#dwarves of ered mithrin

[mrkida-art]

Memories of blood and bone

I wanted to make a more symbolic piece focusing on a young King Thrór. He lived through the war of dwarves and dragons and also likely saw his little brother and father be slain by cold drakes. He became one of the youngest known Kings of the dwarves, and he led his people away from this carnage to resettle elsewhere. His new settlement? Erebor. His story is one of the saddest of all dwarves in the legendarium, because ultimately he would lose everything to dragons once again.

[milesasinmorales]

Me when I think about how Thorin was the eldest of three siblings (Dís and Frerin) one of which died horrifically at a young age (Frerin, age 42). About how Thror was also the eldest of three siblings (Frór and Grór) one of which who also died horrifically at a young (Frór, age 37). About how they both had to step up to be king when they were still so young because their fathers died in battle. About how both of them lost their homes to dragons. About how the ransacking of Ered Mithrin was probably just so much worse than the ransacking of Erebor because it lasted for 20 years. Thinking about how Ered Mithrin was attacked by the cold drakes so instead of dying by dragonfire all those dwarves died by tooth and claw. About how Thrór (and Grór) both had to watch their brother and father be barbarically torn apart. About how Thrór then had to see his greatest accomplishment, Erebor, fall to dragonfire. About how Thrór and Thorin were both SO MUCH MORE than the gold sickness…

[ironfoot-mothafocka]

Blood-bond For @mrkida-art, and their inspired love of the Grey Mountains Crew.

Young Grór considers what it is to have a friend. Prince used as a gender-neutral term for dwarven royalty.

—

“There! Over there!” Grór, whose eyes had been slowly drifting shut, staggered to her feet and loped over to Ixil. The Stiffbeard had piss-poor eyesight; though a swing from their hammer could crush an auroch in twain, Grór still didn’t understand the point of putting him on watch duty. “No,” the dwarf prince intoned slowly, “that looks to be some kind of avalanche on a distant peak.” Ixil puffed out his chest and arched his eyebrow at the dwarrowdam. “Well — looked like it could have been a drake!” Grór shot him a withering stare. “Everything looks like a drake to you. Like that time you called out the guards from their dinner time because you spotted a very large eagle?” Ixil bumped Grór with his hip and the prince crashed into the side of the guard-tower wall. She gave as good as she got, though, and kneed her companion in the shin with the steel toe of her boot. “It was a very large eagle,” Ixil grumbled, wiping mud from his leg and staring at the ground.

At least Grór was awake now. The chill wind blew down her collar and tousled her long, auburn hair, tossing the thick waves beyond her shoulders. She picked up her axe and leaned heavily against it, eyes streaming with the cold as she stared outwards. Nothing ever happened here. Character building, King Dáin said it was. There was no nobler cause than to watch the endless stretch of grey, snow-capped mountains. Remember Scatha, the worm? Remember how the foul beast almost took the dwarves unawares? They’re breeding like rabbits, faster than our worm-hunters can flush them out. Two of them sacked Ugzarak less than a year afore now, and the rest and coming for us. Are you marking my words, Grór? She could hear her father’s words to her now, rattling around inside her head. They had all been on high alert since one of the Stiffbeard’s holds, the northernmost hall in the lonely outcrop of Ugzarak, on the edge of the Red Mountains, had been waylaid by two particularly nasty worms. More than a thousand had managed to flee, some of them picked off by cold and hunger, but a good many refugees came to settle in Ered Mithrin.

She remembered it as though it had only happened a month ago. Battered and weary dwarves, huddling around large fires which had been constructed deep in the mustering halls of the Grey Mountains, tended to their sick and vulnerable. It was the only respite they’d had for weeks, and the king had gone to each family in turn to ask of their welfare. Grór had hung back in the shadows, watching him silently. Prince Head-in-the-clouds Frór and Thrór called her. Bundushathûr, but less majestic and more scatterbrained than the lofty sacred peak. But Grór was one to watch, and study, and notice the subtleties of a dwarf’s interaction. It wasn’t that her head was in the clouds, but it was often elsewhere. She had noticed as her father lay a caring hand on a stranger’s yak-pelt covered back, to comfort shaking shoulders as they wept for their destroyed homeland. How he lifted an elderly dwarf, who was covered in blackened frostbite, from a makeshift bier and carried them to a soft bed. He had spent a long time tending to the dwarf, whose family had died along the way. Tender, calloused hands bandaged wounds, and the king shook his head when his aides called for him to leave. No — the doors of Thikil-gundu are always open for those in need. What am I, if not the host of this great house? Grór had watched her father until uncle Borin had scolded her for slacking. “Prince Head-in-the-clouds, at least be of use and fetch more bandages!”

Grór studied Ixil. He was squinting into the sunlight again, his raven-dark heavily braided hair wrapped around his head into elaborate patterns, decorated with an assortment of multi-coloured sparkling beads. His face was proud and calm, and he seemed to not have a care in the world, a strange tune rumbling from between his lips as he hummed in vague, broken notes. He had been one of those bruised, cold, tired dwarves who had fled on the back of sledges into the bitter winter. He’d lost family, watched friends die. And how had she helped? Mocked his eyesight and kicked him in the leg? Is that what her father would have done? Suddenly, she felt guilty.

“Hey — you,” she said awkwardly, sidling up next to him. Ixil smiled and covered his forehead with a hand almost as broad as hers, peering over against the sharp sunlight. “What?” What did she want to say? What could she possibly say? Anything that came into her head sounded too contrite. Too insincere. “I like you. I mean I… I’ve never really… except my brothers. But they’re not like you. It’s good to have a friend to talk to. Being on watch can get boring, I mean—” That definitely wasn’t what she’d wanted to say. Horrifically, she felt blood creeping into her cheeks and her eyes widen in embarrassment. She’d meant to tell Ixil that it was good to have him here, as a friend, and that she was pleased he made it to the stronghold after such a disaster. That she would be there for him and his people when he needed her. That she was a proud daughter of Durin’s Folk, and that she kept her oaths. Ixil smiled widely and shuffled a little closer. The wind was screaming at both of them, forcing them to take a step back under the tower roof and press in tighter. He laid his hand against her shoulder and squeezed it. “It is good to have you to watch with, as well. I may mistake everything I see for a dragon, but know that I’ll be ready to fight one, if one comes. You Longbeards took me in. I vow to defend your home until I lose my legs or my breath doing so.”

It took Grór a while to find her tongue after that. In the short time they had known one another, she’d discovered that Ixil was an uncompromising sparring partner and appreciated rude jokes at the mess-table as much as she did. But she was taken aback by the gravity of his words, as though her friend had suddenly grown a new face that she was noticing for the first time. She thrust her arm forwards and found his hand with hers. Their fingers were numb, but they interlocked them clumsily. “Grór, daughter of King Dáin, first of his Name, at your service.” “Ixil, son of Izbar, at yours and your family’s.” He didn’t look away. A fiery intensity, a resoluteness, smoldered deep in his eyes as Grór held his fingers so tightly she thought his hand would snap. Then they parted. Something between them had changed, or maybe something inside her had shifted forever. “I will still turn you into mulch when we next wrestle,” Ixil said lightly. Grór’s eyes narrowed at the wicked grin spreading across his face. “How much do you want to bet on that, Skinny-Arm of the Stiffbeard Clan?”

Perhaps some things would stay the same between them, after all.

[tolkiens-middleearth]

At SDCC showrunner John D. Payne said: “So, one, always back to Tolkien. And two, when Tolkien was silent, we tried to invent as Tolkienian a way as possible.“ Let’s see how much of this is true…

Analysis of Amazon’s "The Rings of Power”

Season 1

A strongly compressed timeline, Galadriel going on adventures in Númenor and Mordor, and Elvish immortality needs to be saved by mithril?

The first season of Amazon's "The Rings of Power" includes a few character names and places from Tolkien's writings, but most of the characters' personalities and the storylines are – as expected – invented by Amazon.

► Completely updated for season 1

Preface

This is my attempt of giving a comprehensive overview about where Amazon’s show actually adapted something from Tolkien’s writing, where they contradict Tolkien’s writings, and where Amazon came up with their own inventions. If I have overlooked anything in this episode, please let me know. I’ll add it with credit to the list.

Not included are the majority of the visual choices of the show because most of it cannot be compared well to text unless there are story-relevant differences. Themes within the Amazon series or Tolkien’s stories won't be listed either since they are highly subjective.

Where the show references Tolkien

General worldbuilding

Locations

Tolkien’s map is included, although with extensions made by the show.

A location with the name Valinor is shown, it is located in the West of the world and portrayed as a desirable destination for the Elves of Middle-earth. In Valinor, the Two Trees and a large city are briefly shown.

A location with the name Lindon is shown.

Forodwaith is shown as a region of mostly ice and snow.

Lands with the name Rhovanion are shown.

A location with the name Eregion is shown, with a city build besides a river.

Another location with the name Khazad-dûm is shown: it is an underground city built by Dwarves. Mirrormere as a loation close to or in Khazad-dûm is mentioned as well.

The Kingdom of Númenor is introduced as the “westernmost of all mortal realms”. It is located on an island.

The volcano Orodruin is shown in a location with the name Mordor.

Rhûn is mentioned as a place in Middle-earth.

Beleriand as a (very vague) location is mentioned.

The Unseen World is mentioned.

Races

The races of Elves, Dwarves, Men, Hobbits, Orcs and Trolls exist.

The Elves have pointy ears, and their eyesight is better than that of humans.

Dwarves are shown to live underground. They are shorter than Men or Elves, but not as short as Hobbits. Dwarf-men have long beards.

The Hobbits are shorter than Men or Elves or even Dwarves.

The Valar are mentioned a few times in an unspecific way.

The Istari exist.

Orcs are portrayed as an overall ugly looking race with dark blood, who fear/dislike the sun. They are possibly corruptions of Elves, either created or corrupted by Morgoth. They are mentioned to have lived in the North, for example in the Ered Mithrin, as servants/slaves of Sauron.

History

The destruction of the Two Trees is briefly shown and mentioned.

Elves journying from Valinor to Middle-earth is mentioned.

Fëanor is mentioned in reference to the Silmarils, and that the Silmarils were stolen by Morgoth.

“The war” – probably refering to the war against Morgoth in general – is mentioned and briefly shown with a few images. Finrod is briefly shown fighting in a battle against Orcs. Morgoth’s defeat is mentioned.

There is a reference to whole continents sinking in the war with Morgoth.

Somen Men have sided with Morgoth in the wars, thousands of years ago at the present time of the show.

The history of Númenor is briefly summarized, including the island being a reward by the Valar for standing against Morgoth, the Númenorean’s being friends with the Elves, and then breaking contact.

Language

Tengwar letters and Cirth runes are used on some objects and in some places.

Some of Tolkien’s Quenya and Sindarin words and grammer are used in dialogue and names.

A few words in Khuzdul, Tolkien’s Dwarvish language, are used. It's is mentioned to that Dwarves don't reveal words and terms in their own language to outsiders, and that they have secret names in their own language.

Some words in the Black Speech are spoken.

In Númenor, some names are Adûnaic.

People & characterisation

Galadriel: An Elvish character with the name Galadriel exists, who has long, golden hair, is a Noldo and of the Golden House of Finarfin. She lived in Valinor for a while and had an older brother (named Finrod in the credits).

Finrod: An Elvish character with the name Finrod (credited only in the credits) exists, who is Galadriel's older brother, and who is no longer alive in the present time of the show (= the later half of the Second Age).

Sauron: A character with the name Sauron is briefly shown, and described as a servant of Morgoth, as a sourcerer and leader of armies of Orcs. It is said that he tried to bring order to Middle-earth and experimented with the lives of Orcs. Sauron shows signs that he wishes to repent, but ultimately doesn't.

Elrond: A character with the name Elrond exists. He is an Half-elf, Eärendil's son, Elros' brother, and has connections to Gil-galad and Galadriel. He spends some time in Lindon.

Gil-galad: An Elvish character with the name Gil-galad exists. He has the title of "High King", and has connections to Galadriel, Elrond and Celebrimbor.

Celebrimbor: An Elvish character with the name Celebrimbor exists. He is known as a great smith and has connections to Gil-galad. He is portrayed as someone with ambition when it comes to craft, and with interest in the Dwarves.

Durin: A Dwarvish character with the name Durin exists.

Elendil: Elendil is the name of a human character in the show, he is father to Isildur, lives in Númenor and is friendly towards Elves.

Isildur: Isildur is a human man, he is a son of Elendil and lives in Númenor.

Míriel: Míriel is a human woman, and daughter of the King of Númenor.

Pharazôn: Pharazôn is a human man, and a cousin of Míriel. He lives in Númenor and is no friend of the Elves.

Tar-Palantír: A character with the name Tar-Palantír exists, he is King of Númenor closely before Númenor’s downfall, and is friendly towards the Elves.

Characters that are only mentioned:

A character with the name Morgoth existed, and is described as the Great Foe.

The Golden House of Finarfin is mentioned.

Fëanor's name is mentioned in relation to the Silmarils.

Eärendil is mentioned as Elrond’s father, that he sailed to Valinor to convince the Valar to help Men and Elves against Morgoth, and that he now sails forever on the sky, carring the Evening Star.

Celeborn is mentioned as Galadriel's husband.

Elros is mentioned to have existed, and is implied to have been Elrond’s brother.

Anárion is mentioned as Isildur’s brother.

Aulë is referenced by the Dwarves a few times.

Manwë is referenced once.

The One, Master of the Secret Fire, is mentioned, and credited for the creation of both Elves and Orcs.

Story

Lindon

The concept of Elves sailing from Middle-earth to Valinor exists.

Eregion & Khazad-dûm

The friendship and collaboration between the Dwarves of Khazad-dûm and the Elves of Eregion can be found in Tolkien's writings.

The Dwarves mining for Mithril in Khazad-dûm is part of Tolkien's lore – in the show mithril is shown and its mining discussed.

The importance and weight of oaths is a topic that can be found in many places of Tolkien's writings, and in the show it's shown in Elrond's oath to Durin not to reveal any of his secrets.

Elven-smiths in Eregion in Celebrimbor's smithy can be seen in the background.

The Three Rings are created by Celebrimbor in Eregion, with some influence of Sauron. The rings have a blue, red and white stone on them.

Númenor

Númenórean worldview: the Númenóreans make a difference between the Númenóreans and Halbrand as a “low man”, a reference to the Dunedain dividing the Humans into High Men, Middle Men and Men of Shadow.

There are tensions in Númenor between those who oppose the friendship with Elves, and those who want to be friends with Elves.

The dream of the Great Wave is a dream that Faramir mentioned in The Lord of the Rings, but that both J.R.R. Tolkien and als Christopher Tolkien have had. Tolkien was wondering whether that dream could inherited, since both he and his son had had it, but in the show this seems not to be the case but a result of the contact with the Palantír instead.

The Palantír exists as a magical stone that lets you see something. The use and results of the use may differ from show to book.

In the show Pharazôn is interested in possible trade routes in Middle-earth. In Tolkien's writings, Númenor indeed had many connections for trade in Middle-earth.

Númenórean horses and their riders could have a deep bond, the horse could be trained to understand calls from great distances, and it is said in some cases they could ven be summoned at need by thought alone.

The Númenórean envy on Elvish immortality is hinted at.

The Faithful are mentioned.

Mordor/The Southlands

Men of Shadow: The overall idea of Men having served Morgoth is a focus of the Southland storyline. It is discussed in regards to the ancestors of the human population of the Southlands, but is also relevant in the present when some of the Men in the village are shown to be followers of Sauron, and are willing to surrender to Adar and his Orcs, in part with the expectation that Adar is Sauron or sent by him.

Independant Orcs: The presence of Orcs in the East of Middle-earth that aren't slaves of Sauron but rather independant is something that can be found in Tolkien's writings. The lands that would later be Mordor could count as "east". Of course, at the end of the Second Age they all were under Sauron's rule.

Origin of Orcs: In the discussion between Adar and Galadriel, the origin of the Orcs is discussed: Galadriel mentions corrupted Elves and identifies Adar to be one of them, but believes the Orcs to be created by Morgoth in mockery. Adar argues that Orcs are creations of the One just as the Elves are. This discussion reflects some of Tolkien's various thoughts on the topic (though it does not reflect Galadriel's actual position in his writings, which was never given on this topic).

The Orodruin is shown as an active volcano in the Southlands.

Direct quotes: A quote is directly referenced from the book: "[…] in the end the Shadow was only a small and passing thing: there was light and high beauty for ever beyond its reach." In the show it's quoted as "In the end, this shadow is but a small and passing thing. There is light and high beauty forever beyond its reach." The person who says it and the context are different.

Sauron's plans: According to Adar, Sauron was searching for a way to have power "over the flesh" and "of the Unseen World". This can be taken as a reference to the One Ring, which in Tolkien's writings was used by Sauron to dominate and control the minds of others.

The Wilderlands

Fate: Nori brings up the idea that there may be a "reason" for her to find the Stranger, that she was "supposed" to find him. This could be seen as a vague reference to Gandalf saying Bilbo was meant to finde the Ring and Frodo meant to have it.

Direct quotes: Poppy and Nori sing a song with the line "not all who wonder or wander are lost", which reminds of the line "not all those who wander are lost" in Bilbo's poem of The Lord of the Rings, as written by Tolkien.

Where the show contradicts Tolkien

Inventions by the show that directly contradict Tolkien's writings.

Timeline compression

Based on the inclusion of characters like Elendil and Pharazôn it is clear that the series is se at the end of the Second Age. However, many imporant events of the Second Age have not happened yet, indicating a compression of the timeline. This is a huge change and contradicts Tolkien's worldbuilding for the Second Age in many ways. In addition, some events of the Third Age also have been included. The main contradictions are

Sauron’s identity at the time of Elendil and Pharazôn should be well known, and Sauron should have created an empire in Middle-earth by then.

Mordor, including the locations of Arondir’s and Bronwyn’s plotline, should have been under Sauron’s control for about 1500 years by now.

Barad-dûr should have been built already.

The Rings of Power, including the One Ring, should have been created already, and the ning Kings of Men been turned into Nazgûl by the Nine Rings.

Celebrimbor should have been dead for a long time at this point.

Gil-galad would have noticed Sauron’s presence early in th Second Age and would have tried to build up alliances against him.

The War of the Elves and Sauron should haves happened, and as a result Eregion should be ruined, including Ost-in-Edhil.

If this is the end of the Second Age, the Elves in the show are all about 1500 years too young.

These changes affect all kinds of elements in the show: locations, societies, history, characters and overall the story that is told. Especially the storylines of Arondir, Bronwny, Celebrimbor, Elrond and Gil-galad are affected by this so far.

General worldbuilding

Elves

Age: Some Elves, like Celebrimbor and Gil-galad, look visibly too old. Tolkien described his Elves either as youthful or as ageless in his writings, they are never supposed to look like middle-aged/older people (with the only possible exception of Círdan).

Hair: The Amazon series shows most of the male Elves with short hair. However, whenever Tolkien describes the hair length of an Elf, it’s long. For the Noldor and the Teleri as a whole the hair was described as long at one point.

Beauty: All of Tolkien’s Elves are described as exceptionally beautiful. In Amazon’s series the Elves are not particulary beautiful.

Immortality: Elves in Tolkien's writings can die or fade, but their souls are nevertheless immortal. This immortality is independant of the light of the Two Trees. However, in Amazon's show the Elves can lose their immortality and their supposedly immortal souls could “dwindle into nothing, slowly diminishing, until [they] are but shadows, swept away by the tides of time”.

Dwarves

Dwarf-women without beards: The show shows several Dwarf-women, inlcuding Disa, without beard. Tolkien’s writings on the other hand clearly state that the Dwarf-women also have beards and basically look like the Dwarf-men.

The reincarnation of Durin: In Tolkien’s writings there exists the idea of Durin the Deathless – based on this idea Durin would return to life seven times, each time named Durin and reigning as King. However, in the show two Durins exist at the same time, making this legend impossible.

Orcs

Burned by sunlight: Orcs are burned by direct sunlight. This is not the case in Tolkien's writings, where they can go into the sun without being directly harmed by it, even though their strength and endurance is reduced in the sun.

History

Death of the Trees: The Prologue claims that it was Morgoth who “destroyed the very light of [the Elves’] home”, but in Tolkien’s story this was done by Ungoliant.

Motives of the Elves: The Prologue also implies that the Elves went to war against Morgoth because of the destruction of the Two Trees, but in Tolkien’s writings the Noldor rather left to avenge Finwë’s death and the theft of the Silmarils.

Origin of the Elves: Another implication of the Prologue seems to be that the Noldor never had been in Middle-earth before – or that there were no Elves in Middle-earth before their journey altogether. This is, of course, not the case.

No word for death: In the Amazon series, Galadriel in the intro says that they had no word for death yet. In Tolkien’s writings however, at the time of Galadriel’s childhood the Elves had already experienced death a) in Middle-earth during the Great Journey and b) in Valinor when Míriel died. Galadriel wouldn’t have been born if Míriel hadn’t died, because otherwise Finwë wouldn’t have married Indis. The concept of death therefore must have existed.

Bringing war: Celebrimbor mentioned that “our kind brought war to these shores” – but technically it was Morgoth who started the war. The First Battle of Beleriand took place before the arrival of the Noldor, and was fought by the Elves of Doriath, the Falathrim and the Laiquendi against the Orcs of Morgoth. To assume Morgoth would have stopped if the Noldor had not challenged him is naive. Galadriel in the show also mentions that ther family started the war, and this is even more wrong, since the children of Finarfin were the more restrained among the Noldor.

Balrog: The Balrog is shown to be awake in Khazad-dûm.

Language

In Tolkien’s 2nd Age, Westron did not exist yet. Elves and Men had trouble with communication. In Amazon’s 2nd Age, everyone seems to speak the same language: Elves, Men and Harfoots. If they speak different languages, it is not made clear.

Elves are shown to speak English, but every now and then they switch to Quenya. However, it does not appear that their “English” is supposed to be Sindarin, because when Elrond writes Gil-galad’s speech it’s in Quenya, yet later Gil-galad gives the speech in English. Unless Elrond translated the speech into Sindarin afterwards the switch between Enlish and Quenya makes no sense.

Arondir and Adar both speak Quenya, but Quenya wasn’t spoken as an everyday language in Middle-earth ever since Thingol had banned its used. It’s especially unlikely for a Silvan Elf or for an Orc to speak Quenya. It's also unlikely since they all use Sindarin names.

People & characterisation

Galadriel:

Amazon’s Galadriel doesn’t seem to have a daughter, nor is her husband Celeborn around. In contrast, in Tolkien’s writings she gets married to Celeborn soon after the 2nd Age begins, and not long after gives birth to their daughter Celebrian. Galadriel and Celeborn spend most of their time in Middle-earth together.

Amazon’s Galadriel has apparently spent a whole age (however long) searching for Sauron. In Tolkien’s writings, Galadriel resists Sauron once she is aware of his presence, but there is no record of her actively searching for him anywhere or trying to take revenge.

Amazon’s Galadriel is shown sailing West, although she stops and turns around. In contrast, Tolkien’s Galadriel was “the last survivor of the princes and queens who had led the revolting Noldor to exile in Middle-earth. After the overthrow of Morgoth ath the end of the First Age a ban was set upon her return, and she had replied proudly that she had no wish to do so.”

Amazon's Galadriel is shown to be "commander of the Northern armies of High King Gil-galad", yet this is unlikely to have been the case in Tolkien's writings, since Galadriel spent most of her time in the 2nd Age away from Lindon.

Galadriel’s brother (Finrod)

Amazon’s Finrod is killed by Sauron, after having been on a hunt for Sauron. This heavily contradicts Tolkien’s writings, where Finrod was supporting his friend Beren on a mission and is killed by a wolf in Sauron’s dungeon.

Amazon’s Finrod seems to have a very different philosphy compared to how Tolkien has written him. In Amazon’s series, when a young Galadriel asks him how to differenciate between light and darkness, Finrod’s advice response is that “sometimes we cannot know until we have touched the darkness”. This seems contrary to any attitude that an Elf in Valinor before Morgoth’s release would have, and especially strange for an Elf like Finrod, who had a very strong belief in Eru.

Sauron

Sauron in the series is said to have gained power after Morgoth’s defeat, and that he found and killed Finrod. However, in Tolkien’s writings he went into hiding until he appeared in fair form at the doorstep of the Elves. Finrod was killed by Sauron’s wolf before Morgoth’s defeat.

At the time of Elendil and Pharazôn, Sauron's identity was already well known as he had created an empire in Middle-earth by then.

At this time he also should have been in posession of the One Ring, who hasn't been created yet in the show.

All of Sauron's storylines with Galadriel did not happen in Tolkien's stories, including his time in Númenor as Halbrand, fighting alongside the Númenóreans in Mordor, helping Celebrimbor with the forging of the Rings in Eregion under the disguise of a mortal man named Halbrand, and his interest in ruling Middle-earth together with Galadriel.

Sauron is shown to be able to read Galadriel's mind (being able to access her memories of her brother), despite her being aware of it and being against it. This contradicts Tolkien's writings, in which the free and unbound mind cannot be accessed if access is refused. It also contradicts one of Sauron's motives to create the One Ring in the first place.

Elrond:

Amazon’s Elrond has light brown hair and is rather young. Tolkien describes Elrond’s hair as “dark as the shadows of twilight”, and at the forging of the One Ring Elrond is already over 1600 years old, and at the Downfall of Númenor even over 3000 years old.

Amazon’s Elrond is not considered an Elf-lord. Given that Tolkien’s Elrond is the son of Eärendil, grandson of Dior and also great-grandson of Turgon, there is no way he would not be counted among the nobility or even royalty of any Eldar society he wanders into.

Amazon's Elrond so far has shown no experience with weapons or that he holds any military authority. However, in Tolkien's writings Elrond led Gil-galad's armies against Sauron in the war in Eriador.

Amazon's Elrond mentions that Galadriel found him when he was "first orphaned", alone and "without friend of kin". This contradicts Tolkien's writings, where Elrond was with Elros, and taken in first my Maedhros and Maglor, and later was with Gil-galad.

Gil-galad

Amazon’s Gil-galad looks older than Galadriel, although in Tolkien’s writings he is from a generation younger than Galadriel, and therefore most likely younger than her.

Amazon’s Gil-galad refuses to acknowledge Sauron’s presence in Middle-earth. In Tolkien’s writings, Gil-galad is among the first to notice Sauron’s shadow, to recognise it as a threat, and to try to form alliances against it.

Amazon’s Gil-galad is dressed all in gold, including gold stars. In Tolkien’s writing, he is instead associated with silver and white stars.

Amazon's Gil-galad urging Elrond to break his oath is highly unlikely, given the severance of breaking oaths in Middle-earth.

Celebrimbor

Amazon’s Celebrimbor looks too old (see above).

In Tolkien's writings, Celebrimbor is long dead by this time of the Second Age.

During III and IV

In the show, Durin III and Durin IV are father and son. This is not the case in Tolkien’s writings (see above).

Elendil

Amazon's Elendil is only a Sea Guardsman, neither his father (who is not in the show) nor Elendil himself seem to be Lord of Andúnië.

Míriel

Míriel is Queen Regent in the show, a title she never had in Tolkien’s writing since her father was never exiled.

Pharazôn

Pharazôn in the show is too old, in Tolkien’s texts he is about the same age as Elendil and Míriel.

In the show he is portrayed as a chancellor, and as hesitant to fight. In Tolkien’s writings, he is a great captain and commander of the Númenórean armies.

“Kemen” sounds like the Quenya word for “earth” and is an unlikely name for a hypotetical son of Pharazôn.

the Stranger

with the Stranger officially being revealed as one of the Istari, he now also contradicts Tolkien's writings: none of the Istari arrived as a meteor in Middle-earth, and while the two Blue Wizards may have arrived in the Second Age, they arrived together and not alone. All other Istari arrived later.

Celeborn

In the show, Celeborn is believed to be dead. This is not the case in Tolkien's writings.

Anarion

Anarion does not seem to be around, since Pharazôn mentions only one son when speaking of Elendil.

Elros

Elros is depicted with a beard in a painting. According to Tolkien’s writing, those Men with Elvish ancestry don’t have beards, and that would be especially true in the case of Elros.

Story

Lindon

Who is allowed to sail west: In the Amazon series, Gil-galad seems to decide which Elves are sailing West and which don’t. This is heavily contradicting Tolkien’s writings, where sailing West was open for all Elves – with the possible exception of the former leaders of the Noldorin rebellion, including Galadriel. This permission or ban came from the Valar, and not from any single elf, king or no king.

Sailing to Valinor: During the 2nd Age, the passage to Valinor over the sea was, more or less, a “normal” journey on ship. No special magic was needed to get there, and in fact sailors would reach Tol Eressëa first.

Swimming through the ocean: The idea that an Elf could swim through the at times stormy ocean for a longer time contradicts Amroth’s fate, who tried exactly this and died. Galadriel’s decision to jump into the ocean is more than reckless.

The "lost" Silmaril: The show introduces the legend of a lost Silmaril hidden in a tree. However, this legend contradicts the known legend of the three Silmarils finding their home in the earth, the sea and the sky.

Mithril as a cure: Gil-galad and Celebrimbor believe mithril to be the cure against the Elves losing their immortality and dying, because it's somehow connected to a Silmaril. This contradicts Tolkien's writings, where mithril already had been found in the 1st Age and had no connection to a Silmaril whatsoever.

Eregion & Khazad-dûm

Eregion at the end of the Second Age was in ruin, including Ost-in-Edhil, according to Tolkien's writings. This is not the case in the show.

A lifetime of 20 years: In the show, Durin claims that he lived an entire life in the 20 years that Elrond was away. However, according to Tolkien, Dwarves usually reach the age of 250 years, turning 20 years in about 1/10 of a lifetime.

The secrecy about mithril in the show does not match what is told in the Tale of Years: that some of the Noldor went to Eregion to settle there especially because they had learned about mitrhil, and from working together the friendship between Dwarves and Elves in that region grew. Therefore, the knowledge of mithril would probably be a reason why Celebrimbor would be in that area in the first place.

Distance: Galadriel and Halbrand need 5-6 days from the Númenorean camp to Ost-in-edhil. Given that it took Gandalf 3-4 days on Shadowfax from Dol Baran to Minas Tirith, and Galadriel's way is almost thrice as long, this timing is hardly possible.

Motives for the creation of the Rings of Power: while the primarily purpose of the Rings of Power was preservation, they were not made or needed to preserve Elvish immortality nor to keep them alive. The show contradicts this by having the Elves quickly forge the rings in order to save their lives.

Creation of the Rings of Power: the creation of the Rings of Power was something done by the smithes of Eregion without the involvement of Gil-galad, Elrond or Galadriel. In the show this is contradicted with them all discussing and debating it, and giving their advice.

Order of creation: the Three Rings of the Elves were the last of the Rings of Power that Celebrimbor made. In the show it appears that the Seven and the Nine haven't been made yet.

Nenya was the only one of the Three Rings to contain mithril according to Tolkien's writings, while the show has mithril in all three rings.

Númenor

Elves in Númenor: It is heavily implied in Tolkien’s writing that no Elves came to Númenor during the time of Elendil and Pharazôn. Especially Galadriel’s presence contradicts this in the show.

The usage of the Palantír: Prophetic visions are not recorded as a way to use the seeing stones. Gandalf mused about seeing in the past, but the Unfinished Tales don’t mention it. The same prophetic vision for more than one person is even more unlikely, unless a person of strong will would direct the Palantír to show the vision in this way

The number and location of the Palantíri: According to Míriel in the show, there is only on Palantír left. However, according to Tolkien’s writings there were at least seven left at the time of the downfall of Númenor, and they were also in possession of first Amandil and then Elendil, and not in the possession of the royal family. (There is still a change that it’s revealed in the show that Elendil has seven Palantíri of his own.)

Tar-Palantír was never exiled, he ruled as a King until his death and was then succeeded by Pharazôn through forced marriage with Míriel.

Cavalry: The Númenóreans had no cavalry as is explicitly stated by Tolkien.

A bond through battle: There is no indication in Tolkien's writing that the deep bond between Númenoreans and their horses would be formed when riding in battle, since the Númenóreans basically never rode their horses into battle.

Númenórean settlements: The Númenóreans in the show apparently have no settlements in Middle-earth yet, nor any trade routes to speak of.

Sailing across the ocean: The time that it takes the Númenórean fleet to reach Middle-earth and the lands of Mordor is too short – sailing from Númenor to Middle-earth took the Númenóreans quite some time according to tolkien's writings, and certainly wasn't a matter of just a few days.

Mordor/the Southlands

Elvish supervision of Mannish villages: The Silvan Elves in Amazon’s Middle-earth seem to be ruled by Gil-galad and keep watch on human settlements east of the Ash mountains. In Tolkien’s writings, Gil-galad ruled in Linon and at best over Eriador in general, but certainly not further east or south, were the Silvan Elves lived. The Silvan Elves kept to themselves and refused the rule of the Noldor, except for Galadriel in Lóthlorien in the 3rd Age. There is no record of any Mannish settlement being controlled by Elves against their will.

The character Adar seems to be counted among the Orcs, despite of his still very Elvish looks. He describes himself as an Uruk as well, and also has dark instead of red blood. This Elvish look is questionable, since according to Tolkien Orcs are not supposed to be immortal. Even more unlikely is Adar believing in the One as the creator, since an essential part or Morgoth's corruption was on a "moral or theological level". Orcs in general had rejected the belief in Eru in favor of taking Morgoth as their God, even if they hated him. This is one of their fundamental differences to the Elves, who never "rejected Eru in word, or belief".

Arondir was born in Beleriand - yet he was promoted as a Silvan Elf. Silvan Elves wouldn’t be from Beleriand, and it would make more sense to assume that Arondir is one of the Laiquendi instead.

The Orodruin only erupting because of some Orcish undertaking contradicts the fact that at this time the mountain should be a very active volcano – Sauron had specifically settled in this region because of the eruptions of Orodruin.

The Wilderlands

Meteor Man: It is impossible for any Man or Elf to fall down as a meteor and survive. However, for the few Maiar that came to Midde-earth no such incident was ever reported either: Sauron was already in Middle-earth in the 2nd Age, and the Istari came by ship.

Nori’s name: Nori’s full name is Elanor Brandyfoot. Elanor is a Sindarin name, and therefore an unlikely name for any Hobbit (or “proto-Hobbit”) unless they had contact with Sindarin speaking Elves. However, this contact with the Sindar is unlikely to have happened in the Wilderlands east of the Anduin.

Where the show invented its own content

Basically everything that was not included in the first section "Where the show references Tolkien" is an invention of the show, especially all contradictions in the previous section.

It would be too much to describe everything about the show that is an invention, therefore the following list will only a few parts that I find worth mentioning, and give a rough overview when it comes to the storylines.

General worldbuilding

Elvish clothes: Neither veiled Elf-women nor the Greek/Roman-looking wreath is described anywhere in Tolkien's writings.

Elvish healers: Elves calling healers “artificers”, and they “labor […] to render hidden truths as works of beauty” in order to heal the soul is an invention of the show.

The Song of the Roots of Hithaeglir is invented by the show.

Planting seeds before a battle as an Elvish ritual is an invention of the show.

The term "Moriondor" is an invention of the show.

Morgoth’s tears: The story of Morgoth staring into the Silmarils until one of his tears fell on them is an invention by the show, as is the idea that the Silmarils “Fëanor’s work nearly turned the heart of the Great Foe” with this.

The Rite of Sigin-tarâg is an invention of the show.

Singing to the stone: the concept of “Resonating” was invented by the show.

People & characterisation

Galadriel: Galadriel’s desire for revenge, her position as a warrior in and leader of the Northern armies, her aggresiveness, her cruetly towards Adar, her habit to antagonize everyone around her is not based on anything in Tolkien's writings.

Elrond: Elrond writing speeches for Gil-galad, his conscious decision to ignore warnings of Sauron’s presence, his friendship with Durin, his banishment from Khazad-dûm (that was later ignored) is invented by the show.

Gil-galad: Gil-galad sending Galadriel to Valinor because he suspects her to be the cause of the tree's decay, his plan for Elrond to unknowingly find out about the mithril, and him lying to Elrond are inventions of the show.

Celebrimbor being an acquaintance of Eärendil, and involved in the mithril-myth, is an invention of the show.

During III and IV: the characterisation of both Durins is an invention of the show

Elendil: Elendil’s rather strained relationship with Isildur, the existance of his daugter, and the content that contradicts Tolkien’s writings are inventions by the show.

Isildur: Isildur’s friends and adventures at sea, his sister, the issue in his relationship to his father, his desire to find the "true West" and his attempts to cheat to get back into the army are inventions by the show.

Míriel: Míriel's characterisation is overall completely invented by the show, as is her blindness.

Pharazôn: Pharazôn being more of a sheming character is an invention of the show, as is his son.

Invented characters

All characters not mentioned in the "Where the show references Tolkien" section are invented by the show. This includes

in Lindon: Thondir

in Mordor/the Southlands: Arondir, Bronwyn, Theo, Revion, Waldreg, Tredwill, Rowan, Adar

in the Wilderlands: Nori, Poppy, Sadoc, Marigold, Malva, Largo, the Dweller, the Nomad, the Ascetic

in Khazad-dûm: Disa and her children

in Númenor: Eärien, Kemen, Valandil (name reused), Ontamo

all background characters

Story

Lindon

Galadriel's expedition to Forodwaith

Galadriel's journey on the ship with destination Valinor

Galadriel's jump into the ocean and the attempt to swim back to Middle-earth, including meeting with Halbrand

the dinner with Elrond, Durin III, Gil-galad and Celebrimbor

the conflict of the sick tree and dying Elves, Elrond's dilemma regarding his oath, and mithril possibly being a way to save the Elves

Durin III lying about the table and having the stone transported to Khazad-dûm

Eregion & Khazad-dûm

Celebrimbor's need for having to build a tower until spring

Celebrimbor remembering Eärendil

Elrond's, Durin's and Disa's storyline about the mithril, including Elrond's visits in Khazad-dûm, the rite, Elrond spying on Durin & discovering mithril, the collapsed mine, Durin III's ban to mine mithril and his conflict with Durin IV and the following disinheritance.

Númenor

all of Galadriel's arrival and stay in Númenor, and all storylines connected with it

Halbrands storyline in Númenor

Míriel's storyline as Queen Regent

Pharazôn's part as chancellor

Eärien's and Kemen's story

Isildur's storyline in Númenor so far

Elendil's storyline in Númenor so far

the tradition of the blessing of the children

the complaints of the Númenorean civilians about Elves taking their jobs, or taking over Númenor as a whole

the Númenórean expedition to rescue a few villages in the Southlands

Mordor/the Southlands

The culture, history and current situation of the Southlands and its population is an invention of the show.

Except for the idea of Men being corrupted and siding with Sauron, all storylines set in the Southlands and involing Arondir, Bronwyn and Theo are an invention of the show.

The dark sword that makes Theo feel powerful and a sense of loss once he no longer has it, and which also functions as a key to igniting an eruption in Orodruin, is invented by the show. The sense of loss and powerful feeling is in a way an imitation of the One Ring.

The storyline of Adar's Orcs attacking, and the Númenoreans charing in to save the village is also an invention of the show.

The storyline of the Orodruin erupting and instantly turning the previously green Southlands into what is geerally known as Mordor is an invention of the show, including its results: Isildur getting left behind, Míriel being blind, Galadriel taking Halbrand to Eregion

The Wilderlands

The culture, lifestyle and current situation of the Harfoot-Hobbits is an invention of the show. While there was a specific time where Hobbits migrated from one place to another place because of safety reasons, there is no record anywhere that they lived as nomads at any point in the history of Middle-earth.

The storylines of the Harfoots,the Stranger, the Dweller, the Nomad, and the Ascetic is completely invented by the show.

[hallothere]

13, 16, and 20? (I'm just trying to get you to post pics of outfits, lol, maybe tips for dressing dwarves)

13. Any idea how many alts you have?

UhhhHHhh maybe 25? 12 on Crickhollow, assorted on like 7 other servers. I've been more active on Landroval recently, but Crick is still home sweet home

16. Do you have a favorite race to play? Favorite combos of race and class?

You know, I'm most partial to Standard Dwarves, but by pure numbers I have the most Men alts. I don't know why. I feel like Dwarf Guard also is so fun. So stereotypical (for lotro) but so, so nice

20. Do you spend a lot of time on cosmetics- outfits, weapons, housing, pets? Do you have any favorites?

Oh you know I do. And since you asked so nicely, I'll give you a dwarf fashion show as well as tips? I guess? on Choosing Dwarf Looks TM

Before I begin, remember to think about the beards! If the collar of your shirt is its' strongest point, maybe save it for someone with a short beard.

I'm going to start with the highlight:

Now, this is a Curator piece, but there's a very close match in Erebor or Ered Mithrin somewhere and it's going to do great to illustrate my thesis (which I'll get to in a second)

Here we have Ruutbier and Throwan showing off the versatility of this piece. You can go from cozy winter adventurer to spring flinger to mysterious Anorien traveler all with one shirt. Now, I like my Dwarves in some sort of hood item, but as you can see there's a lot of range even there. It's classy, it's timeless, it dyes very well.

But! It's not the only thing you can use (even though it's 6/8ths of Throwan's wardrobe)

This is my central point: because of the way Dwarves are modeled, you're going to be able to get your results by paying attention to how the waistline of the shirt is modeled. The different waistlines are usually a big hint in how the chestpiece will look!

Say you want something like my Grey Mountains Elite fit here? That's a hefty but streamlined dwarf. Centerline simple waist and no skirt/volume in the legs. Add bulk to the shoulders and you're looking at a hammer shape. De-emphasize them with a shawl and there's a sturdy fellow who looks quite hug-able. Your options are limitless and a lot of them are greatly impacted by the breadbasket.

Cases in point:

A Round Dwarf, Perfectly Circular:

Throwan is modeling Identical accessories but look! A busy (read: modeled vs. textured) waistline gives us a rounder look. The first chestpiece is the Remmo light armor, which looks relatively uninteresting on Elves and Men. See how those belts, buckles, and bags change the look of the whole thing!

Tasteful Tapering:

Here we have 3 very different looks (in Light, Medium, and Heavy) demonstrating the effect you can get with a centerline waist and a very minimal belt. The wide Dwarf-stance gives it an almost hourglass look, but can be emphasized or de-emphasized by shoulders and boots. (note: heavy modeling on the calf parts of your boots will really shine! if they're not scrunched to oblivion)

A Wide-Sweeping Statement

Back to Throwan! We're in identical accessories again to show off the different ways a skirt will sit. Robes with centerline, well-defined but simple waistlines will flow nicely (left) and not give your Dwarf an ill-fitted look. Non-robes with greater-than-knee-length elements will become tea length easily on your Dwarf (center). But this one still gives a little flourish at the hem and maintains a round look. Dresses are hit or miss (right). I think this one works because the greatest emphasis on this model across races is the skirt instead of the chest. It sweeps out wider than Throwan's excessive shoulder pads and bounces back from the odd effect created by a center-ribcage waistline.

Interesting Results:

These three are examples of things I didn't expect out of a chestpiece. The Dwarf-make jacket (left) looks meh on Men/Elves but manages to pull off both the Round and Visible Chest Design looks on a Dwarf, so, a win. The Breastplate of the Honed Blade (heavy Pelennor, center) has a lot of emphasis in the chest but still manages a sturdy look with a visible White Tree Motif past the beard. A rare find!

I don't know what's happening with the Sunflower Dress (right). The waist is on the ribcage but it also acknowledges the waist on the model. I personally don't love it.

So yeah! The waistline of your chestpiece determines the whole look 9/10 times because Dwarf Model. Go find those Shapes! Get your Dwarf Runway Ready!

[middle-earth-diaries]

somewhere in Ered Mithrin (I think)

took those just because I am so fascinated by dwarven aesthetics, but also because whenever I pass by some dwarven ruins I think about their craftsmanship and their attention to details

[guardianofrivendell]

When the Company doesn’t realize you understand Khuzdul

The Company & reader, Fíli & reader if you squint

Requested: nah, I just plucked this from my “ideas for new wips” list because I got frustrated with every existing wip I had and I wanted to work on something new - something silly like this, where I didn’t have to think too much, just write and post  

Warnings: Dwarves with no filter, a few saucy comments at the end 

A/N: somehow these headcanon posts (that aren’t actually headcanons, just me being lazy and not wanting to write full sentences and paragraphs) are my most popular posts. And I don’t get it, but since I’m a people pleaser, have another one :) 

it started from the beginning really

when Gandalf had proposed the idea of you joining the quest for several reasons, some of the Dwarves bursted out in complaints

because how DARE he suggest they needed the help of a human 

they didn’t say it so politely of course 

makalfûna bintarg siginkann didn’t exactly mean ‘that lovely human over there’

but Gandalf always gets his way so off on the quest you went

the first couple of days most of the Dwarves kept muttering to themselves or each other about you 

not necessarily all bad things, but there was a lot of complaining involved

it wasn’t your fault you’d never ridden a horse or pony before 

shocking right, living in Middle Earth?

but you were trying 

it just happened to be that you and your horse didn’t really got along

which resulted in a few situations you’d rather not find yourself in 

at least not in front of a dozen judgemental Dwarves and one wizard who was enjoying this far too much 

like your stubborn horse suddenly taking off 

cue two or three Dwarves - usually Fíli, Kíli and Bofur - trying to chase you and calm your horse while the others were laughing their arse off

or you failing to properly mount your horse, falling off countless times

that’s when the Dwarves became bolder and amused themselves with saucy comments and jokes on your behalf

all in Khuzdul of course

because some of those comments were definitely not meant for your ears

h o w e v e r

you might have failed to mention that you understood Khuzdul just fine

one of the reasons Gandalf insisted on you joining btw 

you spent most of your childhood around the Dwarves of Ered Mithrin (the Grey Mountains) who traded with your village and picked up the sacred language very easily 

you always had a knack for learning new languages

at first it was rather difficult to ignore the jabs and insults, pretending you didn’t have a clue what they were saying

but over time you kind of got used to it and it became easier to just ignore them 

you almost gave yourself away once when Kíli asked his brother to throw his water flask and Fíli answered that his was empty as well 

and you automatically reached for your own flask to give the brothers 

but then you realised they had been speaking Khuzdul

you stopped yourself just in time

close call

other times you had too much fun pretending you didn’t understand them 

especially when Thorin divided the tasks when setting up camp and he spoke Khuzdul out of habit

“... and the rest of you go gather wood for the fire”

everyone went to go about their tasks and you would still stand in the middle, arms crossed, a smile on your face, waiting 

after a few minutes Thorin would roll his eyes and repeat the order in Westron

“Now why didn’t you say so? I would already be done with it by now.”

you loved to get a rise out of the Dwarven king

you promised yourself you would never tell them you understood every word they said 

because to be honest, you were rather enjoying yourself and you could only tell them once, right?

but then one night when you were all sitting around the campfire after dinner, you finally broke your promise

it started rather innocent with the usual comments about your terrible riding skills 

in Khuzdul of course

cowards 

Dwarves usually have not much of a filter to begin with 

add some ale they picked up en route and there’s no stopping them 

you tried to ignore it and kept your eyes on the campfire 

counting to ten, then a hundred, two hundred, ...

biting your tongue to keep yourself quiet

but then Fíli - who had actually been rather nice to you - had to join in on the fun

“I bet I can teach her how to ride well”

wiggling eyebrows

cue boisterous laughter from most of the Dwarves

Thorin shaking his head in vicarious embarrassment 

some of the others agreeing with Fíli

“I bet you could!”

that was the last drop for you  

you could’ve accepted it from anyone but him  

not Fíli

you looked him straight in the eye

and answered in fluent Khuzdul with a deadpan face

“I don’t know if you’re strong enough to handle me, son of Durin.”

deafening silence

Gandalf snickering in his beard and then choking on his pipe smoke because he tried to keep his laughter in and horribly failing

all the Dwarves looking at you with wide eyes

“You... You can understand what we’re saying? You speak Khuzdul?”

you made a face that basically said ‘what do you think?’ 

smiling to yourself when you saw the realisation on Thorin’s face that you had heard and understood everything they said about you

you bid them all a good night after that

the sound of Thorin smacking them on their head lulling you to sleep

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[watcherofwilds]

I’ve mentioned in his bio that Daerhovan has written books on stuff he’s passionate about, and then started to wonder what those book titles would actually be and what they’re about.

The Anduin. From Elderslade to Belfalas: A detailed guide of the Great River. Think of those books about national parks.

Wildlife of Middle-Earth series. Volumes are specific to each region (Eriador, Rhovanion, Gondor. The newest in the series about wildlife in Gorgoroth and Haradwaith)

A Study of Flora: Tome about the characteristics of plants in various regions. Which plants are dangerous, edible, or healing. Lists of which plants that are invasive to specific regions when taken out of their natural habitat with an admonishment to gardeners who seek such (His largest book prob. Gets a little to passionate about the invasive plants section.)

Land Restoration from Evil Forces: A guide and study on how to help lands like Angmar and Mordor recover their historic biodiversity. Musings on the effects such places have on the minds of those who are hyper sensitive to the natural world. (Started work on this one after the fall of Sauron. A work in progress from the time he left Mordor for the North and back again to Imlad Morgul. Would leave unfinished until he explores the eastern parts of Mordor.)

The Eotheod: A tome about the early history of the Rohirrim. From the time they called themselves the Ai-thuda, to when Eorl the Young of the Eotheod became the first king of Rohan. (Written after his adventures with a rohirric scholar in the Wells of Langflood.)

Ruins of Ered Mithrin: A study on the abandoned places of the dwarves in the grey Mountains.

[paperdoe]

I’ve mentioned in his bio that Daerhovan has written books on stuff he’s passionate about, and then started to wonder what those book titles would actually be and what they’re about.

Natural World

The Anduin. From Reikfoss to Belfalas: A detailed guide of the Great River. Think of those books about national parks.

Wildlife of Middle-Earth series. Volumes are specific to each region (Eriador, Rhovanion, Gondor. The newest in the series about wildlife in Gorgoroth and Haradwaith) 

A Study of Flora: Tome about the characteristics of plants in various regions. Which plants are dangerous, edible, or healing. Lists of which plants that are invasive to specific regions when taken out of their natural habitat with an admonishment to gardeners who seek such.

Land Restoration from Evil Forces: A guide and study on how to help lands like Angmar and Mordor recover their historic biodiversity. Musings on the effects such places have on the minds of those who are hyper sensitive to the natural world. (Started work on this one after the fall of Sauron. A work in progress from the time he left Mordor for the North and back again to Imlad Morgul. Would leave unfinished until he explores the eastern parts of Mordor.) 

History 

The Eotheod: A tome about the early history of the Rohirrim. From the time they called themselves the Ai-thuda, to when Eorl the Young of the Eotheod became the first king of Rohan. (Written after his adventures with a rohirric scholar in the Wells of Langflood.) 

Ruins of Ered Mithrin: A study on the abandoned places of the dwarves in the grey Mountains. 

[thewarriorandtheking]

The Warrior Queen

The Warrior and The King: Book II

I realized recently there is quite a bit of the Warrior and The King story that is not posted here...I have posted this chapter before but not the others. 

You can find Book I on my MasterList

1. Return to Me

Warning: Mild smut

******************************************

It was a beautiful spring day, a slight breeze blowing in the open window, the late afternoon sun warm with the promise of summer soon to come. Thorin was at his desk trying to compose a delicate letter to his cousin Dain. He was working in one of the old guard rooms above the gates of Erebor. Years ago after the Battle of the Five Armies Kaylea Wolf used the room as an office when she was helping with the reconstruction of Erebor, she said she needed a window to help her think. Thorin had spent so much time in the office that he continued to use it, even after his much larger formal office near the forges was cleaned up and refurnished. He would never had admitted it but he had become used to having the window. Gloin and Fili were with him, going over reports from the new works in the Misty Mountains.

Gloin looked up, something out the window had caught his eye. “Rider coming in,” he said absently.

Thorin grunted, not looking up from his letter. “Must be the envoy from Dain,” he said. “Early. We weren’t expecting him for two days.”

“No, it’s a man,” said Fili, squinting at the incoming rider. “From Rohan, by the look of the horse.”

“Looks more like an Elvish horse,” said Gloin, turning back to his paperwork.

Thorin was only half-listening, trying to find the most diplomatic way to make a request of his cousin. He did not want to leave it to a scribe.

Fili looked again at the rider, thinking he seemed familiar somehow, though he was still too far away to make out much detail. He saw something moving along the banks of the road, then it crossed from one side to the other behind the horse.

“He has a big dog with him,” Fili frowned, Why did that seem so familiar?

Thorin dropped his quill and stared at his nephew. “What did you just say?”

Fili looked at Thorin. “He has a big dog…” his voice trailed off, his eyes going wide.

Thorin jumped up, knocking his chair backward and grabbed the spyglass he kept on his desk. He was at Fili’s side in an instant, the glass to his eye. He studied the rider for a few seconds then handed the glass to Fili and disappeared out the door.

Gloin and Fili looked at each other, neither needed the glass to know who the rider was.

Thorin hurried down the steps to the front gate, telling himself not to run. She was still a ways off, he had plenty of time to get to the gate before she arrived. The gate guards snapped to attention as he approached, Thorin ignored them. The gates were still open as the sun was not yet down, Thorin strode out and across the bridge. He made himself stop there, though he badly wanted to continue down the road. It had been almost 11 years since she had last ridden out of Erebor, Had she changed? Though his life was much different now his love for her remained as strong as ever, seeing her brought back all his feelings with an intensity that felt as if it would crush him. His heart was pounding in his chest, waves of emotions hitting him one after the other - pure joy, uncertainty, anticipation. When Kaylea Wolf reined in her horse in front of him his heart soared as he met her icy-blue eyes. Feeling that familiar thrill run through his body was so sweet he could taste it. She was unchanged, the same travelling clothes, the same wolf, the only thing different was her horse.

Kaylea dismounted and took a knee before him, bowing her head. “My king,��� she said.

Thorin smiled and stepped forward, offering her his hands. As she put her hands in his and drew herself up he felt the familiar sensation of sparks running over his skin, his heart felt as though it skipped a beat. Thorin had to will himself to keep still, all he wanted to do was take her into his arms, but he knew he could not do that in full view of his subjects watching from the gate. And if he started kissing her he would not be able to stop.

“My lady,” Thorin said, still holding her hands. “It gladdens my heart more than you know to see you again.”

Kaylea smiled. “I hope you had not given up on me, my king.”

Thorin shook his head. “I had your word you would return. I had hoped it would be before this.”

Kaylea nodded. “I have been trying to get back since I left. Finally I am here.” She squeezed his hands. “You look well.”

“As do you, my lady.” The two of them stood looking at each other, Thorin holding her hands in his. He had remembered in his minds eye how beautiful she was, but seeing her in front of him again took his breath away. Like some goddess stepped down to earth; her chiseled features, her long golden hair. She was little changed, not a day older, her clothes were the same, in her hair were the braids that matched his own, mithril beads shining in the last of the sunlight, inside the neck of her tunic he could see the chain he had given her.

Kaylea could not believe the joy she felt at seeing Thorin again, she had not realized just how much she missed him until he was standing before her. He was both younger and taller than when she had seen him last. His head was now even with the bottom of her nose, his hair raven black without a touch of grey. He looked like a Dwarf of 80, not one pushing 210, the boosterspice had made him a true heir to Durin the Deathless it seemed. Kaylea was glad to see he had kept his beard short, in fact it looked even shorter now than she remembered. She couldn’t wait to feel it against her body again, the thought sent a tingle up her back. Kaylea wanted so badly to kiss him but she could see he was holding himself back so she held her ground.

Kaylea ran her thumb over the back of his left hand, feeling his wedding ring. “And you are now married.”

Thorin nodded. “To a princess of Ered Mithrin. I have a son, and she is again with child.” He looked at Kaylea closely, wondering how she would take this news, but her face was unreadable. “She is a good friend and a valuable counselor.”

“A good friend?” Kaylea asked, shaking her head. “I am sorry to hear that, my king. I hoped you would find love with the mother of your child.”

“My heart belongs to you, my love,” Thorin replied. “As I told you, it always will.” He felt a sudden tightness in his chest, his heart sinking. He shifted his hands, bringing them up to interlace his fingers with hers. “And you? Have you found...another?”

Kaylea gave him a radiant smile, meeting his eyes. “I lost my heart a few years back,” she said. “To a homeless king who had this crazy plan to slay a dragon.” Thorin smiled, feeling a great sense of relief flood over him, he had not realized he had been holding his breath. They stood looking at each other for a long moment, holding each other at arms length each desperately wanting to close the distance between them.  

“If we stand here much longer Fili is going to come out and tell me I am not behaving as a king should,” Thorin said, smiling ruefully. Kaylea laughed.

“Let me care for my horse, my king,” she said, slowly letting go of his hands. “It has been a very long ride today. Then we can catch up.” She winked at him.

Thorin smiled back. “Of course, my love. I am sure you would also like to wash up after your ride. I will have your quarters prepared. Do you still remember your way?”

Kaylea looked at him questioningly. “My quarters? Where I stayed before?”

Thorin nodded. “They are your apartments, my lady. None stays there but you.”

Kaylea chuckled, shaking her head. “That seems like rather a waste of space,” she reached for the reins of her horse and they went together into Erebor.

As Thorin had predicted Fili was standing just inside the gate, his face full of concern. Gloin was with him, and several other Dwarves Kaylea did not recognize. She greeted the members of Thorin’s old company warmly then led her horse down the side passage to the stables. Hector came trotting in as well, looking from side to side as he followed her.

 Kaylea unsaddled Hadrian and rubbed him down. She gave him a measure of grain and went over how he was to be cared for with one of the stable boys as she gathered her things. The stables had been enlarged and there were stalls that could accommodate horses now. Indeed the kingdom looked very prosperous, with new gates and improvements made to the main halls. There were many Dwarves and Men moving through the Hall of Kings, the sounds of business echoed around the chamber. Thorin had done well. And he had an heir, so his kingdom was secure. Kaylea had to admit she was secretly glad Thorin was not in love with his wife. If he had been she would have bowed out gracefully, but she would be lying to herself to say it would have been easy. Seeing him again had brought back all her feelings for him in a rush, she felt as if she loved him more than ever. She found herself looking forward to the evening, hoping Thorin was not going to keep up appearances and stay away. Judging by her welcome, she did not think that would be the case.  

Kaylea found her quarters newly renovated, with a larger bed, new furniture, rugs and wolf decorations scattered around. There was even a proper bathroom now, with running water. A fur bed had been provided for Hector, who sniffed at it and curled up where he could watch the door instead. Kaylea tried out the bathroom first, it felt good to get the road dust off, it had been a long ride from Mirkwood today. She had just pulled her tunic over her head when she heard Thorin’s soft knock on the door. Not wasting any time then, she thought with a smile and decided not to bother putting her pants on, they were just going to come off in a minute anyway. She took a deep breath before opening the door, she felt nervous as a schoolgirl, her stomach full of butterflies. She opened the door and Thorin quickly stepped inside, he already had his hands on her waist as she closed and locked the door. Kaylea turned in his arms and leaned back against the door as Thorin put one hand behind her head to draw her mouth down to his. Kaylea relaxed into his arms, relishing the taste of him, the feel of his beard tickling her face. She had forgotten how good it felt to kiss Thorin, that smell of frankincense, the taste of rain on earth, how all her cares vanished and she felt like everything was right in the world. They kissed each other for a long time, their hands moving over each other’s bodies, reacquainting themselves. Kaylea could feel Thorin stone hard pressed against her, just the thought of him inside her made her instantly wet. After a few moments Thorin moved his hand up under her tunic, finding nothing but bare skin he moved his hand up inside her thigh, his touch electric. Kaylea broke their kiss to gasp as he slid a finger inside her. She reached for his belt, unhooking it and unbuttoning his breeches. Thorin moved her legs apart with his knee and Kaylea bit her lip as he slid into her. His touch, the feel of him inside was so intense, from the minute she had set eyes on him she had been anticipating this moment. Thorin brought them both to an almost immediate finish. After, the King leaned against her, his head resting on her shoulder.

“How I have missed you,” he said, inhaling deeply. The familiar smell of her, that desert sand and sage. “You feel so good.”

“I have missed you more than I can say,” Kaylea said, holding him close. “I have missed this.”

Thorin gave her a wicked smile. “I won’t be finished with you for hours,” he said, biting her on the ear, then the neck. He moved back to step out of his boots. “Let us move somewhere more comfortable.”

 Several hours later, Thorin lay curled against Kaylea’s back, his arm around her waist, the smell of her filling his senses. He kissed the curve of her neck. Thorin found it strange, they had not seen each other in ten years but once they were together it was like she had never left. He brushed her hair aside to rest his face on her neck.

“How long can we stay in this bed,” he asked.  

Kaylea smiled. “You are the king, you tell me,” she replied.

Thorin chuckled. “I am not expecting Dain’s envoy for two days, so we can stay until at least tomorrow.”

“Will not the queen wonder where you are?” Kaylea asked, turning her head to look at him.

“She is away in the Ered Mithrin visiting her family, my love.”

Kaylea frowned. “I thought you said she was with child.”

Thorin sighed, really not wanting to talk about his wife. “She is. She does not trust the midwives here, my son was born in the Ered Mithrin this child will be as well.”

Kaylea frowned. “I think I will need an explanation,” she said. She started to roll over, but Thorin tightened his arm to stop her.

“We have not seen each other in years. Can our first conversation be about something other than my wife?” Thorin sighed. “I did what you told me to do, what everyone told me to do and, much as I hate to admit it, it was the right thing. Is that not explanation enough?”

“Very well, your majesty,” Kaylea said, with a smile. “We can talk about it another time.”

Thorin kissed her neck again, her shoulder, he could not get enough of the taste of her. He felt like the man who finds water when dying of thirst in the desert.

“Why are you here, my love?”

Kaylea wriggled against him, smiling. “To see you, of course.”

Thorin slapped her playfully on the butt. “You know what I mean! Why are you here in Middle Earth? Why now?”

Kaylea took a deep breath, suddenly serious. “To observe the progress of the Enemy. To go to Mordor and see how his plans progress.”

“Then I am going with you,” Thorin said.

Kaylea turned her head again to look at him. “My king, it is far too dangerous.”

“Is that supposed to make me not want to go? If you think you are going to show up after all this time and I am going to just let you ride into Mordor by yourself, you are sadly mistaken.”

Kaylea rolled over to face him. “This journey may take months, my horse cannot bear us both all that time. And I doubt your kingdom can spare you.”

“My kingdom will be fine, Fili can manage it almost as well as I,” Thorin replied, fingering one of the beads at the end of her braids. “And I have my own horse. A gift from the Rohirrim.”

“The Rohirrim gave you a horse?”

Thorin smiled, remembering. “It was part of a weapons deal. They said I was the tallest Dwarf they had ever seen, they thought it was amusing so they gave me a horse. She is small, but very fast.”

Kaylea sighed. Now that she was here she did not want to leave Thorin, but taking him to Mordor was very unwise. She decided to try to buy some time. “I do not have to leave right away. Let me think about it.”

“Think about it all you want, I am going with you,” Thorin replied, smoothing her hair away from her face. “And when we get back from Mordor you can marry me.”

“You are already married.”

“I have an heir now, I can be unmarried.” Kaylea just shook her head.

“I cannot marry you, I told you that before,” Kaylea met his gaze. “You are just not going to take no for an answer on this, are you?”

“I am not, my love,” Thorin replied. “There must be some way it can be done. Perhaps I could spend some of my time in your land and you could spend some in mine.”  

Kaylea smiled, shaking her head. “You do not know what you are asking, my king.” She drew him close and kissed him. She wished with all her heart she could take him back with her, but Blackwolf would never allow it. He might allow one of his Elven kindred to travel about the Empire, but never a Dwarf. And Thorin had a kingdom to look after.

“Then tell me what I am asking,” said Thorin, not willing to let the matter pass. “Are things so different in your land?”

“They are very different indeed,” Kaylea replied. She wrapped her arms around him, her hands stroking his body. “A conversation for another time, my king.”

Read the complete adventures of The Warrior and The King on AO3 & FanFiction, links on my homepage (author is akdogdriver). 

@theelvenvalkyrie​ 

[loremastering]

Daerhovan is summoned by his old friend Durin back to Skarhald in the Ered Mithrin, listening patiently and with great interest of the history of the first father of the dwarves and the place he wakened from. Mount Gundabad. And of the dwarves that rebelled and sought to overthrow Durin and his kingdom. He grows extremely concerned however when Durin appears transfixed by the ice of The Anvil, claiming he can hear voices promising of greatness and glory. 

The elf is glad older dwarves like Gloin are here to sort him out. Or so he thought. 

[mrkida-art]

The children of the Dáin I, the crown prince of Durin's Folk.

The eldest, Thrór, the future king under the mountain.

The younger, Frór, destined to die. And the youngest, Grór, the future lord of the iron Hills

[lessofthelego]

MURKY OF MIRKWOOD

[Part One: Dwarvish Iron]

The whiff of carbon-etheral coloured the atmosphere, a by-product of the lurid gas fittings along the walnut stairway descending to a similarly clad and lit cellar; the low panelled ceiling and lack of ventilation offered no relief to the unnatural closeness of this room, for so it was for such a one who had sat there seemingly overlong. The four that came with him seemed perfectly adapted to this space and gossiped idly with another behind a clerk’s hatch, they knew it was safe to do so for he was secure; the walking-irons about his wrists and ankles rubbed sorely through overuse, his bruised and cut head throbbed and, to compound the misery, the split below his shin had reopened. “Alright there, Murky?” scoffed the intendant, the newest gang member having learned a fresh quarry’s nickname. Murky remained unruffled and offered no reply; having some twenty minutes ago given his true name to the Panel of Eight upstairs; otherwise known as ‘The Mete,’ also ‘The Dispensation,’ or just ‘Heads!’ Now, it has been long established in the Iron Hills that upon the absence of their lord the heads of leading dwarf families govern in a dispensation commonly known as the Mete; this ensures the smooth running of administration and the continuance of law. Most citizens tend to grumble under these conditions preferring to abide under one authority, albeit that nothing much changes for them. These so-called Heads seldom involve themselves in the tedious fundamentals of running daily business, predominantly leaving such matters to their ambitious nephews and such.  Notwithstanding it is more than apparent among the rank and file that in the absence of Lord Dáin (now King) they are motivated to do more whilst others do less. However, on this day it has not gone unnoticed by anybody that the incarceration of a Woodland-elf’ has certainly, ‘Turned a few Heads!’

Thus they named their captive “Murky of Mirkwood!”, choosing not to believe his account which, as incredulous as it sounded, was true (it is curious that the truth often seems like folly to those who decide not to hear it:) and so the officiators ordered him to be cleaned up and “Arrayed as one befitting his station!” ere he should face them once more. Therefore Murky waited patiently to be processed and looking down upon his fettered limbs he began to review that day’s events: suddenly with remembrance of pain!

Having wakened for the second time this day, he knew straightway that he’d been blindfolded and collared whilst his incapable arms burned and tore behind him. His manacled hands scrambled awkwardly crosswise between compacted shoulder blades; hands winched up against his lissome spine by a chain that looped through the collar and fed into a small square aperture behind. His ankles being set apart and similarly attached within the stony perimeter. A clattering of linked iron proclaimed his sudden stirring and the entirety of this full-grown elf retorted grudgingly in taut sporadic jolts; indeed it had taken some time to discern how he’d come to be so restrained or indeed where he was. Thus, firmly held in place upon an instant he wondered why; verily the fetid air revealed this mystery, the profound stench and onerous tang of smote iron: Dwarvish Iron!  

“YOU ARE NOT SUFFERED TO PASS THROUGH THESE LANDS!”

The jarring recollection of that resolute voice announced a fresh throbbing on the left side of Murky’s forehead, coupled with thumping at the back of his skull. He touched the still tender spot and his eyes rolled halfway back into his head as his memory began to reset itself: “Two nights ago,” he guessed, “This must be the third day… yes two, surely… and yet I cannot be sure…”

His mind sloshed in uncertainty: “Nay, not even Finrod could have withstood such prolonged hold-fast a full day!” but confirmation came by the remembrance of a trickle from the gash above the eyebrow; whence the leather previously obscuring his vision had absorbed fresh blood which being saturated seeped forth unto the corner of his mouth.

“YOU ARE NOT SUFFERED TO PASS THROUGH THESE LANDS!”

Indeed two nights had passed since his setting out, for the going had been slow and wary in an ineffectual effort to skirt the Iron Hills. Nevertheless there had been call for guardedness, excepting for this: any whosoever in Middle-earth with all reasonable sense might suppose that a skilled elf such as he should pass quickly and undetected through hostile lands at need. What then shall be said? He had dwelt overlong on recent events, this captain of the royal household, scratching about in the wasteland of a rival people: was he a captive before he was a prisoner? Yes, all of it and more: for in truth the Iron Hills had kept Murky in thraldom, a part of him (indeed the very heart of him) had to know what it was about these people and his own kind; alas, he was finding out. And even now, he could not reconcile it: “She loved him, how could she have loved HIM?”   

“YOU ARE NOT SUFFERED TO PASS THROUGH THESE LANDS!”

“What a terrible waste it was, the Battle of the Five Armies!” thought Murky of Mirkwood , “Many fine warriors fell in the service of the king, and each one, to the last elf, gladly fulfilled it!” Every elven fighter learns early on what joy lies beyond their last encounter, but how does one respond when faced with such carnage? How does one simply look away and not remember fallen friends? These and other grave questions weighed upon Murky as he sat and waited. A single tear burnt his cheek and dropping it plinked almost inaudibly upon the shackle encircling his right wrist; (now, it should be known that open sentiment demands much of elves, albeit that these people comprehend and cherish the intricacies of life far deeper than most other living creatures;) but the dwarves didn’t even notice him, chattering still amongst themselves.

“What then of family honour, of valour, of friends and newfound allies, and why such profound ferocity in opposition?” he wondered, “And for what cause, heirlooms and riches?” And even more, ever quickening reflections of two others encompassed his thinking; even three, counting the faded drawing of his long departed mother preserved somewhere in his chamber at home. Home, the very place from which he fled; for what was there to keep him, love? Legolas Greenleaf thought not!  

“YOU ARE NOT SUFFERED TO PASS THROUGH THESE LANDS!”  

“Go north, find the Dúnedain…” his father, King Thranduil, had said at their last parting. It happened that these instructions were somewhat vague given that the Dúnedain patrol the reaches of Eriador, west of where he was. In order to have gone that way Legolas must negotiate whenceforth he had not long since returned: the uppermost range of the Misty Mountains, Gundabad and the Mountains of Angmar. He had no desire to go back thither, not least by which time he should have arrived at that accursed place it would surely abound with orcs fled from the battle. In addition recent hearsay abroad stated that an old evil, long thought dead and buried, had arisen once again out of the bowels of that region.

“YOU ARE NOT SUFFERED TO PASS THROUGH THESE LANDS!”

Strident winds blustered into the upper reaches of Wilderland on the day of his departure. Winter was not full set upon Middle-earth but many peoples in the regions of the North, already feeling its premature bite, had hunkered down for a lengthy season of cold weather. Swirled jets of freezing air hissed down from the Northern Waste of the Forodwaith and not even the resilient shoulders of the Grey Mountains could withstand the incursion. These peaks (also called Ered Mithrin) were rather less compacted than their taller mist-covered sisters that reached away south; these too also offered scantier and less protection as the lands to the east became ever barer, particularly in the barren gap known locally as Dragons Teeth. Maybe it was in this land that the dwarves first spotted him; a lone rider, barely a raw cloud of dust, whose going was betrayed by a disturbed trail. For indeed it was he which moved swiftly northward across that gritty fallowness; the austere grey range rising in front of him and the Lonely Mountain standing behind. And southward on that same day smoke and reek blotted out an otherwise cloudless sky, for Erebor was besieged; and directly ahead now only the Withered Heath beckoned.  

“YOU ARE NOT SUFFERED TO PASS THROUGH THESE LANDS!”  

Legolas remembered his horse’s valiant part in these last few days; for in sensing his departure from the Woodland Realm, the mare followed her master into self imposed exile, meeting him unlooked-for approximate to the ‘Long Bridge’ at Lake-town. The prince remembered too with remorse, how she panted heavily under her labour during the latter northward sprint: particularly since he’d all but mentally given up on this course of action. Mostly though he remembered rearing to a halt in full sight of the highest and most jagged section of the Ered Mithrin, which came into clear focus, escarpment, bowl and crag; and he remembered shivering at the very sight of those mountains. In order to negotiate the tricky foothills at this trickier time of year it would have taken a full day riding out from Erebor at first light; and ever the deeper within him it made no sense to go forward: “Which way now?” said he.

“YOU ARE NOT SUFFERED TO PASS THROUGH THESE LANDS!”  

Thus discerning that the hour would soon darken he had set up camp beside some nearby boulders; and ere night full came the elf distinguished movement in the east, for under the evening shadow a large convoy of dwarves moved out from the Iron Hills heading towards the Lonely Mountain. Now it has been told elsewhere, how a great army from that inexorable range had joined in the Battle of the Five Armies: and amongst these was the new King under the Mountain, one Dain Ironfoot. Legolas had heard already of Dain’s coming and ultimate succession to the Seat of Erebor; it therefore seemed safe to assume that the denizens of the Iron Hills would remove in order to see him crowned there. Nevertheless any elf knows that one must proceed with caution when entering into such territory as this; so he had set forth in a slow clockwise arc from whence he had cleared up camp. This course of action somewhat slowed his advancement but that hardly seemed to matter since he knew not where he was headed. at last he’d decided, “Eastward then!”  

“YOU ARE NOT SUFFERED TO PASS THROUGH THESE LANDS!”  

The winds had lessened considerably that night although the prevailing clear sky yielded a ground frost over the lands round about. Much of the evidence of the previous day’s battle had blown away, though the mountain remained forever scarred; as did many bodies and hearts. Legolas averted his eyes from that region and motioned toward the Empty Lands; empty save for the Iron Hills ahead to his right with the Redwater rushing southward from its source. The low morning sun lighting his progress remained unhindered by cloud, forcing him to throw up his hood to shield his sensitive eyes. The frost glistening as myriad white jewels had merged into a vibrant glare; and the usually russet heights stood dark save for a crimson peak-line slicing them against the blue, the river gushed as blood; he took it then as an ill omen but continued on regardless.  

“YOU ARE NOT SUFFERED TO PASS THROUGH THESE LANDS!”  

So it was that on the third morn since Erebor, Legolas chose to abandon the grey region for good and all. He knew this was a crucial moment for much unclothed land stood betwixt Dwarven-home and the last foothills of the Grey Mountains where he stood, and beyond far more bare territory still. He had risen long before the sun, being mostly prepared the previous night; thus he had taken a quick bite and packed up his bedding, and speaking in Elvish-tongue he had primed his mount for the sprint. However ere he put foot to stirrup, there spoke a voice above him: “Going somewhere, Woodlander?”  

Appalled, kindled and shamed, the elf with much haste systematically examined the hinterland; beholding thickset boxy profiles round about; then, from above and to his rear there came yet more, leaning forth into view from a low ledge above the rock-face whence he sheltered: “Dwarves!”    

Ere he could reach for a weapon needs must that Legolas elude a volley of stones; and keeping his back close to the wall he stooped low speedily tumbling beneath the mare, a flat-sharp missile aimed at his head bounced off the rock-stack and sliced into her rump.  The incensed horse hustled in flight through the approaching group of dwarves, splitting them up as she trampled; wherefore rising fast and reaching forth unto the saddlebag her reins-keeper unsheathed a blade as she went.  Legolas stood alone thus encircled by an unnumbered foe, whereupon a large sweep of stout shields closed in..

“Think not that we shall keep the granite back, Elf!” threatened one in front.  

“Think me not able to leap!” the prince replied.

“Aye, sprites can dance but we…”  

“YOU ARE NOT SUFFERED TO PASS THROUGH THESE LANDS!” an authoritative other interjected; when at once from him a jagged nugget cleanly struck Legolas’ brow, knocking his head hard into the rocky mass behind.  Those above him cast down a heavy net with woven metal strands, however this was not required since the flying stone did its work knocking the target out cold. It is not recorded by the Woodland Elves whether or not their prince heard Dwarven laughter that morning as he slumped into oblivion, but laugh they did, long and heartily; and oftentimes the more at the remembrance of it or in the telling of the tale.  

“Not dancing now, eh sprite?” gloated the threatener.

“GET HIM UP!” demanded the leader.  

“Are we going to have some sport?” said another.

“A Woodlander stake-down perhaps?” suggested the first voice from above as many others applauded his proposal.

“NAY, THIS ONE IS FOR DAIN!” spoke the leader.

“What: we are not taking him all the way to the Lonely Mountain?!”  

“NOT SO FAR, NOT YET: THIS FELLOW NEEDS ACCOMMODATION, SO LET’S FURNISH HIM WITH ONE OF OUR BEST ROOMS!”

A red dawn broke over the land as the merry company of Ironhill Dwarves wasted no time in hauling their thump-wilted detainee onto a goatwain. They swiftly dispersed into organised clusters; some fanning out cross-country embarking on patrol, whilst others marched directly homeward. Now, anybody viewing this operation from afar would have to esteem the efficiency of dwarves; particularly upon witnessing the apparent swallowing up by the landscape of those accompanying the prisoner, or indeed upon noting the lack of evidence that aught may have taken place, at the very place whence they departed.  

Had Legolas only known it, the dwarves took him deep into a territory long since kept secret these ages past; a vast subterranean network burrowed throughout much time by several hands, with divers causeways knit closely alongside the roots of the mountain ring above. This ancient marvel of industry originally spread from Mount Gundabad to the Iron Hills, as far up as the Withered Heath, also linking the Iron-lands to Erebor, and even impinging upon the watery grots beneath the northern borders of the elf’s own lands. In latter years the great complex fell into disrepair: the Gundabad-conduit was certainly collapsed by the dwarves themselves and other tunnels were neglected through disuse; yet some legends endure in children’s fables, citing ‘The Invasion of the Earth-eaters!’

These tunnels should not be compared to the Great Halls or Mines fashioned by the Khazâd in Durin’s time, rather they were built as a means of commerce and logistics between the Longbeard and Orocarni Mountain clans. Initially the dungeons were storage chambers along the ‘Famous Goat and Pony Road’ nigh to ‘Ironmasters Marketplace’ in more prosperous days. There are no annals that register the usage of these lockups as instruments of torment, but this practice almost certainly came into effect during and after the bitter Wars of the Dwarves and Orcs; each bank of cells being craftily measured to suit differing sizes of orc, some of which are apt for elves.  

Legolas had collected his thoughts thus far, having pieced together all what had taken place up until this morning’s attack; hereafter his cognition lit clearer.

Being still unusually restricted, he called out behind blinded eyes to see if any others were present with him, but there came no reply save the echo of his own voice; he now deemed correctly that he was being held underground.  He licked the corner of his mouth where the blood had dripped, and taking account of the rough handling by his captors he rightly guessed that the time of day must be between the third and fourth hour since the rising of the sun.  For some reason these estimations soothed him, he was back to himself for a moment. He recalled what his father used to say whenever he hurt himself as a child, “Sound thinking eases bodily pain!” and the impassive visage of Thranduil formed sharp in his mind’s eye.

“Legolas, your mother loved you… more than anyone… more than life…”

Those were his father’s parting words, the memory of which punctured all good sense as if shot through by one of his own arrows. Ultimately pain consumed him: the pain of loss, of estrangement, of love, of folly, of shame and bonds, and he cried out aloud because of it. So singular was that cry that the magnification of it alerted his subjugators to his awakening: after which he fell silent reverting to his accustomed composure once more, howsoever evident his physical discomfort.   

Beyond the walls two dwarves begin out upon a well walked passageway, cleverly hewn, well lit and very long; one tarries momentarily to pat himself down for a token not found as the other speaks, “One hour’s ‘Hard-fit’ is a tough penalty in anyone’s book, but two… that’s severe!”  

“He’s been out cold most of that time.”

“It pulls at the limbs something terrible, Gim, even after ten minutes I’ve heard the hardest of ‘em shriek; and all that regardless of wakefulness.”

“I know… but that’s orcs, Dad: Elves are… well… they’re bendy like!”    

“Elves are muscle and bone the same as us, Lad; not as tough mind!”  

“No two ways on that!”

“Huh, I’ll be surprised if his arms are still in their sockets…”  

At length Legolas perceives two sets of footsteps approaching from his left side which ultimately brake upon his cell door: the muted voices of their owners perish behind the rattle of heavy keys and the substantial clamour of hefty doors grinding apart on runners. The sudden influx of bright light pools about the entrance but doesn’t much reach his already shielded eyes; though right now that was the least of his worries, the newcomers had headed diagonally opposite to the farthest corner, whereupon one spoke: “There they are, drag them over!”

And then, THAT NOISE: an ear scrawping screech of heavy metal across a stone floor that squeals dead at his feet. The elf concludes the worst as two heavy boots stomp up steps approaching him and soon after Legolas can hear, feel and smell the breath of the one before him; he is unable to turn away.  A rough hand pulls the back of his skull forward, banging his throat on the iron choker and snagging a tress of hair already caught in it; “They fitted this one up good and tight,” says the closer dwarf, “Here, bring your steps around to the side of him!”

“Right-o,” a younger voice complies.

‘That sounded like him,’ thought Legolas, ‘That Kili!’  

After the displeasure of more racket within his sensitive ears, Legolas feels a burning on the right side of his face: “Put that bloody torch down you fool,” barks the elder, “Look, just step off: I’ll do it!”

“Why are we bothering anyway?” the offended junior sulks: “Let’s just…”

“Let’s just do nothing but follow our orders, RIGHT!” replies the chief dwarf, climbing the other block of stairs.  

“Whatever it is,” sighs Legolas dryly, “Please… do get on with it!”

“Who yanked your chain? Haha, oh yes it was me: do you want some more?”

The elf dips his head in resignation of the obtuseness of dwarves: “Aye, I thought not: Now don’t move!”

Chunky fingers rifle manfully through elven hair searching out the back of the blindfold, at last a long pin is removed and the strap comes apart; although the tacky blooded section must be peeled away from the skin.  

Legolas blinks in the torchlight as the dwarf takes the buckskin covering and, almost tenderly, wipes off the excess leakage covering his left eye: “That’s a nasty cut there; the back should be alright, just bruised: sore looking but!”

With that the dwarf steps down and beckons his young fellow, and then both stand deacon-like at the open doors, backlit by the corridor:

“Well?” questions the prisoner.

“Orders were that you witness what you have come to, so… give it a minute!”

He wanted to reply sarcastically in his best Dwarf accent, “Aye, it won’t hurt!” but in truth it really, really did, so he just offered back a wry smile and nod; the tactic worked: he felt ridiculous.  

Before long the dwarves re-enter and transfer the box-ladders against the wall behind him, yet more screeching: Legolas’ wits plead, ‘Could they not put wheels on those things?’ Those things slotted and fit beneath dark wooden blocks with tall vertical beams set into their fronts; the captive had not noticed them until now due to his restraints, and even now he needed to crane and strain to see their placement either side him at about a longbow’s length a piece. Presently, the little operatives key-in large looped studs into the uprights releasing a locking mechanism within each wooden block; and pulling the rings toward them the stanchions come out with a clunk, roughly fifteen degrees from their base.  

Nothing happens, “Did you count properly?” demands the supervisor: “Too right, I did!”

The dwarves alight and stand sturdily in front of Legolas. On a sudden there comes a deep rumbling directly above their heads followed by a series of loud clicks… one… two… three; then abrade, a rubbing of sorts, and one more click louder than before. After five seconds of silence the younger dwarf sniggers expectantly.  Now from behind, but still on high, begins an escalating whirr pursued by a cacophony of rapid chains, gears and wheels. Within seconds the ankle restraints loose and the dwarves rush in to prop up the elf as his legs give way; accordingly, the neck chain frees soon thereafter, compelling the reduced Legolas to collapse forward into their waiting arms.  They unshackle and de-collar him and lay him on a low cot; he hurts too much to resist them. There is then the bother and din of resetting the chains; shortly after which the lead dwarf draws near to the elf handling a bulbous flask:

“Here, drink this!”  

“What is that?” demands Legolas.

“Ale…” says the dwarf as the elf crinkles his nose: “Get it down you: What‘s the matter with you?  You’ll need that… we’ve a long walk ahead!”

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see, come on sup-up!” says the dwarf as the prince wretches down the vulgar brew in stages: “Do you good that, build you up!” Legolas returns the flask, flopping back down: “No-no Laddy, no time for that!”  

“Tell me, what is your name sir?” enquires the elf politely.

“ur-well… I’m Dimroc and this is my lad, Gimroc, but we aren’t any Sirs!”

“Hail Dimroc and Gimroc, well met!”

“Likewise… I think!”

“May I ask… have you ever been up in those…?”

“The Orc Creakers: can’t say I have…”  

“I guessed as much, let me explain…”

“Spare us…” sneers Gimroc, who now in full view is nothing at all like Kili.

Dimroc wrestles within himself: “Now look I’ll offer ten minutes respite because your two hours aren’t up yet… and five for the courtesy!”  

Legolas groans with gratitude: “No Dad!” exclaims Gimroc.

“Fifteen minutes, no more… understand?”

“Thank you!” murmurs the elf.

“You, fit walking-irons on him: I need some ale… get the biggest set, Gim; he’s taller than most… and Son, do it civil!” Gimroc complies: disgruntled and somewhat perplexed, but knowing to hold his peace once ‘The Silence’ befalls his father. Even so, despite the dwarf’s honest obedience the longest chains proved too short for Legolas; allowing him the minimal flexibility of movement, for they were designed with orcs in mind, not elves.

Dimroc has worked the dungeons now these past forty-six years, and his son with him for the last eighteen; their main job is maintenance although included in this is the occasional loosing of exhausted orcs, and oftentimes from far worse devices used on the elf. Now, for a surety, Dimroc had heard the tale of how the two kings fell out of fellowship, and how a condescending elf lord demanding his due petulantly refused to assist Erebor in her gravest need. Nevertheless until now he had never before encountered an elf, and despite himself the conduct and durability of this one impressed him. Never before has he suffered compunction about any aspect of his work, but never before has any prisoner ever asked his name: “Orcs have no dignity,” he muttered to himself, “They curse, they bite, they spit and they always piss themselves!”

Thus, he gave Legolas twenty minutes in which to rest; even knowing that the Dispensation would be annoyed and what that could mean to him. Still, it would be unfair to assert that he took this action due to any particular liking for elves, but rather more to do with his own estimation of the day’s events. “This whole matter doesn’t sit right!” Dimroc later explained to his superiors; for to his mind, “Dwarves are better than we had shown; the very meat and mead of Dwarfdom dwells in strength, hardiness and good business: oath-keeping not grudge-bearing!” By his reckoning this prisoner posed no threat to Dwarvish-lands, “The elf was dodging the fringes just beyond the borders and heading toward the empty country!” In short, Dimroc believed that his own people overreacted with bigotry.  

Dimroc had spoken honestly, it was a long walk from the holding cell; and to whither, even now Legolas could not tell. His removal from the cot had been abrupt and hurried, all signs of former consideration had vanished being replaced with flint solemnity; the elf guessed accurately that the dwarves had delayed overlong. None of this however prevented them from fulfilling the remainder of their task, for someone other had instructed that the prisoner beheld the array of torture devices in each open cell as they passed them by. No doubt this parade was intended to intimidate, although one would not have known it with the mundane running commentary given by Dimroc of the names and uses of each instrument. Thereafter turning right, the walking party entered into a rough hewn corridor lit only with braziers at various exit points; the dwarves fully required their flamed torches. Legolas endeavoured to engage with them here but to no avail, receiving only terse directives as they went; the tedium of which being compounded by fettered footfalls linked to heavy irons curbing down his already sore wrists.  

At length the gloomy walkway brightened ahead of them, whereupon egress it opened out to a rotunda; here Dimroc bade them stop. There stood centrally a sturdy wooden table, seeming all the broader for its lone attendant around whom were several other open doorways; all of which seemed to have channels like to the one that the elf had just been through. A bright shaft lit the polished stone circular floor from an unseen source high above: another mystery of Dwarvish ingenuity long guarded throughout the ages. However, the thing most noticeable to anybody seeing this place for the first time was the narrow archway towering directly behind the seated official who now summons Dimroc. Handing the light to his son he motions toward his associate; the two speak together in friendly terms and soon afterward the small company are bidden, “Proceed!”  

Gimroc gestures casually with the flames, pointing ahead, and with a complacent roll-shouldered gait he returns his father’s torch. Legolas comes slowly after, halt in his chains; the third dwarf looks on him darkly as he sidesteps around the bureaucratic board. Dimroc bids his son to lead the way and then follows Legolas single-file beneath the tall pointed arch.  

Legolas plunges into darkness almost bursting his nose on a stone wall; he is saved by the strong fist of Dimroc grabbing the tail of his tunic pulling him back: “Mind your step, there’s a tight corner here…” whereon he shouts angrily to the lead, “Hey Dunderhead, you wait on us and light the way!”  He speaks again to Legolas, “My apologies, he’s not so bad really!” and with that he stretches forth his right hand bearing the torch:

“Now, go left here then right… I’ll show you when, the going will become rough soon so remember to keep your feet!”  

“The going: where are we going?”

“Up…”

“Up to what… to whom…?”

“Just up: now go on, PROCEED!”

They soon come upon Gimroc who with a smirk waits at the entrance of a small stairwell; he does not expect to receive a hard slap from his father’s unfavoured left hand: “When I give an instruction you follow it!  What’s gotten into you today, Lad?” The stone steps formed a compact coil without a handrail and had room only to clear one abreast; indicating to the elf that this spiralled flight must have a sister used exclusively for downward negotiation.  In order for him to access the stairway Legolas needed to stoop low and squeeze himself clumsily through; whereupon the now chastened Gimroc led at reasonable measure with his elder taking up the rear once more. The truth of Dimroc’s warning came into effect as soon as the elf tackled the first step; insomuch that the striding motion required to scale this height tightened his chains and pulled his limbs in defiance of all natural progression. It was not easy for him but Legolas adapted with shimmies here and hops there, and he just about managed to keep pace with the dwarves; indeed the going was rough. For the most part the treads were smoothly dimpled through much use, although others were uneven and cracked; but many of the risers however showed signs of injury caused by the impact of heavy iron-toed boots. This damage obliterated any semblance of nosing and cove work at the front of the steps, thus producing a jagged and indented course with many snags; irrefutably none of this proved conducive to impeded climbing. Therefore the ascent grew tiresome before long, although the dwarves seemed used enough to it; Legolas alas, despite his best efforts caught the base of his shin thrice and his right leg bled sore ere he reached the top.    

They emerged forth unto a vast colonnade with a bustling central square; the whole region stood almost as high as it was wide and was lit in the same concealed uncanny manner from above, only here on a far grander scale. The small delegation did not enter the plaza but rather turned left remaining sheltered beneath the outer pillared walkway. The injury to his leg caused the elf to limp and a great many dwarves witnessed his humiliation as he slowly went along; most of whom sneered in gloomy silence, whilst others muttered among themselves or grunted insults at the hapless captive. Here two things became apparent to Legolas: first of all this place was the heart of commerce in the Iron Hills and judging by the facades of the perimeter buildings it was also the centre of law; and secondly, he had critically misapprehended the number of citizens that would depart from here for the coronation of Dáin.  

At length there came a break in the column-way at the south-west corner whereat a broad road allowed access into and out of the square; and directly opposite from where the elf now stood there loomed a forbidding edifice, plain and windowless but with an excessively large and heavy ironclad door. Legolas instinctively knew that this was their point of arrival and he asked, “What is this place?”

“The Dispensation!”    

[ironfoot-mothafocka]

Dwarrowtober: Warrior

Again, taken from something pre-written (but now unreleased!). Yes, out of sync with the daily schedule, but still procrastinating on writing.

--

Eyes. Khalei had a thing about eyes. Dwarves who had limbs so mangled that their bones had been splintered into tinderwood by orcish war machinery? Khalei didn’t even blink, sedating them in the hospital tent until they ceased to writhe and scream, and carefully removing the arm or leg with clean cuts of their surgeon’s knife. Intestines bulging out out of a soldier’s abdominal cavity from a deadly greatsword swing — the price of war.

Khalei could handle anything as long as it wasn’t an eyeball.

The battle north of the Iron Hills had been short lived, but ferocious. The newly crowned King Dáin had ordered a hundred dwarves to follow a warband of orcs that had circumvented Erebor, either a remnant of one of the scouting parties at the Battle of Five Armies that had regrouped its strength, or a new pack that was travelling to Ered Mithrin. Whatever their business, they had none in being so close to the re-founded kingdom. With so many of their own wounded and Esgaroth in tatters, any attack could prove too much for the Men who still lingered, preparing to rebuild Dale as the winter closed in.

Cries for ‘medic’ reached Khalei’s ears while they were in the middle of wrapping bandages around an archer’s leg. It was broken but there was little to reset the bone with, and the tent that they had set up to house the dead and the wounded was already too close to the enclosing enemy line. The healer gritted his teeth, glancing around. Badrur was desperately tending to a soldier whose ribs had been smashed inwards — a discarded chestplate lay caved-in nearby and blood dribbled down his chin. Rild was nowhere in sight, and the head surgeon Alvis was steadily cauterising a large head-wound that had almost cloven Estri’s skull.

“WE NEED A HEALER!”

There wasn’t any more time to think about it. Khalei tied the tourniquet as tightly as they could and jumped to their feet, grabbing a pack that carried the supplies they needed for field-medicine and pulling on their iron-helmet. If Khalei admitted it, they had been woefully unprepared for the ambush, and the terrain had given the orcs the better hand at the start of the fight. But, unlike the dwarves who were fighting, it wasn’t Khalei’s place or position to worry about these things. They were there to care for the wounded — and that was it.

“Where?!” Khalei called to the dwarf who had poked his head into the tent. “General Baranul — someone last saw him on the ground, about fifteen paces west of the riverbed there, but he wasn’t moving…” the dwarf exclaimed breathlessly. He was limping badly, and a smear of blood was streaked across his cheek, but he was alert and talking, and that would do. Khalei set off, his pack bouncing across his back with every step. In the distance, the orcs seemed to be retreating to form a line once more, a horizon of ugly shapes, blackened armour and the the hunkering outline of wargs. Here and there, Khalei ducked around swinging axes, but the remaining orcs were either being quickly dispatched or were already taking their last breaths on the battlefield. A sliver of hope that this would be the end of it rose inside his chest. Please let this be it.

After only a moment of scanning the dried-out river for the dwarf, Khalei found him laying in a pool of blood. General Âr Baranul was alive, but he was gravely wounded, and for a moment Khalei backed away, grimacing. There was an arrow jutting straight out of his face. Mustering himself, he kneeled down and peered over the prone body. The General’s eyes were closed, but his chest rose and fell and he was still gripping the haft of his axe. “It’s medic Khalei Iskbanal, General. Put your arm around me if you can, and I shall carry you.” The General let out a throaty laugh. His black beard and moustache were matted with congealing blood and his chest was rising feebly, perhaps, Khalei imagined, from unseen internal bleeding. “You couldn’t carry me. Leave me.” “I wouldn’t have suggested that, General, if I could not do it,” Khalei said, gritting their teeth at the slight. It was General Âr’s way, but he didn’t need the dismissal when the dwarf was so close to death. He leaned forwards, placing his fingertips on either side of the dwarf’s neck and working his way down to assess the extent of his injuries. “But before I move you, I need to check that you can still feel your legs—”

The sky went dark. For a moment, Khalei assumed that it was a cloud blotting the sun, or that twilight had fallen unexpectedly early. But then, he heard it. The incoming whistling far above them, getting louder and louder by each passing second. Khalei glanced up, and saw the volley of arrows arching upwards, and then, as if time had slowed, falling steadily towards them. Well, that’s that, then. Khalei threw himself onto of the General, avoiding the eye with the arrow in it, and covering as much of the dwarf’s body with his own as he could. He felt Âr try to push him off, a stout leg finding the strength to hook itself over his body and roll on top of him instead, but Khalei held fast, pinning the larger dwarf to the ground. He was a medic — a healer. He did not leave dwarves to die if he could help it.

To this day, Khalei didn’t know how they both survived. The next thing Khalei remembered was raising his head and noticing that the Gates of Mahal’s Halls looked very much like the same stretch of riverbed. The pain in his calf made it all the more real. In a daze, the army medic broke off the stems of two arrows that had embedded themselves in his calf, before laying down to check for Âr’s breathing. “Go,” the General whispered, his face pale. “Get. Out. Of. Here.” “No,” Khalei grunted through the pain ripping through his leg. It took all his strength to carry Âr back to the camp, even after Khalei had stripped him of his armour. At some points he was just dragging Âr across the field, before two dwarves rushed over to help support their General’s body. Alvis met them at the tentflap, her brows creased in worry. Khalei thought he heard her mutter something about his leg, but his eyes were fixed on the nearest cot.

Âr’s eye was the only one Khalei had ever touched. He had steadfastly avoided anything to do with them throughout his medical training, but now wasn’t the time to balk. Leaning over the General, he trimmed down the arrow and set about carefully removing the entrenched tip of it. It was a miracle that it hadn’t passed straight through Âr’s skull, but there was no saving his vision. “Khalei — Prince Iskbanal — your leg—” Khalei twitched in irritation, holding the General’s head still for cleaning as the General’s jaw worked, stifling a cry of agony. “I’m working,” he said flatly, brushing off the concern of his fellow healer. “And I’m Healer Iskbanal.” The General’s one good eye opened. It was bloodshot, but it held a steady gaze. “You’re King Varhi’s wayward younger brother?” he asked. Khalei shushed him, pressing the tincture soaked cotton pad underneath his nose, the calming fumes suffusing the air. “If I had known that before, I would have cleaned up a little.”

—

“And that,” Khalei took a draught of wine, setting the glass neatly back on the table, “is how I met your father.” General Âr looked over proudly, the golden rim of his eyepatch glimmering. “Though I was afraid that you wouldn’t look twice at an old, one-eyed dwarf when you had so many others trying to woo you,” he remarked. Khalei smirked. “Less eyes the better for me. Still hate the things.”

[quelleeleneath-blog]

I HAVE FACED THE GREAT SERPENTS

In the book, Tolkien never mentioned that Thranduil ever fought involving againts the dragon.  We do know Thranduil was born sometimes during the late First Age in Doriath (one of region and elven kingdom of Beleriand) Glaurung (father of Dragon)  the first dragon merged in the FA 260, as the experiment result of Morgoth/Melkor to facing elves Noldor in Beleriand. Has super power abilities and hypnotic dragon spell with eyes, sacked Nargothrond (elven stronghold in Beleriand) easily in FA 495.  Later in FA 498, Glaurung was killed by Turin Never revealed  Glaurung ever attacked Doriath, even Turin's family (mother and sister) ever lived well in Doriath. But we assume the destruction of Nargothrond and horrible stories about Glaurung, he had heard  from his father Oropher because he was not born yet at that time. In the end of the first age appeared Ancalagon the Black (the Mightiest of the Dragon host) that fought on behalf of the Dark Lord Morgoth in the War of Wrath also called the Great Battle, was the war of Elves, Men, Dwarves and Valar against Morgoth. Ended tragically because Beleriand sink beneath the ocean, but Elves Sindar did not involve in this battle, and Thranduil was still young in this moment. It’s possible that he witnessed dragons that wandered to the battle or perhaps ever attacked elvish refugees. Ancalagon then was killed by Eärendi the half-elven also Lord Elrond's father. In the Third Age there was Scatha the worm, the “great dragon of Ered Mithrin” (the Grey Mountains north of Mirkwood) Then was slain by Fram, a human the son of Frumgar, the ancestors of the Rohirrim who lived “in the Vales of Anduin". Probably during this period dragons wandered from the north (the place where the great dragons bred)  to south towards the elves.  Most possible at that time Thranduil had become a king faced dragon and had got hurt and scar. The memories of elven kingdom that destoyed by dragons in old times made him did took action to protect his kingdom from ruin. Remember he said in movie  " Do not talk to me of dragon fire! I know its wrath and ruin. I have faced the great serpents of the north"   Smaug the Greates lived during the Third Age, rumors about wealth of Erabor had made Smaug and other unnamed dragon “great cold-drake” came to dwarves.    A human from Dale Bard the Bowman with black arrow then slew Smaug.   ~Based on the Book and my assumption . . . Thranduil from The Hobbit 3 movie not for profit only for admiring Thranduil, Peter Jakcson and Tolkien.

Credits to stock provider for background (always amazing to see their provide the stocks) elevit-stock.deviantart.com/ar… soldadodecristo.deviantart.com… malleni-stock.deviantart.com/a… heart-of-a-pyro.deviantart.com…

SCAR OF THRANDUIL'S FACE                                           

IMDb explained about Thranduil’s scar : Thrandiul’s sudden cars reflect a little emphasized of Tolkien’s lore: elves’ “Fëar” (a metaphysical concept analogous translatable as “soul”) occasionally influences the “Hröa” (the fleshly, physical body), particularly under moments of extreme stress. This can manifest as extreme physical changes that reflect the mind’s state, in this case deep war scars. Peter Jackson and Lee Pace took inspiration from Oberon and the Fisher King in describing Thranduil’s character. The Fisher King or the Wounded King always wounded in the legs by something, because of his injury, he is unable to perform activities by himself and depends on help from others, can not fulfill his duties as a king, his kingdom suffer as he does and has become a wasteland. Oberon is the king of the fairies who lives in a wood that is full of strange and magical things with a face so handsome that no mortal man can remain unmoved by his beauty.  One day Oberon is engaged in dispute with his wife Titania. They are both powerful nature spirits, When Oberon fights with his wife, the weather is affected.  Sometime he can be kind, but sometimes can be evil, seen as a contrary character. Thranduil seems like combines two kings, get wound as Fisher king but beautiful as Oberon, and  every king should be mentally connected to his kingdom, the kingdom becomes a picture of king. As Lee pace stated that Mirkwood it’s a corrupted forest, become a very dangerous, wild place, and it is also Thranduil’s realm. The forest is very much a reflection of king, just as the king is a reflection of his land. like the Mirkwood forest is corrupted, the king also corrupted. So the  scars of Thranduil's face as symbol about fear, anger, pain and corrupt his soul and his kingdom. Probably his grief and sorrow of the past, then he chose to deep isolations  and refused to help the dwarves. . . . Thranduil from The Hobbit 2 Movie not for profit only for admiring Thranduil, Peter Jackson and Tolkiens. You can't find exactly similar image in movie, behind the scene or poster, because is edited based on my creativity. If you see this picture without my watermark anywhere, it means that someone has stolen it from my sites without permission.

ELVEN GLAMOUR

The odd little scene in which Thranduil loss control and part of his face melted away puzzled me a bit. but i think Janice (a friend who accompanied him to the movie) got it right when she said this was elven glamour that masked the Elvenking's true face slipping for a moment under stress. That makes sense given the glamorous were shown in the book of

elven feasting among the trees: what we see in Mirkwood and the wood-elves' realm isn't necessarily reality. The scars also help lend weight that he knows whereof he speaks when it comes to just how dangerous dragons are.

~ John Rateliff, author of History of the Hobbit~

The same image as above but i tried to cover the scar of Thranduil face to connect with the assumption that Thranduil uses glamour magic to hiding his scar.

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Thranduil from The Hobbit 2 Movie not for profit only for admiring Thranduil, Peter Jackson and Tolkiens. You can't find exactly similar image in movie, behind the scene or poster, because is edited based on my creativity. If you see this picture without my watermark anywhere, it means that someone has stolen it from my sites without permission.

For anyone who wishes to share my editing  anywhere else on social media, PLEASE INCLUDE THE LINK WHERE YOU'VE FOUND THIS PICTURE,  Also, do not change my edits. This includes the change of colour as well as the cropping of the picture or screenshot. Do not blame me if I report your link for you have been warned.

Find high resolution picture on my  https://quelleelenath.deviantart.com/

[mrkida-art]

A sketch of King Náin II of Durin's Folk, and her baby Dáin I

I hc Náin to be a dwarrowdam King hehe

ALSO!! Not Dáin Ironfoot, this is his great grandpa