There's a Mirror On the Wall

I will attempt to crosspost on the same day after this.

Saturday, 17 October: Tolkien: General Headcanon

Night, Storm, and Daybreak

If they could speak, the swords would tell a story longer than the living memory of all but elves, a tale of princes and soldiers, of kings and smiths, of shadows and separation and death.

They would sing of battles fought from the icy wastes of Forodwaith to the deep forests of Harad, from the red-stone mountains of the east to lands sunk beneath the bent western seas. Hands of dwarrows and of Men, of eldar and of avari, of those who fought for the honor of their people and their lords and their gods, or fought simply for the cold gleam of silver and gold.

They would whisper of friends who reached across the boundaries of race and culture and belief, who passed them on with the last breath to those who needed them more.

One was given name drinking the black blood of orcs in the lamp-lit halls of Gundabad before the sun was even a thought, defending the life of a beloved friend and king. Another as the sun touched a river of mist and deep forest for the first time, sending enemies reeling and shrieking back into the shadows of the mountains. And the third in a screaming battle beneath roaring skies that could not be won, only survived.

Those who came before forgot the tales, or never heard them, or did not care, and so a history was lost to mortal memory. Names etched in leather are lost to age and rot and death. A line broken in the ending of an age is not reforged in the next, one vanished in the destruction of a city is not taken up from the ruins. Only the runes in the steel still call forth the names of the blades.

Unending Night and Blood Under Storm become Night and Storm, kept together as they had been since their Making, passed from hand to hand through the Ages. Hilts set into the palms of princes once more as an Age begins to crumble under its own weight.

Awaiting Daybreak is lost to a careless evil, and lay hidden for an Age and more where none would dare to seek it. Waiting for a hand it would wish upon its hilt, to stand through the bleakest night until the dawn brought back hope to its bearer.

Perhaps now they might sing and whisper tales once more, into the ears of those who can hear the voice of the steel, and those who have seen death without fear for what it brings.

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Sunday, 18 October: Hobbit: Flame of Durin

Note: This goes with chapter one of Burning Bright, being Gandalf’s POV of the second scene.

Gandalf isn’t certain what to make of the avari who is occupying Thorin’s tent, though he keeps a close eye on Ráva as Bilbo and Thorin make mutual apologies. There are the beginnings of something between the dwarven king and the avari, but what that something is, Gandalf isn’t certain. Not anything that will bring deliberate harm on either - and indeed, might prove useful for Thorin. He had feared for Thorin’s life when he heard he had fallen in the battle, especially after the display of Power he’d wrought, but now, he suspects he worried over much.

He hums quietly, keeping himself as invisible as he can manage while Ráva manages the situation - perhaps unaware of some of his manipulations, but certainly aware of others. Gandalf waits until Bilbo is settled before quietly slipping out of the tent to go find his own place to rest. He won’t be needed to keep Thorin among the living, and there are other matters to consider. Among them how to use the unexpected presence of Ráva and his companions to Gandalf’s advantage. There’s still much to do in order to be certain everything is set as right as it might be here. Or at least on the right path.

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Monday, 19 October: Hobbit: Northern Night

Warnings: Torture, in the form of the continuing effects of a binding tattoo.

( Mind the warnings )