#fortress of angmar

[theworldsoftolkein]

The Watch Tower of Amon Sul

[bitterseaproduction]

An Indispensable Silver Lining | The Hobbit Ref Dump

So, I can’t (see: don’t want to) go on with An Indispensable Silver-Lining until I can sit down and rewatch some Desolation of Smaug to pin down some character locations, and I really wanna decide if I’m going full movie-verse or embracing a specific fanedit or book+movie mix and what timeline I want to hold myself to for Thorin—

Can you believe I started this fic thinking ‘I’m not going to get bogged down by canon or details this time. I just wanna write for the fun’? 😂 That went well.

Point is, just because I want to gather some canon facts? It hasn’t stopped me from writing up 1500 words of a chapter 2+ plan, or over 6 THOUSAND WORDS of longterm storyboarding in less than THREE DAYS covering Smaug and the men/dwarves/elves factions and the orcs and some of the bagginshield progression and the ‘act 1’ climax and like three ways ‘act 2’ could break bad, and— well, you can tell it’s a true passion project when I keep stepping away, think of another thing, and scramble back to my phone to jot down a few hundred more words in whatever moments I can steal. And, more pertinent to this post, I can’t stop devouring a ton of resources and inspiration.

So, with that in mind, I thought I’d just share something of those sources! For fun, for later reference for myself as I write, for practical use if you’d like it yourself, or maybe you just want something else to read and these are great fics/lore bits to choose!

Fan Edit Considerations

A Comprehensive Guide to Fan Edits of the Hobbit Trilogy An older list, but viable for what it covers

Help on choosing Hobbit fan edit? Which is the best? A second reddit list, a bit more modern.

FanEdit.org: Lord of the Rings franchise A comprehensive list of options for The Hobbit + other LotR works

The Compromise Cut Created after all of the other lists, uncertain if it is on FanEdit.org.

[still need to fill in specific options & opinions]

Resource Websites

The Encyclopedia of Arda Tolkien Gateway LotR Online

Specific Details

TEoA: A Viewer’s Companion (AUJ) TEoA: A Viewer’s Companion (DoS) TEoA: A Viewer’s Companion (TBoFA) TEoA: Longbeards + The Other Clans

TG: Quest Motivations Generally good overview of the point of the quest and what happened.

TG: Smaug Role / Gandalf motivation "Following the sack of Erebor, Gandalf felt that Sauron would take advantage of Middle-earth's weakened state and attack Rivendell and Lothlórien or try regain Angmar; he also feared that Sauron "might use" Smaug "with terrible effect". [...The White Council] attacked Dol Guldur in TA 2941, while Sauron and Smaug could not "help one another". [...] his adversaries were able to drive him from the fortress with relative ease. [...] Sauron abandoned Dol Guldur willingly, and returned secretly to Mordor, where he would openly declare himself in TA 2951, and began preparations for his final war to dominate Middle-earth."

TG: The Arkenstone Arkenstone info from book and adaptations

Durin's Line Tapestry from DoS Shows the family connections with original book birth dates for all. Even though it was presumably made pre-sacking in 2770, and 3 of the company depicted were born after Erebor fell. That... is curious.

The Line of Dwarves A more thorough (and intriguing) look at the dwarf lines and relevant dates, all book-based.

Comprehensive Genealogy Chart of all the Hobbits from J.R.R. Tolkien's Legendarium My gosh is this expansive... and hard to load up on a screen, but if you don't want to miss something, check this!

HOBBIT FAMILY TREE: How are Bilbo, Frodo, Pippin, Merry, and Sam related? The less brain-breaking hobbit tree that focuses on the main 5 from the books.

Lord of the Rings Hobbit Family Tree More of a middle-ground on the 2 above options.

Bag-End PJ Hobbit Map Crucial for Bilbo background & any Shire scenes if they come!

A chronology of The Hobbit A day-by-day breakdown of the journey in The Hobbit, great for what-ifs and assessing likely travel times!

Suggested Alternative Timeline For The Hobbit by @avelera A very nice older post on a potential timeline alternative for The Hobbit films. As said above, the films do use the original dates in places, but as this post says, they don't always make sense about it. This is a nice option to consider instead.

Major Inspiration Fics

Backs To The Wall by @conkers-thecosy My current top TH/LotR read, a great active WIP, definitely a direct inspiration to me with the failure to get into Erebor leading things off course! And I'll likely have a parallel Laketown focus for a bit, though nothing as detailed and lived-in as Conkers' fic. And, aside from great writing and general motivation to write TH/Bagginshield, I love the portrayals of the characters (BILBO, Thorin, Gandalf, Dwalin, Nori, Bard and the Bardlings--) and pairings. Definitely tempting me towards Dwalin/Nori here!

And I'm Your Lionheart by Lee_Whimsy There always seems to be a fic in every fandom of mine that draws me in very early, becomes and instant fave, and then hangs there unfinished but perpetually on my mind. The 'one that got away' fic. This is it, and I shall forever love it, and you can just bet it will bleed into my takes somewhere, especially with Gandalf and Legolas and Bard and Fíli, if I recall correctly. I should totally reread this, or at least sections of it. Reading to the 'end' is... painful.

The Most Precious of Treasures by @sapphireshelle91 Another long untouched WIP, but a VERY different one, as it is a) post-TBoFA, and b) features a female Bilbo and parentshield with dwobbit!Frodo. I include this one because a) I love a number of the characterizations, b) if 'And I'm Your Lionheart' gives me the infrastructure and maintenance inspiration for Erebor, THIS fic delivers on the politics and intrigue, and c) I am a HUGE sucker for parentshield, be it biological or adoptive, so naturally I'm contemplating it for my own fic. Still iffy on which way I'll take it, but I've fallen down some intriguing rabbit holes in regards to Shire culture and Bilbo's background while considering the biological option, and I'd be loathe to abandon those ideas now. But either way, this fic deserves a definite nod for motivating me to come up with ideas.

Home Behind and Home Ahead by Etharei Love the characterizations in this one, and in particular, anything that gives me a tap onto Bilbo's character is appreciated. And I don't know if I'll draw much on it for this fic in particular, but I love all forms of parentshield and this is a lovely dynamic between the three characters, so I'd happily draw from it in the abstract.

[minubell]

i would sell my soul for more explaination about the nazgul's quarters within the fortress

That's okay, I'm selling my soul for questions so I guess we've just traded.

To start, every floor in the tower was outfitted with a generic bedroom, fully customizable once someone moved in. This generic version features a singular bed, a side table, a table, and two chairs. Of these, only the cushions on the chairs, and the bedding was not made of stone, and thus the only thing that Mairon had to actually import rather than just make himself. Once a Nazgul moves in, Mairon will work with them to ensure they are comfortable in their new space.

Every floor has rooms aside from the bedroom, which are empty upon creation. These tend to be turned into anything ranging from trophy rooms to tea rooms to libraries.

Most of the Nazgul decorate their rooms in stylings reminiscent of their homelands. Khamul has a large, lounging type bed that looks something of a cross between an actual bed and a sofa. His sheets are silken, and many white curtains hang from the corners of his room. This gives the entire space a very airy feel. Angmar's room is decorated as one may expect from Numenorean royalty: tapestries and rugs, textiles, a sturdy, wooden bedframe. Other bedroom specifics in no specific order:

Akhorahil does not have a bed, but instead has a hammock. This is because there is no room for one thanks to all of the random junk she has stolen over the years. The floor of any section of her part of the tower is rarely visible.

Uvatha's room is still the generic room. This is because he does not sleep here. He sleeps in the stables out back with the horses.

Indur's room is still the generic room. This is because he rarely sleeps there. He usually ends up in Angmar's room before the night is over.

Dwar's bedroom has taken over the entire floor, as he requested Mairon knock down all of the walls separating them. This is because he needs room for all of his dogs' beds, because he'd feel bad if he had to pick who got to sleep in his room with him.

The Nazgul's rooms are color coordinated, just like their rings. For example, Khamul's room tends to be decorated in white, gold and purple things. Angmar's room tends to be decorated in white, grey, black and blue things. This is because they are evil power rangers.

[verecunda]

10 First Lines

I was tagged by @bryndeavour. Thankee, dear! <3

This is the first line of the last ten fics posted, isn't it?

Shadow March (Kidnapped/Frontier Wolf crossover, gen, G)

It was three years since my adventures, and just a little over two since I had come into my full inheritance, when Alan visited me again at the house of Shaws.

The Washer at the Ford (The Flight of the Heron, Ewen/Keith, G)

The mist came upon them suddenly: no thick incoming tide of sea-fog, but one that fell around them almost like a curtain.

Yellow and Gold (LOTR, Legolas/Gimli, G)

When Gimli and the others had left the Lonely Mountain to attend Master Elrond’s council, the year had been on the wane: the alders and the beech trees shimmering with gold on either hand of the road, the whin bushes on the moors dark, with just a few brave yellow flowers still hanging on, as if in defiance, not just of the oncoming winter, but of the great Shadow that threatened them all.

Leave of Duty (ROP, Elendil/Míriel, G)

She knew it was Elendil even before he was announced.

The Natural Element (The Flight of the Heron, Ewen/Keith, G)

The afternoon sun had burned away the last wisps of mist from the great cone of Ben Tee, and warmed the red granite of the creag ruadh almost to a glow.

Revealed by Night (The Silmarillion, Maeglin/Salgant, G)

Though the evening was yet young, the feasting in the King’s Hall was already at its height.

A Shadow of Despair (LOTR, Witch-king of Angmar, G)

Standing upon the walls of his dark fortress of Carn Dûm, his face turned into the teeth of the wind, the Lord of Angmar thinks — in whatever part of his mind that is yet his own — that his master chose this seat well for him.

Gie Me a Cannie Hour at E'en (Kidnapped, Alan/David, G)

I had come into my kingdom at last, and after having come through so many trials and travails — et terris iactatus et alto, as Mr Rankeillor might have said — I was now filled with a strange, unreal sense of calm and satisfaction as I sat up into the night, contemplating the future that now lay before me.

Reversals (LOTR/Silmarillion, Galadriel & Celebrimbor, G)

When Celebrimbor was not to be found in the smithy, Galadriel sought him in the gardens.

What Watchful Cares (The Silmarillion, Celebrimbor, Lúthien & Huan, G)

The night was far advanced, but one solitary light still burned in the smithies of Nargothrond.

(Heavens, we've been very prim and G-rated here over the last six months, haven't we? XD)

This one's been doing the rounds quite a bit recently, so apologies if I end up tagging anyone who's already been tagged: @di-daydreamer, @cilil, @chiropteracupola, @swanmaids, @cycas, @cuddlytogas, @imakemywings, @m-madeleine, @dilkinazm, @themalhambird, and @sanguinarysanguinity.

[porphyriosao3]

#7 Scary Stories

"You call that a scary story?"  Bilbo snickered, sitting propped up on the couch in the Royal receiving rooms with his pipe and teacup, braced halfway in Thorin's lap where he sat reading... or at least pretending to do so.  Fili and Kili were flopped on the floor in front of the fire, glaring at him, as Thorin snickered and hid his face.

"Bilbo!"  Fili said disparagingly.  "What do hobbits know about scary stories, anyway!"  A motion in the corner of his vision made Bilbo glance over as Thorin quietly put his face in his hands.  What he had just heard sank in, though, and that was all the distraction he needed.  He could barely believe his ears!  Did this dwarf just...?!

"Exactly," Kili huffed, dark brows drawn down in a rarely-seen scowl, rolling his eyes at Bilbo's scandalized expression.  "I don't think you understand just how scary the deep caves can be."

"What do...?"  Bilbo spluttered, setting his teacup on the floor and then lurching upright to glare at the two.  "I beg your pardon?!  What do hobbits know of scary stories?"  A wicked smile crossed his face.  "Have you ever heard of the Witch-King of Angmar?"  The young dwarves glanced at each other, blue eyes meeting black with identical looks of confusion, then they shook their heads.

"Good heavens," Bilbo sighed.  "I suppose I should speak to Balin.  What is he teaching you, anyway?  You clearly need more history lessons."  Both of the youngsters looked ready to flee at this.

"No fair," Kili whined, "you can't make this scary like that!  It's the story that has to be scary, not the threats!"  Fili grimaced but nodded, a certain cast to his face making it obvious he hoped Bilbo was joking.

"Alright, I suppose I will have to tell the whole thing.  Angmar, as you ought to know but clearly don't, started out as a tiny part of the kingdom of Arnor, the northern kingdom of the Island Men of Numenor.  It was the sister kingdom to Gondor in the south; only Gondor is still there, whereas Arnor isn't.  And this is the story of what happened to it."  He cleared his throat and took a sip of tea.  "Long ago, there was a king of Numenorean blood who was deceived and enslaved by a wicked spirit named Sauron, and oh!  The stories I could tell you about Sauron would freeze your blood in your veins!  He was one of the only survivors of the War of Wrath, when the Valar destroyed half the world to kill his master whose name we don't speak even today."  The two boys had gotten quiet but nodded; this part they knew, if only vaguely.  "Now the Valar thought that Sauron was destroyed.  He had been lord of a mighty fortress full of dark things," his voice dropped a bit.  "Terrible things.  Werewolves and vampires, balrogs and dead things.  Sauron was also a necromancer, you see, able to raise the spirits of the dead and make them do... things."  Bilbo noticed that the boys were subtly inching towards each other; apparently they were aware of at least some things from the past, even if only the exciting bits.  "But when the War of Wrath was over... what nobody had expected was that he survived."

"But... how?"  Fili asked, scowling as though Sauron's survival was a personal affront.  "That doesn't make any sense!  I mean, not only Mahal but all his brothers and sisters too went to war, destroyed all the evil things and changed the world and everything else, stepped on Gabilgathol and Tumunzahar like anthills, and he still survived?"

"Well, he was a powerful sorcerer, you see..." And as Bilbo went on to weave the tale of how Sauron deceived the king of a small kingdom into extending his life and learning sorcery, leading him down a dark road until he was only an immortal, invisible shade, the two young dwarves - seeming much younger than their years at this point - were practically huddled into each other.  On and on the tale went, of the rise of Angmar and its now-terrible king.  Crowned with iron like his master, he rode on a horse that breathed fire, wielding a giant flail that could crush a grown man.  By the time Bilbo told of the death of Arvedui and how the Witch-King ruled over the lands with a mailed fist, Fili and Kili were shivering on the floor despite the roaring fire behind them.  Even Thorin had put down his book and given up all pretense of reading, listening spellbound to his husband. "Worst of all," Bilbo went on, waving his pipe dramatically, "even after his victory was complete, the Witch-King worried about treason and persecuted the people who still dared live there himself.  Men who dwelled in that land would sometimes hear a knock at the door, always late at night.  They would ask who it was, but there was only a voice 'Who is the king?'"  Kili groaned, then looked around as if to see who made the noise.  "If they looked out the window, there was nobody there, only blackness.  But if they said anything other than 'Angmar is King', the door would open..." his voice had dropped to a whisper, and even the fire seemed darker.  "And in the morning, they would be gone.  Nothing left but their clothes."

"T-That's r-r-ridiculous," Fili said, his show of bravado ruined by his shivering and the whites of his eyes.  "He's dead an-anyway."  He stopped and looked pleadingly at Bilbo.  "Right?"

"Well, most think he died in the Last Alliance," Bilbo said heavily, making a show of cleaning out his pipe and packing it with fresh pipeweed.  "But it's quite difficult to kill a spirit.  The barrows east of Bree are still full of dead things set there by the Witch-King, and they're not a place to be at night, that's certain."  He sighed.  "Tales come out of Fornost-way down the Greenway that say people still vanish from time to time... but I'm sure it's fine.  That's all ancient history now anyway.  It's late... you two should get to bed now."  The two dwarves got up and stumbled out after saying their goodnights, looking more like worried pebbles than the strong young warriors they were, and Thorin sighed as the two closed the door behind themselves.

"You are a terrible person," the king murmured into the hobbit's hair, grinning.  "They'll be up the whole night, and spend it in the same bed besides."  Bilbo sniffed dismissively.

"If I were truly a terrible person, I'd go knock on their door in an hour or so asking 'Who is the king?'"  Bilbo said, one brow raised.  "That's what we'd do in the Shire.  Besides, they challenged me."  Thorin paused for a moment at the idea, then snorted with laughter.

"You've overlooked one thing, my heart."  Thorin was smiling softly but Bilbo scoffed at his words.

"And what is that, pray tell?"

"Fili and Kili may act like children still, but they are trained dwarven warriors.  The 'Witch King' in the hallway might be in serious danger, even if the boys pissed themselves while bursting through the door."  Bilbo opened his mouth and sat for a moment, then closed it again and turned away from Thorin's grin with a huff.  How dare his husband be right like that?

[sesamenom]

Hobbits are strange little creatures.

Like, there's three main avenues of creation in Middle-Earth: created by Eru (the Ainur, elves, men) and created by Valar (dwarves, ents, Eagles).

And then hobbits just kinda... evolved. Out of nowhere.

Speaking of, how exactly did hobbits evolve their specific skillset? They're great at hiding and sneaking around, so what exactly were they hiding from?

Burrowing animals evolved burrowing habits to hide from predators, travel long distances underground, create shelter, provide warmth, and nest- but hobbits apparently can build houses, raise and ride ponies for travel, and nobody exactly hunts hobbits. They also evolved in a temperate mountainous climate that probably isn't the best for burrowing, and they probably don't nest. The only other reason to burrow is to keep food cool and fresh, which isn't really necessary with vegetables.

They also have remarkable vision, second only to Elves (who literally get to ignore the limitations of the horizon and biology) and great aim, to the extent where ~200 hobbit archers joined the assault on Angmar's fortress.

Additionally, hobbits are capable of extreme feats in battle (see: the resistance to the winter invasion by wolves bigger than hobbits/ Bandobras the Bullroarer killing a notable orc king, and the whole Scouring of the Shire) , and are remarkably resilient to physical injury. Bilbo got knocked out by a boulder to the head and got out perfectly fine, without so much as a concussion or fracture! On the same adventure, he nearly drowned riding barrels down a freezing northern river and just suffered a cold for a few days! Pippin survived a cave troll falling directly on top of him; Merry recovered from attacks by the Witch-King of Angmar in a few hours when Eowyn and Faramir spent weeks in the Houses of Healing!

Why exactly did hobbits evolve to be: stealthy with great eyesight and aim, resistant to most injuries, burrowers who stockpile food in cool dark holes, and actually great fighters when needed?

The only clear explanation here is that hobbits (well, early hobbits at least) weren't always peaceful, non-confrontational little creatures.

They're ambush predators. gollum gollum

[magesentron]

We returned to Middle-earth of LOTRO last night, on the Treebeard server for more adventures in the North Downs with Sentronus the Lore Master and Sebastian the Bear.  We fought our way up to the very door of the fortress of Fornost and killed trolls on our way into a fiercely defended orc camp, clearing out each and every Uruk and killing their leader to secure the trust of the Elves of the North for a Council to defend the land from Angmar.  Soon, Sentronus and Sebastian will be headed to Oatbarton and Lake Evendim where they must meet with the Wardens of Annuminas and defend Eriador from invasion before it’s too late.  Join me next week for Wizard Wednesday at the usual time, 7pm Eastern at twitch.tv/MageSentron to catch all the adventures!

[angrenwen]

The Seven Houses of the Khazad by Artigas

Stiffbeards: Renowned Craftsman, they make their homes in ice caves on the vast frozen lands up north, starting around the ice bay of Forochel and all the way down in between the mountains of Angmar and the grey mountains (Ered Mithrim). Very secretive and peaceful, they avoid taking part in any troubles from the outside world at any costs. Despite their secretive ways, they are also accomplished merchants, and regularly travel vast spans of the frozen lands to trade with many diverse cultures. The items they create from exotic materials such as Ivory and bones from sea monsters are very sought after, in particular their fabled toys. Stiffbeards are ultimately free spirits, lovers of music, stories and the tribe above everything else. Stonefoots: They are the somewhat less developed branch of Durin’s folk, widely regarded as great miners, gem cutters and delvers. They are otherwise considered by many to be quite simple-minded, stubborn and difficult to deal with, but despite that they are greatly favoured by the Longbeards, which hold them in high regard as dependable and trustworthy allies. They dwell on the southern part of the Orocani on the east side, near the pinewoods and shores of the sea of Rûn. Broadbeams: Great merchants from Zirakbhund (Mallost) and later Mount Dolmed in the Ered Luin, they were Founders of the great city of Belegost (Gabilgathol). The Broadbeams are well known for their wealth, their prosperity, and the formidable fortresses they have built. They are also widely respected for their military might, and in particular for their legendary Dragon-Warriors. They are also considered the greatest armourers the dwarves had ever produced and were the creators of the fearsome Dwarf-Masks. Most prominent among the Broadbeams was King Azaghâl who wounded Glaurung the Dragon, and whose Dragon-helm was later passed down to Turin Turambar as part of his family heirloom. Longbeards: Noble and wise rulers, originally from the northern part of misty mountains on Mt. Gundabad (under which Durin himself is said to have awaken) and later on its southern ranges where they founded the great city of Khazad-dum, dug under the three peaks- Barazinbar, Zirakzigil and Bundushathûr. Regal, prosperous and traditionalist, they are the righteous heirs of Durin I The Deathless, and are therefore the supreme rulers of the dwarf kind. The Longbeards are held as a divine and sacred lineage by the other clans and command great power. Firebeards: Hot-headed, warlike and tough, Firebeards came from Nogrod (Tumunzahar) in the Blue Mountains. Supreme metalworkers, they are said to have invented maille. They are also hailed as the greatest Blade-smiths among Dwarves, and naturally many of the best came from their ranks, such as:  Gamil Zirak (said to be the greatest of all times, maker of the knife Angrist, the sword Andúril and the Dragon-Helm of Dor-Lómin), as well as the legendary Dwarf-smiths Telchar and Garmur. They befriended the elves with whom they traded profusely, and were commissioned by King Thingol of Doriath to delve Menegroth as well as to create treasuries and weapons for him. The necklace Nauglamír was their greatest creation for the King, and the cause of equally great woe. Ironfists: Proud, strong and fierce, the Ironfists are renowned for their formidable warriors of noble descent and their military might. Hailing from far up north on the Orocani mountains and near the gulf left by the now extinct sea of Helcar, they are said to be the first to unveil the secrets of Iron and Steel, which they brought to Durin as their gift when they answered to his call. They are a very warlike and greedy people though, and are accounted to have been involved in many shameful minor wars against other clans, particularly with the Firebeards, to whom they bear a grudge and consider to be their rivals. It is also with great difficulty that they accept to be ruled over by the Longbeards, and despite recognizing their authority as rightful rulers of the dwarfkind, they take every opportunity they can to act independently. Blacklocks: Great architects and Jewell makers that made their homes in the Mountains of Shadow’s far eastern side (Ered Glamhoth), among the remnants of Hildórien in the arid lands scorched by the never-ending sun. They were the first to develop civilization and are prodigiously rich and unbelievably proud. The Blacklocks are very famous for their wealth and they guard it with extreme avarice. They are also accused of being the “black sheep” of Durin’s folk and of being greedy and selfish, as well as of worse things such as dealing with orcs and perhaps even Mordor. Unfortunately, many times those accusations bear more than a hint of truth.

[swan2swan]

I am also an easy mark for this Rings of Power show because I would devour a whole series about the Witch King's time in Angmar and Aragorn's survival and education in his land. Haunted fortresses, harsh environments, conquest, relics, evil spells, daring missions...it's a whole saga of adventure that essential boiled down to "now here's this dude attacking the city, he's really strong and scary."

When they finally introduce him, I am gonna lose it.

[wandering-woodlands]

The Light of Hope - @rangers-are-cool​ - continued from here

✶   ―  “The spirits of the statues?” Tauriel repeated before nodding her head in understanding.  “The watching-stones,” her brow furrowed in concern. “Many watching-stones have been placed throughout the south of Mirkwood, near Dol Guldur, of course they would have their vile guardians posted throughout Angmar.”  Taking several steps forward, she approached the Ranger.  “We have yet to cross one, but it would only be a matter of time.”

Crouching down, Tauriel’s green eyes focused on the ashy dirt and with the keen dexterity of her kind, studied the impressions in the ground.  

“Though my knowledge would appear inept compared to the tracking skill of the Dúnedain, it would seem your missing rangers passed this way not only a day prior.”  Standing to her full height once again, she cast her gaze outward, beyond the rocky cliffs and towards the sharp steepled towers of Carn Dûm which loomed above the mountainous horizon.  The fortress itself seemed to grow into the jagged terrain, becoming one with the desolate cliffs of its surroundings. Its towers reached up into the smoke-black sky like skeletal fingers that could be seen from great distances, despite the elevated peaks of the stone walls that encircled it.  

“I have yet to see any sign of struggle, but my fear for them only grows, as their tracks lead closer to the Witch-king’s fortress.” The elleth looked back uneasily at Hal.  “Do you wish to continue this search alongside us, mellon nín?  They may not yet be lost, and I could not with ease of mind abandon them to torment by the servants of the Witch-king.”

[theworldsoftolkein]

Carn Dûm - The Capital of Angmar

[somelotrnerd]

Sauron: The Second Dark Lord: Part 4

His body defeated and his Ring taken, the spirit of Sauron leaves his physical form. This dark malice flees to the far East, where he would slowly regain his power over the next 1000 years, awaiting the day when he can return to Middle-earth and take vengeance on the line of Isildur.

Map of Middle-earth in the Third Age

While his defeat against the Last Alliance would release his subjects - like many of the Easterlings - from his direct rule, the lands would fall into chaos and civil war. No doubt Sauron hiding in the East didn’t help the situation.

Around 1050 TA, a Shadow comes to the forest of Greenwood. It would settle at the former capital of the Elves of Greenwood called Amon Lanc. With this dark presence dwelling in Amon Lanc, it would come to be known as the “Hill of Sorcery” - Dol Guldur - and this entity would be known as the Necromancer. For 250 years, Sauron’s power and presence would grow. 

Not only does this present an evil presence in the south of Mirkwood, but it leads to other signs of growing evil throughout Middle-earth. The Orcs of the Misty Mountains become more bold against their enemies. The Dragons of the North attack the Dwarves, likely consuming many of the Dwarven Rings of Power. The Nazgûl return, with the Witch-king founding the kingdom of Angmar in 1300 TA.

In 1635 TA, a great plague inflicts much of Middle-earth. It is described as a pestilence brought by an evil wind from the East. This plague, likely brought about by Sauron himself, devastates the areas of Rhovanion, Gondor, Rhûn, and southern Eriador. Due to the enormous loss of life, Gondor is forced to retreat inward, abandoning the fortresses which guard Mordor, thus opening the door for the Nazgûl to return. 

At this time, the kingdoms of Gondor and Arnor realize that the enemies they are facing are being coordinated by a single force and agree to work together. However, the kingdom of Arnor would fall to ruin and decay at the hands of the Witch-king. While Angmar would be destroyed by a combined force of Elves and Gondorians in 1975 TA, Arnor, now kingless and decimated, is abandoned - its legacy carried on only in its ancient monuments, the Rangers of the North, and the line of Isildur. 

Five years later, a Balrog is awakened in Moria, leading to the death of King Durin VI and the Dwarves’ exile from Khazad-dûm. After being driven out of Eriador, the Lord of the Nazgûl returns to Mordor and in 2050 TA, he causes the disappearance and likely death of the last king of Gondor.

At this point (2060 TA), everything has gone pretty well for Sauron. Arnor is no more, Dragons and Balrogs have weakened the Dwarves, and Gondor now has no king. However, Sauron’s power has grown to a point that the Wise take notice and, in 2063 TA, Gandalf enters the fortress of Dol Guldur. Still appearing as a mysterious shadow, and not ready to declare himself openly, Sauron flees before Gandalf can determine his true identity.

As he is wont to do, Sauron returns to the East, once again corrupting the Easterlings from within, preying on old allegiances not only to himself, but to Morgoth. For nearly 400 years, Sauron would work in the East, building alliances for his eventual war. This period is known as the Watchful Peace. The shadow in Mirkwood is lessened, with only the second-in-command of the Nazgûl - Khamûl the Easterling - stationed in Dol Guldur. The other eight remain in Minas Morgul, preparing for their master’s return. In 2460 TA, Sauron would indeed return to Middle-earth, coming back to Dol Guldur - now with an army awaiting his command in the east.

Three years later, the One Ring is found by one of the Stoor Hobbits in the Anduin River, not far away. At this point, sensing the danger growing once again, the White Council is formed, though for centuries, Saruman as its leader would prevent the Council from moving against the presence in Dol Guldur.

At this time, Sauron’s goals are simple: gather as many Rings of Power as he can - including the One Ring - and destroy the line of Isildur, which he has not forgotten and still harbors a deep hatred for. Once again, evil forces begin to move throughout Middle-earth. In the South, a new breed of Orcs, the Uruk-hai, come from Mordor and briefly take control of Ithilien from Gondor. Five years later, the Orcs of the Misty Mountains have made themselves strongholds within the mountains to prevent passage from the East to the West. With Moria having been abandoned by the Dwarves due to the Balrog centuries earlier, Sauron sends Orcs and Trolls to live in the former Dwarven realm. 

Around this time, a clan of Easterlings under the sway of Sauron amasses east of Mirkwood and begins raiding the areas of the forest and the vales of Anduin. This force, known as the Balchoth, attacks the Gondorian realm of Calenardhon in 2510 TA. However, a group of Men living in the north of Middle-earth would ride to Gondor’s aid. As the Éothéod make their way south, it is likely Sauron would have moved against them in some way, but Galadriel sends out a mist to cover their passing by Dol Guldur. They come to the Battle of the Field of Celebrant, where the Balchoth are defeated. As a reward, they are given the lands of Calenardhon, which becomes known as the kingdom of Rohan.

While this development is not ideal for Sauron, his plans march on. In 2845 TA, Sauron’s forces capture King Thráin II, the father of Thorin Oakenshield. The Dwarf is imprisoned in Dol Guldur, and Sauron claims one of the coveted Rings of Power from him. Five years later, Gandalf makes his way to Dol Guldur, seeking to investigate the Necromancer once again. He meets the dying Dwarf and his long thought fear is confirmed - the Necromancer is Sauron.

Despite Gandalf’s urging, Saruman once again overrules him and the White Council does not move against Sauron. Saruman hopes that, as Sauron’s power grows, he will be able to decipher where Sauron is searching for the One Ring. In time, Sauron learns of Isildur’s death at the Gladden Fields and his servants begin searching the area. In the South, agents of Sauron influence the Haradrim to attack Gondor, while the Uruk-hai once again attack the lands of Ithilien - weakening one of Sauron’s most hated enemies. At this point, Sauron is finding success in both the North and the South. Gondor is in conflict with Mordor and Harad, the Orcs of the Misty Mountains and Gundabad have created strongholds dividing East from West, all the while Sauron’s own power grows in Dol Guldur.

Gandalf sees these pieces of the board moving, but also sees an even more terrible threat - the Dragon Smaug now controls Erebor and if he were to ally with Sauron, the north of Middle-earth - including Rivendell and Lórien - would surely fall. If this comes to pass, Sauron could crush Gondor and Rohan between his northern and southern forces. This threat leads Gandalf to implement a plan to move against both Smaug and Sauron simultaneously. 

In a stroke of fortune, Saruman in 2939 TA discovers that Sauron has been searching the Gladden Fields for the One Ring, and finally agrees to attack Dol Guldur. In 2941 TA, as Smaug is slain by Bard the Bowman, the White Council drives Sauron from Dol Guldur. Not only is Sauron driven from Mirkwood, but the armies of Orcs from Gundabad and the Misty Mountains are decimated in the Battle of the Five Armies. The Dwarves reclaim Erebor, Dale flourishes under King Bard, and Sauron’s plans for his northern campaign are ruined.

A year later, Sauron returns to Mordor and, from 2951 to 2953 TA, the fortress of Barad-dûr is rebuilt. Sauron is now ready to move against Middle-earth and declares himself openly once more. Through the power of Sauron, a phenomenon known as the Shadow of Mordor emanates from the lands, causing despair and sickness among the Gondorians. It is this shadow that would claim the life of Finduilas - the wife of Denethor and mother of Boromir and Faramir - in 2988 TA.

Rather than being directly involved in the coming war himself, Sauron would largely act through devices like this shadow, his servants or through one of the palantíri. This palantír, taken from the former Minas Ithil when the Nazgûl conquered it, allows Sauron to not only communicate with other seeing stones, but with his great power, glimpse places throughout the world. In the aftermath of his wife’s death, Denethor begins using the Anor-stone. Seeing this, Sauron attempts to bend the Anor-stone to his will, but is unsuccessful. Denethor’s will is too strong to be conquered in this way. Around 3000 TA, Saruman begins using the Orthanc-stone. Once again, Sauron attempts to bend the user to his will. This time, however, he is successful. Saruman goes from being one of his biggest threats to one that would aid Sauron greatly during the coming war, though he remains a threat for treachery.

Nine years later, Gollum makes his way to Mordor in his pursuit of Bilbo and of news regarding the One Ring. He is captured by Sauron’s forces, interrogated, and tortured for the following 8 years before he is finally released in January 3017 TA.

It’s worth noting, at this point, a major misconception regarding Sauron’s form. In the Peter Jackson films, Sauron is famously a giant lidless eye of flame. However, in truth, Sauron at this time - and likely even earlier in Dol Guldur - has a physical form. Gollum would later tell Sam and Frodo:

“Yes, he has only four on the Black Hand, but they are enough.” - The Two Towers, “The Black Gate is Closed”

This begs the question, what is the Eye of Sauron that is mentioned in the books? While Sauron no doubt had physical eyes - as Frodo describes a piercing eye rimmed with fire at the mirror of Galadriel and on the slopes of Mount Doom, it is not that his entire being is a giant eye. Rather, the Eye of Sauron is most notably the symbol which his forces display on their weaponry, standing for his unrelenting vigilance and perception toward his enemies, which is no doubt aided by his use of the palantír.

After Gollum is released in 3017 TA, he is captured by Aragorn and taken to the Elves of Mirkwood. Sauron, who had hoped Gollum’s release would lead to the One Ring being revealed to him, is concerned by this development. On June 20, 3018 TA, he sends his forces to attack Osgiliath, not only to test Gondor’s strength, but to cover his sending out of the Nazgûl to search for the Ring. The Nazgûl’s secrecy is a success, but the strength of Gondor is greater than Sauron had hoped. His forces are driven back to Mordor, where he spends the following months amassing his army in preparation for a massive assault on Gondor. On this same day, in the North, Sauron sends a group of Orcs from Dol Guldur to attack Mirkwood, allowing Gollum to escape.

By September 3018 TA, Sauron has learned that Boromir - son of the Steward - has left Minas Tirith, that Gandalf has been captured by Saruman, and that Saruman has been working against him by thwarting Sauron’s spies. He sends messengers to the Nazgûl, ordering them to abandon secrecy and make haste for Isengard. The Ringwraiths would discover enough clues to lead them to the Shire, and they would pursue the ringbearer to the borders of Rivendell.

Soon after, Sauron learns that Aragorn - the heir of Isildur - has joined the Fellowship of the Ring. This leads Sauron to proceed at a quicker pace than intended with readying his forces. When Pippin and Aragorn look into the Orthanc-stone, following Saruman’s defeat at Helm’s Deep, Sauron incorrectly assumes that Aragorn now possesses the One Ring. Once again rushing to act, he sends the Witch-king and a great army to Minas Tirith. Around the same time of the Battle of the Pelennor Fields, he sends a large group of Easterlings to attack the northern realm of Dale. The Battle of Dale, and the resulting siege, would begin on March 14th, and would last until the 27th - two days after the Ring is destroyed, when the forces of Sauron lose hope and are driven out by the armies of the Dwarves and Men. In the South, things wouldn’t go much better for Sauron. His army is defeated at Pelennor Fields and his greatest servant is killed by Merry and Éowyn. Despite this defeat, he has managed to weaken the armies of Gondor and Rohan while he maintains enough armies in Mordor to defeat them.

However, Gandalf once again forces Sauron into hasty action. The wizard advises Aragorn, Éomer, and the lords of the West to march on Mordor itself. As this smaller army of Free Peoples marches to the Black Gate, Sauron’s piercing gaze concentrates on the heir of Isildur rather than on his own lands, where two Hobbits draw closer and closer to Mount Doom. As Sauron is poised to wipe out the army of Men and finally end the line of Isildur, Frodo puts on the One Ring. At this moment, Sauron sees the Hobbit and his location and realizes he has been tricked. He orders the remaining Nazgûl to make all haste to the mountain. However, Gollum would intervene and, in his celebration at taking the Ring back from Frodo, slips and falls into the fires below. 

Thus, Sauron’s power is unmade. His physical form is destroyed. His spirit rises above the lands of Mordor like a black cloud, but in that moment, a powerful wind from the West blows the cloud away. Sauron, now permanently and completely defeated, could do nothing but follow his former master into the Timeless Void, never to rise again. 

[mismaeve]

Long Live the Queen → Part One

↳ Long Live the Queen, Thranduil x Elvenqueen, part one → (prologue is here) Warnings: angst, blood and gore, mentions of death, violence Word Count: 6k Tagging: @tharan-duil, @sehnsuchts-trunken, @i-did-not-mean-to, @rye-nye, @the-ring-wasnt-even-pretty Backstory: Unbeknownst to Thranduil, his beloved wife and queen hadn't perished in Angmar like he and the rest had believed. Due to her unchallenged battle-prowess and her highly skilled military mind, Sauron, with the help of the ring of power, had healed her of her potentially fatal wounds and tainted her with darkness. For centuries, the Elvenqueen has been with the enemy, her mind and soul manipulated by all means necessary, eventually turning her into Sauron's right hand and the sole commander of his vast legions. As the war of the ring rages on, the Elvenqueen is ordered to march on Mirkwood to destroy the Woodland king and claim his lands. A/N: I am thrilled to share this, and will be waiting anxiously for the verdict. Don't be discouraged by the angst, I've thrown in some romance as well, but this story will be quite painful and bittersweet, so keep that in mind. What inspired me to write this to begin with was this song, because as I listened to it, I thought how cool it would be to have a dark and all-powerful Elvenqueen, and how epic it would be if Thranduil and her were to find themselves on opposite sides during battle. I really hope you will like the story! Let me know what you thought? Gif credit → @jesterakuma

Theriadis despised having been sent to Mirkwood when she much rather would have preferred to be sent to either Helm’s Deep or Osgiliath, instead her master had ordered her to deal with the Woodland elves. She cared not for what the elves did inside their forests, cowering behind their walls and fortresses, not when it was Man that posed the greater threat to her master and liege lord Sauron. Her dismay eventually became accompanied by a growing unease that had taken hold on the commander as soon as they had set out to cross The Brown Lands, becoming heavier and heavier the closer they got to Mirkwood. Sleep would no longer come easily to her, and whenever it did beckon her, it brought with it the most vivid of nightmares that almost gave the sense of being visions of the past. Some nights the visions were easy to chase away, other nights she found herself overwhelmed and overpowered by them, creeping inside her mind and tainting it with images of a life long lost.

The commander’s black eyes wandered over the battlegrounds, the air was thick with the smell of blood, and riper still with the stench of fear. Orc and Elven forces alike were scattered all over, filling the night with sounds of blades meeting and the shrill shrieks of pain when a blade found its home deep within flesh and tissue. As Theriadis made her way through the fallen ranks of orcs and elves, the soles of her boots trudging through blood and stepping over the corpses of the fallen, a tall and lean figure caught her attention. He looked magnificent, wielding his swords with such grace and precision, she couldn’t help but admire him and his skill. Theriadis’ footsteps grew slower until they came to a complete halt as she watched in awe, mesmerized by the effortless way in which he was cutting down orc after orc, his neatly polished armor reflecting the light of the moon in a way that made him appear as if he was glowing. The right hand of Sauron knew she had found the Elvenking at last, her primary target, the very reason for her being dispatched to Mirkwood. Her eyes caught the disdain on his features as he drove his sword through a fallen orcs belly, pinning him to the ground as blood pooled and gushed from his gut. Theriadis tightened her grip on her sword and began moving towards Thranduil, the sounds of battle providing excellent cover to her approach. Just as she allowed herself to think he would be easy enough prey, he turned his head in her direction and their eyes locked.

It was then that everything slowed down and nothing appeared to be moving, even the raging noise of fighting had melted away. The only thing Theriadis could hear was her own blood rushing through her veins, pumping hard with adrenaline and bloodlust. She held her breath under the Elvenking’s intense gaze. She did not care for the way he was gaping at her, with a sort of recognition in his hazel-blue eyes as if he knew her. The commander waited, intrigued by his reaction to her, curious to see where this was leading. Was he going to confront her with his words, or would he choose his blades instead?

“You,” Thranduil whispered, his hazel-blue eyes not moving away from her. They appeared to be frozen still, wide with what she perceived to be shock. Theriadis stopped in her tracks, watching the Elvenking with growing fascination she tilted her head to the side and arched her eyebrow. She could not deny how eerie and strange this felt, how unexpected it felt to be ensnared by his gaze, almost as if it was some form of magic trapping and pinning her to the ground, unable to look away. The longer he kept staring at her, the more uneasy she felt under his gaze, naked and vulnerable for reasons she knew nothing of. As Theriadis stood and waited for her supposed opponent to either say something or do something other than stare at her, a queer sensation made its presence known in the depths of her chest, a feeling of recognition formed by some secret part of her, a part of her that seemed more fleeting and floating than of solid form.

Theriadis watched as the Elvenking lowered his swords and took a step towards her, his expression riddled with confusion and wonder. He sheathed his right blade and took another step, slowly and carefully as if to not startle her. As hard as she tried, she could not understand what was happening, why was her enemy behaving so, and more importantly still, why hadn’t she driven her sword through him already? Why was she feeling unable to strike him, cut him down and claim her victory?

She felt her breath hitch in her throat when suddenly, with a mere handful of strides, the beautiful elf was standing right in front of her, his pale eyes searching her face intently, trying to find whatever it was he was seeking in her. He towered over her like a mountain, making Theriadis feel small and vulnerable, yet something else was there too, a feeling she couldn’t immediately identify, a sense of a certain and long-forgotten familiarity. Thranduil was well within her reach now, she could feel his breath on her skin, his close presence making her feel overwhelmed. Something inside her was beginning to tear at her, she felt the familiar burning rage that insisted she drive her sword through him and watch as life slowly abandoned his pale eyes, yet she felt something else too, something so powerful it stayed her hand. It was a need, an unyielding need to be close to him, to close her eyes and give in.

“Is it truly you?” Thranduil’s voice remained a soft and quiet whisper. Theriadis found herself blocking out the raging battle around them, steel meeting steel turned into muffled, distant murmurs. Everything that wasn’t them seemed to melt away, it was only her and the Elvenking under their dome of silence and slowed time where neither of them were capable of moving away from the other. She held her breath as she watched him raise his right hand and slowly bring it to the side of her face where his gloved fingers found their home on her pale cheek. Theriadis closed her eyes as a quivering gasp escaped her lips. His touch felt unbearable, making her entire body tremble as it sent shivers down her spine where they echoed in all directions. An unfamiliar sensation was slowly growing deep within her, building and building, crashing and tearing away as if trying to break out and roam free.

Another quavering exhale broke free from her lungs as she felt his fingers slowly move to the nape of her neck where their grip on her became firmer. Her sword fell to the ground with a silent thud as the commander of Sauron’s armies found herself drawn to the one she was sent to kill. She felt her body turn weightless as it leaned into his, driven by the unexplainable urge to be closer. The sharp ring of steel meeting steel rang around them as Thranduil’s sword fell on top of hers, making Theriadis’ eyes fly open at the unexpected sound. When she found his gaze, the look he bore shot an unsettling feeling through her body and being alike. In his pale eyes there was relief, so deep and profound she thought it capable of drowning them both. There was also something else there, something she had believed never to see firsthand, yet there it was. She knew not what love looked like, much less how it felt, but all the same she could swear it was love staring down at her now, love in his hazel-blue eyes. It terrified her, she wanted to flee, every bone and fiber in her body screaming at her to abandon this insanity save for that part of her that could resist it and remain in his presence. Theriadis found she couldn’t escape the effect he had on her, she could scarcely move or even breathe, her eyes incapable of leaving Thranduil’s.

“Tell me it is you,” he breathed out as his left hand ventured to her waist and then to the small of her back where his fingers gripped her tightly, pulling her all the way into him. Theriadis felt herself grow unsteady, their bodies were touching, allowing her the liberty of leaning more into him, pressing against him whether for support or this strange need of craving to be close to him, she could not tell. The closer she got to Thranduil, the more she was torn apart on the inside, it was pure agony yet she couldn’t bring herself to move away.

“I can’t be,” Theriadis whispered, compelled to say something even when not understanding fully what it was that he wished to hear from her. She was positive he thought he knew her, even loved her. The need his body was expressing, was a need for her, or the person he thought her to be. A soft gasp left her lips as Thranduil pressed his forehead to hers, his fingers on the nape of her neck pulling her face closer to his. As his thumb gently caressed her chin, Theriadis found herself struggling to breathe. Her heart was hammering painfully inside her chest, her mind was frantic with racing thoughts and her entire body was trembling beneath her armor. Something was about to break free, born from deep inside her, from the very dark and deep pits of her mind where she was forbidden to venture. It hurt like nothing else, she was silently begging for it to stop all the while knowing deep down that it was crucial that she let it happen. She felt herself be on the verge of discovering something important, something that could potentially alter everything she thought she knew of herself, of this land and of this king of the elves.

“I need only hear your voice to know that I have found you,” Theriadis closed her eyes at his words, the feel of his breath on her face enough to send prickling sensations down her spine. She yearned for more, she needed more to be able to open the gates and release that which was hiding within, that which was punished and driven out of her by force and pain, and made forgotten and forbidden for centuries. But she could feel it rising now, slowly yet surely coming back to life. A soft whimper escaped Theriadis’ lips as she felt Thranduil’s face move against hers, their cheeks gently brushing against each other while their hollow breaths broke on each other’s skin like giant waves breaking against the cliffs. The moment was painfully close now, Theriadis could almost feel herself breaking already, close to releasing the secrets she carried within.

Please, release me, she found herself begging on the inside. Theriadis knew what it would cause, how excruciatingly painful it would be but also how necessary, and that part of her drove her to explore her hidden secrets despite the anguish it promised. She felt herself get on her tiptoes, leaning in closer to the battering ram that would bring down her gates and release her. A lone tear found its way from underneath her long lashes and began its travel down her cheek just as she felt Thranduil’s arm go around her and pull her closer still, his lips meeting with hers. It was in that kiss that everything froze still, Theriadis couldn’t hear anything or feel anything, everything felt gone yet that illusion of utter tranquility only lasted for a short while until it exploded with such force that it threatened to devour her whole.

Her entire world began to spin and shake uncontrollably, the pain exploding inside her head, threatening to shatter her mind in thousands of fragments. With the pain came the visions, more vivid than ever before, more powerful and alive than she had thought possible. Visions of her, covered in light and warmth, memories long forgotten of the beautiful Elvish king. Visions of them together, holding hands and their fingers intertwined, in beautiful gardens and forest pathways, in the flowery fields under the starry night skies. She could hear Thranduil’s laughter and the sound of it pierced her ears, making her wail in agony and desperately clutch at her head, her palms going to protect her ears but to no comfort at all. Theriadis felt his touch and lips on her skin, leaving singe marks and a stench of burning flesh. She watched in horror as her pale skin glowed like bright embers as it burned before it turned into ash and was carried away by the winds. But she knew it wasn’t real, it couldn’t possibly be true. The harder she tried to remember, the worse the pain became, the pounding in her head making her choke on her own breath, making her suffocate. She cried out as another vision forced its way into her fracturing mind, so powerful and intense she could hardly see anything save for the light around her. It was blindingly white, cutting off all her senses and leaving her bare and helpless.

“By root and seed, by bud and stem,” Theriadis saw herself dressed in the finest gown her eyes had ever seen, glimmering like the purest jewels at each movement of the fabric. Around her neck was a necklace made of the fairest gems, of pure starlight. She could hardly recognize herself yet she knew all the same that it was her. Her hair was different, the white was replaced by a deep umber brown where the upper part of it was meticulously braided into a splendid bun and decorated with silver cuffs of intricate leaf patterns; while the bottom half flowed freely in loose waves save for a couple of braids here and there. On her head rested a beautiful silver circlet made to look like leaves with moss-green emeralds embedded at the stem of each leaf. Her eyes were no longer black and devoid of her soul but were a deep forest green that threatened to mesmerize anyone who looked into them for too long.

“By leaf and flower and fruit, by life and love,” standing next to her, holding both of her hands in his, was the Elvenking Thranduil. He looked magnificent, glowing like something out of this world, close to being ethereal. Both of them were smiling lovingly at each other, their eyes shooting sparks of pure joy and happiness.

“I, Rainiel, take thee, Thranduil, to my hand, heart,” Theriadis watched as this version of her made her promises and vows to the Elvenking as they stood before an Elvish priest, surrounded by their kin and friends, their faces bright and smiling as they diligently followed the ceremony. Once realization of what this was dawned on her, what felt like a hundred sharp daggers pierced her heart, making her shriek in anguish.

“No!” Theriadis screamed as her hands moved to clutch at her head, her body collapsing to the ground. It felt like her head and body alike were going to explode in bloody pieces. She gasped and moaned as she desperately tried to swallow the pain, begging for it to cease at once for she could no longer bear it. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as Sauron’s right hand tried to steady herself and see past the anguish. Theriadis lifted her head and her eyes found Thranduil’s. She focused herself long enough to see the terror in his eyes and the fear which held his body hostage. He positively reeked of it, making her remember her purpose here, to destroy Mirkwood and claim their lands, to kill her master’s enemy before he could move against him. It was at that revelation that her pain gave way to her rage and fury.

“You did this,” her voice was low and heavy with anger as the commander’s fingers grasped the hilts of hers and Thranduil’s swords. With both of their blades in her hands, Theriadis rose to her feet, her black eyes never leaving his.

“Did you think magic was going to save you?” she asked with a tilted head as she began to circle around him, stalking him like he was her prey.

“I do not know what dark arts are at play here, but you must fight to see reason,” his voice gave away his desperation and fear. His pale eyes were set on her, watching her as she continued to move around him in circles, waiting to pounce on him at any moment.

“Dark arts indeed if you thought you could meddle with my mind and slip away unnoticed,” she spat at him in anger, outraged that she had fallen for his trap and allowed him to distract her.

“You are not yourself,” unlike her, Thranduil remained calm when he spoke. The Elvenking was not letting her out of his sight, his body moving to follow hers, always facing her as she continued to circle him. “Remember who you are, where you come from. I urge you to remember who the real enemy is.”

Theriadis shook her head in contempt, she would not entertain any more of his foolish notions. She knew who she was, just like she knew what she had been sent here to do.

“Now enough! I grow weary of your wasted words and pitiful attempts to save yourself,” she spoke through clenched teeth as her body tensed, readying itself for the duel that would soon ensue.

“I am hoping to save you, Rainiel,” his last word froze her still. Her eyes widened and her jaw clenched at the name he had uttered. The name was long forgotten and buried yet she recognized it all the same. Theriadis closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, feeling the lingering pain in the back of her mind, threatening her with what would happen all over again if she were to give in.

“That name died a long time ago, as did its master,” she said mournfully as she slowly opened her eyes and met his gaze again. The name she bore now was Duvaimes Theriadis, a beautiful darkness to fear, and fear would be the last thing the Elvenking would remember before she took his life. Her master had commanded it and she wasn’t about to deny him.

In two strides she was close enough to Thranduil to swing her swords at him. The air rang when steel met steel as the Elvenking had unsheathed his blade in time to counter her attack. She continued to move around him in small circles, not giving him room to escape her as she wielded her blades with unmatched fury, striking at him with all her might. Every move was carefully selected, each step she made was calculated to precision. There was a reason she was the sole commander of Sauron’s armies for none could match her skill and best her in close combat, not even this king of the elves would defeat her.

“I urge you to stop this madness!” Thranduil’s voice was so low, it almost sounded like a growl when their swords met again, their faces only inches away.

“Or what?” she flashed him a wicked grin before landing a kick in his stomach, making him stagger backwards and release her blades from the hold of his. She swung her deadly weapons at him at once before he could regain his balance. To her dismay, he appeared to have expected that and countered but he had been too slow for her. Satisfaction gleamed in her dark eyes as she noticed a scarlet red line begin to bloom on the side of his neck. Invigorated by the sight of her enemy get wounded, Theriadis continued to rain her blades upon the Elvenking with a frenzy she had rarely felt before, coming down on him like a deathly avalanche. Thranduil remained on the receiving end of her wrath, his own expert skill preventing him from gaining life threatening injuries at the hands of the one he had claimed to know and love. Theriadis heard a grunt escape from him as her blade grazed him again, this time on his upper forearm where his armor had a weak point. Like a blade wielding hurricane, they continued their deadly dance, each of them sustaining minor cuts and lacerations at the hands of the other yet it did not slow them down. The air around them was filled with grunts and quiet groans each time a blade snuck past their armor and pierced their skin; with growing pants and heavy puffs of air as they never ceased their dance to catch their breaths; and the sharp ringing of their swords meeting, echoing deep into the night. Theriadis gave him all she had, all her rage and all her pain, and yet Thranduil was still standing, still fighting her off. A near feral cry emitted from her lips as she launched herself at him with full force. The attack was so deadly and vicious that it forced Thranduil to parry and cut her arm, making Theriadis wince in pain.

“Do you wish to kill me so badly?” he raised his voice over the constant ringing of their blades meeting.

“I fear I don’t have much of a choice in the matter,” Theriadis breathed out after Thranduil had successfully countered her attack. The commander finally slowed down wanting to catch her breath, her forehead was slick with sweat and her throat was burning from her rapid breathing. She glanced at her opponent and saw that he was panting as well, a thin layer of sweat covering his brow.

“For someone who’s determined beyond reason, you seem to lack the appropriate stamina,” the Elvenking remarked in a tone that made Theriadis frown.

“I’ve heard the tales of the fabled commander of Sauron’s armies, relentless and vicious,” Thranduil continued as he took a step closer to where Theriadis was standing, watching him carefully incase he’d make a move and try to catch her off-guard. “A general so bloodthirsty and vile, the mere mention of her name inspiring fear and terror in others,” he shook his head in what appeared to be disappointment.

“Famed has been your skill with swords yet here I remain, alive and whole. Which leads me to believe something else,” his pale eyes found her gaze and ensnared it once more.

“You do not wish to kill me which means there is still hope for you yet,” his voice had become softer over the course of his words, much like his features that carried the tenderness he felt for the version of her that had lived many a century ago. Freeing her gaze from his capture, Theriadis noticed a small company of her soldiers slowly and quietly creeping towards them, their dark eyes set on the Elvenking.

“There is no more hope for me than there is for you,” she said as her eyes found his again. She watched as Thranduil glanced around them briefly before his hazel-blue eyes found her dark ones again. He had seen the orcs and knew they were surrounded.

“I do not believe you,” he whispered quietly as his eyes studied her face.

“That’s too bad, my lord,” Theriadis smiled sweetly as she mocked the king who was about to fall. The orcs were nearly upon them now making it only a matter of time before the great Thranduil of the Woodland realm would draw his last breath on the forsaken lands he called home.

“By all means, let those vile hounds of yours devour me if you haven’t the stomach to do it yourself,” his palm opened and the Elvenking let his blade slip from his hand, making Theriadis’ eyes go wide in surprise. He wasn’t going to fight them off, he simply stood there and waited, his hazel-blue eyes pinned on her. She held her breath as her eyes darted to the orcs who were sprinting towards them, nearly there with their weapons raised and teeth bared, filling the night with their beast-like shrieks that would send shivers down even the bravest of spines. He was going to die. They were going to kill him, tear him to pieces and rip him apart for that was what she had trained them to do, what she had commanded them to do. When her dark eyes found Thranduil’s face again, she saw that his expression was soft, his eyes tinted with sorrow, making something stir deep within her. Fear was slowly settling in, creeping up and catching her unawares. To her own surprise, Theriadis realized what she feared and who it was that she feared for.

Before she could even think of stopping herself, the commander moved to Thranduil’s side with her swords raised, causing her own soldiers to pause in confusion. Wanting to benefit from their lack of reaction, Theriadis pushed herself forward, cutting down the very creatures that were under her command. The air around them filled with orc shrieks as she went through their ranks like a great storm tearing through a thick forest. They fell by the handful while they tried to overrun her, yet her skill was so exceptional that even their numbers counted for naught. Never straying far from Thranduil, she cut them down one by one until none were left. When Theriadis turned around, she saw that he was holding his blade, his gaze fixed on her frame. She searched his face for any lingering hints that would tell her what he was thinking or feeling, but none were there. His features were devoid of any thought or emotion, only his intense glare remained. Theriadis shook her head in disbelief, her eyes leaving Thranduil to roam over the dead orcs at their feet, orcs that would have aided her in besting the Woodland king, orcs that she herself had slain in defense of that same king. She was taken aback by the sudden anger that rose within her, clouding her better judgment and forcing her to quickly close the space between Thranduil and her. Before Thranduil could even react, her sword was at his throat, the pointed end digging into his skin but not enough to draw blood.

“I assume the fall of your comrades has upset you,” the Elvenking remarked as he cast a lazy glance over the orc corpses around them.

“Why?” Theriadis demanded. She wanted to know why he had dropped his blade and made himself vulnerable when surrounded by so many who would see him dead. Her eyes were shooting angry sparks while her gaze held his in a feeble attempt to penetrate the façade and reveal that which was hidden beneath.

“As I told you before, I do not believe that you wish to kill me,” he told her calmly which only made her more infuriated.

“Is that a belief you are willing to die for?” Theriadis asked as she slowly turned her blade, making the pointy end dig deeper into his skin.

“You know it yourself, deep down in your heart you know this to be true,” he continued as he closed his eyes, her sword at his throat finally drawing blood. Theriadis leaned in closer, adjusting the angle of her blade so that it pointed upwards. She hated that he had seen her weakness, that he knew the truth of her inner turmoil. Her mind was at war with itself because of him, because he somehow had lowered her guard enough to slip in and stir up that which was supposed to be dead and forgotten. The deeper part of her that had stayed her hand earlier and prevented her from taking his life, the part of her that had slaughtered her own forces to protect him from certain death, the part of her that now stood there powerless, incapable of driving her sword through his throat. Even these lands, long before she had been captured by his mesmerizing eyes, had begun to awaken the part of her that had been dormant for centuries. As unthinkable as it seemed now, the part of her that was more aware was wondering if all that struggle would cease upon his death. Were she to end his life here and now, would it also put a stop to the war raging within her? Theriadis blinked her eyes back to focus to find him watching her now, his gaze equally intent as before. What did he know of her heart? Nothing. She had no heart, not anymore, not since Angmar several lifetimes ago. Theriadis leaned in, driving her sword slightly deeper into his skin, their faces only mere inches apart.

“What heart?” she whispered as she decided to end this now, to put a stop to both of their suffering. She did not expect him to plead for his life for that would be beneath him, neither did she expect him to be amused when faced with death which was what he appeared to be. Theriadis blinked in surprise as a soft chuckle emitted from his lips, coming from deep within his chest and making his armor quiver.

“Stubborn and defiant as always, I’d expect nothing less,” he mused as his features gave way to a lopsided grin. He was clearly favoring the left side of his face, making Theriadis remember the specific orders she had given to her forces earlier. Attack him from the right for there lies his weakness. The sudden realization of her having protected him long before they had met face to face on the battlefield caused her to pause. While Theriadis pondered the revelation of her having known that Thranduil was more vulnerable to attacks coming from the left yet her having ordered her forces to attack from the right instead to gain the upper-hand, she failed to notice that she was slowly and absentmindedly lowering her blade where it was no longer at Thranduil’s throat.

“Then I suppose I shall have to pray that you may forgive me eventually,” his voice was quiet and soft yet before Theriadis could even attempt to react much less actually do something, the grin from his features had vanished and the Elvenking butted his head with hers with such force it made her stagger backwards, almost losing her balance entirely and nearly falling to the ground.

“Now, Radagast,” Thranduil raised his voice and almost instantly, someone behind her began to chant in a tongue she had not heard before. Theriadis turned around and blinked several times, trying to adjust her eyes. Her vision had become slightly blurry from the blow to her head, making Theriadis squint to try and make out the figure standing behind them. Just as her vision seemed to clear, the pommels of her swords began to smoke and then burst into flames, a pained cry escaping her lips as she released the burning hilts from her grip. The very instant her weapons had struck the ground, Thranduil’s arms were around her, pulling her back against his armored chest all the while the wizard continued his chant.

“One way or another but I will bring you back,” his voice was as calm as his hold on her was savage. Theriadis tried to fight him off but to no avail, he was too strong for her, and she was too spent from the battle.

“You will kill me if you do,” she continued to struggle. She was fully aware of what he had meant by bringing her back, and she dared not think of what that would lead to. The pain she had suffered today was nothing compared to what would happen if she was pushed too far, too deep into her forbidden memories, too deep into her previous life while they searched for her heart. The mere memory of the agony she had endured earlier made her voice break and tears well up in her eyes. She was certain beyond any shadow of a doubt that she would not survive it.

“Radagast,” she felt him nod to the wizard before her, and Theriadis watched as the old wizard’s eyes rolled back into his head. Within seconds, the commander felt herself become drowsy, her eyes falling heavy and vision becoming blurry.

“Fear not, my love, all will be well,” Thranduil’s voice seemed so far away. She felt her strength leave her body, making her lean back against his chest. Theriadis’ eyes closed as she felt a blissful oblivion beckoning her closer. She felt Thranduil move his arms and pick her up, cradling her close to his chest where her head lolled to the side and settled against the crook of his neck. It didn’t surprise her in the slightest when she felt her lips slowly curl upwards in a tired smile.

Somewhere between wakefulness and dreamy seas of oblivion, Theriadis felt a pair of lips press to her damp forehead and linger there for what felt to her like an eternity. What senses she had left that weren’t dulled by the wizard’s magic, picked up on a low and pleasant hum that she suspected was coming from Thranduil as his lips remained pressed to her forehead. She imagined it was the sorcerer’s spell which prevented her from feeling the unbearable pain that should have swallowed her whole by now because of how close she was to the Elvenking, and by what memories their current closeness brought to the surface inside her mind that for the first time didn’t threaten to break and shatter into a million fragments.

“You found me,” her voice was barely a soft whisper as she breathed out against the skin of his neck and tried to force her heavy eyes to open if even for a moment; her words prompting Thranduil to hold her even tighter and closer to his armor-clad chest while he moved to nuzzle her features gently and tenderly.

“Do not despair, my brightest of stars, for I am bringing you home,” Thranduil whispered against her skin before gently resting his face against hers. She could sense that his chest was trembling, and his breath had grown uneven, and when she felt something wet drip onto her skin, she immediately knew that he was weeping. Theriadis didn’t need to be told that Thranduil’s tears were that of joy and relief.

“Forgive me, lord Thranduil, but I must complete the spell,” she heard the wizard say. Thranduil responded to the old man’s words with a shake of his head. Theriadis assumed that if the wizard completed his spell, she would be rendered unconscious which was probably for her own protection and well-being.

“You must let him do his work, aran nîn,” her feeble whisper caused a quiet sob to escape the Elvenking’s lips. Even through the growing haze inside her mind, she understood why Thranduil was being reluctant with putting her to sleep, with having to let go after having been reunited after centuries and centuries of having been forced apart. Especially while knowing that once she woke again, more likely than not, she would awake as the commander of the enemy’s armies and as the one who had tried to kill him.

“I will find a way, my queen,” Thranduil whispered after a moment, his words bringing a weak and tired smile to bloom upon her lips. He offered her a tender kiss before she felt him pull away and watched through a teary veil as he nodded to the wizard standing before him. Radagast began to chant immediately, and it didn’t take long before Theriadis felt herself slowly beginning to surrender to the compelling oblivion promised by the wizard’s magic. Before unconsciousness took her to lands where time ceased to exist, she heard Thranduil declare his undying love for her, making Theriadis welcome the peaceful darkness with a smile on her features.

[sips---tea]

Thraundil x reader // Home again

Thranduil's beloved partner had been missing since a battle at Angmar, pulling Thranduil into great grief. What happens when it is discovered you are not dead and return to your husband.

1617 words

You had been in this dark place for longer than you could record. You remember the battle at Angmar, fighting beside your husband the neverending barrage of orcs and then being distanced from him by seeing your son Legolas in danger. You thought it was won and for a second put your guard down which allowed your leg to be caught by an orc sword and for you to fall and soon lose consciousness. The last thing you saw was your husband, fighting orcs, he had not noticed, too busy fighting to save himself and Legolas from the newest wave of orcs.

You woke in this dark pit, you tried to fight the orcs who would visit you and torture you for their sick, twisted fun. You gained very little food, the orcs only keeping you alive for their humour. Soon however even the orcs stopped coming, leaving you in the dark pit to rot. You were thankful that you had little food and water which you tried to ration to the best of your ability. The thought of home kept you going, of Thranduil, your son and of the beauty of Greenwood, one day you would return.

Once again you tried the door in case somehow it was unlocked. You slump back down, it is still bolted shut. There was little you could do in this place, only think of home, scratch the walls, check your food supply. This was no life for an eleven noble, an eleven (king/Queen), one who had seen the fall of Melkor and fought in many, many wars, this capture was humiliating. You closed your eyes and sighed, you regretted everything and just wished to return, praying to the Valar to save you from the torture you were facing. They seemed to have never answered, you were still here, on a dirty floor in an unknown place.

You heard something. You closed your eyes and sighed, a bird probably, false hope. You shivered and heard the noise again. It sounded like voices? This might be your brain, going mad from isolation, however, your heart skipped a beat and you stood, bashing the door. Muffled voices, you could hardly believe your eyes, as you saw light at the cracks of the door. You stumbled back, terrified that it might be a foe and with nothing to protect yourself with, the only thing you could do was hope and pray the Valar brought you saviours. The door swung open and Gandalf stood in the entrance, his staff held high, illuminating the dark pit you had spent your days in for the first time. Your heart rose and you stood, blinded by the light of the staff. Gandalf's eyes were wide in shock.

"My dear (y/n)" he said. "I thought you were lost"

"I did also" you said, your voice hoarse. You blinked and almost collapsed, Gandalf quickly supporting you. "Where am I?" you asked.

"Amon Lac" Gandalf said, slowly leading you out.

"I do not understand" you said quietly.

"And nor do I" he said quietly. Gandalf led you across a bridge and toward Radagast who stared, confused at the dirty, pale, zombie looking elf Gandalf was supporting.

"Who is this?" Radagast asked in confusion.

"I am returning to the fortress" Gandalf said. "But I must ask that you take (y/n) to the woodland kingdom"

"(y/n) of the woodland realm?" Radagast asked, confused, but realisation dawned on his face. "Oh yes, of course" Radegast busied himself to make sure there's space as you sat heavily on it, exhausted but finally free.

"Will you be okay? Will they be?" Radagast asked.

"If you return them to the woodland realm then they will" Gandalf said, turning to go back into the fortress.

"But what about you?" Radagast called. "What if it is a trap?"

"It is undoubtedly a trap" Gandalf replied, walking back toward Dol Guldur, even more questions now clouding his mind.

Radagast stared for a few moments before looking down at the elf who laid on his sled. In a few moments of muttering, Radagast had started the sled, he was very paranoid you would fall off and was also unsure of what it would be like for you to return. He had seen Thranduil's decline of happiness and his grief from his place in the forest, would you help his grief or would he not believe you were alive.

"Radagast?" you calling his name jumped him out of his trance. "Are my husband and son alive? " you asked.

"Yes they are" Radagast Answered. You smiled, closing your eyes and laying back slightly. You were glad that you could finally see them again, that you could finally go home.

Radagast stopped the sled close to the main gates and looked down at you, worried. "Can you walk the way?" he asked, wishing to as soon as possible send the message to Lothlorien and Rivendell.

You nodded slightly, shakily getting up and smiling, feeling the grass under your feet. "Thank you Radagast," you said. He nodded and left, leaving you alone in the forest you knew so well. Slowly you started to walk toward the doors of the halls of Thranduil, it was a walk you had taken many times alone and with Thranduil beside you. Nothing had seemed to have changed, the grass bouncy and the trees blowing gently in the wind. You breathed heavily, thanking that no longer you breathed in the musty and stale air of Amon Lac.

Slowly you crossed the bridge and were faced by guards on both sides who quickly arrested you for trespassing on the King's land. You didn't fight or struggle, too tired to do so, letting the guards guide you into the halls. It was as you remembered it, nothing had changed apart from new statues, was that you? You didn't have much time to linger, looking at your face, moulded in stone as the guard made sure to keep a fast pace. You recognised the route, you were going to Thranduil.

The guards stopped and dropped you. At this point, you were completely exhausted, without the energy to even try to get up. "Stand" the sound of Thranduil's voice was like music to your ears, his voice was firm and without emotion. You slowly stood, shaking slightly as you slowly looked up at your husband who sat on his throne. He hadn't changed, apart from his eyes. As soon as they met yours they widened in shock.

"Impossible" he whispered, he almost tripped as he rushed down the stairs and pulled you into a hug. "It cannot be you" he whispered as you leaned into him, allowing Thranduil to completely smother you in his chest. You could tell Thranduil was struggling, almost unable to keep the tears back. Quickly he dismissed the guards and guided you down to the floor, still holding you in his arms. He cupped your cheek and stared into your eyes. "Where have you been (y/n)?" he asked in disbelief.

"Gandalf found me" you said quietly. "In Dol Guldur"

Thraundil's face was full of mixed emotions, from disbelief, sadness and confusion. He could not understand, Thraundil had searched for you, day and night through the dead bodies of orcs and elves to find you, to hold your body one last time. He had a funeral for you, he had grieved, he had closed his heart to any further help toward the men of the wood against orcs.

"You have been gone for 150 years" Thraundil said. Your heart stopped at these words.

"No. I" you couldn't believe it. You rested your head against his chest and fainted into it, completely exhausted. Thraundil held you close, not wishing to let you go. He had missed you terribly, losing the fire which kept his heart warm so it froze over and he vowed never again to fight for the needs of men. If he didn't then you would have never gone and would have been with him.

Slowly Thranduil got up and picked you up into his arms. He grimaced at how dirty and matted your hair was. He carried you to the healers who washed you and checked your wounds. Thraundil watching over, cringing at the marks which now littered your body. He found it hard to keep his anger in check, he wanted to hunt down and kill every orc he could get his hands on. He wished he had kept you safe, denied you from fighting in Angmar, he criticised his past self for this as he watched you now, laying on his bed, tucked up in the warm sheets and furs. For the first thirty years, Thraundil did not sleep in his royal chambers, the memories of you and him together being too much to bair, being unable to sleep without you in his arms. Thirty years it took for him to have the courage to enter and sleep in your and his room again, the large bed feeling strangely empty without another presence.

Slowly he sat on the bed, feeling your hair between his fingers. Your hair was now smooth and clean, just as he remembered. He got into bed next to you, listening to your gentle breathing. Valar how he missed this, he missed you. He wrapped his long arms around you immediately moulding into your side. You smelt perfect, just as he remembered, he kissed your cheek and rested his nose against it, glad you were home with him. Thranduil smiled slightly, he should plan a large feast to celebrate you being home, his lover finally back with him. Thranduil closed his eyes and slowly fell asleep, finally happy again.

[thranduilofsmirkwood]

TAURIEL: Gundabad. What lies beyond?

LEGOLAS: An old enemy - the ancient kingdom of Angmar. This fortress was once its stronghold. It is where they kept their great armories, forged their weapons of war.

TAURIEL: A light! I saw movement.

A light flickers in a window of the fortress, then disappears.

LEGOLAS: We wait for the cover of night. It is a fell place, Tauriel. In another age, our people waged war on those lands.

Legolas pauses, looking pained. Tauriel looks at him.

LEGOLAS: My mother died there. My father does not speak of it. There is no grave, no memory, nothing.

{Battle of the Five Armies 2014}

[warrioreowynofrohan]

Today in Tolkien - September 28th

Today the hobbits set off from the house of Tom Bombadil and are captured by a Barrow-wight on the Barrow-downs.

Gandalf reaches Sarn Ford, the southern crossing of the Brandywine. If he’d ridden north rather than going west to the Shire, he’d have reached Bree shorly before the hobbits i stead or shortly after them - and/or he’d have run into the Ringwraiths, as the Witch-king is encamped along the road just south of Bree.

The origins of the barrows on the Barrow-downs are ancient, as is told in Appendix 2:

It is said that the mounds of Tyrn Gorthad, as the Barrowdowns were called of old, are very ancient, and that many were built in the days of the old world of the First Age by the forefathers of the Edain, before they crossed the Blue Mountains into Beleriand. [!! I hadn’t remembered this!] Those hills were therefore revered by the Dúnedain after their return; and there many of their lords and kings were buried.

Regarding the Barrow-downs, here is the account the hobbits hear from Tom Bombadil:

They heard of the Great Barrows, and the green mounds, and the stone-rings upon the hills and in the hollows among the hills. Sheep were bleating in flocks. Green walls and white walls rose. There were fortresses on the heights. Kings of little kingdoms fought together, and the young Sun shone like fire on the red metal of their new and greedy swords. There was victory and defeat; and towers fell, fortresses were burned, and flames went up into the sky. Gold was piled on the biers of dead kings and queens; and mounds covered them, and the stone doors were shut; and the grass grew over all.

Sheep walked for a while biting the grass, but soon the hills were empty again. A shadow came out of dark places far away, and the bones were stirred in the mounds. Barrow-wights walked in the hollow places with a clink of rings on cold fingers, and gold chains in the wind. Stone rings grinned out of the ground like broken teeth in the moonlight.

The first paragraph is describing the early years of Arnor in the Third Age, first during its height, and then after it was divided into three kingdoms (Arthedain, Rhudaur, and Cardolan), which warred intermittently with each other (mostly over Weathertop and its palantír). The Barrow-downs were in the disputed territory between the three kingdoms.

Around the mid-1300s of the Third Age, the Witch-king established his kingdom in Angmar (the far northeast of Eriador, beyond the Ettenmoors), but had not yet made the Barrow-downs haunted; in fact, when he invaded Arnor in the 1400s, some of Dúnedain held out against his forces from refuges in the Barrow-downs and even in the Old Forest. (I wonder if Tom Bombadil helped them then?) Appendix A recounts that: Some say that the mound in which the Ring-bearer was imprisoned had been the grave of the last prince of Cardolan, who fell in this war. In the 1600s the Witch-king sent a plague into Arnor, and it was also at this time that “evil spirits out of Angmar and Rhudaur entered into the deserted mounds and dwelt there.”

The Barrow-wights aren’t only dangerous to careless travellers. The Rangers appear to fight them quite continually: Aragorn at the Council of Elrond says, “ ‘Strider’ I am to one fat man who lives within a day’s march of foes that would freeze his heart [cold be hand and heart and bone], or lay his little town in ruin, if he were not guarded ceaselessly.” After many of the Rangers depart south with Halbarad to fight in defence of Minas Tirith, Butterbur observes “there’s dark shapes in the woods, dreadful things it makes the blood run cold to think of.” The downs are particularly dangerous at this moment, since (as noted in Unfinished Tales) the Witch-king visited the Barrow,-downs a few days previously, and “the Barrow-wights were roused, and all things of evil spirit, hostile to Elves and Men, were on the watch with malice”.

Given this context, it’s rather stunning how careless the hobbits are. They set out in the morning, and around noon they picnic around one of the of the standing stones (and rest their backs against the east side of the stone, though Tom has warned them “to pass barrows by on the west-side, if they chanced to stray near one”). They take an unintended nap there and wake surrounded by fog. After some slow journeying, Frodo passes between two great standing stones, and “darkness seems to fall around him”; when he looks back he suddenly cannot see the others. They all become lost searching for each other, night falls, and they are captured.