I’m really, really sorry for the unannounced hiatus.
Sometimes I just feel like an annoying piece of crap. :c
BUT BUT BUT
I got hired at my new job and I’m nearly finished training.
Plus I am WRITING A BOOK :D IM SO EXCITED
anyway sorry ilu all
"It is an act against all things," Nuada nodded as he gazed about himself. The trees were stunning, the landscape beautiful. He could feel the rage of the forest as tangible thing. It weighed heavily on his skin, but he felt disgusted on the trees’ behalf. Such destruction reminded him of earth, and more importantly, of Bethmoora. "It is not just mutilation of beauty. It’s the absolute destruction of the purest creations. It is a violent attack, and horrifying choice that has been made by the worst of mankind in my world. You say the creatures called ‘orcs’ perpetuate this truth in Middle Earth?"
All of these new terms were unfamiliar to him, but he accepted them with no fault or question. He was obviously not on earth, he finally decided. Such knowledge would be useful to him. The dark elf would need to learn the ways of this world, and quickly; the realization that he did not how to get home was pushed to the back of his mind. Such thoughts would only make it more difficult for him to achieve his goals.
Myrrnien nodded solemnly, the curls that had sprung loose from her braid bouncing with her movements. Here, the thick hides of the trees were unmarred by ax or sword, but on the outer reaches of the wood many were scarred with various wounds. Some recovering, others slowly dying. Fear was another emotion the trees expressed here, but most of trees who felt it the most stood like sentinels on the border; their branches sweeping low and tangling together almost as if it was a natural fence.
Onward she led Nuada, clambering atop large rock formations, picking through the undergrowth, squeezing between boulders. Soon, Myrrnien could heard the familiar sound of rushing water, and she gestured hurriedly towards the dark elf, darting between trees and tall bushes, toward a steep incline. It took many minutes to reach the apex of the climb, and though the path as hidden most from view by more trees and plants, the witch found her way and disappeared around a bend in the path.
Here, the air was fresher, and the sound of swiftly flowing water thrummed over the breath of the forest. Myrrnien had lead him to an oasis with the sanctuary of the forest. Hewen from slate-blue rock, the path slanted downwards into a grove of fresh grass, raspberry bushes, and a single towering oak whose roots penetrated the rock. A large stream of water flowed over the rock here, forming a stunning tall waterfall, before cutting through the rock the opposite side to join back with the Entwash.
"Perhaps here we will rest a moment, before I take you to the borders of the forest." Myrrnien spoke, looking back at the other with a timid, almost fearful expression. She hoped that he would not suddenly decide to show his malevolence again.
I honestly can’t wait to see the Hobbit in theaters this winter, and I especially cannot wait to glimpse Tauriel’s character.
Reasonable explanations for disliking Tauriel:
“She seems like a female character developed specifically to be a love interest.”
“We are worried that she will degenerate the dwarves’ storyline by enjoying their company, which goes against elven thought at this point in time in Tolkien.”
DO IT MOTHERFUCKER. DO IT. I WANT TO READ IT.
I’m tempted to write Thranduil/Tauriel smut now and flood the tags.
Don’t you go hatin on my captain. > : I
The Tauriel tag too.
Can I just
light a fire on the Thranduil tag?
Wow. I just wasted two minutes of my life looking at the horrendous immaturity in those tags *facepalm*
He listened intently as he followed her; mortal, and human, she may be, but stupid, she was not. The history of these lands peaked his interest. It seemed that this was no dream, and that his delivery here was very real. He took a moment to wonder what his purpose here was. The forest reminded him so much of a time before humans, when the lands were sacred and strong, and power quavered in the dirt just under one’s fingertips. Nuada missed those times fiercely, and his heart ached at the memory.
"Why would creatures of such strength and memory carry such anger?" he asked, genuinely curious. It seemed to him that trees were singing and speaking to each other. Another moment, and a thought struck him; if the trees raged, then the humans in this world were probably tearing them down, just as they did in his world.
The jump was naturally unexpected, but easily made. Nuada had been preparing for the greatest battle against humankind for millenia. His body easily followed her, and the minute itch for freedom he noticed in her eyes disappeared quickly. She could not run from him.
The dark haired woman tossed her head and carried ever onward, locking her jaw in annoyance when she realized that she would not be able to outrun or out maneuver him. The wind that had distracted them in the clearing raised goosebumps on her soft pale arms, but it was a welcome distraction to the prevalent thoughts of fear making her heart jump in her chest.
"Many, many countless moons ago the Dark One, Morgoth, had spread his shadow over the young earth." She began, gently pushing through a thatch of thickly entangled branches to continue along the trail. "When the First Born first awakened, he found them and twisted them into horrible beings. It is these beings, the Orcs, that the forests hold the deepest anger for. But others have held less care for these beings. Dwarves, men…"
Myrrnien shivered, anger stirring in her heart. She treasured trees the most of all flora, and witnessing the destruction of such creatures stirred an anger within her that she felt for nothing else. “It is an act against the Valar,” She started, pausing before a great tree to run her hand over it’s smooth bark. “To mutilate such beauty as old as the earth itself. That is my belief. And here more than other forest, the trees listen. They move. And they punish those they feel have come to harm them.”
"Middle Earth?" Startled, Nuada took a step back. He fell into silence. The dark elf turned around and walked deeper into the forest. He could hear the whispers, and suddenly realized that this was not his home. These trees could mean him harm, and they could be very angry at him, from the sound of things.
"I do not know what these ‘Valar’ are, nor Eru, or a Dark Lord," he felt the beginnings of anger quelled, and finally, he twisted around and shoved his spear in her face for the last time. "I will not kill you. There might yet be a use for you. Show me this forest, for I’ve a great interest in it, Cailleach.”
He sheathed the spear, and tilted his chin for her to lead the way. Nuada didn’t worry about betrayal. The moment this woman tried to harm him, her head and body would no longer be joined…
The dark-haired one watched the other closely, resigning to herself that the fastest way to be rid of him-and to survive-would be to lead him through the forest. Her eyes darted about as she mentally recalled which places would be best for her to take him—to perhaps simultaneously lead him out of the wood, to safety, and escape his malevolence.
Her brows drew together at his confusion over Those-Who-Came-First, and her lips, which were red from abuse from her own teeth, parted to answer the other. “Eru, the Valar… They are the ones who shaped this world. They are the Powers That Be…” She paused, sheathing her dagger slowly so as to not alarm the other, her eyes moving across the patchwork of the great canopy above. “The Firstborn of the Iluvitar, the Elves, taught the trees to speak. Though… They are quieter now. It is a gift indeed to hear their voices. Come, I will lead you to the boundaries of Fangorn. But do not tarry; we are deep within the wood and the souls which dwell here have long memories and much anger.”
She watched him carefully as she stepped ahead of him; pulling at the collar of her leine, weary of the humidity and warmth of the forest. She ventured towards the giant roots of two equally enormous trees entangled, quickly scaling the serpentine appendages to jump off the other side, landing haphazardly on her feet in a pile of broad leaves and squat shrubs. The woman carried on for several minutes before stopping to peer over her shoulder for her ‘captor’.
Her back ground firmly against the bark of the great tree which rose behind her, and she flattened herself against it as if she willed the plant to envelope her. The dark haired woman’s jaw clenched and her body grew rigid, waiting to take any chance to dash off into the underbrush.
"You don’t look like any of the Eldar I have seen," She challenged upon hearing him mention ‘the fae’, thinking he referred to the Elves. Her hand still firmly gripped her dagger, though now it was pressed against her chest in a feeble attempt to protect herself. Confusion cast a misty haze across her eyes; and her body shook from fear, as she knew he would not stay his hand if he sought to hurt her. "Nor do you speak as one of them." The witch flinched at her own words, though she could not bring herself to hold the venom from her verbal inflection. If she was going to die, she was not going to leave without making it harder for him.
About the pair, the forest seemed to close in about them, turning unseen gazes toward the strange meeting. There were distinct groans of wood grinding against wood which thrummed about the clearing, and a damp breeze whispered about the Witch and the Fae Prince. The darker one bit her lip as to physically bar the answers to the others’ questions from slipping over her tongue, her eyes growing hard and dark with defiance.
Nuada lowered his spear; this one would not hurt him. She shook so hard it seemed she would collapse. He scoffed.
"I am not one of your ‘Eldar,’" he started, and took another step near her. The stench of mortality lingered in the air, but he stood it to tip his spear at her throat, and his nose wrinkled in distaste. "I am of the clan of Bethmoora, a child of the mud. And I am the Prince of such people. Of course I would not speak any differently; who are you, then? I’ve met enough humans to recognize one. Are you a witch?”
Her fumbling with the dagger forced a barking laugh from his throat, and he stepped forward again, inches away from her, when he stopped dead and twisted to look at the forest around them.
"I have not heard the trees speak in an age," he uttered quietly, and his eyes narrowed. Nuada turned back to her. "I have either been magick-ed to a distant land far from earth, or to a distant time far from the present. Where am I? And when?"
"Middle Earth," She breathed, her nostrils flaring wide, as a thick rim of white curved about her irises, seeing the closeness of the spearhead to her throat. "I have never heard of your people…"
The voices of the forest seemed to make the earth beneath her feet tremble in a deep, throaty hum; and the young woman briefly let her eyelids veil her moss-colored eyes, reveling in the ancient whispers.
"And I do not know why you are here. I have not the power of the Valar, and only they could have summoned you." Her words flowed in time with the murmuring of the trees. A bead of sweat trailed down from her temple as she spoke, her body still quivering from the danger of the one before her. "I am a witch of the forest. But I am a child of Eru. I do not serve the flames of the Dark Lord."
Something about your least favourite moment - the Statute of Finwë and Míriel
Or: Cultural myth, Arda Marred, and concern-trolling Valar
So! Finally, after making mention of this for at least a couple months before actually getting around to writing it… here we are. I will note that, despite the title, this is actually predominantly analysis, rather than headcanon.
The primary purpose for me here is to analyse the aspects of the debate surrounding Míriel’s death that reflect harmful and troubling attitudes that exist in the real world (hence the use of the “least favourite moment” prompt); it will be framed with aspects of headcanon for the purposes of setting in context and drawing out particularly why I find these attitudes so problematic in this case; and then finally finished with a related discussion on Amanyar beliefs about childbirth and Míriel’s situation specifically, dipping once again back into the realm of headcanon.
Guess who rocked her interviews and got the job? THIS ONE!!!!
Just had my second “interview” for a new job. It involved three separate interviews and a group session.
As heavy as that sounds it was actually really fun.
his life fit him better than his clothes