#for volume I angmar stuff

[find-the-path]

Oc-tober Day 17 - Legend - Lastadron

It was perhaps impolite to barge into a person's private rooms without permission, and even downright stupid to do so with an Elf-lord's private rooms. Lastadron would like to think that this was a special occasion.

"What do you know about Angmar's champion?"

Laerdan didn't jump (not that Lastadron had really thought he would) but rather looked up with a mildly surprised expression, which quickly turned to concern.

"What on earth happened to you?" For anyone else, it might have been an emphatic, the hell?

“Yesterday--- you said something about Angmar having a champion. What do you know about her?

Laerdan didn’t react right away--- which was fair, considering Lastadron’s appearance.

He hadn’t been conscious when the blood-sworn had dragged him from Minas Deloth and dumped him in the wilds of Himbar, but they or their mistress apparently had something of a sense of humor. He’d been dressed in what was either Angmarim ceremonial robes or perhaps a demented bedsheet. It was long, tattered, blood-red, and did not in the least fit. 

His own clothes had been nowhere to be seen, and as he hadn’t crossed paths with any Ranger besides Areneth on his breakneck trek through Gath Forthnír, he was still dressed in them.

After only a moment, however, Laerdan focused, and a crease appeared in his brow as he concidered Lastadron’s words.

“I know much of her, my friend, but what has happened to you? Those are the robes of acolytes in the service of Angmar.”

Good to know.

Lastadron sighed. His blood was still fizzling from the horrific spectacal he had been witness to, and his mind had not yet fully cleared of the strange fog.

“A long story,” he said.

It was only nearly an hour later, dressed in spare clothes of the Rangers’, that Lastadron was at last able to tell his tale in full. Of the strange, winding journey into that dread tower, he said little, but spoke in length of the meeting hall, the rows of fell spirits, the palantír, and at last the uncloaking of Sara Oakheart and the conference with the Lidless Eye.

When at last he fell silent, his throat was dry and the room dead silent. Only Golodir, Laerdan, and two of the most senior Rangers of the Second were present here in Golodir’s own chambers, and every one focused entirely on him. Lastadron self-consciously took a sip of the water he had been supplied with, and his jiggling hands stilled somewhat.

One of the Rangers, Maerchiniath, at last spoke up. “If this is the same Amarthiel of which our legends speak, at the battle of Fornost---”

“It is.” Laerdan’s face was pale, and tense.

“Fell news,” Golodir, of them all, looked the least affected, still as grimly determined as ever. “She has a palantír, you saw? The same Mordirith kept?”

Lastadron nodded, and turned once more to Laerdan. “You said you knew much of this Amarthiel, and the rest of you know her name. Who is she?”

“She was Angmar’s champion, in the days of its rising.” Laerdan’s voice came slow, and his gaze directed into the fire. “All through the Witch-king’s conquest of Eriador, she marched with his forces, fought with his minions, and before her, the good people of the North quailed. The armies of Angmar marched behind her on Fornost, and Fornost fell.

“Yet Eärnur came out of the South, and Glorfindel from the East, and together their forces retook that great city. History records that she was defeated upon the fields of battle that day, by an unknown Elf, and I had thought her dead. But now, you say she has arisen again in might.” he fell silent, staring into the fiery depths of the hearth.

“This Sara Oakheart,” Golodir spoke again, “She has shed her guise at last, but why did she bear it at all? She was there, that day, when Mordirith was felled, but she did not come to his aid, nor even appeared before the palantír was unguarded. ...Is she allied with him, or isn’t she? And if she is as mighty as you recall, Laerdan, then why has she not risen to strike us all down, here in her own land where none might know?”

A faint shudder passed around the small room, and the fire, the only light to be had this deep in the caverns, sent ominous shadows scurrying about the corners. The two Rangers, Brúnfair and Maerchiniath, regarded their captain warily, but he heeded them not, fierce gaze levelled solely on Laerdan until the Elf at last looked up.

“The majority of Amarthiel’s power, they say, came from a mighty ring: Narchuil, forged by the Gwaith-i-Mírdain in their days under Antheron. Few alive still remember this, and most pass it off as fantasical horror-story. Still, the tale has the right of it. Not a Ring, as Sauron himself helped to forge, and still not one of the Three Rings of Elves, that Celebrimbor himself wrought in secret. A lesser ring, by all account, but evil, and one that could lend devestating power to its bearer.”

“Could? Did she lose it?” Lastadron said, and immediately found himself subject to the full force of Laerdan’s ancient gaze.

“Yes, she lost it, that day upon Fornost hill, but it was not destroyed, and I believe she must seek it still, for her only power without it is the loyalty of her minions, great though that is.”

“What happened to it?” This time it was Brúnfair who voiced the question.

“It was broken, they say, and hidden, but where none know, not even Amarthiel. She has in her possession a palantír now, though, and with it she will learn of its location with time. I am afraid there is little we can do regarding that.”

A silence fell on the chamber then, of consideration and brooding. At last Golodir rose, and drew aside the rough-hewn door that led to the rest of Gath Forthnír. A dim, torchlit hallway lay beyond, and the faint echo of voices could be heard somewhere down it.

“You have endured a great trial,” he said gravely to Lastadron, and as if drawn by his words a wave of exhaustion passed over him. “Rest, and take food. We will plan our next move.”

Areneth, now off duty from the surface, led him to one of the cavernous barracks that housed the Rangers, and he passed out nearly immediately upon lying down. He did not sleep well, though, and his dreams were troubled.

[nenuials]

What is the greatest accomplishment/work Lothrin has done as a scholar?

She isn't called Sage of Annúminas for nothing. I would say THE biggest accomplishment would be her work into documenting the life and day-by-day goings of the northern dúnedain. Especially the early dúnedain, the Arnorian. Throughout her time in the kingdom, she has written meticulous volumes on the language, genealogies, customs and military of Arnor. An even greater accomplishment is her actually maintaining those volumes, as she managed to keep her work untouched through both the depopulation of Annúminas and the devastating fall of Fornost.

Can you imagine what the fall of Fornost actually meant culturally for the northern dúnedain? They lost two capitals in the span of less than a couple hundred years. They lost so many cultural items, and of course proprietors of culture? Do you think that while Angmar was ravaging Rhudaur and Cardolan, the Arthedain people were training painters and poets? No, they were funneling everything they had into their military, and even that wasn't enough.

Hundreds of years later, the modern northern dúnedain can only thank Lothrin for her work, as it is due to her diligence that they can still trace some of their genealogies, still keep their language near intact and still know about some the customs of their ancestors. Of course, it would be quite disrespectful to say that Lothrin is the sole reason of them remembering such things, as the dúnedain have their own very dedicated scholars. But she contributed a great deal to their cultural remembrance, through both her having lived those events and her writing stuff down. The originals of her works are kept in Imladris, for safe-keeping, but there are copies present in the Trollshaws, Evendim and the North Downs.

Also, Lothrin wrote a very interesting tome on the similarities and differences between the calaquendi and moriquendi: Quentalë Lembiyë Úmaneldi (An account of the Elves Who Stayed Behind and the Elves who would not go to Aman) *sweats translating it right* "The elves who stayed behind" refers of course to the elves who journeyed to Aman, but followed Fëanor back to Middle-earth and now refuse the summon back to Aman, thus staying behind.

The conjuncture of her penning this work is actually quite interesting. With the depopulation of Annúminas, the relationship between her and the northern dúnedain of 9th century T.A. slowly deteriorated and she felt quite unwelcome in the court at Fornost. Taking her leave, she left the north and journeyed first home to Lotlòrien, then south to Edhellond and from there she visited her Avari kin in Harad and the Orocarni. News reached her in the end about the war in the north, and she rushed back right in time for the fall of Fornost, but that is a tale for another time.

[vintagerpg]

Lords of Middle-Earth Volume II covers the many variations of Men in Tolkien’s world. That also includes Nazgul. Nazgul are cooler than regular Men, so I’m going to talk primarily about them.

As I mentioned yesterday, these books filled gaps in Tolkien’s writings. JRR only named one of the ring wraiths – Khamul the Easterling – and gives no real biography of any of them. That just wasn’t going to cut it for a roleplaying game, though, so herein you will find nine ring wraiths, boasting names and full histories. The Witch-King of Angmar’s name is Er-Murazor. It doesn’t get much more awesome than that. There’s a lady Nazgul, too. In a nice design touch, each wraith has a totem animal incorporated into their helmet (Er-Murazor’s helm is a kraken). And these aren’t short bios - most run two pages or more. So, yea, if you wanted Nazgul fan fiction, this is your book. I love it.

MERP cover art doesn’t get much better than this Angus McBride cover depicting the face-off between Eowyn and the Morgul Lord. Liz Danforth is the sole interior artist and I think her stuff has a bit more energy here than in Volume I. But maybe I am just a sucker for Nazgul.

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[dawnfelagund]

Rereading LotR: The Prologue

I am rereading The Lord of the Rings because it has been a dreadfully long time since I last read it in my first semester in my MA program. I can no longer read Tolkien purely for pleasure. Part of me wants to append an “unfortunately” to the front of that statement. Part of me also recognizes that reading Tolkien is now such a deep, minds-on experience that is also very pleasurable. Knowing this, I stuck a small stack of post-its into the front of the book this morning when I left the house, knowing I’d find stuff and have ah-ha moments and want to jot down notes. Because, frankly, I am far less familiar/comfortable with LotR than The Silmarillion.

And I’ve also decided to blog about the experience. I doubt I’ll do every chapter, but when I bump into stuff that makes me all flappy-hands excited and like I must write an essay right now or I might explode, I will try to blog about what provoked this.

So today Mr. Felagund was on-shift all day at Jay Peak and needed me to get the groceries for the week, so I treated myself to lunch out alone and the Prologue of LotR. Most of my musings on the Prologue have to do with historiography: Tolkien went to extensive lengths to create fictional authorship of the legendarium, and that authorship which relates to LotR is discussed in the Prologue. And of course this fictional authorship--and particularly the bias I believe JRRT deliberately wrote into the texts--is a major research interest of mine right now. But I also discovered lots of interesting stuff in there about oral versus written tradition among the Hobbits.

“To the last battle at Fornost with the Witch-lord of Angmar [the Hobbits] sent some bowmen to the aid of the king, or so they maintained, though no tales of Men record it.”

This is exactly what I mean. The Prologue also states that the Hobbits had primarily an oral tradition and many were not literate. This quote is interesting because it brings to the fore the valuation of oral histories versus written histories.

We see this in The Silmarillion as well, where precious little of the story is devoted to the histories of people who are not explicitly literate, such as the Avarin Elves. Literate people--the Noldor, Sindar, and Edain--receive most of the attention. The sons of Fëanor lived among the Elves of Ossiriand so they weren’t inaccessible; presumably oral histories could have been collected from among them, except that Pengolodh seems to have fallen into the literate fallacy that the written word is inherently and unequivocally superior. (Tell that to someone who has memorized a text like the Rig Veda or who is competent enough with oral formulas to construct an hours-long epic retelling ex tempore!)

Our (presumably Hobbit) author here seems to feel the same way. The “or so they maintained” has a qualifying, dismissive ring to it. Take that line out and the tone of the sentence changes significantly. As it is, that aside introduces doubt, like, “It wasn’t written down? But why not if it didn’t happen? So maybe it didn’t happen?” (Taking it out makes the sentence read, to me, like the Mortals who failed to record it had ulterior and not entirely magnanimous motives.)

Of course, according to the Prologue, the authors of the texts that form LotR and the Appendices were highly literate--as was Pengolodh, the “author” of much of The Silmarillion--and likely put a lot of weight on written texts and records. Nonetheless, this single line lends credence to my theory that Tolkien was aware of these kinds of historiographical dilemmas in his legendarium: Who got to determine what stories were told and how they were told? I do believe he thought about this and made narrative choices based on such considerations.

“[Hobbits] liked to have books filled with things that they already knew, set out fair and square with no contradictions.”

More on Hobbit historiography! This makes me think that this is a trait of a society that relies heavily on oral tradition, which is inherently conservative, functioning to preserve the past and traditions/wisdom that everyone already knows rather than fording forward into inventiveness the way we think of literature as doing.

This also strikes me as the opposite of The Silmarillion, which it appears Tolkien constructed in such as way as to open multiple contradictions from a historiographical perspective. (Hence my work on historical bias and who gets to tell their story in The Silmarillion.) But The Silmarillion is written with a completely different sense from LotR, which reads like a story. Obviously, there is a clear point of view, but short of wading through the Prologue and/or Appendices, one could escape a reading of it without being aware of it as a “historical text” per se. I think this is far less easily done with The Silmarillion, which is written in such a style as to invite comparisons with ancient and medieval texts of dubious historicity. The characters of The Silmarillion are also much more morally complex: the Fëanorians (”bad guys” whose deeds are often positive or noble) and Thingol and Túrin (”good guys” who don’t seem to do much actual good).

This quote makes this make sense, though. As progressive as the Hobbits who authored and compiled research for LotR may have been, as much stock as they seem to have put in written versus oral tradition, they still come from a conservative culture that holds these values. So the story they write leaves very little room for ambiguity, either in terms of what happens or the moral message one should take away from it.

“Of the Finding of the Ring”

This whole section is fascinating because it recounts how Tolkien essentially leveraged the status of his story as an imagined history (rather than a “story” with clear events that unequivocally happened) to rewrite the riddle scene in The Hobbit to better accommodate its “sequel,” which would become The Lord of the Rings. I know this is common knowledge by now, but it still delights me every time I read it.

An interesting tidbit from this section: “[Frodo and Sam] seem to have been unwilling to delete anything actually written by the old hobbit himself,” even after they learned the truth of the riddle episode from Bilbo. Both were willing to make notes about the text but not to actually change it. Of course, this can be read as a form of deference to Bilbo. It can also be seen as another “symptom” of the conservative oral tradition where the predominant narrative is indeed still the “true” narrative, even if not the factual one, and where the wisdom taught by such a story is more important than the factuality of the details. (On the latter point, the behavior of the hero fitting a certain type--namely, not that of a thief, trickster, and liar--might have motivated keeping the original story intact. See above about the Hobbits’ distaste for contradictions ...)

“At the end of the Third Age the part played by the Hobbits in the great events that led to the inclusion of the Shire in the Reunited Kingdom awakened among them a more widespread interest in their own history; and many of their traditions, up to that time still mainly oral, were collected and written down.”

And so the Hobbits transition from a primarily oral society to a definitively literate one in the Fourth Age. This passage again contains a whiff of superiority of written over oral culture: The notable events of the Ring Quest and the return of the King triggers interest, which sparks a sudden surge in literacy; therefore, literacy must also be a good thing. The idea that participation in the great events of the world might encourage an interest in the oral tradition doesn’t seem to occur to the author of this text. Although, somewhat ironically, when Samwise imagines how their experience will be represented in the Shire, he imagines it recounted as part of the oral tradition.

The passage that suggests that Bilbo translated what we know as The Silmarillion as part of the Red Book of Westmarch occurs in this last section of the Prologue as well:

“But the chief importance of Findegil’s copy is that it alone contains the whole of Bilbo’s ‘Translations from the Elvish’. These three volumes were found to be a work of great skill and learning in which, between 1403 and 1418, he had used all the sources available to him in Rivendell, both living and written. But since they were little used by Frodo, being almost entirely concerned with the Elder Days, no more is said of them here.”

Christopher Tolkien, in the preface to The Book of Lost Tales 1, expresses regret in not making this more explicit, having doubted that there was enough certainty when he compiled and published The Silmarillion to say definitively that the Red Book contained the texts we know as The Silmarillion. The Tolkien scholar Robert Foster first suggested it, and Christopher--citing this passage--later came to agree and regretted not making this clearer. I also feel the loss of the loremasters in The Silmarillion but, hey, hindsight is 20/20 and The Silmarillion is indeed a “work of great skill and learning.”