When you were a child You were a tomboy And your mother laughed at the serious way That you looked at her And from your window at night There were the stars’ little fires And the armory lights
You were tracing the lines Of a globe with your fingers: Cool rivers, white wastes Desert shores, and the forest green And a limitless life In the breath of each tide And each bright mountain, rising
But now the boys are away And such kicks they are having; Slashing away at the forest walls With their bitter knives Sparks bloom in their eyes And they never look tired Will they never look tired?
On cliffs that tower from the rising seas Their bonfire glow Where a tiger lies And, cleaning their weapons They laugh at his useless Claws, and all: It is a beautiful night To be born to this life And grind his every bone to powder!
Do you remember Do you remember
She carried you down to the edge Of the dark river and said: Though the water is wide You will never grow tired You are bound to your life Like a mother and child You will cling to your life Like a suckering vine And like the rest of our kind You will increase And increase Past all of our dreaming
A horse without rider Lungs without breathing Day without light Song without singing A song
You’re so funny! Who knew you were so funny!!! I can’t believe we weren’t friends. Do you want some tea?
“…do you have any biscuits?”
……. With sobriety comes the distressing realization that I have asked the heir of my enemies out to tea.
But I do hate to seem inhospitable.
Tea and biscuits it is, then.
Aragorn, Elrond’s great-great-great-great-great-to-the-enth-degree nephew and son-in-law, whose family tree includes a star, a seagull, and several branches that cross over in troubling ways, Elessar.
I am fully convinced that every Shearwater song is a Tolkien song.
I am not angry. Ossë’s pet has caused beings greater than you or I to make asses of themselves throughout history. We are merely its latest victims.
Your letter finds me as well as can be expected. I suspected something like this had happened, given my state of profound, irrecoverable euphoria. It feels a bit like waking from an opiate dream; it was pleasant to feel completely untouched by responsibility for a spell, but now I am faced with the consequences.
I am lucky in that no great harm seems to been done, save to my dignity, and my observatory. I shall recover. …I should say that I hope no great harm was done– I can only guess based on my current assessment of the tower. I pray this was a localized event; in my experience, these wishes can have far reaching effects that cannot always be accounted for.
Did you wish for ought else but my blissful incapacitation? Are there any other disturbances to report, any changes I should be aware of? I must trust your acumen in this matter, for my memory of the last 18 hours is somewhat… confused.
Yours, bewilderedly,
~Thû, Lord of Mordor
Addendum: All my furniture has become very small. Either the effects of your wish have not entirely worn off, or my brethren have been playing tricks on me in this vulnerable state.”
Túrin had to admit, despite the noise, that he was quite enjoying himself. He wasn’t usually one to trust magic of any sort, least of all any of the kind that came out of the unknown provinces of the sea.
But here he was, striding across Middle Earth with a veritable army of noisy, angry, be-toothed, birds flocking about him. He was staying away from civilisation even more than usual, in the hopes the sheep incident would not repeat itself. But, though the farmer would think otherwise, the incident was promising.
He was heading straight for Angband, after all.
She’d seen all sorts of crazy, undefinable shit. The world outside of a protected forest was wild and not at all like the stories. But sometimes, there was still a new thing to find. Even after you thought you’d found it all.
Like a Man walking proudly across the field, marching with an army of… were those geese? Yes, excellent. Geese. An army of geese.
Lindethiel stood dumbstruck, watching the approach with a furrowed brow. She could ask, but sometimes it was just better not to know.
Túrin, ducking one of his more enthusiastic lieutenants’ attempts at scouting, spotted the woman watching him from a distance. He winced pre-emptively. The sheep had proved that there was no way to save anything in the birds’ path, or even to warn them. But she could hardly have missed them.
Whether they would miss her, he was in much greater doubt about.
He waved a hand over his head, by way of a greeting-cum-warning. ‘Hello stranger. Good day to you. Watch out for the murderous poultry.’
“What in Eru’s name is that honking….?”
“OH HELL NO.
IF YOU THINK I’M COMING OUT OF MY TOWER EVEN FOR A SECOND, THINK AGAIN, BUDDY. I know the work of that sinister cygnet when I see it!”
MisbehavingMaiar: Tumblr Archive 