Thanks, darling Nonnie. I feel like steamrollered shit, but hey! I got a plug-in keyboard for my laptop now! So the shiny silver lining is that I’ve gotten tons of writing done.
Seriously, I think??? I have ch44 in the bag. I think. *bites fingers to nubs* THINK. idk about the mood and pacing tho. I just don’t know.
AUGH you know how I get before I post a chapter, I am a nervous wreck rn
I’m gonna do one last read/edit/possible re-write. Watch this space.
keyboard on my laptop is kaput, gotta get it replaced. I’ve cleaned it out, re-installed the driver, all of that, and it is still craptastic. AUGH. So, I’m really sorry if you’ve tagged me or messaged me in the past two days: I’m sorting this out, but it is slow going.
also: I HAVE THE FLU augh I ache, GOD do I ache right now. My sternum aches from coughing and sneezing, my BACK aches, my head aches, everything hurts
On the upside, SO MUCH WRITING GETTING DONE – but on Mr Dets’ PC, which is sorta irritating bc I wanna be in bed. i miss my laptop *cries*
Still! Chapter 44 is currently sitting at approx 10K, and I have another 5K of ch45, and drips and drabs of 46 done…!
also STEREDEN IS A GEM just wanna say that – i am reading your reviews from your re-read as they come in, and they’re a little spot of joy, and I LOVE YOU SO MUCH K. Thank you so so much!!
ALSO! I believe it is @notanightlight‘s birthday???? HAPPY BIRTHDAY MY DARLINGEST ONE. OH WONDROUS NOTA, my dear dear friend!! I hope it is an awesome one!!! You are a beautiful person, one of my very first friends here on tumblr ever, and I can’t tell you how much your friendship means to me, lovely. Go have an amazing year.
*SCREAMS* OH MY GOD THANK YOU, this is absolutely absolutely something I have been striving for, the whole fic long!!! CHANGE CAN BE HARD, it is different and weird for everyone, and people are messy!!! IT IS NEVER THE SAME, and god, it can be wonderful, and terrible, and quiet and noisy and soft and agonising, and dreadful – and WONDERFUL. LIKE
– Baris (stepping outside her comfort zone, fucking up in a horrifying way, and still getting up and steeling herself and trying again) – Bilbo (learning to TRUST!!! TRUST, this secretive hobbit who mutters to himself and distrusts everything, who is full of suspicion and bluster and old pain!! HE IS SO UNWILLING TO TRUST – himself, Thorin, ANYONE – but he will, he does eventually) – Gimli (gets the arrogance knocked out of him, learns to listen and not just decide he knows what is best,learns to see beyond his suspicion and his ingrained ideas, LIKE – HE ROARS AND SHOUTS AND ACTS LIKE A TWIT ABOUT ACCEPTING COMFORT FROM AN ELF, but in the end he does) – Stonehelm (it takes a war and his dad’s DEATH and the shouldering of the responsibility for his entire people for him to finally see that he is no poor successor to his famous forebears, that he needn’t style himself after his heroes, he’s drowning in grief but he’s standing up and leading anyway, he DOES IT ANYWAY and god it hurts) – Thranduil (BOOM-TISH HAHAHAHAHA) – Laerophen (MORE BOOM-TISH) – Thorin (THE WHOLE POINT. HE IS THE WHOLE DAMN POINT.) – Bomfris (figuring out that she can be soft and loving and it doesn’t mean she is any less strong, making friends despite herself, refusing to become a ‘proper princess’ but still becoming a war-leader all while pregnant) – Fili (letting go of anger and resentment and hero-worship, maturing under a terrible responsibility, watching people he cares for suffer and hating it but enduring it nevertheless, finding new ways to protect that don’t involve bristling with weapons lmao) – Frerin (he is full of jealousy and fear, tbh, but he masters it over and over again, learns to be appreciative of his OWN skills instead of constantly comparing himself to his brother, learns not to hate his youthfulness but to find pride in it, begins to find joy in others, admits his fears at last when he finally explodes, learns to accept care as well as give it) – Kili (secrecy SECRECY SECRECY ONLY MEANS YOU CARRY THINGS ALONE, you’re cared for little prince, you little TWIT, it is hard but you must open up the way you expect others to) – Legolas (WAY MORE BOOM-TISH THAN CAN BE FITTED IN A SINGLE SUMMARY. WAY MORE.) – so many more, gah – Aragorn, Eowyn, Eomer, Pippin, Bofur, Gandalf, SO MANY AHHH
I AM SO FULL OF JOY AT THIS, I am SO happy, I really am, your ask has given me golden wings, I am GONNA YODEL TO THE HEAVENS FOR AT LEAST AN HOUR. Thank you SO SO MUCH
The timing in that chapter is deliberately very hazy -very well spotted, though! Eagle eyes, you have! The book’s timing is weird when it comes to that period – there’s meant to be A COUPLE OF WEEKS between the fall of Sauron and the celebration at Cormallen, for example, but Tolkien skips it all in a paragraph.
In the book, during those weeks, quite a LOT happens. We don’t see the cleanup after the battle. We don’t see the progression of the armies from the Black Gate to Cormallen. We don’t see the convalescence of Frodo and Sam. It’s quite literally a handful of paragraphs.
(And then spends a page and a half describing Frodo and Sam’s walk from the tent, through the forests and along the stream and through the wood again and then through the army)
(I have bitched ENDLESSLY about this, ngl)
So, when it came to Dol Guldur, I decided to do the same, in order to keep the momentum and tension rolling. If I’d spent time detailing the days between, I feel like I would have lost too much of the urgency of the Ring War stuff as that conflict began to settle, and the Dol Guldur stuff would have been far too much a departure in tone. I really wanted the ‘aftermath’ stuff to come, well, after!!
Thranduil was apparently lounging indolently in his chair,
his hands long and graceful where they fell over the carved stone arms.
“Very little, Adar,” Laindawar said with a scowl. “They will
not answer my questions. The sister, Gimris, has nothing positive to say of her
brother at all. And if she who is his sister has naught but scorn to share,
what more can we expect of others? What has our Legolas tied himself to?”
Thranduil’s eyes did not flicker, but his jaw rippled. “I
see.”
“The King has mentioned this Gimli’s skill at arms,”
Thranduil continued, his voice smooth. “That is not small praise in a kingdom
of warriors.”
“His sister tells me he is nothing but muscle-bound idiocy,”
Laindawar said. His fists bunched at his side. “She will not answer any of my very
reasonable questions, and I fear their answers may be terrible. A Dwarf that
will not comb his hair! And a Dwarf of the Line of Durin besides: you know
their curse as well as I. I dread to think what has become of our brother, what
this Gimli will do to him. You know how they are about their treasures…”
Beside him, Laerophen let out a soft snort.
Thranduil tipped his head. “Something to add, ionneg?”
Laerophen started under the sudden attention, and drew
himself up to his full towering, gawky height, shifting between his feet. “Well,
yes… may I speak frankly?”
“I will have nothing less from you, my son,” said Thranduil,
but his gaze softened as he looked upon his secondborn.
“Are you senseless?”
Thranduil’s face, once again, did not change. Laindawar’s
head snapped to his brother, and he glared like a thunderstorm.
“Perhaps you have been manipulated by your long captivity,”
Laindawar began, stiffly.
“I am not captive,
and never was!” Laerophen pinched his nose, and took a deep breath. “I have
lived amongst them. I know them! By
the stars, honeg nin, you attack Gimris with question after question while she works? As though
it is her role in life to answer you? And you wonder why she snaps and growls
and stalks away!”
“Then by all means, enlighten us as to their ways,”
Thranduil said, before Laindwar could explode into furious debate.
“The Lady Gimris is the worst one to ask about her brother,”
Laerophen said, and he launched into motion, stalking across the room and
moving his hands in agitation. “These folk, they mock and tease easily: you
must learn to find the laughter and care under the words. And do not talk of the curse
of the line of Durin in their very halls! You know as well as I do that it has
faded to naught with the stench of dragon and the loss of the Dwarf-ring. Yet
still you would name a Dwarf greedy without ever having met him? I despair that
I thought as you did, once.”
“Who would you suggest we speak to?” Thranduil said, cutting
over the spluttering coming from Laindawar’s direction.
“You would do better to speak to her son, or to Gloin.”
Laerophen then winced. “Well, when you can bear to be in the same room as him,
and he you. Dwalin son of Fundin was his teacher, and the singer Baris
Crystaltongue was his sister’s dearest friend. He has called the Princess Dis ‘aunt’
since his young childhood, I understand. He is dear to her. And most importantly, Mizim, his
mother – she is a calmer soul than her husband, and a wise one. She has spoken
to me of her son, and I deem that Gimli is a fit match for our brother.”
“A mother’s love may distort many a vice into a virtue,” Laindawar
retorted.
“You in your wisdom just told me that his own sister thought him a covetous thug: I would not trust my insight,
if I were you,” Laerophen snapped.
“Peace, my sons,” Thranduil said, and he leaned forward.
“Tell me what his mother said.”
Laerophen gave Laindawar a last cross glare, before he
turned back to his father. “He is honest to a fault – often honest beyond the
bounds of politeness,” he said. “He is brave, foolhardily so. He has a poet’s tongue,
and loves to sing. He is gracious in both victory and defeat, though he is not
overfond of losing – I understand he is fiercely competitive. His sense of
humour tends to wordplay and jesting. And lastly, he is loyal beyond all sense.”
“Is he a fair warrior?” Laindawar demanded. His face was
still mottled, his eyes flashing with resentment.
“He’s only the best warrior
since Dwalin, dumbface,” came a small mutter from the door. It would have been
inaudible to any but Elven ears.
Laerophen froze, his mouth hanging ajar.
“Who spies upon us?” Laindawar said, and he reached for his
sword hanging at his side.
“Oh, Elbereth.” Laerophen closed his eyes for a moment. “Gimizh?”
There was a tiny squeak, and some shuffling from beyond the
heavy door.
Thranduil stood in a flowing movement, crossing to the door
with his robes sweeping behind him. He flung it open, and stared down with icy
eyes. “Who is this?”
“Gimizh, what are you doing here?” Laerophen said wearily.
“Cleaning the doorknob,” Gimizh said, his small face
defiant.
“An untruth,” Thranduil said, his voice low and silky.
“Your small shadow reappears,” Laindawar remarked to
Laerophen, who shook his head.
“Were you looking for me?”
“I was cleaning the doorknob, and if a fellow overhears
fings when he’s cleaning doorknobs, that’s not his fault,” Gimizh said to
Thranduil, crossing his chubby little arms and tipping up his head. “You were
takin’ too long,” he added to Laerophen. “There’s cake tonight: Barur’s started
the pastry ovens again at last!”
“That sounds like a fine adventure, but you should not
eavesdrop on private conversations,” Laerophen said, crossing to Gimizh and
dropping to his haunches to put a gentle hand upon the Dwarfling’s shoulder. “Your
mother shall be cross.”
“When is his mother not cross,” muttered Laindawar.
“You shouldn’t say nasty stuff about people either, but he does it lots,” Gimizh snapped back,
jerking his head towards Laindawar. “First my uncle Gimli, and then my mum!”
“That is true,” Thranduil said. His eyebrow was ever so
slightly lifted, giving him a faintly quizzical air. “Then you should apologise
for eavesdropping, and my son shall apologise for his rudeness.”
“Fine,” Gimizh grumbled. “Sorry for accident’ly listening to
things.”
Laindawar opened and shut his mouth, and then he inclined
his head. “I am sorry for speaking ill of your family.”
“Pfft, you don’t know anything anyway,” Gimizh said, tossing
his head. His curved braids bounced. “S’not your fault you’re so ignant.”
Laerophen frowned, and hazarded a guess. “Ignorant?”
“Means that he doesn’t know anything,” said Gimizh. Innocent
helpfulness oozed from every pore.
“I…” Laindawar began, and then subsided with a sniff.
“Gimli is your uncle,” Thranduil said, the words slow and
measured. “Child, are you close to him?”
Gimizh glanced at Laerophen, who squeezed his arm. “We seek
to learn more of him,” he said. “My brother has become attached to him, you
see, and we would know what manner of person he is.”
Gimizh looked horrified. “Your brother!?”
“No, my other brother,”
Laerophen rushed to say, and Gimizh blew out a massive breath, his shoulders
slumping dramatically.
Laindawar growled. Wordlessly, Thranduil passed him a goblet
of wine.
“Din’t know you had another brother,” Gimizh said. “Can I
come in? The doorknob’s really clean now.”
“I am sure it is,” Thranduil murmured. “In you come, child.”
Gimizh scurried in and clung to Laerophen’s side. As the
Elvenking turned and re-took his seat, the Dwarfling poked a small pink tongue
out at Laindawar.
“Now that is rude,”
Laerophen said, and prodded him gently.
“Then we’re even,” said Gimizh, with lofty dismissal.
Laindawar gripped his wine tightly, and tipped back half the
glass.
Thranduil arranged his robe around his feet, and then
studied Gimizh for a silent second. Then he said once more, “are you close to
your uncle?”
“Yep,” said Gimizh. “Oooh, you’ve got grapes! Can I have
some?”
“Would you please,” Laindawar said, stressing the ‘please’
with biting sarcasm, “tell us of him?”
“He’s big an’ strong and has a fluffy red beard,” Gimizh
said, his eyes darting over to the bowl of grapes upon the table. “I got a doll
of him.”
“Then you love him,” Thranduil said, his head tipping
forward to eye the child intently.
Gimizh only rolled his eyes. His mouth was full as he spoke
next. “He’s my uncle Gimli. He’s the best fighter in the whole mountain, and I’m
not allowed to touch his things while he’s away. He tells good stories.
Sometimes he chases me an’ Wee Thorin an’ Balinith through the Mountain, or
plays hidey with us. I cut my shin on his axe that I accident’ly borrowed one
time, an’ he was a bit mad, but he really wasn’t because Uncle Gimli dun get
mad at me ever. He was only
pretending because he was afraid. Mum does that too. I like his axes, an’ they
were Grandpa’s. Uncle Gimli told me he would give them to me one day. But he also said that I shouldn’t take things
that weren’t mine, an’ that I shouldn’t do everything that pops into my head
without telling anyone. But since he went on a big important Quest without
telling anyone, I think that’s a bit unfair. Adults are like that though.”
“I see,” Thranduil said, and his mouth twitched.
“He still calls me ‘pebble’ sometimes, which isn’t fair
either since I’m a big dwarrow now,” Gimizh said, and shrugged a little. Another grape disappeared with the swipe of a
small slightly-grubby hand. “If he catches you when you’re playing hidey, he blows
raspberries on your tummy to make you laugh. He knows lots of songs, and
sometimes he makes them up on the spot! I’m gonna make up songs too. But Mum
barks at us when I sing any of Uncle Gimli’s mining songs, because they have naughty
things in them sometimes. Da only laughs until he chokes, but then, Da’s a
miner too.”
“You… do? I mean, he is?”
Gimizh nodded importantly – and snatched up a grape. “S’what
Uncle Gimli said to me once. He was a miner back in Ered Luin. I never been to
Ered Luin, and Grandpa says it was hard there. Uncle Gimli doesn’t say much
about it. I reckon it’s good we’re not there anymore, an’ Da can be a
shopkeeper and Uncle Gimli can be a warrior now. I bet he’s killed a billionty
orcs. Is your brother on the quest too??”
“Yes, that is where they met,” Laindawar said.
“Oh.” Gimizh screwed up his face as he chewed, and then
swallowed. “Is he rude?”
“Ah…when it is warranted,” said Thranduil. His eyes were
glassy.
“Mum’s rude to Uncle Gimli all the time, and he’s rude right
back at her,” Gimizh said with a wicked little grin. His hand darted from the
bowl to his pocket. “She calls Uncle Gimli a fathead and a troll, and he calls
her a goblin and a prissy Elf! She’d blister my ears if I ever said that! They’re
brother an’ sister, but I don’t got a brother or sister or sibling. I got Wee
Thorin, but he can knock me on my backside so I don’t call him a fathead. But I
seen Uncle Gimli punch another fellow right in the teeth – wham! Just like
that! – for calling my Mum names. So I don’t think they’re really meaning those
words at all: I think they mean something else. Something nicer.”
“You asked for this,” Laerophen murmured to Thranduil, who
was starting to look a little fixed.
Nope, I don’t. It’s not that I wouldn’t like to, one day. It’s that I know my own “””SCHEDULE””” (she says sarcastically, heh). I couldn’t guarantee that I would keep to the 50K wordcount deadline.
I mean, I can pump out 10K in a couple of days, if I am in a good headspace and if I have the time. If I am in a good headspace!
(if I’m down, lol no)
It’s coming up to the end of the school year here in Australia, and I am a teacher. I am NOT going to have the time, sadly. So, for the meanwhile I will I just putter along at my own stop-start speed!
so I am off sick from work rn, and all I can do is lie here listlessly in bed… and type 😉
ch43 wordcount now: 11K
chapter 43 wordcount: 7.1K
i got tagged by the most marvellous piscine in the world @fishfingersandscarves. thank you Fishy!
Is there a snack you like to eat while writing?
i often forget to eat when I’m writing. Tbh I often forget to eat full-stop. It’s a problem!
What time of day do you usually write?
whenever the bug bites! I’ve written at 8am, 12pm, 9pm, 2am. I don’t care! But these days I have been forced into a more sensible sleeping schedule… so it’s usually an 8-10pm thing, after bub is asleep.
Where do you write?
at my desk, in my bed, on the couch, in a chair, in the air, I will write it on a pram, I will write it Sam I Am
How often do you write a new novel?
*HYSTERICAL LAUGHTER*
Do you listen to music while you write?
hell no, i find it massively distracting. I pay far too much attention to music as it is.
What’s your writing utensil? Paper or laptop?
laptop. Though I have a sheaf of character notes (and a self-drawn family tree lmao) shoved into the front of my copy of lotr.
Do you have a special pre-writing ritual?
nope, unless you count ‘forgetting my cup of tea and letting it go stone-cold’
What do you do to get into the writing mood?
nothing really. I can be doing the dishes or writing up a report for work, and an idea comes to me, or a snippet of dialogue. Sometimes the timing is massively inconvenient, and so I miss out on that particular gust of inspiration.
What do you always have near the place you write?
LOTR, silmarillion, Book of Lost Tales, Unfinished Tales, War of the Ring, etc. Also, I might have a cat snoozing nearby, but she’s mostly decorative. 😉
I also have my purty new condenser mic (SO PURTY), my music stand and p-filter, my keyboard (lmao an ancient casio that is really quite embarrassing) and my violin.
Do you have a reward system for word counts?
Nope. The words themselves are the reward for me. I MADE THESE, HUZZAH AND HOORAY, GO ME! (this is, of course, before First Edit.)
Is there anything else about your writing process your readers don’t know?
I was both an actor and a director, before my Dwarfling came along. So I do a lot of working through scenes as though I am both the character and the director, looking at pace and metre and focus, etc.
Aw Yiss 