jkdfhlajsgflasjdhfaljshfdaksdajshfd THANK YOU SO MUCH
(i may or may not really love the idea of Elves ALSO being craftspeople – bc Noldor etc etc. There’s a reason their swords are so kickass! now if only Elves and Dwarves could bond over their nerdy nerdy crafty abilities… *coughnarvicough*)
Aragorn is pretty damn over it for a guy whose OTP just got together hahaha
Warning: blood, gore, death, implied torture, this is from an orc’s perspective. This ficlet is horror. If that is going to trigger you than DO NOT READ IT!
Gnalbag cringed back into waking, the insipid sunlight filtering down into his yellowed eyes. Sticky black blood plastered loose dirt to the side of his head and he could feel the weight of another body pinning his legs down. He hissed and spat as he struggled to pull himself out from under the heavy corpse, cursing every form of life he knew of.
Dagor Dagorath lived up to its name. It truly was the battle of all battles, and the time for orcs to rise. Gnalbag believed the war would already be over, if it wasn’t for the unexpected charge of those mangey rock grubbers.
The thrice damned stringy elf Warriors were struggling against the might of the Dark Lord’s armies after a year of bloodshed, so close to caving that Gnalbag could practically see the battlefields littered with heaps of their dead, furless, smelly, infected bodies! And then doors opened in the mountainside and bellowing, thick-skulled dwarves poured out.
Gnalbag cursed at the mangled stump that used to be his left leg and the wound in his side still oozing tar black blood and bile. Where was his pike? He was going to drive it through the mouth of the next dwarf he saw and carry their head on it until it rotted off!
He spotted the jagged head of his pike and began scrambling over to if when a thick, steel-toed boot stepped down on it, pressing it into the sludge of dirt and blood.
“I don’t think you’ll be needing that,” said a deep voice.
Gnalbag growled and spat a black curse at the pompous dwarf.
“Do not get comfortable with victory. This is the last you’ll know it!” he ranted. “Our dark master will grind you into the stones you came from and the ground will be stained as red as your beard!”
The dwarf snorted at him dismissively, calling out that he found a live one while leaning casually on his axe, as if to emphasize how little of a threat Gnalbag was to him. Gnalbag wished he had a knife to drive into its belly. Then he noticed the nine figures engraved on the dwarf’s chest plate.
“I know who you are,” Gnalbag said, feeling unholy glee build up inside him. “You’re the dwarf from the nine!”
Other dwarves were starting to draw near.
“You’re the one who was sticking the elf!” he cackled, spraying flecks of black blood and spit.
“I would watch your tongue, orc, or I will remove it for you,” the dwarf growled.
Gnalbag only laughed louder.
“Still looking for your elvish whore?” he continued. The dwarf didn’t answer, but Gnalbag had seen the way his eyes swept over the battlefield. He bared his teeth in a crooked grin.
“How do you know you didn’t already meet him out there?”
“What are you implying?” the dwarf spat.
“Gimli, don’t listen to a thing like that,” another dwarf tried to reason, but Gnalbag knew he had the red dwarf’s attention now.
“You might have greeted him with your axe,” Gnalbag carried on, “after all, our Master needed thousands of orcs for his armies for his armies.”
Gnalbag relished the simmering mass of emotion practically radiating from the dwarf’s skin.
“Do you know how orcs are made, dwarf?” he taunted with a falsely sweet voice, “I’ll give you a hint.”
Gnalbag lifted a finger to his own torn, but still pointed ear, nearly bursting with manic glee.
“I used to be an elf once!” Gnalbag crowed.
The last thing he ever knew was the exact taste of Dwarvish steel as the axe shattered his face.
End.
(Thanks for the prompt. You didn’t think I’d go there, did you?)
*shrugs* Don’t see why not.
Headcanony things to follow, all totally subjective!
They’re receding, yes. Mentions of the Ring can bring a resurgence of vague anger, possessiveness and secretiveness. However, as his mind begins to drift and age creeps up on him at last, the obsession is beginning to fade. It took the very sight of it to bring Bilbo to near-violence, after all… and even then he controlled himself (brrr).
The Elves have not really been subjected to any unpleasantness: these matters, as Bilbo would say, are his own private business and no nosy busybodies need go poking about. He would most likely seclude himself when he has a “funny turn”. I expect he always did, tbh, and didn’t realise that it was the Ring encouraging to do so, pushing him further into his own isolation.
Thank god for Frodo.
It’s remarkable, actually, just how resilient Hobbits are – and Bilbo in particular. I honestly don’t know if anyone else could have carried the Ring for so long, and retained so much of themselves. But yeah. Thank god for Frodo. Those 12 years that Bilbo lived with Frodo might (and this is just a personal idea) have been the saving of him.
(And you are super-sweet to say so! Thank you so much!)
No worries, Nonnie! My pleasure. I try to answer as many as I can, and I always feel a bit guilty when I can’t really give an answer. And sometimes an ask just sits in my inbox for so long that I am embarrassed about answering it after all that time, lol
Oh gosh, yes! The mother-names! God, Valinorean naming conventions, PHEW. So complicated.
Aaaaaaand I totally forgot about them, THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE REMINDER! (I found a pretty good breakdown on Legolas’ name here, actually! and it looks as though I have free reign to pick something bwaaahahahaha)
Okay, for those who can’t click the link bc they’re on their phone or whatevs, the mother-name (Amilessë) seems to be a prophetic Quenya name, given to a Valinorean Elf by their mum (i.e. Maitimo = Maedhros; Fëanáro = Fëanor). It’s usually used amongst family and close friends. There are four different names for a High Elf! The mother-name (Amilessë), the father-name (essi/Ataressë), the chosen name (Cilmessë) which the Elf picks for themselves, and the after-name (Epessë) – such as Elrond’s ‘Half-Elven’ (Elrond Peredhil).
I think? I could be barking up the wrong mallorn here. Any lore-masters out there want to give us their insight?
OH GOSH THIS IS ADORABLE. Yes, A++ huggers!
Yeah, when watching the films one of my very first reactions was ‘holy crap Dwarves are really tactile’. They always seem to be touching in some way, as friends or comrades, butting their shoulders together, slapping backs, etc. So I had to write that in.
Legolas is going to have to deal with that, actually. Elves don’t appear to be NEARLY so touchy-feely! The conversation between besties Legolas and Tauriel has them standing three metres apart!
And it’s an interesting character note: many relationships have to deal with one partner being a lot more physically demonstrable than the other, and learning to compromise and understand the other and be respectful of their space. 🙂
YEOUCH, NONNIE.
Well, I’ve expounded a bit on my early thoughts on Thranduil, and yeah – I think that he holds fiercely to that which he has. I think he has a massive loss-complex, thanks to the long and painful life he has led. And that has on occasion caused him to make decisions that appear very cold.
I don’t think he would leave the Greenwood, no. It is his, he has fought for it for long, bitter years – against monsters and spiders and even against the damned Necromancer. His people have bled for it. It is his, his home, and he will not lose another.
I also think he would be a) heartbroken that Legolas leaves for Ithilien, and b) DEVASTATED that Legolas leaves for the Undying Lands.
Hahahaha, I answered an ask about our favourite Elven introvert + babies over here.
Meeting Frerinith specifically, though. Hmm. I think Laerophen would be dumbstruck and awed by every move the tiny (so tiny!!) little one makes, his every word and breath. Look at how perfect those small hands are! How remarkable, each tiny eyelash, those wide and trusting eyes! Is there anything as musical as a child’s laughter? A whole new person, a light only beginning… and oh, he’s… he’s skinned his knee, um. What to do, what to – I know, I shall mop it with my sleeve.
My sleeve is not sufficient.
He cries now. Perhaps I should pick him up and comfort him, I have seen others do so… ah, he leaks. That is unpleasant. And is he… chewing upon my hair?
Oh. He leaks from several places.
I think I should perhaps put him down. And find his parents.
The dances of Elves are REALLY varied, in my little headcanon! They have
different ones for each season, being so connected to nature, and these would also differ by the people. Noldor
dances are more energetic on the whole than Vanyar dances, and Sindar dances
are the biggest and have the most elaborate patterns. Still, they’d all have
SOME similarities, so…
Autumn dances are the most spectacular: mad and stormy, with fluttering hand
movements and spinning lifts together to symbolise the falling leaves. Summer’s
dances are slow and langorous, lazy in the heat, usually for courting couples
and the like. Spring dances are the most beautiful, with huge circle/pattern
dances that can switch between graceful, airy, floating to whirling in joy that
the leaves come again and the earth wakes once more. Winter dances are the most
intricate: tiny little footsteps symbolising the drifting of the snow and the
creeping of the ice.
We’re talking about a people who are tremendously strong, light and
tireless, so I expect their dances go on for hours and hours and hours. I also think that there would be a lot
of lifting and throwing of each other. Perhaps special clothes, made to trail
in the air after them, could be worn.
Anyway, there’s some of my ideas!
Aw Yiss 