Stuff. Rather a bit of it.
Jan. 15th, 2003 12:15 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
letterbladeOotP has a release date! And squeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
My teeth hurt and my gums are bleeding. Dentists can be annoying that way. Slight coffee stain on one tooth, but she says it went away.
Er,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
carmarthen, I promised you Grima?
I actually wrote this rather a bit ago, on the train; I kept on not typing it in and posting it because I was very, very uncertain about some of the characterization, both in terms of things that shouldn't be there and in terms of things I missed. Still am. But maybe you LoTR types on the friends list can give me some idea whether it worked? *wibbles*
Most people do not understand me.
Though I serve a wizard, I do not put stock in the impossible. In power, yes; in the great ancient secrets such as the Palantir, yes; but not in the impossible. Saruman has worked wonders that boggle my mind, but I have yet to see him set the weight of his will against the weight of history, against the very weight of Middle Earth, and shift it for all the years to come.
Impossible things? Shall Saruman or Sauron ever fall? Shall the tides of Middle Earth ever change like the wind, and wash all souls away in their fury? Shall Helm's Deep itself fall like a peasant's hut caught in the flood? Impossible things.
I am a man of Rohan, yes--though I have schooled my speech never to betray me, my thoughts still may. It is impossible for any of us to believe the Deep can fall. No matter how long I wove my spells such that Theoden King lay white-faced and onion-eyed, no matter how much of my soul I have sold to the White Wizard, I still remember deep in my heart the harpers and the bards and the songs my mother sang as she tended her hearth. Helm's Deep is inviolate, sing the keepers of the lore--it is the very symbol of the ancient strength of Rohan. To speak as if it may fall--blasphemy and terror.
And yet that is the very thing my master is planning.
How could he possibly--?
And so I follow him to the balcony, in an agony of disbelief, and look out upon the plains of Isengard--
No.
No.
It canot be!
I can barely register what my master is saying. The orcs below are a veritable sea, a black horde beyond reckoning, standing regiment upon regiment in a vast array. An army such has never stood before. Impossible.
And then they answer him, ten thousand throats giving a single roar, ten thousand spears hitting the ground with a single crash. The very air trembles; I feel the sound like a blade through my heart. The chill within me is the ice on the iron mountains.
This is the tide that shall change the world. And all it takes is a single cry and I can see Middle Earth crumbling. Who could imagine an army such as this? Who could stand fast in the face of it? They are chanting now, a black beat of war ringing over the plains, and it fills me with raw, searing terror. Everything I know shall be swept away by this tide, the walls of Helm's Deep ripped apart stone by very stone, as if the sea itself had flooded the plains of Rohan.
Eowyn. My Eowyn...
The time for words is over. The time for beauty is long past. In that relentless beat, I hear the future of all Middle Earth.
I am but a small man. In the fact of that army, but a speck of dust. The White Wizard may stand brace before his creation, but I am a man of words, nothing more, and I have witnessed the impossibility and blasphemy of the very fate I serve. Everything shall fall. Everything shall fall. Eowyn shall lie slain on the salted plains, and I cannot help but weep.
[fin]
rabican, the mouse smut I dabbled in yesterday was inspired by this treasured paragraph I wrote a very long time ago, which you might enjoy...
...and then holding me trembling in both my hands, she licked me like she’d take all my adhesive off. Ran her little pink tongue along my flap like there was no tomorrow. And then she pressed me back down on the table and folded my flap over--oh, indescribable ecstacy--and pressed it down. Then she ran her fingers along the back of my flap, strong and merciless, and I felt my whole paper respond with a ripple of pure pleasure. I know now, I know this is what I live for! This is what I was made for!
Made some progress recently in figuring out what the hell is going on in The Charman's Riddle. Being attacked by fascinating ideabunnies, but I will not speak of them. Will probably attempt to write the fic all at once, despite its size, or at least have very detailed outlining of the later chapters, as continuity slips might otherwise occur. Too tired to do very much writing in much of anything, though. Must go work on second chapter of LoS as soon as I finish the paper that must not be named.
"Tell me if you want me to gag you. Although I would prefer to hear your screams."
--Lucius, to Tom, while holding a riding crop, in Walls of Paper, Chains of Ink.
My teeth hurt and my gums are bleeding. Dentists can be annoying that way. Slight coffee stain on one tooth, but she says it went away.
Er,
carmarthen, I promised you Grima?I actually wrote this rather a bit ago, on the train; I kept on not typing it in and posting it because I was very, very uncertain about some of the characterization, both in terms of things that shouldn't be there and in terms of things I missed. Still am. But maybe you LoTR types on the friends list can give me some idea whether it worked? *wibbles*
Most people do not understand me.
Though I serve a wizard, I do not put stock in the impossible. In power, yes; in the great ancient secrets such as the Palantir, yes; but not in the impossible. Saruman has worked wonders that boggle my mind, but I have yet to see him set the weight of his will against the weight of history, against the very weight of Middle Earth, and shift it for all the years to come.
Impossible things? Shall Saruman or Sauron ever fall? Shall the tides of Middle Earth ever change like the wind, and wash all souls away in their fury? Shall Helm's Deep itself fall like a peasant's hut caught in the flood? Impossible things.
I am a man of Rohan, yes--though I have schooled my speech never to betray me, my thoughts still may. It is impossible for any of us to believe the Deep can fall. No matter how long I wove my spells such that Theoden King lay white-faced and onion-eyed, no matter how much of my soul I have sold to the White Wizard, I still remember deep in my heart the harpers and the bards and the songs my mother sang as she tended her hearth. Helm's Deep is inviolate, sing the keepers of the lore--it is the very symbol of the ancient strength of Rohan. To speak as if it may fall--blasphemy and terror.
And yet that is the very thing my master is planning.
How could he possibly--?
And so I follow him to the balcony, in an agony of disbelief, and look out upon the plains of Isengard--
No.
No.
It canot be!
I can barely register what my master is saying. The orcs below are a veritable sea, a black horde beyond reckoning, standing regiment upon regiment in a vast array. An army such has never stood before. Impossible.
And then they answer him, ten thousand throats giving a single roar, ten thousand spears hitting the ground with a single crash. The very air trembles; I feel the sound like a blade through my heart. The chill within me is the ice on the iron mountains.
This is the tide that shall change the world. And all it takes is a single cry and I can see Middle Earth crumbling. Who could imagine an army such as this? Who could stand fast in the face of it? They are chanting now, a black beat of war ringing over the plains, and it fills me with raw, searing terror. Everything I know shall be swept away by this tide, the walls of Helm's Deep ripped apart stone by very stone, as if the sea itself had flooded the plains of Rohan.
Eowyn. My Eowyn...
The time for words is over. The time for beauty is long past. In that relentless beat, I hear the future of all Middle Earth.
I am but a small man. In the fact of that army, but a speck of dust. The White Wizard may stand brace before his creation, but I am a man of words, nothing more, and I have witnessed the impossibility and blasphemy of the very fate I serve. Everything shall fall. Everything shall fall. Eowyn shall lie slain on the salted plains, and I cannot help but weep.
[fin]
rabican, the mouse smut I dabbled in yesterday was inspired by this treasured paragraph I wrote a very long time ago, which you might enjoy......and then holding me trembling in both my hands, she licked me like she’d take all my adhesive off. Ran her little pink tongue along my flap like there was no tomorrow. And then she pressed me back down on the table and folded my flap over--oh, indescribable ecstacy--and pressed it down. Then she ran her fingers along the back of my flap, strong and merciless, and I felt my whole paper respond with a ripple of pure pleasure. I know now, I know this is what I live for! This is what I was made for!
Made some progress recently in figuring out what the hell is going on in The Charman's Riddle. Being attacked by fascinating ideabunnies, but I will not speak of them. Will probably attempt to write the fic all at once, despite its size, or at least have very detailed outlining of the later chapters, as continuity slips might otherwise occur. Too tired to do very much writing in much of anything, though. Must go work on second chapter of LoS as soon as I finish the paper that must not be named.
"Tell me if you want me to gag you. Although I would prefer to hear your screams."
--Lucius, to Tom, while holding a riding crop, in Walls of Paper, Chains of Ink.