'O Fair Folk! This is good fortune beyond my hope,' said Pippin. Sam was speechless. 'I thank you indeed, Gildor Inglorien,' said Frodo bowing. 'Elen síla lúmenn' omentielvo
, a star shines on the hour of our meeting,' he added in the high-elven speech.
'Be careful, friends!' cried Gildor laughing. 'Speak no secrets! Here is a scholar in the High Ancient Tongue. Bilbo was a good master. Hail, Elf-friend!' he said, bowing to Frodo. 'Come now with your friends and join our company! You had best walk in the middle so that you may not stray. You may be weary before we halt.'
'Why? Where are you going?' asked Frodo.
'For tonight we go to the woods on the hills above Woodhall. It is some miles, but you shall have rest at the end of it, and it will shorten your journey tomorrow.'
- ( PineHearst? More like PWNhearst.Collapse )
- PineHearst? More like PWNhearst. This season's taking a turn for the better.
- I think the writers are drawing straws for which characters get thrown down the toilet next. Adam drew short. Shall we have a moment of silence? .... Okay. That's good.
- Claire is such a drama queen. Remind me why she's angry with H.R.G. again?
- Hey... does anyone know what happened to Caitlin?
- Quite impressed with Tracy and her quick work of Mohinder. She's shaping up to be an asset to our side. Even if she is another gratuitous chance at getting Adrian and Ali to make out on screen again. Speaking of which, Mohinder isn't doin' so bad either. He makes a pretty snappy villain, even if I'm not really sure why he's cobwebbing people again. Is he... Tarantular?
- Character consistency, people. Could Sylar not be one of those pity-me-I've-been-victimized-by-my-abilities characters? Because honestly, he was so much more interesting before he got "good". That's why everyone loves H.R.G.- he's ambiguous. People love the complicated ones. They're trying to simplify Sylie-boy, and it plum ain't working out. Also, lol!chest hair.
- Since Adam's dead and Sylar's lame, can Doyle be my new favorite character? Brr. He's cool, in a Syndrome (you know, from The Incredibles) kind of way.
- I would have shot Meredith. Come on. She's kind of a pretty face (who mysteriously lost her accent from first season?), and Sandra is the new Mrs. Weasley.
- "My son Lyle... he's... six..." Poor Lyle. He don't get no respect.
- It's a little ridiculous how glad I am that Hiro didn't actually kill Ando.
- First it was Kaito/Mr. Muggles/world. Now it's Parkman/Daphne/Turtle. You read it here first, folks.
- Thank you, Peter, for gracing the screen with your loud angry voice and rippling pectorals. Unfortunately, you were now administered the Hug of Doom. FAILBOAT.
My apologies for the few lines between parts three and four that seem to have disappeared into thin air. I was dropped as a child and can no longer work telephones. Or... something. Sorry, Mr. Tolkien, sir.
'...than most of the Wise would believe. I don't think you need worry about Bilbo.
'Of course, he possessed the ring for many years, and used it, so it might take a long while for the influence to wear off - before it was safe for him to see it again, for instance. Otherwise, he might live on for years, quite happily: just stop as he was when he parted with it. For he gave it up in the end of his own accord: an important point. No, I was not troubled about dear Bilbo any more, once he had let the thing go. It is for you
that I feel responsible.
'Ever since Bilbo left I have been deeply concerned about you, and about all these charming, absurd, helpless hobbits. It would be a grievous blow to the world, if the Dark Power overcame the Shire; if all your kind, jolly, stupid Bolgers, Hornblowers, Boffins, Bracegirdles, and the rest, not to mention the ridiculously Bagginses, became enslaved.'
Frodo shuddered. 'But why should we be?' he asked. 'And why should he want such slaves?'
'But I said to myself: "After all he comes of a long-lived family on his mother's side. There is time yet. Wait!"
'And I waited. Until that night when he left this house. He said and did things then that filled me with a fear that no words of Saruman could allay. I knew at last that something dark and deadly was at work. And I have spent most of the years since then in finding out the truth of it.'
'There wasn't any permanent harm done, was there?' asked Frodo anxiously. 'He would get all right in time, wouldn't he? Be able to rest in peace, I mean?'
'He felt better at once,' said Gandalf. 'But there is only one Power in this world that knows all about the Rings and their effects; and as far as I know there is no Power in the world that knows all about hobbits. Among the Wise I am the only one that goes in for hobbit-lore: an obscure branch of knowledge, but full of surprises. Soft as butter they can be, and yet sometimes as tough as old tree-roots. I think it likely that some would resist the Rings far longer...'
'...and I had no right to do so anyway. I could only watch and wait. I might perhaps have consulted Saruman the White, but something always held me back.'
'Who is he?' asked Frodo. 'I have never heard of him before.'
'Maybe not,' answered Gandalf. 'Hobbits are, or were, no concern of his. Yet he is great among the Wise. He is the chief of my order and the head of the Council. His knowledge is deep, but his pride has grown with it, and he takes ill any meddling. The lore of the Elven-rings, great and small, is his province. He has long studied it, seeking the lost secrets of their making; but when the Rings were debated in the Council, all that he would reveal to us of his ring-lore told against my fears. So my doubt slept - but uneasily. Still I watched and I waited.
'And all seemed well with Bilbo. And the years passed. Yes, they passed, and they seemed not to touch him. He showed no signs of age. The shadow fell on me again.'
'When did I first begin to guess?' he mused, searching back in memory. 'Let me see - it was in the year that the White Council drove the dark power from Mirkwood, just before the Battle of Five Armies, that Bilbo found his ring. A shadow fell on my heart then, though I did not know yet what I feared. I wondered often how Gollum came by a Great Ring, as plainly it was - that at least was clear from the first. Then I heard Bilbo's strange story of how he had "won" it, and I could not believe it. When I at last got the truth out of him, I saw at once that he had been trying to put his claim to the ring beyond doubt. Much like Gollum with his "birthday present". The lies were too much alike for my comfort. Clearly the ring had an unwholesome power that set to work on its keeper at once. That was the first real warning I had that all was not well. I told Bilbo often that such rings were better left unused; but he resented it, and soon got angry. There was little else that I could do. I could not take it from him without doing greater harm...'
September 11th of 2001 held probably the weirdest thing that has happened to my home country since I've lived in it. Most of the people I know only have fuzzy memories of it, but I remember the day quite clearly. ( Read more...Collapse )
- Music:marble halls- enya
Okay, I'm off to the Wilderlands. Defend the castle while I'm gone.
- Music:saruman from the lotr musical
I just read this quote from Willow Wode
's essay Deny The Lie
(on plagiarism and especially its relationship to fanfiction): "Inspiration happens when something has touched you, something huge enough to make you change your patterns of contemplation, or deep enough to delve things from you that perhaps you hadn't realised were there. Inspiration is faery dust—and I'm not talking about the wimpy, sparkly type so pervasive in all the hopelessly-sterilised Disney versions, where deus ex machina is offered for no more effort than a whine and a wish. No, I mean the real faery dust, the primal, undeniable compulsion formed from stars and earth and the blood beating in your veins, the brilliant darkness that works its way into your brain and your soul, rocking your world, shifting your paradigms in every sense of their being."
. I think I just had a revelation: I am wasting myself
. I am wasting my life and my talents on things that in the Grand Scheme of Things utterly cease to matter. I could be writing things that are important, things that will reach people, touch them, make them feel- and I'm writing horrible, haphazard, useless
pieces of fanfiction. There is so much more I could be doing. And I'm going
to. I have yet to live, and I'm standing just on the edge of doing so.
I'm toeing the verge. It's terrifying and thrilling at the same time. Fuck, I'm going to be
someone. Be someone who matters. I'm dreadfully excited.