I don't think I could bring myself to read the books anytime soon, but I've always loved and admired the LotR world. The movie scene always seemed unnatural and Out of place to me and I knew that I was missing out. Female characters are very important to me as a female reader and it's nice to understand white elf lady. The movie scene was visually a bit over the top, but the dialogue is fairly close to how it is in the book. Galadriel admits she long desired the One Ring, but says "I will pass the test. I will diminish, and go into the West and remain Galadriel.
It mentions the longing for the West, and foreshadows both her and Frodo's passing into the West.
IMO The Silmarillion has more and arguably better female characters. Varda is so badass that Melkor Sauron's boss is intimidated if not outright terrified of her. Yavanna creates the legendary Trees of Light and Ents. Then you have plethora of great females like Aredhel a stubborn princess , Haleth a matriarch of one major House of Men , Morwen the wife of a legendary hero , and Luthien who's arguably much more badass compared to her BF Beren.
I'm still a little baffled that Frodo would offer her the ring, really. It feels out of character for him. He also offered it to Gandalf, sort of. And he handed it over to Bombadil.
I have never had much inclination to read past LOTR, but you do make some of it seem interesting and relevant. If I decided to, what's the best approach? Silmarillion first? Then what? Frodo only a child and all. Boats are quite tricky enough for those that sit still without looking further for the cause of trouble.
Anyway: there was this Mr. Frodo left an orphan and stranded, as you might say, among those queer Bucklanders, being brought up anyhow in Brandy Hall.ocicwagbapas.cf
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A regular warren, by all accounts. Old Master Gorbadoc never had fewer than a couple of hundred relations in the place. Bilbo never did a kinder deed than when he brought the lad back to live among decent folk. They thought they were going to get Bag End, that time when he went off and was thought to be dead. And then he comes back and orders them off; and he goes on living and living, and never looking a day older, bless him!
And suddenly he produces an heir, and has all the papers made out proper. I know nothing about jools. Bilbo is free with his money, and there seems no lack of it; but I know of no tunnel-making. I saw Mr. Bilbo when he came back, a matter of sixty years ago, when I was a lad. And in the middle of it all Mr. Bilbo comes up the Hill with a pony and some mighty big bags and a couple of chests. But my lad Sam will know more about that. Crazy about stories of the old days he is, and he listens to all Mr.
Bilbo has learned him his letters - meaning no harm, mark you, and I hope no harm will come of it. But the Gaffer did not convince his audience. And look at the outlandish folk that visit him: dwarves coming at night, and that old wandering conjuror, Gandalf, and all. But they do things proper at Bag End. That very month was September, and as fine as you could ask.
A day or two later a rumour probably started by the knowledgeable Sam was spread about that there were going to be fireworks - fireworks, what is more, such as had not been seen in the Shire for nigh on a century, not indeed since the Old Took died. Days passed and The Day drew nearer. An odd-looking waggon laden with odd-looking packages rolled into Hobbiton one evening and toiled up the Hill to Bag End.
The startled hobbits peered out of lamplit doors to gape at it.
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It was driven by outlandish folk, singing strange songs: dwarves with long beards and deep hoods. A few of them remained at Bag End. At the end of the second week in September a cart came in through Bywater from the direction of the Brandywine Bridge in broad daylight. An old man was driving it all alone. He wore a tall pointed blue hat, a long grey cloak, and a silver scarf. He had a long white beard and bushy eyebrows that stuck out beyond the brim of his hat.
Small hobbit-children ran after the cart all through Hobbiton and right up the hill. It had a cargo of fireworks, as they rightly guessed. His real business was far more difficult and dangerous, but the Shire-folk knew nothing about it. Hence the excitement of the hobbit-children. They knew him by sight, though he only appeared in Hobbiton occasionally and never stopped long; but neither they nor any but the oldest of their elders had seen one of his firework displays - they now belonged to the legendary past.
When the old man, helped by Bilbo and some dwarves, had finished unloading. Bilbo gave a few pennies away; but not a single squib or cracker was forthcoming, to the disappointment of the onlookers.
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The young hobbits stared at the door in vain for a while, and then made off, feeling that the day of the party would never come. Inside Bag End, Bilbo and Gandalf were sitting at the open window of a small room looking out west on to the garden. The late afternoon was bright and peaceful. The flowers glowed red and golden: snap-dragons and sun-flowers, and nasturtiums trailing all over the turf walls and peeping in at the round windows.
I am very fond indeed of it, and of all the dear old Shire; but I think I need a holiday. It is no good saying any more. Stick to your plan - your whole plan, mind - and I hope it will turn out for the best, for you, and for all of us. The next day more carts rolled up the Hill, and still more carts. People became enthusiastic; and they began to tick off the days on the calendar; and they watched eagerly for the postman, hoping for invitations.
Before long the invitations began pouring out, and the Hobbiton post-office was blocked, and the Bywater post-office was snowed under, and voluntary assistant postmen were called for. There was a constant stream of them going up the Hill, carrying hundreds of polite variations on Thank you, I shall certainly come. A notice appeared on the gate at Bag End: no admittance except on party business. Even those who had, or pretended to have Party Business were seldom allowed inside. Bilbo was busy: writing invitations, ticking off answers, packing up presents, and making some private preparations of his own.
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A special entrance was cut into the bank leading to the road, and wide steps and a large white gate were built there. The three hobbit-families of Bagshot Row, adjoining the field, were intensely interested and generally envied. Old Gaffer Gamgee stopped even pretending to work in his garden. The tents began to go up.