end. A simple request. To meet at the Feast of Trees. That is all you had wanted of your betrothed. And he had failed.
Out of all of Finwe’s line, Nelyafinwe had been the one to not show his face. A fact that you bitterly swallowed with a forced smile and cheerfully chatted with your future in-laws.
At least Nerdanel and Feanaro seemed to possess basic decency of character to bear the Vanya thrust their way.
Nelyafinwe despised it. The lingering scent of a promise that his betrothal held. Unfailingly binding compromise.
A business matter to be ended over correspondence. He hadn’t given it much thought. His resentment did not allow it.
The piece of amethyst that arrived with the letter had been handed off to Curvo and his father, who within a week produced a hairpin that ended up somewhere in the mess of Nelyafinwe’s room or the drawers of his study on most days. Gathering dust away from his gaze. Next to the letters.
He had desired a choice. Unlike the horde of brothers and cousins that fate had thrusted into his life, Nelyafinwe had desired love.
But that too had been stripped away from his hands when his grandfather in a matter of a single day roped his father, who on most days detested Vanyar to arrange a wedding with one for his eldest son.
It started as a silent protest that soon became a habit. The letters from Vanyamar were thrusted into the farthest drawer where the light of the trees barely ever lingered.
Why could you not understand his signs? Was it not clear that he did not desire such a connection? He did not want your words or get to know you. He did not want it because depriving himself was the only way of showing his father what this had done to him.
For once, he did not wish to be agreeable, gentle Nelyo everyone had made him into. This was his rebellion.
Some part of him had protested such cruelty towards you. What fault was it yours that elders desired a marriage of convenience? How fair was it for you to be the scapegoat of his ire? But those voices remained quiet.
So it came as a surprise when one day, your words found him despite all he tried to run away from them.
Crouching next to Ambarussar, who sat surrounded by the hurricane of their mess of toys and all the possible possessions, Nelyafinwe saw tiny books. Handwritten illustrated books that the twins read aloud as Kano snored next to them, sprawled on a chaise.
“What are you reading?” Maitimo sat next to them, only for the twins to ignore their usual protocol of climbing all over him. Amras sighed, barely glancing up at his elder brother “The Monster Who Ate Words.” He replied, his eyes glued to the book.
The pages of the book, inked it a clean hand, next to the drawing of a long red serpent with blazing eyes caught Maedhros’s interest. “Sister-in-law wrote these,” Amrod looked up at Nelyo, thrusting the book in his hands. “She designed the serpent after you!” The twins giggled now sharing a book as Maitimo flipped through the pages.
A childish tale indeed. The story went- on a long lonely island lived a raging serpent with red mane and glimmering silver eyes. The serpent terrorized the island with his loud roars and ability to devour words. This left the world empty and elflings bereft of any tales or lullabies.
The ridiculous tale further developed into a group of outcast elflings gathering the words hidden in their textbooks to fight the serpent that detested sums and numbers.
Nelyafinwe scoffed finishing the book. He was perfectly capable of summing, and no, he did not hate numbers or mathematical calculations.
It took a moment for him to spot the empty room. Ambarussar had fled to Eru knows where and Kano had left the room unnoticed by Nelyafinwe. Rays of Laurelin had dimmed casting a mellow light in the room.
Suddenly Maitimo wanted to go far away from the cluttered room. He wished to get on his mare and wander until his mind calmed down. Until his heart rate evened out. He despised this restlessness.
For his heart could not remember the last time he had held your letter. The last time he had the chance to thrust it into the drawer. He could not remember.
He had failed to notice it. This settled like dread in his gut. That something had changed. Somehow, from a stranger he had become the monster in your stories.
Nelyafinwe does not run away. He knows he cannot do that, no matter how much his heart craves for freedom from such obligations. He is the eldest-born Feanorian. Named after the high king of Noldor.
So seated in the silent dark of his study he opens the drawer full of the same writing as his brother's books.
Picking up the Amethyst hairpin heavy in his palm, he pulls his hair back and uses his betrothal gift after 2 loar. It holds his hair with the comfort he is familiar with. His father’s work never fail their purpose. But this one in specific is achingly familiar as it settles into his hair.
With a distant curiosity, he wonders what gem of his claim rests on your being. He cannot remember the conversations 2 loar ago. He had merely agreed to the first suggestion by Indis and his mother.
One by one he reads through your letters. Words leave him heavy with guilt. His throat- scratchy with the fullness of his heart and eyes.
He is one wretched betrothed. Worthy of all the villainy in your books.
He reads from the first letters of ill concealed excitement of introductions. Of likes and dislikes, ideas of works in progress, to rare fleeting letters about weather and courtly affairs.
In a matter of hours, he goes through the process of getting to know you and losing you. But he does not stop reading. He does not deserve the respite of that ignorance.
And so he picks up the quill and begins his labor. For days he sits in his study replying to the letters. His likes, dislikes, hobbies, courtly affairs, and a short review of The Monster Who Ate Words.
To quell the heartache of his own making. This in the least was of his own choice.
"Faithless is he that says farewell when the road darkens," said Gimli.
"Maybe" said Elrond, "but let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall."
"Yet sworn word may strengthen quaking heart," said Gimli.
"Or break it," said Elrond.
J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring (The Lord of the Rings)
Then world behind and home ahead,
We'll wander back and home to bed.
Mist and twilight, cloud and shade,
Away shall fade! Away shall fade!
J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring (The Lord of the Rings, #1)
A very happy 130th birthday to J.R.R Tolkien!
(First illustration by Nathanna Erica)
🇨🇵 Merci pour ce que vous avez créé, cet Univers et sa Magie que vous avez offert à nos vies 🧝♂️🧙♀️🙏
“Still, I wonder if we shall ever be put into songs or tales. We’re in one, of course; but I mean: put into words, you know, told by the fireside, or read out loud of a great big book with red and black letters, years and years afterwards. And people will say: ‘Let’s hear about Frodo and the Ring’ and they’ll say ‘Oh yes, that’s one of my favorite stories.”
J. R. R. Tolkien
Happy Birthday, Mr. Tolkien!
Never laugh at live dragons.
J. R. R. Tolkien
False hopes are more dangerous than fears.
J. R. R. Tolkien, The Children of Húrin
Frodo lost a finger, and all his own possibility of happiness. Tolkien understood about the things that happen after the end. Because this is after the end, this is all the Scouring of the Shire, this is figuring out how to live in the time that wasn’t supposed to happen after the glorious last stand. I saved the world, or I think I did, and look, the world is still here, with sunsets and interlibrary loans. And it doesn’t care about me any more than the Shire cared about Frodo.
Among Others; Jo Walton
“The prime motive was the desire of a tale-teller to try his hand at a really long story that would hold the attention of readers, amuse them, delight them, and at times maybe excite them or deeply move them.” —J.R.R Tolkien, 1966
I suppose it’s a testament to Tolkien’s economy of language that the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy – interminable preamble and endless appendices and all – has a smaller total page count than the individual books of your average modern doorstopper fantasy series, yet manages to pack in such a high density of worldbuilding detail that reading it feels like it takes about a thousand years.
i do love this picture cause on the right you’ve got galadriel, lady of the woods, crowned with a garland of bright golden leaves which are repeated on her forest green dress and are very reminiscent of the trees in Lothlorien: “For in the autumn their leaves fall not, but turn to gold.” and then on the left you’ve got her son-in-law chad
Samwise Gamgee ⭐️🌱
Gardener AU
I don’t own the characters, all rights belong to the creators of the books/movies.
Hey lotr people how much of the books and how well are the books portrayed in the movies because I'm a little book gobllin and I have to know if I should spend a lot of money on fancy hardcovers or not
it fucks me up that tolkien only died in 1973. dude has the vibe of a victorian scholar who wrote all his manuscripts by candlelight but then you look him up and realise that he knew what color tv was. what the fuck.
First post and it might be not liked by everyone, but I just need to say something:
I need someone to shame Rings of Power together.
Yepp. That's it.
I mean we all know it's bad, but it feels good to repeat it over and over again. My long suffering family has had enough of me and I wouldn't like to get kicked out :' ).
And at the end of day... the best friendships bond over something they hate. (Right???)
So if you're feeling like ranting over those ridiculous hairstyles, beardless dwarf women or how much Lord of the Rings is better then feel free to message me :).
I don't know how many people will understand this parallel, but what Buttons is in OFMD is what Tom Bombadil is in LotR.
I mean, two funny little guys who handle magic unlike their world? Who seem insignificant until shown bizarre power (transforming into bird/rejecting the One Ring)? Who are able to talk to the nature (Karl/Old Man Willow)? Who are in a relationship with some kind of water element (the f*cking Sea/Goldberry)? And who are also respected by the elders of their world (Auntie/Lord Elrond)? And who are just as big of an enigma to them as to us?
Honestly I don't know what conclusion to make of this, but it was fun to notice.
I think we need more *check notes* Caranthir content, yes.
Ungoliant was the original hangry girl