anonymous asked:

Yaaaas, and these sweet stories about happy gay couple finding a month-old baby in a burnt down village and they take him home to their enchanted castle and the baby sleeps and happily smiles in their arms for three weeks on the way home. Cute af, but the baby needs to eat every 3 hours and lembas won't do. These details always ruin the stories for me.

YUP.  Unless they found that baby very, very quickly after that village got burnt down AND they also happened to find a lactating goat in the village to take with them, that baby ain’t gonna last long.  Also, babies learn very quick who their people are both by sight and smell, and while they’d adjust fairly quickly to new caretakers, there’d be at least a couple days of YOU’RE NOT MY MOM screeching.  Hell, both of mine didn’t even really want their dad to hold them because YOU’RE NOT THE ONE WITH THE BOOBS, GIVE ME BACK TO THE BOOB-LADY.


Oh, look! So shiny!

It is not every month that I get something published in an international Tolkien journal. This is my first, actually. (Received it in the mail today from  http://www.unquendor.nl/)  Those of you who know me, are aware that my home-base is The Silmarillion Writers Guild (Character of the Month Biographies and all of my Silmarillion fanfiction–under the name of Oshun).

This article, Women Find a Room of Their Own in Tolkien Fanfiction, was really fun to write. I especially enjoyed revisiting Virginia Woolf’s A Room of One’s Own and drawing conclusions about what has changed and what has remained the same since she produced that seminal work over 90 years ago. One of my primary observations relating to women writers of fanfiction is that

Women come to Tolkien fanfiction with a desire to bring a relevance that they may find lacking in the original works, but also to find a sense of community, intellectual stimulation, a space where they can stretch and grow as writers and not as a dismissed or disadvantaged element fighting for a level ground upon which to work.

[That’s a long sentence–where is my blue pencil–well, too late now!] I am not sure how to order copies of this publication, but will try to find out (I know they are sent to all members of Unquendor, the Dutch Tolkien Society). I also want take the opportunity here to thank Dawn “Felagund” Walls-Thumma, Elleth, and Pandemonium, who supported me and read draft copy. I particularly want to thank Nath Kuijpers and Renée Vink of Unquendor for giving me this opportunity.

Thrilled to see how elegant it looks! It is such a pretty journal–a shiny thing indeed!

Now I am looking forward to the publication of the other non-SWG non-fiction project I completed last year, my presentation (Seafaring Heroes and Villains: The Role of the Sea in Tolkien’s Legendarium) at the 2015 New York Tolkien Conference (another first for me–presenting at a Tolkien conference). No projected date for the publication of those proceedings yet, although the deadline for submission of our edits of our transcripts has passed.

I Like My Lembas Soft In The Morning - Chapter 31

You awoke groggily to the sound of birds singing, a soft breeze on your neck and the feeling of being slightly too warm. The sun streamed in rays through the opening of the cave, and you closed your eyes to them, feeling the golden light warm your eyelids. You felt, oddly enough, relaxed.

A heavy weight rested on your waist, and you looked down in surprise to see a long arm encircling your body, warmth seeping through the thin fabric of its sleeve into your skin. You smiled to yourself.


You stayed silent for a while, enjoying the feeling of his warm torso pressed up against your back. You could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed in and out, and you wondered to yourself if he was asleep. You were in a position that allowed you to look out of the small cave entrance at the rising sun in the East, slowly bringing in another day. As you lay in silence, your mind wandered to the events of last night. Thorin had refused your advice, and was likely to stick by his choice and not give up any of his precious gold, even the portion which he owed to Lake-town. You couldn’t help but feel partly responsible. You had nearly convinced him, when Legolas had shoved his stupid face in and ruined the plan.

Legolas. Your face blushed red as you recalled what else had happened that night. You had been pissed off, and rightly so, but that anger had very quickly turned into something else entirely. Your mind wandered back to the way that he had kissed you, with so much anger and desperation that it had taken your breath away. He was an elf, an immortal being, but the way that he had moved his mouth with yours, pressing your back up against the hard rock of the cave wall, molding his body onto yours as if he was drowning and you were the last gulp of air. You took a shaky breath in, trying to calm the thoughts that were running through your head. It would do you no good to be distracted, today of all days.

A battle was coming.

Your stomach rumbled loudly, interrupting your internal monologue. It had been roughly twelve hours since your last meal, a small bite of lembas, and you were rightly starving.

A low warm breeze tickled the back of your head, and you heard a deep chuckle come from behind you, Legolas’ breath ruffling the small hairs at the nape of your neck.

“I guess you’re awake then,” he mumbled, removing his arm from around your waist and sitting up, rubbing his face with his hand, “I’ve been waiting for you to wake up for hours.”

If only he had known that you had been far too awake, your mind whirring with the sorts of things that could make even an elf blush.

He rooted around in his bag, a small smile on his face.

“Hungry?” He asked, looking up at you, already knowing the answer.

“I swear to the Valar, Legolas, if you give me another piece of Lembas bread I’m going to shove it where the sun doesn’t shine.”

He chuckled and found what he was looking for, and pulled it out. Sure enough, a large square piece of lembas bread wrapped tightly in green leaves.

You glared at him and he shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips.

“I promise you, when this ordeal is finished, mela, I will personally invite you to dine in Mirkwood with me.”

His tone was joking, but there was a sprinkling of truth in his words. And there was that word again, ‘mela’. Love. It sent a warm felling pooling in your chest, lifting your heart into an irrational rhythm.

“As long as you have a steak there the size of my face I’m down with it.” You quipped back, breaking a corner off the lembas and placing it in your mouth, crunching down on the sweet bread, pulling a face. You had eaten almost nothing but lembas for weeks, and were dying for something nicer.

Like a nice hot stew…

You shook your head, trying to take your mind off food, and instead walked towards the mouth of the cave, looking out at the rising sun with an expression of worry on your face.

“We should set off, Legolas.” You said, looking back at him. He was placing his bag over his shoulder, adjusting the quiver of arrows on his back.

“You’re right…” he said, coming to stand behind you, placing his hand casually on your waist. The shiver that ran through your body had nothing to do with the cold.

“We have a long day ahead of us.”

The walk back to Dale was longer than you had anticipated. The adrenaline from last night had worn off, and your feet were aching as you followed Legolas across twisting paths. You took the long road, staying out of sight of the elvish guards posted strategically around the city. By the time that you finally returned, Legolas sneaking you into the city through a side-passage, you were almost dead on your feet. He tensed up as he entered through a small alleyway, and you placed your hand on his shoulder, a concerned look in your eyes. He shook off your grasp, however, preferring to step forwards silently, peeking his head out from the narrow alleyway you had hidden in. When he was happy that the coast was clear, he walked forwards out into the square, beckoning you, and you followed suit. The town was deserted, everyone preparing for the battle, getting weapons from the depleted armouries and, if they were unable to fight, hiding themselves away in places they hoped nobody would find them.

You supressed the shudder that ran through your body at the thought. An army of elves was a fearsome opponent at the best of times, but the dwarves were heavily outnumbered, and locking themselves up in Erebor would do them no good.

“They’re all going to die…” You muttered, almost to yourself, but the firm pressure of Legolas’ hand on your shoulder ebbed the stress away slightly.

“Not if I can help it.” He said, and you looked up into his eyes, surprised to see the steely resolve there. You had always assumed that Legolas, like his father, harboured deep distrust for the dwarves, especially after they had refused to give Thranduil his precious gems, but you were beginning to realise that you hardly knew anything about him at all.

“Can you hear that?” He asked, cocking his head to one side, listening. You rolled your eyes and followed suit, your weak human ears only picking up the rustling of wind in the trees, and the steady thump of your own heart.

“I can’t hear anything.” You admitted, after giving up. He sighed a small sigh rolling his eyes, and moved towards you, placing his hand on your cheek, tilting your head slightly to the side. He moved his face so it was next to yours, his light breath tickling on your cold skin.

“Listen.” He whispered.

Yeah, like feeling the steady thrum of his pule on your neck wasn’t distracting at all. You half wanted to say something back, an irritated quip, but you stayed yourself, instead, breathing in and out slowly, listening to the sounds of Dale. The wind was dying down, and through the sounds of the trees and the creaks and groans of wooden doors, your ears sought out a different noise. The unmistakeable clang of metal on metal. You raised your eyebrows in surprise.

“Swords?” You asked, looking upwards at him, and he gave you a small smile, removing his hands from your face, the skin prickling into goosebumps at the loss of heat.

“Swords.” He agreed, placing his hand on your waist again. This time, you almost leaned into the touch, comforted by his presence. It didn’t stop the bile rising in your throat at the thought of the thirteen dwarves, and Bilbo, dear small Bilbo, trying to fight off a hoard of elvish attackers.

Legolas sensed your anxiety, and his hands moved from your waist to smooth the hairs back off your neck, rubbing your shoulders, his fingers working wonders on the knots that had formed there in the past few weeks.

“(Your name),” he said, and even though you couldn’t see his face, you could hear the gravelly seriousness in his voice, “I promise that I will do everything in my power to protect your friends, to protect you.”

You smiled at that, knowing in your heart that he was right. Yes, it would be difficult, but somehow, with this stupid beautiful elf by your side, you could achieve anything.

Even fight off an army.

story time: so when i was in 5th grade, i had read the lotr trilogy, and then I either rewatched the movies or watched them for the first time, but anway, in two towers, i got really upset because frodo believed gollum over sam about the lembas and they got into a fight over it, and split up for a bit. i just started going, “frodo never betrayed sam!” and ruining the movie for everyone

anonymous asked:

So wait, if Lembas can only be made and given away by a Queen... Does that mean Mirkwood has no Lembas? D:

Probably. If they don’t have a drag queen :D

ashenlioness asked:


Send me a “🍞 “ for your muse to throw a loaf of bread at my muse.


      A dry thud and the sensation of something hitting in the back caused the elf to scowl.

      Thump, thump. Flop. Thump. Swish. Thump.

      With a jaded sigh, the elf gave in, pivoting his head to shoot his lover a mildly concerned and vaguely annoyed gander from over his shoulder. Loaves of Lembas scattered across the floor every which way – and she kept tossing the food over as though attempting to hit a mark.

      Either she was very angry, or Ciri truly didn’t appreciate elven cuisine.

gaaladrieel asked:

I read you're not good at baking, but no worries elfling, if we were dating, and having a hobbit/lotr marathon (whatever you'd like to see < 3) I'd bake some lembas for us! ;D I'd make anything you'd like! You could make lots of tea :3 haha

<3 Ohhh myy this sounds so very nice tbh c’: And yes, I’d make proper amounts of tea for us (after all, i do have a whole shelf dedicated to different teas ;D)! The marathon would be the icing on the cake ♡