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The parking attendant paused by the double-length bay. Intended for mobile homes and cars with trailers, it was currently occupied by a sleeping dragon.
No parts of it extended beyond the lines, and the paper ticket was clearly displayed, impaled on a horn.
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no but i'm still thinking about how much boromir would fucking LOVE the shire
it is beautiful rolling hills just stuffed to the GILLS with hobbits
including BABY HOBBITS
HOBBITS BUT SOMEHOW IMPOSSIBLY EVEN SMALLER
and yeah the adults might be fairly wary, but we see in the first movie that the kids come running immediately to see gandalf in hopes of seeing something magic
and now??? here is LARGE PERSON??? who can play swords and toSS THEM REAL HIGH UP IN THE AIR AND CATCH THEM???
boromir deserved to retire as the grandpa of endless waves of hobbits, and i will cry forever that he never got to live his destiny
the idea of a hobbit mama scolding her faunts not to get too rough with "nice mr. boromir" as this man is exactly where he wants to be being dogpiled by giggly bb hobbits who absolutely "defeated" him in "combat"
warrior hands that have seen so much violence SO gently holding a TEENY TINY baby hobbit he was handed to let a papa hobbit track down his wayward toddler
(boromir fighting back tears because THEY COME THIS SMALL??? HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE???? THE BABY FITS IN ONE OF HIS HANDS???) (baby yawns and snuggles their lil cheek against his thumb and this man is nearly brought to his knees)
Official Manager Of Lifting Big Things
boromir accidentally joining a hobbit stitch and bitch club because someone's gammer asked him to carry her yarn for her to the meeting and he didn't know how to leave after he was greeted and handed food and tea
the club is actually fun, and the hobbit grannies respond to his tales of politics and battle with the same sympathetic clucking that they do to rivals stealing recipes, including his hand being patted sympathetically
boromir gets his own special big cup that moves from house to house for meetings so he can get an acceptable amount of tea for gossip time
the concept of bb hobbits making him a flower crown for the spring festival so he can match everyone but having to adjust it twice because it's the first one they've made so big before
the idea of bb hobbits who heard stories (mostly from pippin and merry) who now yell out "GONDOR >:D" when charging into a playfight (they don't know what a gondor is) (they're not interested in learning)
(five of them are holding up boromir's shield and can't see past it) (they will charge headfirst into a tree) (they will learn nothing from this experience)
boromir having to learn how to do the cat owner shuffle because there are always faunts underfoot (usually trying to catch a lift on his feet because he can step SO high :D)
gandalf being lowkey salty because HE still gets side glances??? but boromir??? is basically seen as everyone's relative who just happens to be very large??? yes he is Big Folk, but above and beyond that, he is hobbit ✊😔
in gondor: constantly at war, awareness of supply use, the polite thing to do is to ask for more if you want it but to always have finished what's on your plate when you're done.
in the shire: with hobbit appetites, a fully empty plate means a guest needs more. no one wastes a bunch (leavings will be fed to the pigs), but good manners to show you've had enough involves leaving just a bit to show you were well-satisfied and completely full. an empty plate means you need more to fill up the corners.
so boromir is trying to be done, but the hobbits just keep putting more on his plate, and it turns into a feedback loop of politeness that ends with boromir eating more than he ever has and still being stuck at this tea party two hours past when he first tried to leave.
the comedy of this poor man trying SO hard to eat fast enough that he can put his plate down and escape versus hobbit granny watching him like a hawk with serving tongs in one hand and a tray of mini quiche in another.
Obligatory self-reblog of my Boromir in the Shire fic (it's a few years old now but it's a favorite of mine)
But my favorite Boromir in the Shire concept is all the gossipy old hobbit ladies suddenly fighting to invite Boromir over to do yard work for them, because they’ve realized he’s tall enough to spy on the neighbors over the garden fence. Someday I'll write this fic
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Éowyn is earnest, sincere, and wants to be romantically desired
We see these traits very clearly whenever Éowyn interacts with Aragorn. When she first meets him, her eyes linger on him, she becomes "aware" of him. Everything Tolkien writes in their subsequent interactions connotes her desire for him. She's clearly attracted to him.
Yes, a lot of people read her interest in Aragorn as her wanting to *be* him. Aspects of that are true, but that's not the whole picture. She desires his power and freedom, but she also desires him; she desires what he can offer her; she wants to be chosen, seen, lifted out of her life, and empowered by having her romantic feelings returned. She does want to be transformed, but the transformation she envisions is one that emerges from Aragorn respecting, choosing, and desiring her. Tolkien is pretty clear (especially when Faramir calls her on these feelings later) that these desires stem from both romantic attraction AND platonic admiration, and the two are inextricable from one another.
Éowyn is also very earnest. We see this most clearly when she begs Aragorn not to ride into the haunted mountain. She opens her full heart to him, sincerely shares some of her deepest emotions, and hopes that in doing so she can either convince him to turn aside from his course or bring her along. These are not the actions of someone who is cynical about love and romance, these are the actions of someone who believes that baring her soul to the man she (thinks) she loves might yet win her the outcome she desires. That's the opposite of how a cynic acts.
I understand why a lot of people want to read cynicism about love and romance into Éowyn's character arc. She's been harmed by sexism and pressed into a mold of gender expectations. They want to see her as a girl boss, someone who fights, bucks norms, and isn't interested in ~silly things like ~male desire. And like, I get where that's coming from, but she the truth is that she is. Maybe you don't want her to be or think she shouldn't be, but as the books are written, it's a defining and driving force of her character arc, and moreover, it makes sense given her cultural context and life experiences. Indeed, her desire for a romantic life with Aragorn directly precedes her desire for a romantic (in the Rohirrim tradition at least) death in battle. Tolkien tells us this directly, via Faramir:
"You desired to have the love of Lord Aragorn... but when he gave you only understanding and pity, then you desired to have nothing, unless a brave death in battle." (1)
She looked to love first, as her last ditch effort to escape the life that was confining her, and then when that did not work, she turned to death. I think a truly feminist read of these beats doesn't deny that fact that Éowyn wanted to be desired romantically, but gives it its due weight and breathing room because its a sincere and important emotional experience of a female character in this story!
footnotes:
(1) LOTR single edition, pg. 988 (The Steward and the King). I think it's very clear from this passage that love and platonic admiration are completely co-mingled in Éowyn's mind. Faramir notes that she admires Aragorn "as a young soldier might admire a captain" (my paraphrasing), but the context of the whole passage is a discussion of romantic love. Taken together with that context, this line very deftly describes the sort of romantic desire that arises when someone encounters a powerful and intriguing figure that they don't know very well.
There was another dead end! Boromir simply could not believe it! He had come here with his Ada several times, and he was quite sure he knew the way to the place where Ada “slaved” all day, but suddenly, it seemed that he didn’t know the first thing about getting there. And there was no one about, and everything was cold and stony and he wanted his horse and his blanket. Most of all, though, he wanted his Ada, or his Naneth, but she never came to this part of the house. Then a horrible truth came over him: he had no more options left. So he sat down and screeched, “AAAADDDDDDAAAA!” as loudly as ever he could. Nothing happened at all. His father didn’t come running like he was supposed to. So Boromir tried again, and again, and again, until it occurred to him that perhaps his father didn’t care to come. This was terrible! In fact it was so terrible that it reduced Boromir to uncontrollable sobs. Then he heard running and looked up hopefully. But it wasn’t his Ada.
“I want my Ada,” Boromir declared after a few hicupp-filled-false-starts.
The strange man looked nonplussed. “Who is your Ada?” he said stupidly.
Boromir did try to be brave. He always tried, as well as he could manage it, but that was too much, and he began to sob again.
The man’s eyes widened in horror. Quickly, he said, “Is he one of the Citadel guards? The ones in the black and silver?”
Boromir thought for a bit. His father always dressed in black and silver, but he was sure that Ada wasn’t a guard. What was it that Ada’s Ada had called what he did in the big tower? It was a big word, and it had something to do with soup. Nana had said so.
“Soup?” He tried experimentally.
“He’s a cook then, in the kitchens?”
“No.” Boromir knew that, he wasn’t one year old!
“Other kind of soup?” He tried again.
The dark-haired man sat back on his haunches and thought. “Stew?”
Boromir nodded fast. “Nana said what Ada’s going to do one day had something to do with stew.”
“What’s his name?” The man asked.
“Dunno,” Boromir said stoutly, after all, what kind of two year old knew that about his Ada?
“What’s your name?” The man said next.
“Boromir!” Boromir shouted, excited to know an answer at last.
“Ohhhhh,” said the man. “You mean Steward, little lordling, not stew. I will take you to your Ada. May I pick you up?”
Boromir considered all this new information. “Are you sure it’s steward?”
“Pretty sure,” the man said. “Does your Ada’s Ada sit in a big room on some steps?”
Boromir nodded.
“Excellent,” the man said. “May I pick you up and take you to your Ada?”
This time, Boromir reached up his hands to be picked up. Then it seemed they went all sorts of places and talked to all sorts of people, and then the man asked whether he’d like to go to his Naneth instead. This he resisted strongly. He had come to see his Ada, and his Ada he would see.
“Very well,” the man said with a sigh.
Then they went on walking for another very long time and then the man talked to another man for a while in whispers, and then two doors were thrown open and somebody shouted much too loudly, “The Lord Boromir to see the Lord Denethor!”
The man who was carrying him bowed a little over Boromir and said, “Forgive me, my Lord Ecthelion, I found the Lord Boromir in one of the armory corridors and he insisted on seeing his Adar.”
“IT’S ADA!” screamed Boromir at the top of his lungs.
Quickly, someone stood up from the group of the men around the table and hurried over. It was his Ada!
“Down, please,” he said to the man and he was promptly set on his feet. He did not notice his Ada’s Ada saying to the man who had rescued him, “Never mind, Captain Thorongil, we must make excuses for the needs of our little Boromir. Join us. My son, do you return Boromir—”
“Can I stay, please?” Boromir rushed in as his father picked him up.
“You are over-young, beloved one,” said his Ada’s Ada.
“And you are in need of a nap,” his Ada said.
“I’m alright,” Boromir insisted.
His Ada’s Ada sighed and waved his hand in assent, and his Ada squeezed him tight and murmured, “Be good, my little jewel,” in his ear.
He didn’t make it through the whole council, though, because he fell asleep, but he surfaced for the end of the meeting. All the men talked at each other, back and forth and back and forth. His Ada and his friend that rescued him seemed to talk most though, and afterwards others stopped talking. Then everyone got up and started towards the door. He pulled his Ada’s sleeve and whispered loudly, “Who’s the man I came in with?”
“That would be Captain Thorongil,” his Ada said.
“Can I thank him?”
He felt his Ada sigh, but he called Captain Thorongil over to him and then nudged Boromir.
Boromir, sitting in his Ada’s lap, said seriously to the Captain, “Do you think you could shrink a bit? I can’t talk to you up there.”
Obligingly, Thorongil knelt down beside him.
“How may I serve you, little lord?” he asked gently.
“I wanted to thank you for finding me my Ada, Captain Thorongil! Please and thank you!” Boromir announced grandly.
Thorongil smiled. “Anytime, my lord Boromir. Though you should not wander about in that place, for there are sharp things there that might hurt your lordship.”
“He is quite right, Boromir,” his father said chidingly. “You could have been hurt badly. You mustn’t go there without me, do you hear?”
“Yes, Ada,” Boromir said quickly. “I won’t go there or get lost again, Captain Thorongil!”
“I am glad to hear it,” said Thorongil.
Boromir smiled happily and looked at his Ada. “Is it dinner time now?”
“I should think so, child. Shall we go to your mother and eat with her?” Ada said.
“Please and thank you!” Boromir shouted once again.
“You may get up and go, Captain Thorongil,” said Ada’s Ada. “It is not only Boromir that needs to eat after all.”
Boromir’s Captain regained his legs and bowed from the waist. “Yes, my lord, thank you. My lord Denethor,” he acknowledged, inclining his head and looking at Boromir’s Ada, before he turned and left.
“So that’s your name, Ada!” Boromir put in as the door closed.
His Ada looked surprised. “Why yes, child, didn’t you know?”
Boromir shook his head. “It was quite difficult not knowing. Next time could you tell me?”
“I will endeavor to remember that for next time, little jewel,” Denethor said, half-laughing.
She snapped them out with her fingers. “In two weeks it'll be the longest day in the year.” She looked at us all radiantly. “Do you always watch for the longest day of the year and then miss it? I always watch for the longest day in the year and then miss it.”
“We ought to plan something,” yawned Miss Baker, sitting down at the table as if she were getting into bed.
“All right,” said Daisy. “What’'ll we plan?” She turned to me helplessly: “What do people plan?”
She stood still; and he stopped perforce and turned towards her. She laid both hands upon the fronts of his gown, looking into his face while she searched for the word that should carry her over the last difficult breach.
It was he who found it for her. With a gesture of submission he bared his head and stood gravely, the square cap dangling in his hand.
'Placetne, magistra?'
'Placet.'
this has got to be one of my favorite passages in literature. Not only the culmination of several books of romantic tension and longing, but it has Latin in it too?!
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So beautiful and detailed, @imsupposedtobestudying-whoops! I love all the heraldry all over the armor. What do you use to get such fine lines, if you don’t mind me asking?
The wind blew cool off the sea in Finduilas’ face, bringing with it the scent of salt that was dearer to her than any other smell in the world. Boromir’s fat hand gripped hers in childish concentration, for he had never seen the sea and certainly had never walked on sand before. Her own bare feet allowed the damp grains to shift under her feet, but her precious jewel was apt to fall suddenly and with little dignity at the odd sensation.
“Want run!” shouted the two year-old angrily as he fell on his bottom for the sixth time.
Finduilas’ laugh ran merrily about the bay, bouncing off the low cliffs that separated sand from bracken. Boromir scowled.
“Oh, Mîr, I am sorry, but have you not heard from your Ada that you must walk before you can run?”
Boromir’s scowl blackened considerably, and Finduilas could almost have cursed her husband for bequeathing his stubbornness to her son. But instead she plopped down next to Boromir and whispered in his ear, “Darling, I cannot make you ready to run in the sand, but I am well versed in the art. Do you ask your Nana nicely if she will run with you.”
Slowly, the clouds lifted from Boromir’s face, and he inserted his thumb into his mouth in order to think better. At last, he lifted up his arms to Finduilas and asked sweetly, “Would you run me, please and thank you, Nana?”
“I would be very pleased to run with such a polite young man,” Finduilas said as she lifted him up under his arms. Over the golden sands they sped, a blue and silver dot flying like a swan over the ground.
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