Jrr Tolkien - Tumblr Posts

this is not about any 1 post in particular but i feel like it should be more commonly addressed im the fandom that tolkiens dwarves are jewish and you cannot have a meaningful analysis of them without acknowledging that

i see a lot of posts talking about how dwarves are often derided by tolkiens narrative. questions like “why does tolkien insist on the dwarves being greedy” and “why did the line of durin get wiped out” and my favorite “is thorin a good or a bad person? lets discuss that”

those are all great questions to ask but they cannot be examined without acknowledging that tolkien based the dwarves on jewish people, and his portrayal of them is influenced both by antisemitism AND an evolving level of respect for jewish people that coexisted in tolkien. that is why we get the “dwarves are not heroes” passage in the hobbit. hell, the entire premise of the hobbit is plainly based on jewish history and lore: 12 dwarves (the 12 tribes of israel), with 1 leader, on a quest to reclaim a homeland that was stolen from them. except tolkien also has that reclaimation revolve around riches, because jews are greedy and violent in his mind (esp pre-wwii tolkien). antisemitism is the reason for thorin being portrayed as acting rash, hauty, and possessive in the hobbit. that is why it is impossible to analyze his character without acknowledging that he is jewish.

as for the radical switch in the portrayal of dwarves in the lord of the rings, this is post-wwii tolkien, when he felt a lot more guilty about being antisemitic. gimli is an apology for his antisemitism in the hobbit. at the same time, the dwarves as a people do not have much of a meaningful part to play in the narrative, and in fact so many of them have been wiped out in cold blood (sound familiar?) and i think that that also reflects tolkiens biases

he was a complex man writing a very complex piece of fantasy that has many aspects that reflect his own beliefs and beliefs prevalent in his society at the time. those beliefs coming through in his work is an important aspect of middle-earth to examine. i dont think anybody will disagree with me on that.

TL;DR for the love of G-d when youre asking questions about the dwarves’ morality and narrative in tolkien please remember that they are based on jewish people and it is IMPOSSIBLE to ask these questions fully if you dont remember that

heres an essay on this topic if you want to learn more

Finally finished the set! This took a crazy long time to complete, but I’m happy with the result

thror vs azog

„Inked Memories” #6

Calendar illustration.

Find my calendars HERE, contact me via WEBSITE if you’re interested.

I started to read the Hobbit, and so I enter the LOTR fandom. But I wasn't ready to fall in the Legolas Greenleaf fandom.

Very nice research, thanks a lot!

Marriage & Sexual Politics among the Elves

I've been thinking -- we don't know if elven cultures have had a concept of marriage, right? Auberon remembers Shiadhal fondly but he doesn't call her his "wife" iirc, and Lara was supposed to "mate" with another Elder Blood elf, not to marry him.

Musings on the nature of elven desire and sexual politics (and nationalism, apparently); in response to a friend on Discord. As always, long; like your grandmother’s knitting.

I & II - Sapkowski's elves compared to Tolkien's. III - Elven biology & demographic predicament. IV - Elven nationalism as tied with their reproductive politics. V - Wild speculation on elven bonds & pacts.

-----

Would elven cultures in the Witcher have a concept of marriage? Probably. Marriage is a contractual agreement (with excellent PR) designed to achieve a particular end by way of the participant parties agreeing to terms advantageous of that end. As happens, everything in the Witcher ultimately comes down to sex and babies; especially as concerns the elves. Thus, enter: marriage.

Selective breeding, i.e. mating with someone particular as opposed to just anyone, entails at least temporary sexual exclusivity.[1] As a social construct, the primary function of marriage is usually to regulate sexual behaviour, encourage procreation while stipulating the concomitant economic and social responsibilities, and to pre-empt or solve various problems arising from the results of procreation (e.g. care duty, inheritance, kinship loyalties, tax and benefits).[2] So far, marriage fits the purpose.

Of course, marriage can also be – and is – a meaningful ritual between two (childless) lovers. More than that: in a species with a disperse procreation pattern a contractual agreement might also be struck for other reasons (e.g. political, ceremonial, benefactorial, amorous), for a fixed period, and between multiple parties (simultaneously or sequentially). There really is no reason to think nuclear family and perpetual monogamy must be the gold standard for Sapkowski’s elves. However, there might be cause to think that eternal love in the vein of Tolkien might be an ideal the elves in the Witcher’s universe cannot help but fall short of.

I entertain this thought as part of the difference between idealized and gritty fantasy. The difference, on average, seems like it comes down to attachment to a preconceived blueprint. For example, mixed-race marriages produce strange and tragic fates in both authors’ works, but only in Tolkien is the concept of marriage inherently necessary and sacred – and its sacrality affects the physical nature of an entire race – while in Sapkowski every kind of an affair, however mundane or ennobled, is treated seriously as a potential cause for conflict. Tolkien’s ideals feel more top-down and Sapkowski’s grit feels more emergent.

The most extensive documentation and interpretation of marriage between elves as we have come to know them comes from Tolkien. His influence might be felt in Sapkowski’s take on elves, though I dare say mostly by way of inciting a response rather than an imitation.

I

The most widely-known treatise on elven love life out there must be the Laws and Customs among the Eldar. Tolkien’s choices, while impossible to overlook in today’s fantasy canon, diverge from the majority of folklorish matter on fae spirits. He makes elves human again (in the vein of the semi-divine elves of the Anglo-Saxon and the Celtic Aos sí), but then he also makes them the poster children of Catholicism.[3]

For Tolkien, elves were the idealized humans before the Fall. Even after their own brand of Fall (war in paradise: the First Kinslaying, Fëanor’s Oath, and the resulting war for the Silmarils) the Eldar retain a certain idealized nobility in their very nature and bear a fate that makes it seem to mortal yokels as if the Firstborn are especially favoured by the gods. Indeed, perhaps it is the existence of a Creator God – the Great Demiurge – and his Plan in Tolkien’s cosmology that really sets his narrative apart from Sapkowski’s in the first place? Because while there is worship and many deity-like figures, faiths, and organized cults in The Witcher Saga, theism does not really manifest as a certain, fundamental feature of the ultimate order of things. Tolkien’s worldview is primarily providential; all acts of free will ultimately reinforce the Plan. Sapkowski’s take is distinctly suspect of there being any ultimate Plan, and Geralt rejects the notion of a Demiurge’s playground; acts of free will can and do alter things, though as often for the worse as for the better. And yet… Faith is real. Having faith – in a world full of mysteries.

The Witcher is secular in tone but pagan at heart.[4] Wicca is written all over the Saga; the worship of the (Triple) Goddess, Mother Nature and her cycles. Especially in respect to the elves. Indeed, it is hinted in Tower of the Swallow that elves believe themselves to have been created as opposed to having evolved like humans.[5] But we would be looking in vain for their Creator God. Elves are strangers in the worlds they occupy in the Saga, and even should we like to consider them Sapkowski’s equivalent for the Children of Danu (Tuatha Dé Danann), the Dana we encounter in The Edge of the World is either an independent being altogether or… an aspect of a diminished Goddess? As the Witcher elves themselves are in some sense diminished and diminishing; perhaps for this very reason not reluctant to perfect their divinely created selves through genetic engineering; to restore some of their once lost divinity.

Conceptually, The Witcher’s elves have gone through a Fall of their own – from idealized to gritty fantasy. If Tolkien sets an “elven ideal” and makes his Firstborn fit with it, then Sapkowski looks at cause and effect – in biology, material world, and history – and draws conclusions about his elves’ existence and outlook based on that. Not ruling out cause and effect in Tolkien’s imagination, of course, but I feel like the pivot of his work’s tone is somewhere different than Sapkowski’s. Both authors anthropomorphize elves, but Tolkien’s is one of idealization and Sapkowski’s is something of an attempt at “realistic” fantasy. Because depicting the truly alien is, indeed, very hard. Myth and folklore, however, do not aim at establishing unique differences; more often quite the opposite. They toy with the similarities they can draw between you and the “other”; to see which conclusions they can help you reach about yourself. And so, as concerns elven love life, Sapkowski’s elves resemble the creatures in fae folklore more than Tolkien’s. Just as folklore is more often concerned with magical cattle thieving than struggling with cosmological fate (but since The Witcher is still inspired by myths just the same – and myths allow for the grandiose – Sapkowski can involve major cosmological struggles in his work, only indirectly, in the backdrop to the folklorish focus on daily realities and emotions).

I will have to generalize a little bit now, though I do not wish to go on saying silly things about a faith I do not share even while being subconsciously influenced by it.

With some exceptions (e.g. Aredhel & Eöl or Luthien’s kidnapping by Celegorm & Curufin), Tolkien’s elven ideal amounted to a “monogamous, one true love = marriage for life.” On steroids. No casual sex, no premarital sex. No adultery. Intercourse = marriage = a bond of souls. Marriage (and sex) was for begetting children. To the point where Tolkien made his elves biologically unable to be anything but the icons of the aforementioned equation in body and spirit: if they married then they bonded for life and remained monogamously married for the entirety of their existence.

Sapkowski’s elves came out a little more based than that.

II

You might say that in devising the elves’ outlook Sapkowski took sex seriously, and plainly.

The notion that one of longevity’s snags is sex is actually shared by both authors, but Tolkien never really made a point of it. Sapkowski, meanwhile, set the idea under a microscope, letting it seep into the very essence of the Witcher’s plot and themes. Relations between men and women, procreation and familial ties, sexual freedom, bodily autonomy, and sexual politics – all questions of power on several levels – permeate the story. Not on the level of metaphor only either, but very straightforwardly.[6] By contrast, Tolkien ennobled the question of elven sex in footnotes, and then wrote it off.

‘By their very nature, they [elves] are “seldom swayed by the desires of the body” or influenced by lust.’  ‘Even when in after days... [when] many of the Eldar in Middle-Earth became corrupted, and their hearts darkened by the shadow that lies upon Arda, seldom is any tale told of deeds of lust among them.’ - Laws and Customs among the Eldar

This is very much not the case in the Witcher.Lust pretty much capitalizes the elves’ demographic predicament; corrupted hearts or just plain hearts. Sapkowski did not prescribe a normative frame for what elves ought to be like, instead letting circumstances dictate what might make narrative sense. Both Tolkien’s and Sapkowski’s elves have few offspring. But Tolkien’s reasons for it were a little spiritual and a little conventional, whereas Sapkowski tried to be somewhat scientific about it; and definitely unconventionally specific.

“In the begetting, and still more in bearing of children, greater share and strength of their being, in mind and in body, goes forth than in the making of mortal children. For these reasons it came to pass that the Eldar brought forth few children; and also that their time of generation was in their youth or earlier life, unless strange and hard fates befell them.” - Laws and Customs among the Eldar

Theoretically, the immortal Eldar have an eternity for procreation. Except they simply will not be interested in sex later in life because their author deemed their biological life cycle as such: they marry in their youth (when they are not yet world-weary), have a few children shortly after, and turn asexual as they age because their desires change and they carry on with the pursuit of artistic and cerebral pleasures instead. (Never mind the thought of sex as of a cerebral pleasure.) A scale-model of an idyllic married love idealized in the patriarchal, Christian world.

And just in case (though it is also written that the Eldar can be reincarnated as themselves):

"The Eldar dwell till the Great End unless they be slain or waste in grief (for to both of these deaths are they subject), nor doth eld subdue their strength, except it may be in ten thousand centuries; and dying they are reborn in their children, so that their number diminishes not, nor grows." - The Book of Lost Tales: Part 1

Tolkien’s elves are like a ready-made set of chess pieces, replenishing itself eternally, until Arda lasts.

Sapkowski’s elves on the other hand are not immortal, and what becomes of them after death is unknown. There is no One World (Arda) to which they are tied; their origin is unknown. They are travellers in a multiverse of realities. They do not have a millennia and reproduction is a real, time-sensitive issue. As is sex in general – an issue. If Tolkien’s elves simply lose interest in sex because they get nerd sniped (and because they are good Catholics), elves in the Witcher experience ordinary sexual frustration. Their longer life-span induces a craving for novelty, which becomes harder and harder to satisfy. Avallac’h’s lecture at Tir na Bea Arainne isn’t, in my opinion, to be taken as evidence of the elves’ biological inability to feel sexual desire after a while. As their history has shown, the opposite is relevant – where has their lust for novelty led them? (A graveyard at Tir na Bea Arainne?)

Sexually frustrated, elven men, just like elven women, begin bedding the newly arriving humans. Because it seems that humans are, well, easy.

‘”You multiply like rabbits.” The dwarf ground his teeth. “You’d do nothing but screw day in day out, without discrimination, with just anyone and anywhere. And it’s enough for your women to just sit on a man’s trousers and it makes their bellies swell…’

But Avallac’h – for self-evident reasons – downplays the role of elven men in the resultant demographic catastrophe. Because as it turns out, elven women, who have a normal ovulation window every 10-20 years with elven men, suddenly become induced ovulators with human men. And as in this gritty fantasy elves and humans are competitors in a race for survival, this gives human genes an advantage.

‘…the honest truth and faithful history of a world where he who shatters the skulls of others most efficiently and swells women’s bellies fastest, reigns.’ - Blood of Elves

III

Biology and demographics, then.

Elven women get the chance to have children only a handful of times in their youth. An average elf lives maybe half a millennia, maybe less. But a male elf of 600+ years is not considered too old to sire offspring, while the upper bound for female elves might arrive around 200-250 years.[7] Depending on when female elves are first considered mature for childbearing, this might result in 20-25 fertility windows (if ovulation every 10 years) or 10-12.5 chances if ovulation occurs every 20 years. The numbers are wholly speculative; we don’t know the age at which pregnancy becomes unlikely to impossible for elven women and we don’t know when elves are considered sexually mature both physically and culturally. However, if we bear in mind that individuals may also experience natural difficulties with conception on top of this diffuse ovulation cycle then elven children are, indeed, very rare.

The elves’ low fertility is compensated by their longevity; in peaceful circumstances their numbers don’t fluctuate drastically. But the circumstances of their existence in Sapkowki’s universe are not, by default, peaceful. Elves in the Witcher do not have their Aman (and even in Aman, if we recall, elf on elf violence still occurred). They exist in competition with other humanoids. Insofar, we must look at elven traits as their potential competitive advantage over likely aggressors: elves are resistant to disease, they are physically very fast and move unheard and unnoticed, they live long lives which enables them to become untouchable in most arts and crafts, and they have a special affinity to magic. Above all, elves have much more time to spread, refine, and maintain their memes. Elven fertility though is a nail in their coffin.[8] Even more so when one of the species they must compete with is able to inter-breed with them; and, to add insult to injury, does so more effectively than elves are able to amongst themselves.

Elven couples are disadvantaged in the numbers game. A human female ovulates approximately 300-450 eggs over the course of her fertile years and the wait between each ovulation is a matter of weeks. The wait for elven women in-between each potential pregnancy is decades. It is possible Sapkowski’s elves might also require a longer recuperation period after each successful pregnancy, mirroring Tolkien. Or, alternatively, they may be more resilient to disease and injury instead and the problems with pregnancies might lie in the conception phase rather than in carrying to term. I would not be surprised, however, if in our “realistic” fantasy at least the Aen Elle had not developed IVF or ovulation induction drugs to level the playing ground somewhat; potentially even independently of the need to compete with humans. We know fertility elixirs exist.

Effectively though, elven women’s reproductive sparseness means that for the majority of the time they do not have to worry about unwanted pregnancies resulting from relationships with elven men. The other side of that coin being that during their fertile phases, the social pressure to reproduce could be pretty immense. Particularly as concerns selective breeding. The period for which a male loses the opportunity to reproduce with a particular female is much longer than for human or mixed couples. This is pretty damning if trying to reproduce magically gifted individuals, and a nightmare for elven nationalists (more about that later). Consequently, absolutely any social construct (e.g. marriage, a pair-bond cementer) that helps ascertain a particular pair ends up conceiving should be very much in demand. Especially with humans added to the equation.

(For the funsies, you can speculate if a recurring period of heightened sexual proclivity in both males and females dovetails with she-elves’ menstrual cycle. Do elves experience something akin to a heat? Which, given how Sapkowski made elven women induced ovulators triggered by the orgasms human males give, I would not even be shocked about. Perhaps it’s his subversive response to Tolkien’s elves having tight control over their biology and being able to choose when they want children to happen. But seriously: ovulation with each powerful orgasm? So… if the orgasm was, let’s say, middling – or there was no orgasm at all; a depressingly realistic prospect – then no dice? An incentive for human men who are not keen on paternity to never-ever learn about the existence of an elven clitoris? I…)

IV

“They want our blood!” howled Baron Vilibert. “And our land!” someone cried from the crowd of peasants. “And our women!” chimed in Sheldon Skaggs, with a ferocious glower. - Blood of Elves

Blood, land and women are often equated, and sexual jealousy features heavily in the elven narrative.[9]

The opening scene of the Blood of Elves under Bleobheris shows the racial and social divisions permeating the Northern Kingdoms, and includes commentary on mixing and women’s bodies. An elven maid in a beautiful toque hat enjoys the attention of human knights, students and goliards; playing into it. Under the gaze of her companions – male elves, who have nothing but antipathy toward the human admirers, proceeding to mate-guard (a tall, fair-haired male elf puts an arm around the beauty with the toque, dispelling any lingering doubts). Sapkowski may have had the folk under Bleobheris poke fun at dwarves for believing everyone desires their women.[10] In the Continent’s recent history though, it was in the war between elves and humans where women’s bodies fast became objects to guard and gatekeep; elves being exceptionally attractive to humans, while humans to elves – a curiosity, a novelty, and an easy (and perhaps useful) lay.

‘Elves, bored by she-elves, court the always-willing human females. Bored she-elves give themselves, out of perverse curiosity, to human males, always full of vigour and verve. And something happens that no one can explain … some hidden hormone, or combination of hormones, became active. She-elves suddenly understand they can, in practice, only have children with humans. So, owing to the she-elves, we didn’t exterminate you when we were still the more powerful race. And later you were more powerful and began to exterminate us. But you still had allies in the she-elves. For they were the advocates of coexistence and cooperation… and they didn’t want to admit that essentially it was about commingling.’ - Tower of the Swallow

There is a lot to unpack here.

Blood, land, women. Technically, the inter-group conflict in the Witcher is an inter-species one, but the surrounding discourse is patently nationalist. Among elves, this is compounded by the worship of Mother Nature. Because in Sapkowski’s Wicca-influenced take, nature is inherently female. Ergo, land is female. And in Baptism of Fire, Regis notes: “Land and territory is what integrates elves.” Adapting to the influx of humans was therefore all the more difficult for elves because their “land and territory” was shared with the invader. Their women were shared.

One of the most common features of fairy mythology is marriage or affair between a human being and a fairy.[11] The one particularly interesting feature of such marriages is that the fairy is almost invariably the female party. Equally, there is almost always either some reluctance involved on the part of the fairy or some suggestion of the use of force by the human; or, on the contrary, it’s the fairy who seduces the human male, which usually ends woefully for him (abduction, death, maiming). The human-elf marriage is strictly conditional (e.g. striking your fairy wife or reproaching her with her origin guarantees she will leave for the Otherworld) and should the wife vanish, she usually tries to take the children with her. The prehistoric theory about the origins of fairy folklore ascribes its existence to reminiscences of earlier inhabitants, crowded out by later immigrants. The colonisers mythologizing the colonized.[12] This fits within the narrative of the Witcher, which makes a point about the inter-group conflict between different waves of migrants being fought both on the battlefield and in bed. [13] In this light, the marriage of a fairy and a human effectively amounts to a narrativization of marriage by capture: the migrants driving the natives into the forests, marshes, and other inhospitable places, where their lifestyle could easily come to be regarded as deteriorating and wild, leading to seeing them as inferior and non-human, at length even as supernatural beings or spirits of nature (i.e. as beings which later, in our folklore, developed into fairies (elves)). The migrants drive the earlier inhabitants off, while breeding with their women and thus inserting themselves into the notional line of inheritance for the conquered land through the creation of common ancestry. A bloodline that inherits the earth it walks on. Something similar is happening between humans and the Aen Seidhe in the Continent. By the 1200s, it is hard to find a human who does not have a dash of Seidhe Ichaer, the blood of elves, flowing through their veins, and pure-blooded Aen Seidhe have become a de facto minority “ethnic group.”

In nationalist discourse, the connection between the land and the people is forged through common ancestry. Blood-ties derive from the land and nourish one’s roots in the land. Women reproduce the nation biologically and under patriarchal relations are also expected to do so ideologically; recreating boundaries between groups.[14] Genes and memes. Women’s role is made to hinge on motherhood, and in national mythologies the identification of the fertile, life-giving land as the nurturing mother and wife is set to mobilize and lend legitimacy to the protection of the land by the male against those who seek to defile it. The option to deal with the invading humans aggressively had been on the table; it’s the elves’ appreciation for new life that had stayed their hand. Sexual jealousy features so prominently in the elven narrative then because the conflict they are immersed in is not only an inter-species one over the proverbial life-giving territory. It is also a conflict between elven men and women.

How do elven women position in elven societies then, politically and personally? Nationalism entails the protection and re-forging of group affiliations through ensuring similarity in its members’ biological and cultural markers, but the power relations of reproduction hinge on the nature of gender politics. In contrast to humans, elves are ostensibly egalitarian. Elven children, for example, are brought up without reinforcing arbitrary distinctions between male and female skills and practices. Insofar as elves, unlike humans, don’t seek to dominate nature (that is “the female”) – and should this mindset carry over to their social relations – the status of elven women might be greater still; also considering the commensurately more precarious situation with reproduction. The ball is in the women’s court, though so, apparently, are the stakes. After all, it seems elven women, at the time when elves still held power over humans, were in a position to steer history and choose freely whether to procreate with them. They decided in favour of it – almost as a matter of policy? – because of their love of children. And if it was a calculated decision, did elven men – who also lay with human women – see this then as either a fad or a potential?

Going down the eugenics rabbit hole for a minute: theoretically, in a controlled mixing environment, inter-breeding with particular humans could have worked out beneficially for the elves by increasing their numbers and by introducing useful mutations into their gene pool. It’s not clear though if heterosis in any form would have really occurred as a result. But if selective breeding is, indeed, widespread among them then I would not rule out at least debate among their elite. (By the way, might it be that only half-elves born of elven women would have been admitted among pure-blooded elves? (With the one notable exception being Riannon.) Perhaps due to the perception of a mother being more tied to the child and more integrated into her own people’s culture, traditions, and values?)

As it turned out, cross-breeding did not encourage peaceful relations. And insofar as sex can be a political tool (just as sexual violence a weapon of war), the choices of elven women went from being a subject of cultural reflection and appreciation to an active political liability. If previously all motherhood would have been revered for its own sake, now not all motherhood would have been perceived to lead to positive outcomes. Especially not for the group, and especially not in the eyes of elven ultranationalists. If the symbolic elevation of (nature as) “the female” thanks to her ability to bring forth new life was a distinct and possibly positive feature of elven societies beforehand, now – in this new world of competition with another species – the placement of procreation at the heart of the turns of elven history rather shifts the narrative toward the sexist objectification we are used to seeing in human cultures. Except on the whole and on average, elves remain an egalitarian species, and the overall value of life for its own sake – of hope and of new beginnings – persists.

It begs the question then if the changes in ideology that elven societies went through were wholly negative to elven women in a similar vein as they are usually negative to humans. An aureole of semi-religious significance does not necessarily result in a gilded existence – the Saga hammers this home with Ciri’s entire life – but motherhood seems to be a sought-after experience among elven women regardless. Their faces are noted to reflect boundless odium and surprise at Ciri’s disgust over the prospect of pregnancy and motherhood.[15] The gendering particulars of elven nationalism remain up for debate then: in which direction is their script askew – patriarchal, matriarchal, or some secret third thing? To what extent did it shift from one perspective toward another? If the objectification of the female body post-humans intensified commensurately with the elves’ increased procreative predicament, then an elven maid’s choice, while remaining still a choice, might have become culturally encouraged, traditionally supported, strongly recommended. But still a choice.

V

Let’s leave humans out of the equation. Let’s speculate.

There are three things Sapkowski’s elves value above all else, as far as I can tell: beauty, novelty, and the preservation of life in its particularity. The number of truly novel experiences decreases fast and nothing truly lasts in the material world. Worse, the virgin feeling of any experience loses its shine in memory. To be perpetually nostalgic then for the mental state reminiscent of a newborn for whom every new thing encountered seems permanent and never-ending – such seems the fate of elves who have no guarantees of a paradise of their own or of eternal life.

Insofar as putting a label on it goes, I suspect elven relationships are quite intricate but precisely defined per the time they intend for them to last, even if they may seem messy and opaque to the human eye. The majority of folklore depicts fae spirits as sexually liberal[16]. A mix of serial monogamy intersected with polyamory? Patch-work families and age differences also seem all but assured. Neither would I rule out the ideal of eternal, monogamous love, which rings precisely of the kind of experience that remains elusive, unreachable, and yet, desirable for these a-Tolkinesque elves. They have the time, and love has many faces. Since novelty and the particularity of experiences matters though, the general population may be tempted to maximize for variety, and their social structure and socialisation may well have had to develop to accommodate the different bonding-configurations desire and time can birth.

There is a catch, though – the fine print.

A prolonged lifespan implies every stage of elven life and their every decision – every action and non-action – will stretch in its impact; on themselves, on their society, on history. Either great foresight or a plethora of little balancing devices seem necessary in order to guard against civilizational, interpersonal, and individual breakdown. Ida Emean would not describe elven race’s strength as arising out of excessive rationality, and truly, an oath, a promise or an action that is born as a result of irrational desire, momentary impulse, or chance opportunity can be a weighty and dangerous thing for an elf. Consequently, negotiations of terms are to be expected whenever a contract is to be entered into; both before and after the bond has come into effect. But a contract is in the interests of everyone involved. Reliance on formal agreements and debts is likely as normalised as being shockingly straightforward in delineating one’s wants and expectations. Even in sensitive matters that benefit from illusions, such as love. The flipside of the coin – the catch – is that elves are incentivized to allow for and find ambiguity in the wording of their own terms, and, provided they are not ideal beings, are wont to try and re-define the precise manner of the satisfaction of the terms in their contracts.

Marriage is, first and foremost, a bargain.

Depending on the specifics of the relationship, the length and nature of a marriage may differ wildly. The notion of the immutability of sacred vows may not be quite as idealized among ordinary elves as it is among humans; in fact, it might be quite a frightening concept. If we allow for the fallen nature of the Witcher’s elves – from an idealized to a gritty depiction – then marriage as an eternal commitment is much like an impossible bind; in a universe where nothing is by virtue of design guaranteed to last, where the notion of fate itself is dubious. Moreover, not all love or lust necessitates marriage; not even real romantic love. If marriage is first and foremost a bargain, a social construct for (temporarily) regulating sexual behaviour, and a social safeguard of procreation, then I imagine elves may be quite a bit less deluded about its function; which is practical first and idealized second. Unless you belong among elven mystics (though I don’t know if they too get tax benefits).

Generally though, the ball is in an elf-maid’s court. If children are the aim, and unless subject to a selective breeding programme, she can be picky in who to mate with as her time-sensitive choices carry that much more weight. It’s up to the groom to be up to par, really. Being up to par, however, can mean many things. Is love part of the bargain? Moreover, is it “lasting” love that is being promised or sought, or a seasonal one, or something entirely, wonderfully specific and different? Tricky. No elven maid would enter into a marriage contract without first considering the terms carefully; in order not to over-promise or to be extorted of more than was seemingly agreed upon. And should true, lasting love be baked into the ideal of marriage then there would be plenty to be wary of as The Witcher’s elves maintain only the veneer of the Tolkinesque ideal and not a nature that would necessarily be able to live up to the idealization. To be tricked into performing the impossible – whether by your own feelings or by another’s – can be dire.

I think marriage is a very real concept among elves, but also a quite de-mystified one, except for a few special cases.

-----

[1] Naturally this begs the question if all elves (amongst themselves) practice selective breeding, or only some? We don’t know, and the topic is a little too broad to broach here, but we do know that at least the elven elite among the Aen Elle does selectively breed the magically gifted (who also happen to belong to the upper strata of their society).

[2] An interesting question in its own right would be about the nature of inheritance laws in a species that lives half a millennia a piece.

[3] The incorporation of fae spirits and their associated folklore into Christian cosmology in sub-Roman Britain is a topic of ideologically-motivated revisionism in its own right.

[4] In an interview to Stanisław Bereś (Historia i fantastyka), AS mentions his worldview is pagan: ‘Yes. Even the term "agnostic" is too weak for me. My worldview is not agnostic, atheistic or secular. This is pure paganism. I really am a pagan in the textbook sense of the word.’

[5] AS mentions creationist elves in The Manuscript.

[6] One of the metaphors being: sex -> rebirth -> hope (hopefully). Or: Grail = Woman; leading to hopeful new beginnings or the opposite, death and destruction (either by not “realising its hope” or by giving new life to what will invariably have a high chance of causing more evil). As I said, Wicca is everywhere.

[7] This is probably a generous estimate. We don’t really know the details about elven life span.

[8] No wonder elves are hell-bent on controlling Ard Gaeth; if they cannot outcompete their co-habitants or negotiate favorably for themselves, they can at least find a new universe to thrive in.

[9] In other examples, the burning of Birka – the later Jealousy – occurred in consequence of a human girl not reciprocating an elf’s feelings and, as the people say, mocking his feelings on top of it by sleeping around. Or in yet another pivotal occasion, the semi-mythical love triangle between Crevan, Lara, and Cragen gives the Witcher’s plot one of its major catalysts.

[10] ‘Several people started to laugh – as quietly and furtively as they could. Even though the idea that anyone other than another dwarf would desire one of the exceptionally unattractive dwarf-women was highly amusing, it was not a safe subject for teasing or jests… the dwarves, for some unknown reason, were entirely convinced that the rest of the world was lecherously lying in wait for their wives and daughters, and were extremely touchy about it.’ – Blood of Elves

[11] H. N. Gibson (1955) The Human-Fairy Marriage, Folklore, 66:3, pp. 357-360

[12] In case of the Witcher, the colonized Aen Seidhe were obviously technologically more advanced than the colonizing humans. A case is to be made then that infantilization plays an important part in the narrative the colonizers create against the colonized (equally to narratives emphasizing the elves’ cruelty or Otherness).

[13] It is noteworthy though, that Sapkowski’s elves are both the colonizers and the colonized, which is true to real life in many places and times; even if in particular AS drew on the several waves of migration that saw various peoples landing in Ireland and the British Isles, fighting and driving out the earlier inhabitants on each occasion. Aen Elle’s position to their human servants is diametrically opposite to that of humans’ to Aen Seidhe; possibly also in terms of reproducing with them. All servants Ciri saw at Tir na Lia were female.

[14] Yuval-Davis, N. 1988.

[15] To some extent it begs the question, do elven women on average even mind their politically and symbolically-vested position, deriving from their unique ability to create life? In ancient Celtic societies, motherhood and nurturing were considered sacred feminine qualities. There is only a small step from holding this view kindly to holding it as espoused in various patriarchal, traditionalist and nationalist discourses, though.

[16] While depicted as sexually liberal among their own, they are notably stringent with the humans they elope with.

in any other story, merry would have died in battle or pippin in minas tirith, or frodo would have fallen or sam killed by gollum but tolkien, after facing losses in real life, said: no, this time they live. this time, they all get to live. in a way, the lord of the rings is a love letter to dead soldiers.

Oneshot for Day 1 of #lotrweek on tumblr

Prompt: memory | history | home 

This oneshot is inspired by these lines from Seeds of the White Tree by @GreenScholarTales :

"When she had first come to him in Minas Tirith, Aragorn discovered his bride to be both joyful and restless. No longer was the elvish reverie enough for her to fully replenish herself, but neither did a human's sleep come easily. It had taken time, and many long nights spent lying awake in Aragorn's arms after he nodded off before she learned to sleep and dream as he did."

•●•●•●•

The memory of smoke still lingered in the air.

It was a pale morning, one of Arwen's favourite kinds. The city of Osgiliath was just about visible, with a combination of distance and morning haze obscuring its ruins. The sun had not quite risen yet, but the sky was light, light blue, with distant clouds a rosy hue that heralded dawn.

Arwen knew the meaning of the rising of a red sun, and shivered, wondering how many of the wounded soldiers had died in the night. The number was decreasing day by day - in fact, for the last few weeks, nobody had died at all, and the remaining wounded were healing, slowly but surely. Even so, the old elvish saying remained in the back of her mind.

She wrapped her shawl more tightly around her shoulders and looked to the mountains beyond the fields of Pelennor, still darkened where horses' hooves had trampled blood into the earth, of orcs and men alike; black indentations where the Mûmakil carcasses had been burnt still dotted the landscape.

Last night, Gimli had regaled them all with a song in his deep bass voice about the Misty Mountains, a melody passed down to him from his father about the quest to reclaim Erebor. The Misty Mountains could not be seen from Minas Tirith, but the Ephel Dúath were a good imitation, reminding her of the view of the Misty Mountains from the Hidden Valley - tall grey peaks, blurring into shadow. Gimli's song was a reminder that they were grim, and cold, and very, very dangerous.

Now however, they were at peace. It was a sensation they were not quite used to, Arwen could sense that, but now the mountains slept, knowing the evil they held was banished from this world.

Arwen felt a hand on her shoulder then, and knew without looking that it was Aragorn, leaning back against him even as his free hand slipped around her waist. The easy way in which they slipped into such shows of affection, as in Lothlórien in times of old, was a testament to both the endurance of their love, and relief at its survival into this new world.

"Your hands are cold, meleth-nîn," he noticed, his voice low and warm. Arwen smiled at his concern.

"I have been here for some hours already," she explained. "Sleep eludes me, even now. I feel its pull, but it is such a fleeting thing. I confess, Estel, I am used to a different, darker feeling than mere tiredness - a weariness of the soul, where lying still with my eyes closed, or wandering dreams, would not bring much relief. Now that weariness has vanished - and thank the Valar for it -"

"Thank the Valar for it," Aragorn repeated into her hair, so quietly that she could hardly hear him, even as his arms trembled slightly. The Evenstar had been made anew, but Arwen knew that her husband was still plagued by visions that haunted the darkest corners of his dreams; visions of her life smashing into countless pieces as if it was crystal on a cold marble floor.

"What need do I have to sleep? The Enemy had been defeated, and even the Ephel Dúath radiate a serenity they have not felt in generations. Now my weariness has vanished, and I feel so light, that sleep seems so trivial an occupation."

Aragorn laughed. "You have a great many things to learn, rían-nîn. The mortal body does not function very well when it lacks sleep."

Arwen nodded slowly. "That stands to reason. I went to see Éowyn last night - she has been moved from the houses of healing, you know - and was told she was asleep. I was confused, because Adar always told me that sleep is the greatest healer - why then would she be taken away, if she still needed to heal?"

"He was right," Aragorn said, taking hold of Arwen's hands properly and rubbing them gently within his own. The increased blood flow restored some warmth, and he guided her over to a nearby couch where they sat and observed the view together. "However, you and Éowyn and every woman and man in the world still need to sleep - to be mortally wounded is not a requirement."

Arwen yawned, despite herself, and leaned her head onto Aragorn's shoulder once more, settling into his warm tunic. "What about you, meleth-nîn? You are the king. You need rest at this time more than anyone."

He ran his fingers softly through his wife's hair, the strands as soft as the blossoms of the White Tree even as its jetlike darkness reminded him of the night sky. Even more so when she wore white gems in it, or the queen's diadem, that sparkled like starlight. In his youth he had dreamed up a thousand songs about his lady's hair, or her endless grey eyes, or her soft white skin like silk - more than he cared to remember, as his skills at poetry had improved somewhat since then. Even so, a thousand songs would not be enough to do her justice. To say nothing of her endless patience and wisdom, her kindness and steadfast loyalty, and her love - her love, her love, her love. 

To hold her in his arms like this was unbelievable, yet he could think of no other possible reality. Finally, they were together - he was hers and she was his, after a lifetime of patience and despair.

"Estel?" Arwen could tell he was lost in thought. "What of your sleep?"

Aragorn came back to reality slowly, and laughed softly, answering with a question, as he had in the days of their courtship in Lothlórien where they spoke in nothing but riddles and song. "Do you know what home means to a human, a mortal human?"

"Home." Arwen thought about it. 

Just then the sun graced the eastern horizon and crept over the balcony rails, slowly and steadily bringing light to the White City. Soon the haze that lingered in the distance would be dispelled; soon the daily work of rebuilding the city would begin. Arwen would find herself in high demand again, surrounded on all sides by men and women who sought her guidance and leadership as their queen. She loved it, being the one these people needed the most, being able to help those in need and provide the support that her people needed in this time of regrowth and renewal.

"Home is where a person feels safe," Aragorn explained. "Safe enough to build a family, safe enough to have a fire and not worry about attracting orcs or other beings of evil with its light. Home is where you feel safe enough to fall into helpless sleep, where you can curl up and rest without fear."

Arwen only half heard him. The edges of her vision were blurry, her head was heavy, and Aragorn's rhythmic stroking of her hair was making her feel very sleepy indeed. It was hypnotic, and would be an almost frightening sensation, were it anybody but Aragorn.

"Then -" just before darkness consumed her entirely - "home for me is with you."

Thus, the newly crowned High Queen of Gondor fell asleep in her husband's arms on the morning of the one-month anniversary of the Fall of Sauron, finally safe in the knowledge that she could be helpless - just for once.

•●•●•●•

Prompt: language | culture | beauty

One-shot for Day 2 of #lotrweek

There it was, that little shiver of delight that came whenever the new policy was missing a detail, or contained an error. King Elessar had asked him to review it, write a second draft - an improved trade manifesto to Dol Amroth. Faramir had spent days poring over the old one, deciphering the heavy legal language and comparing it to the King's hurried first draft.

His study was in a very quiet corner on the second floor of the Tower of Ecthelion - the very room, in fact, where Mithrandir had taught him as a child, struggling through lessons of geography and history while his mind wandered. The traditional Steward's rooms were just off the King's receiving hall and throne room, but Faramir had opted to use these only for ceremonial purposes. They brought back too many unpleasant memories of his father. King Elessar had understood at once, and given his official blessing for Faramir to retreat to this hiding place to do his more thorough administrative work as Steward, when his business brought him to the White City.

The only noise in the room was the soft scrape of his quill against paper, interrupted periodically when Faramir dipped it into the ink. He already had a pile of scrolls, half unravelled and scattered across his desk, copies of letters from various Gondorian lords, and books spilling from cupboards and shelves, that he used for reference on his document. Yet - he read it again, just to be sure - there! An omission on a proposal that hadn't been resolved in the new policy.

Faramir stood up and stretched, going over to the window for a moment.

A shaft of sunlight streamed through, the sun almost at its peak in the bright blue sky. Good day for a hunt, Faramir thought, despite himself, and smiled. He'd take Éowyn out to the forest the moment this draft policy was finished, if this glorious weather persisted.

For now, though, he took his ring of keys from a hook on the back of the study door and set off for the archives.

They were like a sanctuary for him, even now, when the days of his youth were long past. He felt a sense of importance - the physical act of looking for a book, or a scroll, in the candlelit gloom and towering shelves and shadowy nooks of the Old Archives of Gondor, made him feel as though his work was not purely theoretical. Someone, sometime, had made the effort to document all this information; spent lifetimes working on the lives of the people of Gondor, recounting everything from laws (made or broken) to land boundaries from hundreds of years ago. It was hard, sometimes, to imagine anyone other than his father - or now, King Elessar - presiding in the throne room, throwing feasts in the Merethrond, holding counsel and court alike in the Great Hall, despite generations of kings doing so previously. In the archives however, Faramir got a true sense that people had lived here long before his time; meticulous records of their actions, hundreds of years old, crowded these narrow, dimly-lit halls. The evidence of the truth of all the old legends lived here.

It was incredible.

Faramir held up the flaming torch closer to the bit of paper he’d scribbled the location of a potential source on, to get a better look, and set off down the aisles. He stopped here and there to gaze longingly at some of the volumes, the dusty scrolls - one day he’d have the chance to read them, to discover their secrets. Now he was on a mission.

The sorting system of the Old Archives worked, more or less, but it was very complicated and hopelessly outdated. The first scroll he had in mind was nowhere to be found, at least on the shelf it was supposed to be, according to the archive guide (whose author, long-dead, had had the worst handwriting Faramir had ever seen). The second source was a book of figures with over a thousand pages - even the newly-minted Steward, with all his love of books and hopes and dreams for the archives, recoiled from that.

Finally, Faramir stopped by a cupboard of scrolls with a layer of dust an inch thick on the top. He sneezed about seven times before he finally found the one he was looking for amongst a mess of others, and the result was worth his watering eyes. It was labelled Land laws of Lamedon, dating back about a few hundred years. With their close ties to the princedom of Dol Amroth - it was perfect.

A quick glance showed Faramir that it was written in some form of elvish - only a minor setback. Due to his noble upbringing, he could read Tengwar runes without much difficulty, and translation of official documents into Sindarin had still been mandatory until the time of his grandfather Ecthelion despite the language not being spoken as frequently. Mithrandir had been very thorough in teaching Faramir these elvish languages, though he was not quite fluent.

However, upon closer inspection, Faramir realised to some consternation that the scroll was written in a form of elvish he did not understand. He made a halfhearted attempt to find some of his old rune charts, but some of the characters he was certain he’d never seen before.

Faramir thought about it. He couldn’t simply leave his policy as it was - Prince Imrahil would be sure to spot the omission even if it was minor enough for King Elessar to let it slide. Imrahil was a decent man, a great soldier, but would not stand for loopholes in trade agreements if it showed Dol Amroth in a bad light. After the war he was trying his utmost to secure the future of his princedom for his sons, which was why he had called in a few favours to get this policy settled so soon.

Faramir rummaged about some more trying to find a different scroll - or at least a translation into something he could work with. This stirred up even more dust, which caused him to sneeze so violently he banged his head on the top of the cupboard and had to sit back and swear quietly to himself for a bit before starting again.

It was all in vain. This scroll, in a language he did not understand, was his best - and only - option.

Then something fell into place, and Faramir hopped up from his position on the dusty archive floor, laughing out loud. Why had he not thought of this before? He put the scroll into one of the protective cases that were available at the warden’s desk, and set off to find Queen Arwen.

Faramir found the queen in her audience chamber - a large, spacious room lined with curtains of soft white silk that fluttered in the gentle breeze, blowing in from the courtyard outside, and large, comfortable chairs. Queen Arwen was sitting in one of these, listening to a young lady pouring her heart out. Lingering in the open doorway, Faramir recognised the young lady as Meluieth, newly married to Elphir, son of Prince Imrahil - perhaps she could also provide some feedback on his policy, if she had the time. The queen spotted him in her peripheral vision and gestured for him to come in.

“I understand your concerns,” she was saying, gravely. “However, I would advise you to be more open about them. Share your grievances with your husband. It is likely he does not realise your anxiety.”

“Oh, I know you’re right,” Meluieth sighed. “It’s just so hard.”

Arwen looked into the young lady’s eyes - Faramir knew how daunting that was, having been on the receiving end a few times. His queen’s eyes were like nothing of this world - depthless grey, like crystal. However, Lady Meluieth squared her shoulders in a show of real determination as Arwen spoke.

“I can see the strength you possess, even if you cannot,” she said. “Coming to me was the first step - that alone took courage. I’m glad we had our talk now, instead of in twenty years when change would be a thousand times more difficult.”

Meluieth hopped up, and dropped a deep curtsey, finally smiling. “I’ll talk to my lord tonight. Thank you, your Grace. Good afternoon, my lord Steward,” she added, hurrying from the room before Faramir could stop her.

“What was that about?” Faramir asked, curious.

Arwen tilted her head slightly. “I don’t want to break her confidence. Suffice it to say, when Princess Lothíriel leaves for Rohan, Meluieth will be the first lady of Dol Amroth and she is feeling rather nervous about it. In her own words, her mother raised her to run a household, not a whole city, and certainly not both at once. What can I help you with, mellon-nîn?”

“I need your help with a translation, your Grace,” Faramir said, bringing over the scroll. Arwen unravelled it on her lap as Faramir took the chair Meluieth had just vacated.

“This is for the new trade agreement, is it not?” Arwen asked, running her fingers over the lines of elegant script and smiling slightly.

Faramir nodded. “What language is it, and why on Earth was it used to write out a list of land laws from Lamedon, of all places?”

“It is a form of Noldorin, one that I have not seen in a long time,” Arwen said absently, engrossed in the text. “And any reason I can think of for this particular translation is only speculation. Perhaps a party of elves was passing through the area, and stayed with the Lord of Lamedon for a time; or perhaps some scholar translated a few random documents to improve his limited knowledge of the language. The latter is probably more correct, as there are some grammatical errors.”

Faramir’s face fell. “Then I probably can’t count on its accuracy in my policy draft.”

Arwen nodded, sympathetically, though she smiled. “No matter how much you love the Old Archives, Lord Faramir, perhaps it would be best to write to Lord Amarthon and ask for the current land agreements between Lamedon and Dol Amroth - or at least their own historical records.”

The Steward of Gondor looked wistfully at the scroll, one last time, before rolling it back up and putting it back into the case. “I probably ought to have done that to begin with, your Grace. Thank you for your help. One of these days I will sort out the Old Archives properly.”

“The whole archive, by yourself?” Arwen’s lips twitched with amusement. “That would be a fierce undertaking indeed.”

Faramir laughed. “With the help of as many scholars as I can find, naturally.”

“And your queen, as resident identifier of strange languages,” Arwen inclined her head. “Now go, my lord Steward, and hurry back to your draft before a storm breaks out over the forests of Ithilien, and the Lady Éowyn brings forth her wrath upon your desk for keeping you away from her for too long.”

Faramir laughed again, bowed, and hurried. He had a letter to write, and sunshine to enjoy, - the war was over. Life had meaning once more.

I wonder how long it took them to find Celebrían.

So either she went by herself, which is implied, or Elrond sent a few guards with her, or she travelled with some of Galadriel's people that came over specifically to escort her to Lothlórien. Was the trip planned in advance? Was it a regular thing, that she went to Lothlórien once every few years to see her parents? Did she take Arwen or the twins with her occasionally? Obviously not this time, otherwise they would have been "waylaid" too. If anyone else was with her they would have been killed, no doubt, and the only reason Celebrían herself survived her "poisoned wound" and whatever else the orcs did to her was because of whatever high-elf ancestry light-of-the-two-trees Daughter of Galadriel inner powers she had going on.

So it took the Fellowship approximately two months to get to Lothlórien from Rivendell, but that's accounting for their massive detour through Moria. Celebrían took the Redhorn Pass (side headcanon: the Redhorn Pass became impassable only after this incident), and because she was an elf and (presumably) by herself we can knock off about a month, if she was on a horse.

So in the Appendices Celebrían is referred to as Daughter of Celeborn, not Daughter of Galadriel, which seems more likely given Galadriel's importance in the Lord of the Rings and the history of Middle-Earth in general. That leads me to assume that Celebrían took after her father way more than her mother - it's likely she couldn't mind speak to the same extent, perhaps she didn't even have the same level of Foresight.

Assuming she would have sent Elrond a letter the moment she was in Lothlórien, and Elrond was expecting this, it would have taken maybe a week or two or maybe another month more for Elrond to think something was wrong - maybe she was delayed somehow, by weather etc, maybe the letter was lost on the way, whatever. If her parents were expecting her, it would have taken them equally long to suspect something was wrong.

So then I'm guessing Elrond mind-spoke with Galadriel if he hadn't done so before to ask if Celebrían had arrived, maybe Galadriel saw something in her mirror and alerted Elrond the same way, whatever. Then finally, after about two months to my reckoning - the 24 hours you wait to file a missing persons report converted to Elf conceptions of time - Elrond sent out the search parties.

(By the way, if her horse somehow survived and found its way back to Rivendell, it would have taken a similar time).

Anyway, if it took her approx. 3 weeks (3/4 of the way from Rivendell to Lothlórien) to get to the Redhorn Pass, it took the rescuers the same amount of time - less if they were in a hurry, but they also had to physically look for her. Then they had to bring her back to Rivendell, and I read somewhere (maybe a fanfic, don't quote me on this) that it was the twins that found her - traumatic enough, but imagine travelling home for a few weeks with your half-dead mother beside you on your horse.

Maybe the eagles helped. Idk.

In conclusion, I believe Celebrían was lying poisoned and half-dead from torture in a cave (presumably without food or water) for at least two or three months before she was found and taken back to Rivendell.

This whole scenario is based on the assumption that nobody saw the attack coming, which, unlikely as it seems, must have been the case as there is no way either Elrond or her parents would have let her travel (alone or otherwise) if this outcome was an option.

This is my Roman Empire.

Voilà - my very first Éothiriel fic, which has been inspired by many, many authors and fics over the years! Find the rest of this first chapter of A Starling in Rohan on AO3 (where my username is niamh_cinnoir) or Wattpad (where my username is yavanna_kementari)!

Éomer listened - yes, the distant thunder of hooves against a dry forest path was all too recognisable. He gestured for Aldred and Théoling behind him, to be quiet and be ready, just in case anything happened. Their party slowed as the rider neared the bend up ahead, and Éomer's hand drifted towards his sword-hilt...

The rider came into view, an a sigh of relief rippled unseeingly through them. It was only a young lady, galloping on a huge chestnut gelding so violently that her long dark hair was flung out to the wind and the horse's hooves sent clods of hard-packed earth flying in every direction. Éomer saw the instant the horse noticed them, from years of experience with the animals - before even his rider did. A surprised whinny, a jerk of the head, and a sudden bolt of speed brought on by the unexpectedness of their appearance.

"Whoa!" The young woman fumbled with the reins, but Éomer knew there was nothing she could do, nothing anyone could do in the split second it took for her horse to lose control.

They looked on in horror as the lady tried valiantly to hang on, gripping the horse's mane, but even Éomer or one of his éored would have been hard-pressed to keep their seat as the gelding bucked wildly into the forest. The lady, caught by the momentum, was flung wildly off to the side, striking a young oak with force that rivalled the throwing arm of a mountain-troll. She landed limply in a bed of bluebells. Éowyn let out a low cry of horror, and dismounted, rushing to help; meanwhile Éomer and his men followed the horse into the forest of Emyn Arnen.

Someone in the reblogs suggested Beaker as the Mouth of Sauron and when I tell you I HOLLERED

Also if Kermit is Faramir then Beregond is Scooter

@prudencegoodewitch on instagram

Literally would watch this on repeat.

Like daily. Hourly. EVERY MINUTE OF EVERY DAY.

Happy New Year! Chapter 2 of A Starling in Rohan has been published!

"Look at how happy they are," Lothíriel sighed happily, leaning her head on the arms she'd folded on the windowsill. So it was - as Aragorn sang, Arwen leaned her head on his shoulder. He put his other hand in hers and looked down at her, and he had no need of smiles or laughter; even from the distance, and past the crowd of people, his level of devotion was obvious. "You and Faramir are very lucky, to share a love as strong as our King and Queen."

"Someday you will have it also," Éowyn hastened to assure her. "I do not even need to hope it for you, because it is a sure certainty."

Lothíriel allowed herself for a brief moment to dream, then reminded herself of her principles by which she seriously doubted such a thing. She knew exactly what Éowyn was feeling - such an unrelenting joy that she felt the need to share it with everyone in her path, that it overflowed from her in a river of need to give it back to the world. Her sister-in-law Meluieth had spoken similar words of assurance the night of her wedding to Elphir, Lothíriel's eldest brother, some five years ago, and though Lothíriel had seen only sixteen summers that time, no suitors had followed that had held her fancy for more than a few days.

Also available on Wattpad where my username is yavanna_kementari!

Chapter 3 of A Starling in Rohan is out!! Thanks for all the support so far <3 do ask if you want to be tagged in further chapter updates!

@konartiste hope you enjoy!

"I shall not be entirely happy today, brother, unless you are. I want everyone to feel as I do! Now come, share your worries."

She sank down into the deep velvet cushions in the window alcove, and patted the nearest chair.

Éomer sighed, and relented, knowing she would not give up until he told her what was on his mind. "A messenger arrived yesterday from one of the marshals. Farms across the Eastfold have reported a disease amongst the potato seedlings that renders them completely useless. Éowyn, unless I am provided with a miracle, Rohan will suffer heavier loss of life this coming winter than in the War of the Ring - I am certain of it."

Éowyn went to bite thoughtfully on her thumbnail, caught herself in time, and smoothed over the folds of her dress instead. "A solution will be found, Éomer. I am sure of it."

Éomer was less sure, but he didn't say this aloud. Already he had cast a shadow over the happiest day of his sister's life, and he didn't intend to add to it. "Perhaps, but not today. Today I don't mean to be King of Rohan - only your brother."

Chapter 4 of A Starling in Rohan is out!

I reckon @konartiste inspired me lol. Go read Veiled Hearts if you haven't already!

Imrahil looked over to the King of Rohan. He was turning to face every lord that spoke, acknowledging their empty and sincere words alike with a nod of his head - the picture of kingly grace - but his attention was clearly already gone, his eyes hopeless. The Prince of Dol Amroth looked at his old friend, then at his children - even Amrothos, leaning over his shoulder - all of them had the same anxious expression, like the time they had found a puppy half-drowned on the banks of the Anduin and had begged him to keep it as little children.

Lothíriel especially looked like her mother, a woman Imrahil had never been able to resist. Sweetness and a kind heart masked unwavering resolve and loyalty.

She took hold of his arm. "Surely, Father, there is something we can do."

the road goes ever on

So I set myself a shortish timer and here's what I wrote in that time! Inspired by that one wholesome scene in Fellowship where the crebain come along and ruin the vibes.

***

Gandalf had told them all about Hollin, and indeed it was a beautiful part of the world; but for weeks they had walked, and the faraway Misty Mountains did not seem to draw any nearer. The sky was cloudless and still, not a whisper of a breeze lingered among the thickets and belt of woodland that they came across. The sun slid calmly across the sky, as though pretending to be there, pale and dull in the crisp air. Smoke rose from their camp; from Samwise’s fire, and from Gandalf’s and Strider’s pipes both. Springy heather was their cushion, brown and damp now, their vibrant summer purples but a distant memory. Spiders spun their secret webs between their hardy twigs; unseen but for the early morning dew that caught the silk and cast a glittering veil over their path. Samwise, stoking the fire and heaping meat onto a little chipped plate, thought it was a remnant of elven magic in these lands. “You came this way all alone, did you, Master Boromir?” Pippin Took was saying, as Sam handed him the plate first. “It must have been awful lonely.” “Not entirely,” the Man shrugged, leaning over his pack to take a bone. Gandalf had decreed they would rest awhile longer than usual, a rare occasion. To celebrate, Strider had betaken himself to a nearby copse, emerging some time later with a brace of wood pigeons. They were tough and filled with tricky little bones; but the company had taken it in turns to pluck them, and Samwise had worked a magic of his own. “My horse was better company than both orcs, or nothing; and I met with the sons of Elrond along the way.” Sam turned to hand the plate to Gimli, who was chewing on the end of his unlit pipe, murmuring into his beard. “…most swiftly he rode after the messenger came, and not once did he falter. Why, when Durin himself - why thank you, Master Hobbit. A shame indeed that Gandalf does not allow us to rest for longer more often, or this adventure might be more cheerful! What say you, Master Elf?” Legolas lay on the root of a tree as easily and gracefully as though on a freshly upholstered couch, ankles crossed and head leaned back against the mighty trunk. He did not open his eyes; indeed he seemed to resent the intrusion upon his domain. “Any adventure beneath a clear blue sky is cheerful enough.” “Ah yes, for there is nothing to quench your thirst and quell your hunger quite like the hearty blue sky,” came the grumbled reply. Samwise smiled, and turned to the remainder of the company. Gandalf and Strider and Frodo and Merry were talking quietly amongst themselves.

***

If you dont know how to make a decision just ask yourself "what would Gandalf do?" ...he just follows his nose, disappears for days and he beats old men with his stick... So do what Gandalf does

rewatched aragorn’s coronation scene and i just realized you can see elrond’s heart breaking as she goes to join aragorn

like, that is the face of a man who was promised eternity with his daughter, a reunion in the west no matter what happened, only to lose her forever to love

Wait my Lady:

Stop Bitch:

(i just think that could happen on some point)