#tol-in-gaurhoth

[evydraws]

Lúthien Tinúviel and Huan defeat Sauron at Tol-in-Gaurhoth

(acrylics on paper - details here | prints | inprnt )

[overlord-of-fantasy]

Finrod, master of picking locks

Before the sad disguise attempt there was another attempt to get into Tol-in-Gaurhoth:

Finrod, to Beren: Please, picking locks is my specialty. Finrod: *throws a brick through the window of Saurons fortress* Finrod: Okay, let’s go.

[savage-kult-of-gorthaur]

"....LORD OF THE WEREWOLVES; HIS DOMINION WAS TORMENT."

NOTE: My first post of 2024, apparently, but it's still only 4 PM in my part of the world.

PIC INFO: Resolution at 749x1054 -- Spotlight on Gorthaur the Cruel, "Lord of the Werewolves," in fair form during the First Age, from his fortress at Tol-in-Gaurhoth, "The Isle of Werewolves," artwork (A4, watercolor + CG drawing) by "Nuaran," c. 2015 (via DeviantArt).

"Sauron was become now a sorcerer of dreadful power, master of shadows and phantoms, foul in wisdom, cruel in strength, misshaping what he touched, twisting what he ruled, lord of the werewolves; his dominion was torment."

--" THE SILMARILLION," by J.R.R. Tolkien, Chapter 18: "Of the Ruin of Beleriand," written by J.R.R. Tolkien, published in 1977

Source: https://lore-master.com/f/gorthaur-sauron-and-the-isle-of-werewolves.

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Map/Layout of Tol-in-Gaurhoth under Sauron's command (click to see clearer image)

[eilinelsghost]

Would you tell me about "He Died Then in the Dark", please?

(For this WIP game)

Of course! It’s mostly what one expects from the title, but here is a snippet for you:

“Beren!” Finrod fought against the shackles, but he could not reach the other’s hand. Beren had pulled back as far as the chains would reach; attempting, Finrod realized with helpless anguish, to spare him by shifting the carnage as far from his side as he was able. Finrod turned back toward the sickly glow. “Ai! Úvano! Filth of Morgoth, here I am! I am the one you seek.” He clashed the chains into a deafening clangor and shouted into the dark. “Coward, glutton of helpless prey, here! Here!”

The wolf swung about with a snarl, and a low growl rumbled like laughter through the gloom as it saw Finrod flinch. Then the pale eyes turned back toward Beren, the shadow lumbered forward.

Beren’s voice drifted out from the darkness. “May goodness keep you, aran nín, and mercy preserve you.”

A white-hot fury tore through Finrod’s veins at the traditional farewell. From how many of those he loved had it been the final exchange passed between them? So had he parted from Beren’s own father under the charred pines of the north, so had he parted from Andreth, so too from Bregor and Belemir, from Boron, from Estreth. Even Belen—dearest son of his heart—had bid him farewell in the same manner. Not one more, he thought wildly as he strained against the shackles. Not one more.

[ladysternchen]

Snippet:

Lúthien needed neither ask nor wonder who the newcomer was that strode almost lazily towards her and Huan, glaring at her with a piercing gaze- she knew him instantly. Unlike the mangled creature at her feet, he bore the shape of an elf, tall, slender and beautiful, with gleaming amber eyes and long hair that was almost colourless- or perhaps gleaming in many colours, depending on the light. Had his very aura not been so blatantly evil, she would have found him pleasant to look upon. 

“So” Sauron said softly, his voice as fair as his face even as malice radiated from him like heat “My dear Melian’s whelp has decided to introduce herself at last. I admit I was very curious to meet you, especially after having had the pleasure of making your father’s acquaintance. You do not take after him much, do you? Safe perhaps in face. And you have his eyes. Anyway, I am pleased to meet you. I should only prefer you to not rob me of my lieutenant next time.”

Lúthien forced herself not to look away from Sauron’s burning gaze. She would not give him that satisfaction, even if her heart screamed at the implication of his words. Her mother might have regarded him as little more than an annoying cousin, but Lúthien had heard word about the deeds of Morgoth’s second-in-command, of whom many said that he was almost crueler than Morgoth himself, and the idea that he might have been the one responsible for her father’s torment was almost too much to bear.

“She is not ‘your dear Melian’, Gorthaur!” she finally managed to spit back at him, deciding that spite was the best defence she had.

“Oh, I see I was mistaken. You take more after your father than meets the eye. He was just as impertinent as you, which proved not to be too becoming for him in the end. I should prefer to think that you do not make the same stupid mistakes. Prove to me that you are your mother’s daughter. Prove that you are smarter, Tinúviel.”

Lúthien froze. The taunts about her father were one thing, but this… there was only one person who had ever named her Tinúviel, had kept calling her by that name when asking her to join him in his plays out in the peaceful glades of Neldoreth. 

Dearon, oh beloved Daeron, she thought. Daeron, who was as dear to her as a brother. Nothing had been seen nor heard from him since his disappearance, safe perhaps in Lúthien’s own nightmares- nightmares that had just been proven only too real. There was no other explanation for Sauron knowing this name safe the horrible realisation that Daeron had fallen prey to Sauron’s cruelty as well.  And yet she willed her tears not to fall, not to betray the grief she felt, to yet remain cool and calm and deal with Sauron. Him she needed to bring down, and then she would weep, then she would mourn. 

“And I should prefer you to give back what you have stolen, both the fortress and my friends.” she retorted icily. 

“Oh, but I did not steal them. They came to call on me instead, and very rude they were, too. Well, I should not expect any better from that man, but from an elf-lord that came out of the West…” he sighed with feigned regret. “…I thought I might see better manners. Mind you, he was very amusing, trying to conquer me with a song. Are you going to do the same thing, daughter of Melian? Shall the song of Mairon and that of Melian mingle again, like it did before Arda was wrought?”

Before Lúthien could think of anything to retaliate, Huan growled, prompting Sauron to turn his attention towards him instead. 

“Ah.” he said softly. “Yes, this does seem like a little more of a threat than a singing fairy. Let me see now…”

And he turned himself into a werwolf before their very eyes, losing no time to hurl himself at Huan.

Lúthien herself might have been rather caught by surprise when Sauron had transformed, but Huan clearly was not. Rather, he seemed to have been waiting for precisely that to happen, for he neither flinched nor drew away, but sprang at Sauron in return without a trace of hesitation. Tufts of fur soon filled the air together with yelping and howling, and before Lúthien could overcome her astonishment and start to feel truly anxious for her faithful companion, the fight ceased. Deep growls emanated from Huan’s throat as he stood above the would-be werewolf, his teeth embedded in his opponent’s throat, which, Lúthien noted with a sense of deep satisfaction, bled profusely.  She smirked.

“Not so high and mighty now, are you? I say, Huan has barely a scratch on him and you do look pretty bad. Now, to resume our chat of old times and ways, I wondered all the while if you might recognise this knife?” 

The glint in the werewolf’s eyes told Lúthien that he did, and hated her for it.

“I thought so. It would have surprised me had you not, honestly. It is your old master’s work after all, which he made for Lord Oromë to give to the elven ambassadors. Very well then. You see, I intent to place that knife somewhere it may end your life, so that you can flee back to your cowardly master unclad. Would you like that?”

She waited a moment just for the satisfaction of it, perfectly aware that Sauron could neither move nor speak in the position he was currently in. 

“Of course, it would be quite shameful for me to take your life when Huan here has done all the fighting, so we might well just wait. You see, you seem rather incarnate to me in this furry little hide, and an incarnate body only holds so much blood and once that is spent, that body is dead. Unless, of course, you were to… overthink your words from before. Then we might let you go. You said you sang with my mother? Well, perhaps you remember enough of her theme to find a way to heal that wound. Might lessen your defeat a bit. But in return for that favour, I demand that you be gone from this place forever, and that you set all your prisoners free, both those still clad and those unclad, so that they may go and find peace. Do we have an agreement?”

[yuria-the-witch]

I love how this man is canonically a furry

[evydraws]

Progress on Lúthien, Huan, and Sauron

(I love painting textiles.)

[velvet4510]

Please never forget the huge number of people who Lúthien Tinúviel saved.

Of course, her getting the Silmaril eventually allowed Elwing and Eärendil to bring salvation to all of Middle-earth years later; we all know that. But that’s not what I’m referring to.

Never think that Beren was the only person saved by Lúthien’s direct actions during her lifetime. An entire tower full of Sauron’s captives in Tol-in-Gaurhoth were saved and set free when she took control of the island.

She didn’t just grab her boyfriend and run. She tore open all of the dungeons and enabled dozens, if not hundreds, of people to escape with their lives. If it weren’t for her, all of those prisoners would’ve died in torment.

Lúthien is far more than a devoted girlfriend; she’s a true hero of Middle-earth who single-handedly saved at least a dozen lives!!!

[sesamenom]

Evil finrod, because he is unusually snake-coded for a protagonist

[edennill-archived]

The binding of a fëa into a material shape designed to enthrall the spirit into submission fortunately requires explicit consent of a higher level, and the failure to obtain this prior to attempt usually results in the inadvertent freeing of the subject¹. Once given, it is however equivalent to a full surrender of one's mental faculties into the hands of the enemy and cannot be revoked, nor is the spirit able to express the desire to do so, so that the only possible recourse becomes defeat by a higher power. Fëar thus corrupted rarely welcome the intervention, however there have been select successes in bringing victims (for, it must be remembered, whatever their contribution to the war machine of the enemy, they were all his victims first) to healing—most notably, during the War of Wrath, on eight separate occasions concerning werewolves², by Annarainë, Maia of Nienna, who deserves a mention for being most helpful to me in my research.

Introduction to A Healer's Study of the Effects of Enemy Tactics and Prevention Thereof, by Elrond Peredhel, continued

¹Information courtesy of multiple former prisoners of Tol Sirion known as Tol-In-Gaurhoth who prefer to remain anonymous.

²Note on werewolves: this seems an opportune moment to repeal the semi-common myth that all the werewolves of Morgoth and Gothaur had the souls of elves. Although none have attempted to conduct any sort of statistical research into the matter, it seems clear that some of the mightier ones were Úmaiar or other beings yet, possibly akin in form if not alignment to the hounds of Oromë. This, however, has little bearing on the subject.

In general, necromancy requires consent¹, however, to complicate things, the quality of such consent can be vastly disproportionate to the effects; to wit, for example, the acceptance of a ring of power, even uninformed of the full and entire consequences, opens the fëa to manipulation (though of course, the matter of the rings is specific, as the object itself does the binding, albeit with another's power). Similarly, in the case of a houseless Elda caught in the snare of the enemy, the mere fact of being seized may constitute partial consent—most likely due to the ever-present possibility of escape immediately prior to the entrapment, multiplied by how strong an act of will it requires to stop oneself from instinctively following the Call of Mandos just to flee the foe when when in his immediate presence². Presumably, the great exertion of resolve required to do so leaves an imprint on the fëa that is similar to choice—in which between the Halls and the realm of the enemy, the houseless agreed to the latter.

A Healer's Study of the Effects of Enemy Tactics and Prevention Thereof, by Elrond Peredhel

¹ By scientific law. It is one of the core axani regardless of assent or possibility.

² Information courtesy of Eldawen Andúriel of Tirion, late of Gondolin

[glorf1ndel]

Sauron: So you have finally arrived, Lúthien Tinúviel...

Lúthien: To you it's TinúviHELL, 'cause that's where I'll be sending you!

Beren, completely traumatized, talking to a werewolf: Do you see her?? That's my WIFE

[saurons-pr-department]

Lord Sauron supports the reintroduction of wolves to ecosystems where they have been lost. Such a great guy

[softlysilverfountainsfall]

"But no true Man nor Elf yet free / would ever speak that blasphemy"

Beren and Finrod are willing to blow their cover right in front of Sauron himself rather than repeat these words:

"Death to light, to law, to love! / Cursed be moon and stars above! / May darkness everlasting old / that waits outside in surges cold / drown Manwë, Varda, and the sun! / May all in hatred be begun / and all in evil ended be / in the moaning of the endless Sea!"

So...how do the elves perform this part of the Lay of Lethian? Because these lines are from the Lay, and the elves must sing and perform the Lay fairly often since it's one of their most beloved stories.

I find it difficult to believe that they would willingly and frequently repeat the blasphemous and seditious words that Finrod and Been were willing to lose their lives not to repeat just for a song (however important that song might be). If nothing else, it would be very disrespectful to the heroes they are trying to immortalize who did in fact die in large part because they blew their cover by not repeating those words.

So, my theory is that the words quoted above from the Lay of Leithian are sung and performed but are not actually the words that Sauron and the orcs used. In other words, I believe that the verse in the Lay is a toned-down or altered version (it is a little overdramatic, after all) of the actual oath to darkness because "no true Man nor Elf yet free / would ever speak that blasphemy"

[eilinelsghost]

Yes yes yes to all of this.

And if it's ok, I'm going to use this as a springboard for a little rant about one of my favorite instances of this. This is the guiding principle of what happens in Tol-in-Gaurhoth when Finrod, Beren, and the ten are captured.

Because their fate wasn't sealed when Finrod lost the song battle and their disguises were lost. It was sealed earlier that morning. Or the day before. Or whenever it was they had the conversation between themselves where they had to determine whether these Orcs they were impersonating would be more likely to march straight on to Angband or whether they would stop in at Tol-in-Gaurhoth to report. One of these choices was going to be the give-themselvess-away choice and they had a fifty percent chance of choosing the correct one. The tragedy, of course, is that they chose the wrong one.

But from that point on, every decision was not whether to meet or avoid death. Rather, it was choosing how they would die.

That is what Finrod's song battle was. He didn't lose because he faltered or because his guilt undermined him (an interpretation I don't buy anyway), he lost because he was never going to win. What mattered was that he chose it anyway.

That is why each of the ten chose to go to their deaths without a word of who they were or where Nargothrond lay, why they chose not to betray those who had betrayed them.

That is why it doesn't matter in the Lay that Sauron discovered their identities before sending the final wolf for Beren, whose death was "little loss" to him now that he knew who they were. Because it was never really about the actual discovery, it was never about strategy. It was about the will of those who were captured and that even in the hopeless certainty of defeat, they each chose these specific deaths from honor - to retain their personhood and at least have agency over how they met their end.

I think it's interesting how we judge the outcomes of the battles of Beleriand when the elves are up against a foe that, objectively speaking, cannot be defeated by elven might. Like, you can say the outcome of this battle or that battle might have been different, but it seems like there is no way to defeat Morgoth without drawing on the gods and also breaking the land itself.

I think there's a way that this turns questions of strategy into questions of honor. The question "how do we best defeat Morgoth?" has a very simple answer ("you don't"), and I think by the end of the first age most of the elves know that. So there's that feeling I get that the real questions of the latter battles are more along the lines of doing the right thing than doing a sensical thing. Is it more honorable to try to hold out for as long as possible against an unstoppable force, or to go out in a blaze of glory? Is it more honorable to retreat and save what men you can, or to rush in and die alongside your men who are being slaughtered?

[eilinelsghost]

Hi Frankie! Asking about The Orcs for the Wip Game, I'm very intrigued! <3

For this WIP game. Still happily taking these if anyone has ones that haven't been done yet!

Ooooo ok yes The Orcs!

So this one is very much a scattering of loose ideas still at this point, but the general idea is diving into what happens between the time Finrod, Beren, and the ten ambush that company of Orcs on the road north and the time they are spotted from Tol-in-gaurhoth.

One of the key things I want to play around with is that at some point in here they had to make the significant choice of whether to go straight through the Pass or whether these Orcs would have stopped at the island. I went into this a bit here already, but that decision is the moment that determines everything after it. Not the song battle, not the fact that they were spotted, not even the wolves or the decision(s) whether to tell their identities or not. Because once they made the wrong call on this strategy, they were dead from that point forward and everything after was just a decision of how they would meet their deaths.

I don't have any snippets jotted down for this one yet, so I don't have any actual prose to share, but that's the general idea at least!