so I’m really conscious of the fact that I’ve been unable to update for AGES

and not just the behemoth, but anything, and I’m feeling super guilty and super-cruddy about it, I am so sorry

(Mr Dets now works one week in Sydney, and one week at home, and this shit is HARD but augh I know, okay I know I have a life and kid and work-that-is-very-demanding and 99% of you are beautiful and undemanding and just so supportive, but i still feel like a squished sultana about this)

all I seem to be able to concentrate on lately fandom-wise is composition tbh

So, here’s TWO sneaky peeks for you. Two! Bc I adore you all, and I am feeling bad about my general absentness/unavailability/fleeting visits

FIRST!

here is the WHOLE mp3 (not live recording, sadly, just the musescore export.. though I did install a decent soundfont) of ‘Light on the Horizon’. Yes. Whole thing. 

This is my current baby. It’s easily the most complicated thing I’ve ever written (YO NINA @ninayasmijn THERE IS A HARP PART!! dang do I hope it is playable tho!). And I’m both anxious and proud of it and i cannot stop with the goddamn tweaking

This song is gonna mark a very emotional & significant point in the story. I’m not gonna release the score just yet bc I am keeping the lyrics a big big shhh 

tho frankly? i probably will if you badger me privately I CURRENTLY LIVE TO HEAR WHAT PEOPLE THINK OF THIS PIECE 

So yeah, SATB, strings, trumpet, harp, timpani (ALSO CELLO, HEY THERE @the-dragongirl!). The voices are being represented here by woodwinds, bc I hate hate hate the ‘Choir Ahhs’ in any soundfont ever made. I hope you give it a listen and enjoy it! 

augh *nervous*

SECOND!

Here’s a snippet of the WIP of ch42. I’ve only done two to three edits on this so far, and it’s not polished! But it’s mostly built 🙂

ONWARDS WITHOUT FURTHER KERFUFFLE

---

“They’re awake!” came the glad shout, echoing through the
Halls. “They’re awake!”

Thorin’s head snapped up from his work. He had been staring
blankly at the set of garden tools he was making, idly wondering which flowers
to carve upon the handles. Upon hearing the call, his heart leapt high in his
chest.

“They’re awake!” came Fili’s joyous voice, soaring through
every corridor and room. “Both of them! They’ve made it!”

“Nadad, do you hear!” Frerin came barrelling into his
workroom, and Thorin caught him by the shoulders before he crashed into the
bench. His face was smiling so broadly, he seemed like the young Dwarf he had
been before the Battle once again. “They’ve come through it!”

“How could anyone not hear Fili and Kili making that
racket,” he said, smiling back. “Want to go see?”

“Yes!” Frerin grabbed at his arm and tugged him away.
Laughing, Thorin followed obediently.

When the light cleared, they could hear Sam grumbling. “Why
should we put on those nasty things again? Honourable my foot. I’d prefer comfortable, an’ something that doesn’t
stink quite so much of Orc. Why’s Gandalf making us put these on again? I’ve
had rags with more thread on ‘em.”

“Come on, Sam,” came Frodo’s quiet, tired voice. At least it
sounded like there was a smile in the words, thought Thorin worriedly. He
blinked away the starlight as swiftly as he could, and saw Sam lifting the
orc-shirt he had worn in Mordor before him. “Put it on, it shan’t be for long.”

“Why should they put on those dreadful things again?” Frerin
wondered.

“Because, Samwise Gamgee,” came the old, dry voice of
Gandalf. “These things should be seen.”

“I don’t get it,” Frerin said, giving the wizard a deeply
suspicious look. “Can’t they leave that behind them?”

“Nay, I think I understand,” Thorin said, and he watched as
Frodo slowly shrugged the uruk-jerkin, the scar on his shoulder briefly
visible. “If they were to step outside, clean and bright of eye, clad in fine
clothes, none watching would ever suspect the full extent of what they have
been through. These things should be given honour; the whole world should know
what conditions this quest took them to, and give them thanks. Gandalf is
right.”

“Will wonders never cease,” said Frerin, and he shivered as
Sam cringed away from the orc-shirt against his clean skin. “Brr, I shouldn’t
like to put that back on either.”

“Don’t like to,” Sam muttered, but he picked up the battered
helm and clapped it upon his head nevertheless.

“Come along,” Gandalf said, gently. “Just for now. Then they
shall be preserved, and I shall find you some other clothes.”

“Preserved!” Sam said, his mouth falling open in
astonishment. Gandalf looked back at him, grave and steady.

“No silks and linens, nor any armour or heraldry
could be more honourable.”

Sam stared at him a moment, and then shook
his head. “Glory and trumpets,” he said in an aside to Frodo. “That’s a thing,
isn’t it Mister Frodo! Preserving these old orc-rags.”

“Hurry as much as you can, my dear Hobbits,”
said Gandalf. “The King is awaiting you.”

Thorin and Frerin followed the three from the
tent where they had lain, out beyond the beech grove some distance from the
rest of the encampment. Over a green lawn, and then into a small wood they
walked in silence, listening to the calls of birds and drinking in the
sunshine. Frodo turned his face up to the light, and he let out a sigh. The
sounds of the trickling river came to Thorin’s ears, and he breathed in.

Eventually they came to an opening in the
wood, where tall trees made an archway down towards the distant glimmer of
water. There were moored many ships, bobbing lazily with the tide, and before
them stood a huge host of Men. Their ranks glittered in the sun.

“Mister Frodo?” Sam whispered.

“Hold my hand, Sam,” Frodo whispered back.

It did not begin all at once. Like a growing
wave, gathering momentum, the Men began to shout and roar with joy, their
swords leaping from their scabbards in a salute. The wave passed on and on as
the Hobbits walked through their ranks. Trumpets and horns sang, their notes
rising into the air. People were singing, people were crying. Many bowed as
Frodo and Sam passed them by, so deeply that their heads nearly touched the
earth.

“Thank you,” came the words, over and over:
gasped, sobbed, shouted. “Thank you, thank you, thank you-”

“Something like this, you mean?” Frerin said,
leaning up to Thorin’s ear in order to be heard over the din.

Thorin smiled, and flung an arm over his
brother’s shoulder, tucking him against his side and giving him an affectionate
shake. “Something like.”

The formless roar was beginning to take
shape, the songs beginning to coalesce into one, and overall the words could
just be made out:

‘Long live
the Halflings! Praise them with great praise!
Cuio i
Pheriain anann! Aglar’ni Pheriannath!
Praise
them with great praise, Frodo and Samwise!
Daur a
Berhael, Conin en Annûn! Eglerio!
Praise
them!
Eglerio!
A laita
te, laita te! Andave laituvalmet!
Praise
them!
Cormacolindor,
a laita tárienna!
Praise
them! The Ring-bearers, praise them with great praise!’

“If my Gaffer could see me now,” Sam said,
blushing brighter than Thorin had ever seen.

“Look!” said Frodo, and he was wide-eyed. He
pointed through the throng with his maimed hand to where three high seats had
been placed, banners snapping and curling over them. The left was green
emblazoned a white horse running. The right was blue, and upon it a swan-ship
plunged into frothing waves.

But the middle chair was – “Sam! Just look!”

There was a Man seated upon the middle seat,
and the mithril-threaded standard behind him glowed like the morning star. He was
clad in mail, but he wore no helm. His short beard was clipped neatly, and he
was smiling at them.

Behind the throne stood two odd, disparate
figures: one broad and low and red, the other tall, slender and golden-white.

“Well? Go on,” said Gandalf, behind them.

Frodo did not hesitate, but ran as fast as he
was able to meet the Man, who was standing as they drew near. Sam was only a
breath behind as always, and the two Hobbits nearly flung themselves at Aragorn
as they tumbled over the hastily-dug steps.

“Well, if that isn’t the crown of all!” Sam
said, clinging to him. “Strider, or I’m still asleep!”

“Yes, Sam, Strider,” said
Aragorn, and he knelt down to look into the Hobbits’ faces, taking their hands.
“It is a long way, is it not, from Bree, where you did not like the look of me?
A long way for us all but yours has been the darkest road.”

And then with utter reverence and
respect, he bowed his head low before them.

Sam’s face went totally,
completely slack, and Frerin giggled at his confusion and awe.

Then Aragorn stood, still holding
their hands, and with Frodo upon his right and Sam upon his left, he led them
to the throne. He set them upon it, and turned to the vast host and spoke, his
voice ringing like a drum:

“Praise them with great praise!”

The ensuing roar was thunderous.

“I wish Bilbo were here to see this,” Thorin
murmured, as Frodo’s eyes shimmered.

When the echoes had finally died
away, a minstrel stepped forward with a fiddle in hand. “Lord, I beg leave to
sing?” he said.

“Only if Mister Frodo’s up for
it, mind,” Sam said, and Aragorn laughed.

“Mind your audience, master. But
it would please me.”

“Aye, just the moment for a song
an’ a dance, and most definitely an ale.
We’ve a score to settle, ghivasha,” came a low rumble from behind the throne. A
hissed, ‘shhh, Gimli! This is a solemn
occasion!’ answered it.

The minstrel struck his fiddle
for his note, and then called out over the throng, “Lo! lords and knights and
men of valour unashamed, kings and princes, and fair people of Gondor, and
Riders of Rohan, and ye sons of Elrond, and Dúnedain of the North, and Elf and
Dwarf, and greathearts of the Shire, and all free folk of the West, now listen
to my lay. For I will sing to you of Frodo of the Nine Fingers and the Ring of
Doom.”

At that, Sam buried his face in
his hands and shook. Aragorn seemed concerned, until Sam finally lifted his
head and he was laughing and weeping all at once, the tears dripping down his
cheeks. “O great glory and splendour! And all my wishes have come true!”

And all there gathered laughed
and wept along with him, and the song of the minstrel was the most beautiful and
sorrowful they had yet heard.

“Now it feels like it’s finally
over,” Frerin said, and there were tears standing in his bright blue eyes. Yet
he was smiling from ear to ear.

“Aye,” said Thorin softly. “The
world has breathed out, at long last.”

…