Month: December 2016

It had taken him a while to tie the now mortal Maia up and drag him along but since Mairon had chosen to be bothersome and uncooperative Ji Indur had finally hoisted him over his shoulder and carried him away. Out of Barad Dûr and to the stables. On horseback they left Mordor, undisturbed by anybody as the wraith had made sure to gag his master and set a cloth bag over his head. Now they were making their way towards the place where Ji Indur’s ship was anchored, awaiting their arrival.

admirable-mairon:

admirable-mairon-moved:

Mairon had exhausted himself rather early on as he tried to fight and didn’t realize how weak a human body is.

He slumped, even dozing off from sheer exhaustion as they traveled on horse-back. Because of this, he didn’t even realize where they were. He could barely hear the waves as his hearing had been muted.

Previous reply here

It took a while for Sauron’s words to sink in properly – for the disgusting meaning behind them to take root in Mairon’s mind. He had been worried before, maybe even afraid – but now he was terrified.
They would doom him to literally rot…! To have his body that was made to be eternal become a rotting, decaying prison. He’d be frail, he’d become worthless, he’d be ugly and rotten, and it terrified him.

It was terrifying for many reasons. Being frail and weak like a kitten was not an experience he enjoyed, and just the thought of being trapped in a body of flesh that was constantly decaying was beyond horrifying.

His vision…!! His many goals…!!!! How was he supposed to be able to get Melkor out of the void if he rotted away in his brother’s tower!? Would he even end up in the void afterwards? Or would he go wherever humans go when they die? Would he ever see Melkor again…?!

“Brother, please…!” he tried, barely more than a whisper, just before Sauron turned to Ji-Indur to free him.

Mairon was pale by now, silent tears trailing down his freckled cheeks as he could barely even feel the pain in his scalp at all. He could feel his bond to Ji being severed – could feel how that part of his fëa was being cut from him, and he gasped, choking and coughing as it felt as if Sauron was tugging at something within his chest – tugging at his very heart.

It was uncomfortable, but not agonizing, and he could handle it.
He had lost Ji – he knew that and there was nothing he could do to get him back. He still didn’t know what it was he had done to make Ji hate him so – He had been a kind master. He had punished him when he disobeyed, of course, but nothing more than that. Ji-Indur had chosen the ring – he had chosen his own fate – Mairon really didn’t think he could be blamed for it at all.

When Ossë spoke directly to him, the amount of his tears increased and he whimpered. How could Ossë use that against him now…!?

“Cousin, please…! I didn’t…! I didn’t know you didn’t want it…!!! You said you forgave me…! You said yes! You spent time with my wolves – with me – you laughed…! You smiled and-and I…! I didn’t know…!!! Please don’t let him…! Please…!! I’m sorry…! I’m sorry! I didn’t know – I swear I didn’t know I hurt you! I only wanted to be good to you, I swear! Don’t do this…!” he begged, until Ossë lowered him and pressed him against Sauron’s chest.

That was when his pleading turned into pure screams of terror. He squirmed and fought, like a cat that was unwilling to be held he twisted and turned in a desperate attempt to escape his brother’s grip. In his terror he reverted from common tongue to valarin – his fear warping his speech into their native tongue.

“Please no! No! You can’t do this! I’m begging you – I’ll do anything!! I didn’t know! I DIDN’T KNOW!!!” he sobbed. “You can’t do this!!! I will atone from my sins in any way you want! Harm me like I did you! Whip me – flay me – I will accept all of it! Eat me alive and crush my body – but I’m begging you not to lock me into a rotting prison of flesh…!!! Please! I must – I can’t – I will never be able to see Master again…! I’m begging you!!!”


@misbehavingmaiar @masteroftheseas @ji-indur

–Ossë’s reply–
–Ji’s reply– 

“Silence!” Receiving the thrashing figure into a vice of an embrace, Sauron bared his teeth at his brother’s ear. “You will see Him again. We will see him together. But it will be I who frees him, not thou.”

It took no more than an instant to restrain Mairon’s trebling hand, corpse-cold and bent like a dying spider; another to slide the gold ring off its crooked finger. 

Fixated on the glittering prize, he replied without sparing the wraith a glance. “Mordor belongs to me now. Your brethren are free in that they may choose to stay and serve me, or resign themselves to a mortal death. Their decision matters little. Their rings are mine, and there will always be more men eager for power.”  

Then his smile flashed white in the darkness. “Thank you, Cousin.” 

The two rings flashed, joined together at their point of contact like a symbol of infinity, then pooled together into One. The burst of light that followed was like the collapse of a star, an explosion of light and a inward surge of pressure so great that for a moment it reversed the tide. 

From the water’s edge, the great fell beast keened and caught its balance as suddenly a scouring wind escaped the vortex, hot as a desert sandstorm that crackled with lightning. Out of the tempest Sauron emerged, seeming larger than before, his stride grander, a feeling of inescapable gravity surrounding him as he walked. 

Exhaling a plume of white steam towards the moon, Sauron shut his eyes as the thrill of having expanded doubly in reach and power caught up with him in a rush of new sensation, an elated laugh bubbling out of him. 

“Incredible,” he gasped, turning his ring-bearing hand over before his eyes, as though he could not comprehend the sight of it. Still marveling at himself he reached down and as if an afterthought, plucked Mairon off the sand, draping him over one arm as though he were no more than a length of damp cloth.

@admirable-mairon @masteroftheseas @ji-indur

Wasn’t Taut-un-Fuin part of the Great Greenwwood before Beleriand sank? I remember reading somewhere that it was – and I thought, damn, that Maia goes back to lick his wounds in The Same Spot every time!

I don’t think that’s geographically possible? We don’t have any really solid maps of how Beleriand connected with Middle Earth, but there would have been a good three mountain ranges and thousands of miles of northern wastes to go through if they’d been connected. 
But there are certainly similarities as far as dark, spooky, spidery, Sauron-tainted woods go!

…On an unrelated note, “Taut-UNF-uin” is definitely going to be the name of my new First Age porno. 

–III 1 Sauron defeated in Mordor
–III 1000 Sauron takes form again 
–III 1050 Sauron establishes himself in Dol Goldur
–III 1980 Nazgul rule in Mordor. Sauron, still in Dol Goldur
–III 2063 Sauron sneaks out of Dol Goldur and goes back to Mordor
–III 2460 Sauron sneaks out of Mordor and goes back to Dol Goldur
–III 2941 Sauron forcibly removed from Dol Goldur and goes back to Mordor

–Where did he come from where did he go here did he come from, fire-eye joe

“My Lord, why establish yourself in Greenwood? Surely there are better places than Amon Lanc to regain your strength and former glory. The woods are hostile, as are it’s habitats in our weakened state.” [ from putrid-tongue ]

It is my weakened state that drew me here, herald. 

You are not one of the Nine. Perhaps you cannot sense it. 

For a thousand years I was no more than a handful of dust, yet in the first moment I regained a sense with which to perceive the world, I recall being drawn against the flow of the Anduin, north. 

Buried, lost in the water where my sight is clouded… I know it is here, somewhere. I can feel its resonance, a ripple whose center I cannot yet pinpoint.

Barad-dûr lies in ruins, the Men of Gondor watch it closely. They expect me there; my old strongholds in the East are useless to me. Here, I am stronger. Even as a shade, I can almost touch, almost see again… And this naked hill is undefended, hidden from prying eyes. 

I will regain my power, but I need time. I must be patient. We must be careful, quiet. When I have the strength again to move, we will upturn every stone in this valley until I have reclaimed what is mine. 

We will build a fortress to guard against the Greenwood and its scouts, should they venture so far from the safety of their halls. The hostilities you speak of may yet prove to be our allies in this matter– there are ancient things in the dark of the forest that would flourish, and aid us, if given a proper foothold. (Footholds, rather! Ah, they have so many feet…) 

Now let me rest. Speaking makes me weary. 

hippity-hoppity-brigade:

scribefindegil:

And speaking of pronouns, flat-out my favorite part of the LOTR Appendices is when it’s revealed that the Gondorian dialect of the Common Speech differentiates between formal and informal second-person pronouns but the distinction’s been lost in the Hobbit’s dialect, so Pippin’s blithely been using familiar terms of address with the Lord of the City, and thus helps to explain both why the Gondorians are so ready to assume he’s a prince and why Denethor finds him so amusing to have around.

not what i expected from a post that began with “speaking of pronouns,” but an a++ show of the versatility and surprise daily available on tumblr dot com

caffeinewitchcraft:

strikingvapor:

writing-prompt-s:

You wander through the ruins of a once mighty city. There you see a man grinning at you, wearing a rusted crown.

You ask him why the fuck would he wear an iron crown. And how the hell he got it wet enough for it to tarnish. At least gilde it so the outside looks gold and it doesn’t tarnish. What the fuck.

He gets really defensive about it, like weirdly defensive. Oh, oh, he says, oh, I’m sorry I don’t, like, carry gilding materials around. Sorry I’m not prepared like you. Where’s your crown, huh? You don’t have one? I didn’t think so. Watch yourself.

art-of-swords:

Broadsword in the Scottish Claymore Style

  • Dated: early 20th century
  • Measurements: overall length 112.8cm

The work of Lorenz Kilian, head armorer of the Ernst Schmidt Atelier, the sword is made of steel with downturned quillons with trefoil tips, each inlaid with a copper disk. The circular pommel surmounts a two-stage grip with steel wire wrap and leather over writhen wood. The blade of straight, double-edged type with short central fuller.

Source: Copyright © 2016 Auctions Imperial

Design a site like this with WordPress.com
Get started