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Frodo Laid a Geas (and other invisible magic)

kyraneko:

mikkeneko:

mikkeneko:

mikkeneko:

mikkeneko:

mikkeneko:

This was so obvious when I realized it, but I think most people miss it, because we’re so desensitized by D&D-style magic with immediate, visibly, flashy effects, rather than more subtle and invisible forces of magic. When Gollum attacks Frodo on the slopes of Mount Doom, Frodo has the chance to kill him, but he doesn’t. Instead, he says:

Frodo: Go! And if you ever lay hands on me again, you yourself shall be cast into the Fire!

Frodo’s not just talking shit here. He is literally, magically laying a curse. He’s holding the One Ring in his hands as he says it; even Sam, with no magic powers of his own, can sense that some powerful mojo is being laid down. Frodo put a curse on Gollum: if you try to take the Ring again, you’ll be cast into the Fire.

Five pages later, Gollum tries to take the Ring again. And that’s exactly what happens. Frodo’s geas takes effect and Gollum eats lava.

On further reflection:

All the other people in the franchise who were offered the Ring declined to take it because they were wise enough to know that if they used its power – and the pressure to do so would be too great – they would be subject to its corruption.

Frodo uses the power of the Ring to lay a geas, and then five minutes later at the volcano’s edge, succumbs to its corruption. The Ring has gotten to him and he can no longer give it up. Because he used its power.

On further further reflection: I’d have to read the section again, but I recall that after throwing Gollum off and laying the geas, Sam observes that Frodo seems suddenly filled with energy again when previously he had been close to dead of fatigue. He hikes up the mountain so fast he leaves Sam behind – and doesn’t even seem to notice that he’s left him behind. 

Could he have been drawing on the Ring’s power at this point in the story? At this point in the story we’re relying on Sam’s narration, and Sam doesn’t know what’s going on in Frodo’s head, so it’s hard to say for sure. Having used it once, after spending so long holding out against it, was that the breach in the dam?

Which means that the moment that Frodo succumbs to temptation is not the moment at the volcano – it was already too late by then. The moment he is taken by temptation was when he used the power of the Ring to repel Gollum.

If so, this ties in neatly with discussions I’ve seen about how Tolkien subscribes to a “not even once” view of good and evil – that in many other works it’s acceptable to do a small evil in service of a greater good, but in Lord of the Rings that always  fails.

Re-reading Fellowship of the Rings, and I got to this passage in Lorien:

‘I would ask one thing before we go,’ said Frodo, ‘a thing which I often meant to ask Gandalf in Rivendell. I am permitted to wear the One Ring: why cannot I see all the others and know the thoughts of those that wear them?’

‘You have not tried,’ [Galadriel] said. ‘Only thrice have you set the Ring upon your finger since you knew what you possessed. Do not try! It would destroy you. Did not Gandalf tell you that the rings give power according to the measure of each possessor? Before you could use that power you would need to become stronger, and to train your will to the domination of others.’

In other words:

Frodo asks Galadriel, herself carrying a Ring of Power, “Could I, hypothetically, use the power of the One Ring to do something magical aside from turning invisible?” and Galadriel replies, “Yes, hypothetically, you totally could, assuming the magic you want to do involves laying compulsions on others, but I strongly recommend against it, because it would fuck up your brain.

This was in the first book. At the end of the third book Frodo uses the Ring to fuck Gollum up, forcing him to throw himself into lava if he disobeys Frodo’s commands.

Talk about a chekov’s gun.

Got to this point in my re-read and uh. This was a lot  less subtle than I remembered it.

‘Down, down!’ [Frodo] gasped, clutching his hand to his breast, so that beneath the cover of his leather shirt he clasped the Ring. ‘Down, you creeping thing, and out of my path! Your time is at an end. You cannot slay me or betray me now.’

Then suddenly, Sam saw these two rivals with other vision. A crouching shape, scarcely more than the shadow of a living thing, a creature now wholly ruined and defeated, yet filled with a hideous lust and rage; and before it stood stern, untouchable now by pity, a figure robed in white, but at its breast it held a wheel of fire. Out of the fire there spoke a commanding voice.

‘Begone, and trouble me no more! If you touch me ever again, you shall be cast yourself into the Fire of Doom.’

Then the vision passed and Sam saw Frodo standing, hand on breast, his breath coming in great gasps, and Gollum at his feet, resting on his knees with his wide-splayed hands upon the ground.

Yeah.

Interestingly, I feel that there is another layer to this, and that is Frodo’s mercy (mirroring “the pity of Bilbo” which Gandalf said would prove significant) at play, tangled up in his use of the Ring and the chain of events that would play out.

Frodo is sparing Gollum’s life here, and shaping that into his curse. He is only cursing Gollum—can only curse Gollum—as an effect of this mercy; if Gollum were dead, he could not be cursed by Frodo or the Ring; his survival makes the curse possible and serves as payment for the curse: they are in effect making a bargain here, wherein Golllum’s life and his sentence of dying in the Fires of Doom should he take the Ring again are as one, a package deal, which Gollum “accepts” by retreating with his life.

Then, once Frodo comes to Mount Doom, he cannot cast the ring into the fires; the Ring has him in thrall, since he has used it. Now into the picture again comes Gollum, whose greed for the Ring has surpassed his love of his own life—even having been cursed with death should he touch it again, he craves it and demands it for himself, taking it from Frodo by force.

Thus we see the Ring’s power divided against itself—it has defeated both Frodo and Gollum, and its defeat of Gollum inspires Gollum to fight Frodo for it, invoking the curse. And thus Sauron, who has it, now, by virtue of both its erstwhile Bearers falling under its (and therefore its Lord’s) sway, is cheated out of it by the effects of Frodo’s act of mercy.

Frodo spared Gollum, and used the Ring’s power to set a curse, and when Frodo faltered, it was Gollum whom he spared who took the Ring from him and invoked that curse, falling into the Fires of Doom and, due to the same greed that defeated Frodo, taking the Ring with him.

If there had been no sparing Gollum, there would have been no curse, and Frodo would have had the task Isildur failed at—destroying the (beautiful, useful, lovely ring)—set before him alone, and he may have succeeded, or he may have failed, or he may have tarried too long in the struggle for Sauron’s destruction to come in a timely fashion, or the resolution and the Ring’s destruction may have hurt him far beyond the loss of a finger.

Instead, there was Gollum, in thrall to Sauron yet doomed by Frodo, to take from Frodo both the Ring and the burden of destroying it. Frodo, in his mercy-tinged use of the Ring, effectively shifted the impetus behind the Ring’s destruction from himself to the doom laid on Gollum—and Sauron’s hold over Gollum made it a near certainty that the doom would come to pass: Gollum would die, and not surrender the Ring, and thus the Ring would fall with him into the fires of Mount Doom.

And Frodo … like Indiana Jones in the Chapel of the Holy Grail, could avoid falling himself by either a willingness to let go, or the presence of a loved one to hold him back. Or, y’know, Gollum deciding to bite rather than just grab. A few more options here.

petermorwood:

nonlinear-nonsubjective:

swingsetindecember:

tv shows with time travel organizations/bureaus/police/agencies/whatever should have a department with instead of a tech genius eating candy, it’s a harried seamstress or fashion designer who is like

“1450 italy? does it look like I have the time to dye you wool? nO. YOU’RE GOING TO THE 1980s”

and throws shoulder pads at the hapless time agent

“I literally made three- THREE- 18th century corsets last week. You can wait until one of them gets back, or you can go sometime post-1920s, because if I have to sew one more god damn channel I will literally lose my mind.”

“Upper middle class?!?!? You told me upper class! FUCK YEAH THERE’S A DIFFERENCE!!!

“How about kimoNO.”

“Look me in the eyes. I do not care what you want. This is the 1500s. You absolutely cannot wear trousers.”

“Another court gown?? Here’s a novel idea: go as a peasant for once in your life. Why do you do this to me? You’re fucking sadists that’s why.”

“Don’t mind me, I’ll just be up all night hand painting silk.”

“THE POLICY IS ONE MONTH’S ADVANCE NOTICE ON PRE-1900s WOMEN’S FASHION FOR A REASON, DEBRA.”

:-D

The arguments with the Time-travel equivalent of Edna Mode should be good for at least one entire episode per season. Laugh, and learn while you laugh.

caffeinewitchcraft:

writing-prompt-s:

You are apparently the most powerful magical being of your time. But the thing is….you’re not. You spend the entire story trying to convince everyone that’s you’re not being humble, you’re genuinely not the person they’re looking for

the first time you tell someone that you’re not magic, they laugh. they tell you that you’re being humble. they act like announcing your utter lack of ability is modesty akin to a saint. they tell you that they’ll always believe.

‘don’t,’ you say. your hands are so empty. ‘don’t.’

they do.

—————————

the second time you say it, you say it over the crown of your best friend. he’s asking for a blessing on his way to the war. you’re so powerful, after all, a little magic on him isn’t anything you can’t afford to lose.

you whisper that, if you had any magic, it would all go into the golden strands brushing your lips. the sun catches on his shining hair.

he gives his hair away in chunks, that first month on the front lines. no one gets hurt. no one dies.

magic, they say. your hands shake when men bend at the knee to thank you for the small bits of blessing your best friend gave them.

you have not given them any part of what they carry.

———————————————————–

the third time you say it, it’s barely a whisper dropping from your numb lips. your best friend is gone, again, and your family is serving tea to the king’s knight, the highest ranking warrior in the land. he’s heard of you. he wants you by his side.

men are disappearing, he tells you, and not coming back. even if your magic is nothing more than words, they need it. they need it.

your family assures him it’s not words. it’s not words.

it’s power to change the world.

(the world is war. war doesn’t change.)

——————————–

the first time you feel magical is with the king’s knight, his hand in yours. he is looking at you like you’re the best parts of homecoming. he is looking at you like he loves you.

magic, you whisper into the lines darting across his palms. you’re magic.

no,’ he says, ‘darling, that’s you.’

you don’t correct him.

————————————-

(you have nightmares for a week. you don’t know why even he won’t believe you.)

(no one believes you.)

—————————————————————-

the fourth time you say it, you say it over your best friend’s grave. he’s been dead months while you’ve been playing wizard for the king’s knight. he’s been rotting in a cave on the front line, his own golden hair locked in his fists as if it could heal the blood sickness that took his life.

magic, they tell you, runs out on mortal flesh. not your fault. not your problem.

‘but, i’m not,’ you say into your lover’s chain mail. ‘i’m not.’

‘darling,’ he says, ‘it’s not your fault you are.’

—————————————————

you scream the fifth time you say it. the sky is dark with clouds and lightning. there is blood on the ground in front of you. your sword is black with it, dripping with carnage and death.

the king’s knight lies at your feet. he died believing in magic.

he died believing in you. 

you scream because dying with belief in your heart doesn’t change anything. you scream because, even with magic, this war was always going to end here for the both of you. with mud sinking into the creases of your armor and the people you care about dead. dead. dead.

you scream and the sky screams back, a roar of thunder and the shriek of metal against metal. no one dares get too close to you in your grief and rage. no one dares get so close to the one who’s calling chaos from the rioting storm above them.

i wish, you say. the world trembles around the words. the ground buckles. you extend your hands out over the battlefield and let the first drops of hot, hot rain pull at the blood staining your skin. i wish no one had ever heard of magic.

your ghosts, your lover and your best friend, howl. they beg you to stop. they beg you to see how very full your hands are. they are full, for once in your life. they are full with golden light, trembling with the heat of the world held in your palms.

you don’t care. you don’t care. 

i wish for all the curses to just be words, you say. the rain begins to pound down, whisking the sound of your voice into the depths of the earth. the soldiers around you clap their hands to their ears as if to block you out. they’ve already let you in when they came to you for magic. i wish for all the blessings to just be prayers. i wish the only shine in the wind came from the lakes and the rivers and the oceans. 

darling, your lover’s ghost whispers. don’t.

but, just like he once did, you refuse to hear the word.

there are arrows raining down on you now, flaming arrows. they know what you are. they know what you’re doing. you invite the tips into your flesh and speak your final, damning words.

i wish love was enough.

the world rocks, arrows and flames racing across the bloodied ground. men are screaming, scrambling away from the fissures that open under their feet. just as suddenly, it stops. the rain stops. the screaming stops. the earth stands still.

magic disappears.

the story ends here, you know it does. when love is enough, there isn’t a need for poisoned apples. the prince kisses you of his own volition, without prophecy, without compulsion, without magic. 

with love enough, no one needs blessings on golden hair or cursed swords. they just need each other. only that.

so maybe you were magic after all. because the second magic disappears, so do you.

it’s okay though. your ghosts come with you.

rbooknerdk:

gay-jesus-probably:

thevalvertwhisperer:

soundingonlyatnightasyousleep:

tinyeldritchhobbit:

norwegianalien:

If Hugh Jackman can deadlift 405 pounds, he shouldn’t have settled merely for Marius. He could’ve picked up Enjolras as well. You know what, add Eponine. Street gamines can’t possibly weigh that much. Man let’s just add the whole of Les Amis (including Gavroche). It’s Hugh Jackman. He can take it. 

#valjean just picks up the whole barricade and leaves

“yes my child I forgot what your booby of a young man looks like so please pick one from the pile”

*tries to subtly tilt the more sensible looking ones towards cosette* 

#but imagine him trying really hard to get her to choose combeferre

“Look, Cosette, this one is practicing medicine! And he seems to have an extensive reserve of facts on things from moths to space!”

“Papa, I think that is Marius beneath him.”

“No it isn’t. But look at this Combeferre, his glasses truly frame his face.”

“Papa-”

“Cosette. P L E A S E.”

The best part about this is that Valjean has no idea who his daughters dating, but damn it he knows it’s one of them, so he just takes everyone. The young doctor? Coming. The drunk one? Hopefully not, but bring him anyways. The small child? Might be the brother of whoever Cosette’s with, better bring him just in case. This young woman? Well, Cosette’s already proven she doesn’t tell Valjean everything, so she’s coming too.

And then the final confrontation between him and Javert. Valjean comes staggering out of the sewers holding a pile of people.

“IT’S YOU JAVERT, I KNEW YOU WOULDN’T WAIT TOO LONG!”

“Valjean, what the fuck-”

“THE FAITHFUL SERVANT AT HIS POST ONCE MORE!”

“How are you balancing all of them.”

“THIS BOY AND THIS BOY AND THIS BOY AND THIS BOY AND THIS BOY AND THIS BOY AND THIS BOY AND THIS GIRL AND THIS BOY AND THIS BOY AND THIS CHILD HAVE DONE NO WRONG, AND THE NEED A DOCTORS CARE!”

“I’m not dealing with this, just go.”

“COME, TIME IS RUNNING SHORT!”

“I said you can leave!”

“LOOK DOWN, JAVERT, THEY’RE ALL STANDING IN THEIR GRAVES! MAKE WAY, JAVERT, THERE’S ABOUT A DOZEN LIVES TO SAVE!”

“TAKE THEM VALJEAN.”

This is the best les mis post I’ve ever seen

batneko:

raisel-the-riveter:

so I’ve been meaning to put this on tumblr and keep forgetting but, in the campaign I’m running my sister is playing an orc fighter, and one of the options you can pick for a fighter’s signature weapon is that it “glows in the presence of [fill in the blank].”

I was like, “oh, that’s funny because it’s a reference to that sword in The Hobbit that glows in the presence of orcs. Your weapon probably doesn’t glow in the presence of orcs.”

to which she responded, “FUCK YEAH it does.”

So now we have in the party an orc fighter with a club that glows in the presence of orcs. Or, as far as the character is concerned, a club that glows. It’s been in her family for generations since some ancestor won it in a battle, and it’s just always glowed. She has a sack to put it in when she’s trying to be stealthy.

#orcs in LotR don’t know that Sting doesn’t glow#that is crazy#they think elves and hobbits just carry glowing swords#for the Aesthetic#and if you know enough elves that probably makes sense to you!#sparkly drama queens would probably make their hair glow if they could

The Pennsylvania Ballet shared the following Facebook post

literatebitch:

image

Pennsylvania Ballet

“A Facebook user recently commented that the Eagles had “played like they were wearing tutus!!!”

Our response:

“With all due respect to the Eagles, let’s take a minute to look at what our tutu wearing women have done this month:

By tomorrow afternoon, the ballerinas that wear tutus at Pennsylvania Ballet will have performed The Nutcracker 27 times in 21 days. Some of those women have performed the Snow scene and the Waltz of the Flowers without an understudy or second cast. No ‘second string’ to come in and spell them when they needed a break. When they have been sick they have come to the theater, put on make up and costume, smiled and performed. When they have felt an injury in the middle of a show there have been no injury timeouts. They have kept smiling, finished their job, bowed, left the stage, and then dealt with what hurts. Some of these tutu wearers have been tossed into a new position with only a moments notice. That’s like a cornerback being told at halftime that they’re going to play wide receiver for the second half, but they need to make sure that no one can tell they’ve never played wide receiver before. They have done all of this with such artistry and grace that audience after audience has clapped and cheered (no Boo Birds at the Academy) and the Philadelphia Inquirer has said this production looks “better than ever”.

So no, the Eagles have not played like they were wearing tutus. If they had, Chip Kelly would still be a head coach and we’d all be looking forward to the playoffs.“

Happy New Year!”

genatrius:

fluffy-critter:

edensmidian:

pr1nceshawn:

Street Art: Before & After.

I love these…..

Chaotic Good

My favorite part is that these are going to be someone’s neighborhood landmarks. “Turn left at the saxaphone player,” “yeah I work in the shop right next to the Princess Leia fire hydrant,” “if you pass the shady guy selling watches, you’ve gone too far.” The urban and suburban worlds are so funny of random infrastructure points that you’re just supposed to ignore, like those big metal wiring cabinets on the side of the road and all those backflow preventers all over the place. With just a little paint, now they have friendly, comprehensible meaning.

(Source: instagram.com)

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