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In western lands beneath the Sun
the flowers may rise in Spring,
the trees may bud, the waters run,
the merry finches sing.
Or there maybe 'tis cloudless night
and swaying beeches bear
the Elven-stars as jewels white
amid their branching hair.
Though here at journey's end I lie
in darkness buried deep,
beyond all towers strong and high,
beyond all mountains steep,
above all shadows rides the Sun
and Stars for ever dwell:
I will not say the Day is done,
nor bid the Stars farewell.
Posted via m.livejournal.com.
Posted via m.livejournal.com.
Posted via m.livejournal.com.
b2mem: I volunteered to help with tagging in 2012, became the tagging mod in 2013, and then co-head mod in 2015, and then head mod last year. I helped with the HASA Rescue Project when we weren't sure any part of the archive was going to be saved (and we kept going with the project even when we learned it would be ported onto AO3 via Open Doors).
b2mem (Back to Middle-earth Month) is an annual fest in March. We welcome everyone, no matter what sort of Tolkien-based fanworks they like to create. My mods and I are working on this year's event, so stay tuned for that if you're interested.
Posted via m.livejournal.com.
Posted via m.livejournal.com.
Posted via m.livejournal.com.
"They [the Black Riders] come from Mordor,' said Strider in a low voice. 'From Mordor, Barliman, if that means anything to you.'
'Save us!' cried Mr. Butterbur turning pale; the name evidently was known to him. 'This is the worst news that has come to Bree in my time.'
'It is,' said Frodo. 'Are you still willing to help me?'
'I am,' said Mr. Butterbur. 'More than ever. ThoughI don't know what the likes of me can do against, against---' he faltered.
'Against the Shadow in the East,' said Strider quietly. 'Not much, Barliman, but every little bit helps. You can let Mr. Underhil stay here tonight, as Mr. Underhill, and you can forget the name of Baggins, till he is far away.'
"And it is also said," answered Frodo: "Go not to the Elves for counsel, for they will say both no and yes."
"Is it indeed?" laughed Gildor. "Elves seldom give unguarded advice, for advice is a dangerous gift, even from the wise to the wise, and all courses may run ill."
That night they heard no noises. But either in his dreams or out of them, he could not tell which, Frodo heard a sweet singing in his mind: a song that seemed to come like a pale light behind a grey rain-curtain, and growing stronger to turn the veil all to glass and silver, until at last it was rolled back, and a far green country opened before him under a swift sunrise.
The vision melted into waking; and there was Tom whistling like a tree-full of birds; and the sun was already slanting down the hill and through the open window. Outside everything was green and pale gold.
Posted via m.livejournal.com.
Posted via m.livejournal.com.