#ungoliant did nothing wrong

[cryptidlark]

being on the outskirts of tolkien fandom is kinda fascinating because every other week someone in my orbit is reblogging a post titled “[insert female character] was NOT a selfish evil bitch and here’s why” and I’m like it literally would’ve never occurred to me to think that but okay

[raointean]

Funniest responses* to the "What does "Blorbo" mean?" question

(In reference to my silmarillion fandom linguistics project, the results of which you can find in my "survey says" tag)

*not necessarily the full response, some are just fragments from longer responses. Also, I'm not filtering by "correct" or "incorrect" responses

Special Little Guy (gender neutral)

Lmao. That's like, my special little guy. He takes up my brain space. I'm rotating him.

you know how lilo from lilo and stitch has that doll she made, complete with backstory? basically like that

one's blorbo is a character one cares a lot about. it kind of has like... condescending or woobifying connotations? like expressing that Maedhros is your blorbo is sort of uh... one imagines like, a chibi Maedhros. cute, not scary. but it doesn't necessarily imply the speaker has distorted perception of the character in general, just a sort of fondness

The character a person wants to use as a doll/stuffed animal

A character who the author loves too much (and knows it)

"OMG Blorbo was in the new trailer for 5 seconds!" is a common statement

which often provokes... strange thoughts at 11pm.

Beloved character who you think about entirely too much and also enjoy putting in Situations

It implies some degress of being pathetic as well.

No relation to Blorbo Baggins.

The character you put under a microscope, put through the cheese grater, put into the salad spinner, and squeeze like a plushie.

A beloved character whom you want to both stick in a microwave and protect with all you have

character one fangirls* over (*gender neutral)

Just a little guy, whom I am deeply enamored of and just want to squish on the head and see what happens.

Favourive character, often pathetic, someone to pity as much as love

obsessed. baby. Will run my mouth off about them

the word "favorite" wasn't enough to encapsulate "the exact kind of character made specifically for me in the lab" either. my friendgroup started calling those types of characters "callouts" because they were calling you out by existing Exactly To Your Tastes

(not necessarily in a way that condones their actions, but deeply beloved nonetheless)

The "cinnamon roll" kind. Idk I love Namo but I'd never call him a blorbo, it just wouldn't feel right.

??

dear?

My personal favourite character, whom I want to adopt even if he's a dark lord

A particularly beloved (or beloathed-in-a-positive-way) character.

Generally seem to be problematic favs.

I think it was originally meant to be somewhat mocking, but it was wholeheartedly adopted and is now used unironically.

A favored character that usually is subjected to great amounts of trauma and or fluff.

A favourite character, usually male

The obsession character

Feanor/character you are unreasonably attached to esp. if they are a Bad Person TM

The character who is most special and beloved to you (and often that means you're gonna put them through The Horrors)

a character that makes you chew on the bars of your enclosure

Special little character from my shows(tm)

usually having an aura of kicked wet puppy (brimby)

You'd build a shrine to them

Idk, ask the children 😹. Er. Hot character you like? I'm sure people have very complex definitions explaining why they like the hot character but I don't take fandom that seriously.

Your guy (gender neutral), not a comfort character, but perhaps a character you would like to see experience the worst situations possible (affectionate)

occasionally blorbo from my floor (my cat)

Just a widdle pathetic guy 🥺😈

A favourite character, thuogh usually one you squash like a stress ball or squeaky toy rather than put gently on a shelf

Ungoliant

Guy (gender neutral) who I hold in my hand like a neat rock and look at

character whom i will put in a glass and shake

character you are putting in the metaphorical salad spinner

A favourite character, often a war criminal treated like they did nothing wrong, they are a little kitty

(character you're particularly attached to and usually put in physically and/or mentally torturous situations for fun)

A character you’ve imprinted on and like seeing in misery. They’re your wet cat you enjoy pouring water on but also toweling off

Your favorite character, to whom no harm may come (except in the service of angst)

my guy. my friend my buddy. the person

Literally your favourite ever character, but not like you want to f*ck them, more like "how much can i let them suffer?"

Your favouritest character from media that you like to put in all kinds of situations, but is not morally problematic.

favourite character you want to bully

a fictional character that you like to an obsessive amount, typically more than other favourite characters; your specialist little guy; someone you are unwell about; you don’t always have to like your blorbo per day but they must take up constant thought space

[kharboc]

@that-catholic-shinobi This is so untrue! I’m going to go by bullet points because there’s just that much wrong.

1. There is only one capital-D deity, Eru Illuvatar(basically/literally the Christian God), the creator of the universe. Everyone other “deity”are the Ainur. The Ainur are divided into two categories: The Valar, and the Maiar. Morgoth(basically the devil)is the most potent of the Valar. There’s more variance amongst the Maiar; some(such as Sauron)are very powerful, others are very weak. Most(Gandalf and the Balrogs included)fit somewhere in between. Ungoliant is not a Valar, it’s unclear what she is; all we know from the text is that she’s a giant, ever-hungry spider. Shelob is a daughter of Ungoliant. Information on the Valar, Maiar, and Eru Illuvatar can be found in the first chapter of the Silmarillion. Information on Ungoliant in the eight. Information on Shelob in the chapter eighteen(or nine book four, depends on how it’s listed)of the Two Towers. Also TolkienGateway for everything(basically Wikipedia but Tolkien focused).

2. Gandalf refuses to use the Ring not because he can’t, but because in doing so he would become just as bad as Sauron. Chapter Two, Fellowship of the Ring.

3. There’s an implication that Sauron created the Palantir and they are thus corrupting. He did not, and they are not inherently corrupting; an elf named Feanor did, and Saruman fell because of both his own arrogance and Sauron persuading him by means of the Palantir. Chapter 14(or book two chapter 2)of the Fellowship of The Ring

4. Sauron tolerates Shelob being there because she is “a more sure watch upon that ancient path into his land than any other that his skill could have devised,”(Chapter Nine, Book Four, The Two Towers). Also he does monitor the path-Frodo is literally captured and brought to their tower by the orcs Sauron set to guard the path! Shelob does eat them, that’s how she gets her food. Chapter Nine, again.

5. While it’s never explicitly stated, it’s fair to assume Sauron could remove Shelob from Mordor if he wished; whether personally or through his underlings. He keeps her there because she is convenient and amuses him, nothing else.

6. Ungoliant and Morgoth did make a deal, but it wasn’t like this. There were Two Trees that gave light to the world(long story), and Morgoth wanted them gone. So he came to Ungoliant, who lived in a ravine and ate light and weaved webs of darkness-the deal was simple, he would give her whatever she wanted to eat if she’d consume the light of the trees and hid them in her webs on the way there and on their escape. They went, she destroyed the trees and consumed their light. There was one more thing however: the elf Feanor had made three jewels-the Silmarils-with the light of the Two Threes, and they could be restored with them. So Morgoth broke into Feanors fortress and stole the Silmarils as well as every other jewel he could get his hands on. Chapter Eight and Nine of the Silmarillion.

7. Morgoth and Ungoliant escape, and once they’re safe she starts demanding he fulfill his bargain and give her whatever she wants. He agrees, up until they get to the Silmarils where he refuses and Ungoliant attacks him. He does lose, but he calls the Balrogs to him and they drive Ungoliant off. Chapter Nine of The Silmarillion.

8. Sauron does not have a Silmaril in his helmet. Two of the Silmarils are lost, and one is being worn by Earendil(long story). Chapter 24 of the Silmarillion.

9. Sauron is not afraid of reigniting a war between Ungoliant and Morgoth, because Ungoliant is dead(after the Balrogs drove her off, she hid in a cave, had many children, and eventually got so hungry she ate herself), and Morgoth was banished into the void. Neither of them are in the picture.

10. The rest of the post is accurate, except to say that Shelob is not a deity again.

If you don’t have a copy of the Silmarillion/LOTR you can check all this info on Tolkien Gateway or even Wikipedia.

Thinking of the larger context of LOTR and like, the fellowship swapping old war stories and shit and Sam just says “Yeah I killed a huge spider…Shelob, I think?”

And Gandalf just blinks and is like, “You what now?”

“Yeah, killed it. Had to save Frodo”

Gandalf elects not to tell Sam that he killed the spawn of a primordial demon.

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

For your request event ~ how about this soft prompt

❛ you got me flowers? ❜

With Námo x Reader? They're super surprised that the Doomsman got them flowers and honestly he's so awkward and kinda a mess because he's not very good with emotions<3

“The bouquet” 

Pairing: Námo x fem. reader (Maia / Second Person POV)

Themes: Soft 

Warnings: None 

Summary: The Doomsman brings a gift for you.

Word count: 700 words

Want to be tagged? Want to know the rules? Read all here.

The world was all gold when Námo wandered outside his halls. The new light, the golden one, fashioned to bring light and warmth, hung high in the sky. He blinked and looked away. Námo was not used to the light. He had spent far too much time in the halls and had grown far too used to the soothing light of the stars and the Two Trees. This new light, the one that brought morning, would take a lot of getting used to.

He wandered still, taking in the world around him. So much had changed after the chaos that followed the destruction of the Two Trees. There were Maiar everywhere, armed and armored. Oromë's hounds and his aided them. The fact that such measures were needed was tragic. They were the Ainur. No one should have been able to attack them where they were the strongest, yet it still happened. Ungoliant should have been dealt with ages ago before she grew powerful, but Manwë chose mercy. He did not just show mercy to her; he showed mercy to his brother as well. The result of that mercy was the destruction of the Two Trees and the first kinslaying.

Námo shook his head. Now was not the time for dark thoughts and apportioning blame. The day was too beautiful for that. He was meeting you after a long while. His duties kept him away, and he looked forward to seeing you again. That was not all. He wanted to give you something but had no idea what it should be. Námo could deliberate on the fate awaiting fëar in moments and pronounce the doom of others in the blink of an eye. But when it came to this, a gift worthy of you, he was at a loss.

Námo looked around, hoping something would inspire him. He did not stop until he came across a meadow. The air was sweet with the scent of wildflowers and roses and daisies. He remembered the talk amongst the Valier, how they loved receiving flowers at surprising moments. They considered such gestures sweet and thoughtful. Perhaps you might consider such a gesture touching as well. Námo debated his choices and made one.

You had been seated under the shade of an old oak tree, reading, when he found you. Námo hesitated. He was sure he had chosen wrong. Perhaps you will not like his gift and reject it. Maybe you would be disappointed, but try not to show it. Perhaps...

"My love?" You had seen him looking this way and that, as if dithering. His hand was behind his back. He was hiding something from you. "My love, is everything all right?"

Námo flushed, his pale cheeks turning a deep crimson. It was another aspect of his personality that stunned him. He was the Doomsman, the Judge, and here he was, flustered like an elfling caught with their hand in the sweet jar.

"I..." He inched his way toward you. His tongue had tied itself into knots, and he felt butterflies in the pit of his stomach. "I... I..."

"Goodness." Your book was all but forgotten. You rose, your instincts on high alarm. Had something terrible struck? "My love, what is wrong? Did something happen?"

Námo shook his head, his throat dry. His fana trembled from both anticipation and fear. That shocked him—that he could be fearful.

"Nothing is wrong, my love." Mustering what courage he had left, Námo held out the hand he kept behind his back. "For you."

"Oh." Your hands flew to your mouth, your lips curling into a delighted smile. In his hand was a bouquet of roses, wildflowers, and daisies, all mixed with sweet-smelling wild herbs. Their scent was a delight, and your countenance just softened. "You got me flowers?"

When you reached out and took the blooms out of his hand, Námo let out a sigh of relief he did not realize he was holding in. He looked on anxiously when you brought it closer and took a deep, satisfying whiff. Everything hinged on what you said next.

"These are so beautiful," you murmured. Námo's gift was sincere, and you were deeply touched. You never expected him to think of a gesture like this. He was always formal and proper, and this was a beautiful surprise. "Thank you."

A smile of joy and satisfaction lit up Námo's face.

Tags: @cilil @asianbutnotjapanese @fictionfordays @floraroselaughter

[kaiartx]

meowlkor for the character ask

Sexuality Headcanon: asexual biromantic

Gender Headcanon: agender

A ship I have with said character: angbang my beloved ❤️

A BROTP I have with said character: idk gothmog maybe??

A NOTP I have with said character: some people ship him with ungoliant i think and.... not for me thank you!

A random headcanon: i think he enjoys playing the piano, but he can't really do it after getting his hands burnt because of the silmarils because they are in constant pain

General Opinion over said character: i love him he's my meow meow he did nothing wrong and he's just a misunderstood smol gremlin

[a-writer-dreamer]

Hello! Local gremlin here to ask: who was your favorite Silm character and who was your least favorite?

Hiiiii! <3

This is SUCH a DIFFICULT question because I have an enormous proportion to love every single character of a book even John, the rock the main hero walked on page 45 chapter 2.

BUT I will try to take a decision – spoilers: I failed

For the favorite character, well. They’re a lot. I once argued with my sister about that question and it was a total mess.

Because you know there are these characters who committed unforgivable crimes and yet, you CAN’T dislike them *cough* the Fëanorians *cough* (but also people like Maeglin because he was a baby ok, he did nothing wrong)

There are these characters who are cuties and you want to hug them and tell them everything will be ok: Finrod, Celebrimbor, Beleg, Túrin, Glorfindel, SO MANY.

The dear forgotten ones Tolkien once mentioned and then… oops: Argon, best example of this category (also a cutie you want to hug). But I also think about the Vanyar because… you barely hear about them? Ingwion who?

The badass Women™ because they cool: Lúthien, Galadriel, Nerdanel, Idril, Haleth, Lalwen…

For some reason I also happen to have a HUGE love for Círdan. Like, he stayed there with his people, had a good relationship with Ulmo, helped the Noldor even if they murdered his kin across the sea, fought, resisted, accepted to parent Gil Galad in the middle of this mess, continued to help people, accepted a ring of power, fought AGAIN, and again against Angmar, welcomed the Istari with a great smile and a cookie, had the intelligence to give his ring to Gandalf, prepared a boat for him…

A cutie. That’s why I will declare that Círdan is my favorite character.

I rambled way too much.

About my least favorite… Uh, difficult too.

Because there are these characters who ARE the bad guys™, like Morgoth, Ungoliant, Gothmog, Sauron, the orcs and goblins and all this guys. Because they hurt your favorite characters, they MEAN.

But there are also these ones who are jerks like Eöl, Ulfang, Saeros, and who mess up in this one chapter and you hate them at this PRECISE MOMENT (Celegorm and Curufin why hurting Finrod WHY)

And then I read posts about a possible redemption and a possible backstory explaining their crimes and I feel emotional and suddenly I don’t hate them anymore.

That’s it, that’s the problem. I am the problem.

Thank you for asking!! <3 Have a wonderful day!

[castielscarma]

The quiet of a New Year

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28465581 A little piece for all my followers and mutuals <3 I hope 2021 will be a good year, filled with love for all of us. Canon compliant, GA, ~1k, domestic new year’s fluff. It's a quiet affair, which Dean thinks is funny. Nothing in his life had been quiet.     Not the fire roaring as it burned down his childhood home. Not the screaming realization that his mom was gone. Not the words shouted at him from his dad, drunk with anger and guilt. Not the sickening thud of a door closing when Sammy left him to go off to college. Not the crackling of thunder and lights exploding in that barn so many years ago when an angel of the Lord walked in, not only into that building but into his life. Although Cas had been annoying as hell in the beginning. Still were at times. Dean cracks a smile. “What's so funny, Dean?” Dean grins. “Nothing, Cas.” He looks at Sam and Eileen, sitting on the couch – Dean and Cas' couch –   still immersed in a discussion about who destroyed the Two Trees. They're definitely not quiet. He smiles fondly at them. Nerds. “You're both wrong, he calls out. “It's not Fëanor, Sam,” Dean shakes his head in mock disgust, “that's the elf who captured the light of the Two Trees and made the Silmarils, you know the gems that Morgoth went all loco after.” He flashes a smile at Eileen. “And while Morgoth did say the words, he didn't do the deed, Eileen, that was Ungoliant.” They both stare at him blankly. “Uh, Ungoliant, Aragog's more badass cousin. Gloomweaver,” Dean adds for clarification. Sam frowns. Like he has a reason to make that face. Dean throws up his hands in surrender. “I give up.” Jack, who's been looking out the window joins in. “I just want to clarify that the event didn't even happen in Lord of the Rings.” Dean points his finger at Jack. “Bingo, kid. We're talking predawn Lord of the Rings. The Silmarillion.” Eileen smiles. “I knew that.” “I know, it's sweet of you to indulge my brother though. The things we do for love.” Dean laughs when Sam does that face again. His brother interrupts them. “Alright, what time is it?” “We have five minutes and twenty-two seconds until the clock strikes midnight.” Eileen grabs Sam's hand and pulls him out of the couch. They join Jack by the window. It's a small house Dean and Cas have bought. It has a view of the woods and a lake nearby where they can hopefully swim, maybe catch some fish when spring and summer come. It rests on a vantage point, which will serve well for the evening's fireworks. Cas gently weaves his fingers together with Dean's. Dean's heart does fireworks of its own. A rush of warmth spreads through him; it's a feeling that still doesn't feel familiar but is very welcome. Dean squeezes Cas' hand and exhales. He has everything he could ever wish for, everything he dared hope for, small as that hope had been. They go to the window and stand by Jack. Dean lets go of Cas and pulls Jack in for a hug. He squeezes him tightly and whispers in his ear. “I'm glad you're ours, kid. Love you.” “Love you too, Dean.” Jack holds on for a while longer before letting go. He looks at Dean, a soft smile on his face, and nods once before turning his attention to the window. “I've never seen fireworks live. I do know that over a quarter of a billion pounds of fireworks will go off tonight, in the States alone.” Dean hums. “Well, sorry to disappoint Jack, but this is Lawrence. We can count us lucky if we get ten pounds of that.” He pats Jack on the shoulder. “Don't worry though, it will be awesome.” “It will?” “Yeah, cause we have each other.” Jack smiles at that. Nothing in his life had been quiet Dean thinks again, but he pauses. That isn't true. There had been good, quiet moments in his life. The quiet as Dean finally managed to ease Sammy's fears as a child so he could fall asleep at night. The quiet as Dean drove Baby on mile-long roads heading home after a successful hunt with Sam drifting off to sleep. The quiet that settled in his mind while trying to bake a new cake. The quiet as Dean came to realize that no, he wasn't his father, he was his own. The quiet after Dean told Cas that he loved him too, just before they kissed for the very first time. Maybe that is life, the not so quiet moments, intermingled with the very quiet ones. The outside of their window flashes in a multitude of colors, accompanied by the sound of fireworks going off. The light illuminates Cas' face, and Dean thinks that he's beautiful. He says it.     “You're beautiful, Cas.” And that beauty turns greater as Cas smiles. They kiss. It's a soft meeting of lips, yet one that fuels the fire that burns within Dean. Not even the flame of Anor can surpass it. Dean's heart thunders in his chest, yet his mind is quiet except for one eternal truth that rings through him. He loves Cas.  Maybe this is life, the not so quiet moments, intermingled with the very quiet ones. Dean can't wait to share those moments with Cas. “Happy new year, Cas.” Cas' eyes – blue as the sky – light up. “Happy new year, Dean.”

[daywillcomeagain]

silmarllion in general for 001!

001 | Send me a fandom and I will tell you my:

Favorite character: i pretend it’s not sometimes but lbr i’m basic. it’s maedhros. (of course it’s maedhros. how could it not be maedhros. i am a slut for suicide and good people doing awful things. the entire silmarillion, for maedhros, is a sort of reverse eucatastrophe. instead of a darkening world saved and brought into the light by moments of hope, he has this idealistic world that keeps getting hit by tragedy until he succumbs to it)

Least Favorite character: this is hard because i genuinely like almost all of the characters. is it cheating to say morgoth? because i really, really despise morgoth. he’s not even interesting and corrupted the way sauron is! he’s just kind of consistently sucky!

5 Favorite ships (canon or non-canon): russingon. earendil/elwing. silvergifting. finwe/miriel/indis triad. everyone/happiness.

Character I find most attractive: celegorm for “fictional trash man”. for “would be most attractive in real life if they existed” then, like, luthien, duh.

Character I would marry: Tar-Telperiën. numenor still owns my heart and i could be a queen with her and inflict my Opinions on EVERYONE.

Character I would be best friends with: so many!! celebrimbor, maybe? third age galadriel or elrond? i want the answer to be “elwing” but that probably would not happen. ilu elwing. OH WAIT I JUST REMEMBERED ANDRETH EXISTED. nvm andreth and i would be philosophy buddies and talk about how immortality’s great and elves are dumbasses

a random thought: everyone in this book is so good, guys. i care about them all so much.

An unpopular opinion: númenor did nothing wrong!!! (okay, yes, númenor did several things wrong, i know, i know, but they were in a shitty situation and most of the stuff that they get shit for, like the human sacrifice and invasion of valinor, i genuinely don’t know if i could’ve done any better in their place. hell, i don’t even know if i could’ve done better than the colonialism–3,000 years of population growth on a single island must have been hell on population pressure, especially without the technological benefits of the second and third agricultural revolutions–at least, until sauron showed up)

My Canon OTP: mentioned this earlier! earendil/elwing. i haven’t written about them yet but i really, really want to.

My Non-canon OTP: russingon, because i am basic.

Most Badass Character: LUTHIEN. totally fucked sauron’s entire shit up??? defeated a vampire and wore her skin as a cloak?????? defeated morgoth himself, albeit temporarily?????????????????

Most Epic Villain: ungoliant, honestly. the passage where she scares morgoth is like…. holy shit, you know? holy shit.

Pairing I am not a fan of: angbang. sorry guys! i’m just not interested! catch me separating them with melkor/tulkas and sauron/celebrimbor! the only exception for this is angbang as background for sauron/ar-pharazon, which is….. extremely good

Character I feel the writers screwed up (in one way or another): all the women who didn’t get screentime i have a few but the most egregious is Míriel, probably. the way she’s portrayed as having done something wrong, even if it’s portrayed as something understandable and tolkien is like “it’s unfair to blame her for it tho”. no. fuck that.

Favourite Friendship: do i get to double-count fingon and maedhros uuuuuh. hmm. this might be silly bc it gets like 2 pages but the friendship between smol túrin and sador/labadal is so sweet

Character I most identify with: depends on the day. same general list as my faves– maedhros, celebrimbor, fingon, elwing, túrin. on the good days i hit the “willing to self-sacrifice” characters of that list, on the bad days i go for “suicidal”. y’know. it’s a thing.

Character I wish I could be: none of them???? none of them. their lives all suck so bad!!!! i don’t want that!!!! if i got their personality/outlook and not their life circumstances…. fingon or húrin maybe? that level of hope and courage is something i really aspire to. auta i lome, aure entuluva, et cetera. :P

[igotanaddixon]

Fallen Stars (Thorin x OC)

A/N: Here is Chapter 6!! Sorry in advance guys! Please don’t kill me XD I did not have the time to check for any mistake so sorry if there is any in this chapter. 

Fandom: The Hobbit 

Pairing: Thorin Oakenshield x OC (Elentári) 

Forever taglist: @weirdnewbie @villainlove @fizzy-custard @fictionalquintessence @ealasaid @xalexandriaxk @maidenadventure @sdavid09 @lainternettuale @deepestfirefun @shewalksinanotherworld @fangirl570 @tschrist1 @babybarrie @fandomgalcentral @hiddenmangaka

Prologue 

Chapitre 1 

Chapitre 2 

Chapitre 3 

Chapitre 4 

Chapitre 5 

Chapitre 6 --> Current read 

Chapter 7 

Chapter 6: I’m scared to live but I’m scared to die

Bilbo watched as Elentári walked away from Thorin, the hobbit also watched as he saw the dwarf king look miserable for the first time since the day he met him. It was odd to see Thorin so affected by Elen’s rejection but after all, she had the right to be mad. Bilbo couldn’t believe what Thorin had said to his friend moreover when she was not a burden for the company. Elen always tried to help and she was kind and caring toward Bilbo. The elleth walked past the hobbit, her face flushed with anger and mumbling something about the stubbornness of dwarves. Bilbo followed after her as she reached Gandalf’s sides and started to look for the cave.

After a while, Thorin found the troll’s loot and everyone gathered around the entrance. The smell that came from the large cave was putrid and Bilbo decided to stay outside. However, a few dwarves, Gandalf and Elen dared to enter the cave. The dark place was full of treasure the trolls had been hoarding, it was impressive but Elen did not care as she tried not to puck because of the smell.  

“Oh, what’s that stench?!” Nori asked as he covered his nose and mouth with his hand.

“It’s a troll hoard. Be careful what you touch.” Gandalf answered, looking as disgusted by the smell as the others.

As they enter the cave deeper, many of the dwarves coughed and retched at the pungency of the cave but inside, they found piles of gold coins and other treasures in caskets. Those abandoned richness caught Bofur’s attention.

“Seems a shame just to leave it lyin’ around. Anyone could take it.” He said as he nudged some gold coins with his foot.

“Agreed.” Gloin piped in then turned to Nori. “Nori, get a shovel.”

At the same time, Thorin, Elentári and Gandalf explored deeper. Elen wandered at the opposite side of the cave, avoiding Thorin at all costs but the dwarf king found two swords covered in cobwebs and the swords caught Elen’s eyes. Gandalf approached the dwarf with curiosity.

“These swords were not made by any troll.” Thorin’s deep voice said as he handed one sword to Gandalf and kept the other one in his hands. Thorin observed the sword with interest and Elen approached Gandalf.

“Gandalf… Those are no simple swords…” The elleth breathed out in awe.

“Nor were they made by any smith among men.” Gandalf added as he drew the sword in his hand out of its sheath a few inches. “These were forged in Gondolin by the High Elves of the First Age.” Elen nodded her head, her eyes still focused on the blade.

Realizing that they are Elven swords, Thorin started to put away the one in his hands in disgust. Elen’s eyes widen at his action and she scoffed.  

“You could not wish for a finer blade.” Gandalf told Thorin in an exasperated tone. Reluctantly, Thorin held on to the sword. He drew it out of its sheath a few inches as well and observed it.

Elentári glared at him then quickly stormed out of the cave. ‘This dwarf will never change.’ She thought as she reached the top of the cave and went to sit next to Fili and Kili. In the meantime, some of the dwarves filled a chest with treasures and gold, then burried it in a hole in the ground near the entrance of the cave. As he saw them, Dwalin looked on in disappointment, his arms crossed over his chest.

“We’re makin’ a long-term deposit.” Gloin explained, earning a roll of Dwalin’s eyes as Thorin finally rushed past them to exit the cave.

“Let’s get out of this foul place. Come on, let’s go. Bofur! Gloin! Nori!” He called as he climbed the stairs that lead out of the cavern.

On his way out, Gandalf stepped on something metallic. Brushing aside the leaves beneath him with his staff, he found another sword. A much smaller one. The wizard exited the cave and headed over to where Bilbo was sitting alone. The hobbit looked up at Gandalf as the wizard handed him the sword he has just found.

“Bilbo.” Gandalf called, taking the hobbit out of his reveries.

“Hmm?”

“Here. This is about your size.” Gandalf said as he handed the sword to Bilbo who looked completely confused.

“I can’t take this.” Bilbo said after observing the sword in his hands.

“The blade is of Elvish make which means it will glow blue when orcs or goblins are nearby.” Gandalf answered, trying to convince the hobbit.

“I have never used a sword in my life.” Bilbo whispered as he looked around, afraid for the dwarves to hear. Gandalf smiled at his friend and bent down slightly.

“And I hope you never have to. But if you do, remember this: true courage is about knowing not when to take a life, but when to spare one.” Bilbo looked at Gandalf, his mind registering what the wizard had just said when Thorin’s worried voice shouted near them.

“Something’s coming!” The king warned at the same time as Elen. The elleth rolled her eyes as Thorin looked at her in surprise.

“Gandalf­” Bilbo stuttered in fear.

“Stay together! Hurry now. Arm yourselves.” Gandalf told the company as he ran ahead with Elen right behind him.

Bilbo slowly drew his sword and looked at it for several seconds before he finally followed the others, who have run off into the woods. Elen ran ahead, her ears listening closely to the sound. It wasn’t any kind of orc or creature. It was… it was a sled.

“A sled?” She asked out loud, making Thorin look at her as if she was crazy.

As soon as the words left her mouth, Radagast rode at full speed through the forest on his rabbit­drawn sled and pulled up short by the Company, screaming and shouting.

“Thieves! Fire! Murder!” The brown wizard shouted as he stopped in the middle of the company. The dwarves were ready to fight and Thorin drew his new sword but Elen gripped his forearms to stop him. Thorin wiped his head to look at the elleth in wonder. Elen kept her eyes focused on Radagast but shook her head ‘no’ at the dwarf king.

“Radagast! Radagast the Brown.” Gandalf quickly warned the dwarves, making them all groan in annoyance but also in relief. “Ah. What on earth are you doing here?”

“I was looking for you, Gandalf. Something’s wrong. Something’s terribly wrong.” Radagast said, his voice laced with worry and fear.

“Yes?” Gandalf inquired, sharing a look with Elen who simply shrugged and waited for Radagast to calm down. The odd wizard opened his mouth to speak, but shut it. He opened his mouth again, but closed it once again.

“Take your time, Radagast.” Elentári piped in nicely as she saw the scowling faces of the impatient dwarves.

“Oh, just give me a minute. Um, oh, I had a thought, and now I’ve lost it. It was, it was right there, on the tip of my tongue.” Radagast said in irritation, then he curled up his tongue, and looked surprised. Elen raised an eyebrow as she saw something in his mouth.

“Oh, it’s not a thought at all; it’s a silly old...” The brown wizard said and Gandalf pulled a stick insect out of his mouth. “­stick insect!”

The dwarves and Bilbo looked flustered and very confused but Elen only laughed at the gentle but odd wizard. Radagast and Gandalf went off a few paces to speak in private and the company gathered in the small clearing they were actually in waiting for the wizard. Elen looked at the two wizards, wondering what they were talking about when someone cleared their throat. She turned around to be surprised to see Thorin’s deep blue eyes staring at her. He was really close. Too close.

“Hm… You’re still gripping on my arm…” Thorin suddenly said a bit embarrassed. Elen’s eyes widen then fell on her hand that was indeed still gripping Thorin’s forearm tightly.

“Oh!” Elen’s cheeks turned bright red and she quickly let go of the king’s arm. “Sorry…” She mumbled and turned around to leave but not before hearing Thorin’s reply.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.” He mumbled, rubbing his arm where Elen’s hand had been just a few seconds before.

Elen blushed even more as she made her way toward Bilbo and past Balin who looked at her with a knowing smirk. She would never admit that she secretly loved the way his muscles shifted under his thick sleeve or how the warmth of his skin radiated through the leather of his coat. Elen shook her head and clenched her fist, trying to make the tingling on her skin stop. She had to stay focus, only a few minutes before she was yelling at Thorin telling him to never touch her again and now… She couldn’t get her hands off of him?! Elen groaned in disappointment in herself.

“The Greenwood is sick, Gandalf. A darkness has fallen over it. Nothing grows any more, at least nothing good. The air is foul with decay. But worst are the webs.” Elentári heard Radagast say.

“Webs? What do you mean?” Gandalf asked worriedly.

“Spiders, Gandalf. Giant ones. Some kind of spawn of Ungoliant, or I am not a Wizard. I followed their trail. They came from Dol Guldur.”

“Dol Guldur? But the old fortress is abandoned.” The Grey wizard exclaimed.

“No, Gandalf, it is not.”

‘Dol Guldur?’ Elen thought, wondering what this was all about.

“What are they talking about?” A gentle voice asked from next to the elleth. Elen looked down slightly to see Bilbo sat next to her, watching the wizards as well.

“Spiders…” Elen simply answered, earning a confused and curious frown from Bilbo. Gandalf and Radagast kept talking and Elen listened. She was scared to say that what Radagast had seen in the abandoned fortress was not a good sign at all. This kind of darkness couldn’t be a good sign for Middle Earth. Elen saw Radagast pull out a cloth­wrapped package from under his cloak and hand it to Gandalf. The woman frowned as Gandalf untied it and opened it; upon seeing its contents, the wizard looked concerned and Elen felt an old and ancient kind of darkness fill the air around them.

“That is not from the world of the living.” Radagast said.

“I don’t like that…” Elen whispered only for Bilbo to hear but before Bilbo could ask her what she meant, a howl was heard in the distance. Elen blinked several times and shot up to her feet. The dwarves looking around them with their weapons ready.

“Was that a wolf? Are there… are there wolves out there?” Bilbo asked, stuttering.

“Wolves? No, that is not a wolf.” Bofur answered him as Elen grabbed the sword tied on he back.

Suddenly, Elen wiped around and she tensed. From behind a nearby crag, a Warg appeared; it leapt into the midst of the Company, knocking down one of the dwarves. Elen pushed Bilbo aside and stepped before him with her sword ready. The warg turned and growled at Elen but Thorin struck quickly and killed the warg using Orcrist. Elen looked up at Thorin with surprise and their eyes met but another Warg attacked from the other side; Kili shot it with an arrow, bringing it down behind Thorin. However, it got back up and tried to attack Thorin but at the same time as Dwalin, Elen jumped forward and drove her sword into the Warg’s skull. Thorin wiped his head to look at his friend and at the elleth with wide eyes. Elen took her sword off the Warg and smirked at Dwalin who looked unpleased to share his kill with her.

“Warg­Scouts! Which means an Orc pack is not far behind.” Thorin stated, his eyes still focused on Elen. The elf had saved him at the same time as Dwalin. Even after what he said to her, the elleth had tried to keep him safe.

“Orc pack?” Bilbo asked, worriedly as Gandalf approached.

“Who did you tell about your quest, beyond your kin?” The wizard asked Thorin, his voice waving with anger and agitation.

“No one.” Thorin answered with confusion.

“Who did you tell?” Gandalf raised his voice.

“No one, I swear.” Thorin said defensively.

“Gandalf!” Elen raised her voice. “He said nothing! We need to go, now!” The elleth glared at the wizard, feeling quite annoyed to lose some precious time like this.

“What in Durin’s name is going on?” Thorin asked the wizard, taking a step forward.

“You are being hunted.” Gandalf sighed then glanced at Elen. The elleth was looking around the company, her eyes scanning the horizon.

“There’s too many…” She muttered.

“We have to get out of here.” Dwalin piped in, gripping his axe tightly but Ori stepped forward in fright.

“We can’t! We have no ponies; they bolted.” The young dwarf told the company. ‘Shadowfax…’ Elen thought, suddenly worried for her friend.

“I’ll draw them off.” Radagast said, seing no other way out for the company and the elleth.

“These are Gundabad Wargs; they will outrun you.” Gandalf disagreed but the brown wizard smiled proudly at the other wizard’s words.

“These are Rhosgobel Rabbits; I’d like to see them try.”

Elen looked at Radagast as he got himself ready. She approached him and looked up as the gentle wizard looked down at her with a smile.

“Be careful, Radagast.” She said, giving him a small sad smile.

“Do not worry about me, my lady. I can handle a few orcs.” Elen chuckled at his words and nodded her head then stepped aside to let him go.

In the meanwhile, Thorin observed the elleth and the wizard. He was close enough to hear their conversation and he couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at how Radagast had called her. ‘My lady?’ He thought, Elentári was a simple elf maiden… not or lady. Thorin was even more confused as his eyes landed on the sword on Elen’s back. He saw it once when she attacked the trolls and once again now but he couldn’t understand how it was possible. Thorin knew who forged that sword, but it was simply impossible.

The dwarves gathered at the edge of the woods while Yazneg, the orc leader of the Warg Riders, and his Wargs were searching through the forest for them. Suddenly, Radagast and his rabbits shot out of the forest and in a flash the Orcs and Wargs were chasing him. Radagast laughed as his plan worked.

“Come and get me! Ha ha!” He exclaimed, looking behind his shoulder.

Gandalf and Elen watched from behind a rock as Radagast and the Wargs disappeared in the distance. Elen shared a look with the wizard and nodded her head before running ahead of the company.

“Come on!” Gandalf called for the dwarves to move and the company rushed across a rocky plain.

Elen waited behind a rock as the company joined her, she looked in the distance to see Radagast being chased by the Wargs. One of them crashed while trying to catch him and Elen smirked. The wizard could truly handle those orcs.

As the Company ran across the plain, they saw the Wargs not too far from them. Elen gasped and grabbed Bilbo who was running next to her to hide behind the rocks. The company join her and the hobbit who looked up in fright at Elen. The elleth squeezed his shoulder and smiled, trying to give him courage. Gandalf looked in the distance to see if they could move.

“Stay together.” The wizard whispered.

“Move!” Thorin ordered and the company kept running. Elen looked at Thorin as she ran past him, their eyes met and the King felt a weird pull at his heart. Something was going to happen.

As the Company ran, Radagast drove his sled beneath an overhanging projection of rock; he ducks, but the Orc on the Warg behind him got knocked off. Elen smiled as she heard the commotion Radagast was creating as the chase continued. Suddenly, Thorin stopped behind a rock, seeing the Wargs too close but Ori ran out of the cover. Elentári and Bilbo gasped at the same time but hopefully Thorin grabbed Ori by his collar and pulled him back under the protection of the rock.

“Ori, no! Come back!” Thorin exclaimed as he grabbed him. The company waited for a while then Gandalf checked once again and nodded at the company.

“Come on! Quick!”

The dwarves continued running but Thorin stayed behind and turned to Gandalf as Elen stepped next to the wizard.

“Where are you leading us?” Thorin asked suspiciously, making the woman roll her eyes and Gandalf glare at him then move past the dwarf as he doesn’t answer. Thorin glanced at Elen then gestured for her to follow the others, not wanting to leave her at the back without protection. Elen ignored him and start to run behind Gandalf.

As the Warg scouts chased Radagast, one of them suddenly stopped and scented the air. Elen stopped in her tracks, her eyes wide.

“Take cover!” She whisper-shouted at the company and they all looked confused until Gandalf sensed the warg scout too.

The dwarves all took cover behind an outcropping of rock. Elen squeezed herself between Bilbo and Thorin, trying to calm her heart down as it hammered against her chest. She shared a look with Bilbo who looked terrified then grabbed her sword at her hips and sighed to focus. The elleth closed her eyes and listened to the scout and his Warg. They appeared on top of the outcropping they were hiding behind, scenting the air. Thorin looked at Kili and nodded his head. The look in the leader’s eyes left no choice at the poor young brunette dwarf. Bilbo squeezed Elen’s forearm to catch her attention as Kili readied an arrow. Elen opened her eyes and understood what Kili was trying to do but before she could stop him the younger Durin brother quickly stepped out and shot the Warg. However, his arrow hit the Warg’s shoulder blade and it let out a huge roar. Elen’s eyes widen but Kili quickly shot another arrow that made the Warg and the orc fell near the dwarves. Some of them quickly jumped and attacked it. Elen watched as the finally killed the orc and its beast but she shook her head as the sounds of their fight was carried quite far. Far enough for the other Wargs and Orcs to hear. They stopped chasing Radagast as they hear roars and screams from behind the rocks and Elen’s breathed hitched in her throat.

“They heard us…” She muttered, only Bilbo and Thorin heard her.

“The Dwarf­scum are over there! After them!” Elen heard the Orc’s leader hiss in his horrible language. The Warg scouts howled as they stopped pursuing Radagast and they began pursuing the Company.

“Move. Run!” Gandalf shouted, now not caring to keep his voice low. The company ran through a grassy plain; Wargs began to surround them from all sides. The elleth stopped and tightened her grip on her sword as she looked around her. Bilbo stayed behind the dwarves, not knowing what to do.

“There they are!” Gloin warned.

“This way! Quickly!” Gandalf lead them through the plain as they all ran for a while longer, then halted in a clearing as they saw Wargs on all sides. ‘We’re stuck.’ Elen thought and groaned as she tensed.

“There’s more coming!” Kili screamed and Elen ran next to him as the young dwarf was a bit too away from the other to her liking.

“Kili! Shoot them!” Elen heard Thorin shout from behind them.

Looking around, Gandalf saw a large rock and he quickly recognized it. He ran toward it and disappeared. The wizard disappeared into thin air as the dwarves started to get more and more agitated.

“We’re surrounded!” Fili screamed as he came back from his quick scout ahead.

Kili began to shoot at the Wargs and the Warg­riders, killing some of them. Elen was by his side, ready to fight.

“Where is Gandalf?” The brunette dwarf next to her asked.

“He has abandoned us!” Dwalin roared, accusing the wizard.

“Nonsense!” Elen shouted back, knowing that her dearest friend would abandon them so easily.

The dwarves gathered close to each other near the rock Gandalf disappeared by. As Yazneg and his Warg approached, Ori shot a rock at Yazneg with his slingshot, to no effect. Thorin pulled out his sword and stared at Elen’s back. He didn’t like the fact that Kili and her were far from the rest of the company.

“Hold your ground!” Thorin shouted to his friends as he readied himself but suddenly, Gandalf popped up from a crack in the rock.

“This way, you fools!” The wizard exclaimed before disappearing once again by the rock. Thorin ran and looked down the rock to see a secret passageway, his head wiped to the side and he called for everyone.

“Come on, move! Quickly, all of you! Go, go, go!”

As the Wargs approach, the dwarves and Bilbo slid into the large crack in the rock, sliding into a cave. A warg approached Thorin and tried to attack him but the King killed it easily with a slide of his sword. Kili shot another another orc and kept shooting with Elen by his side.

“Kili, we have to go!” Elen said, her body shifting to look behind.

“Kili! Elen! Run!” Thorin screamed and finally Kili turned away to run but at the same time Elen saw the orc he was about to shoot a second before raise his arm. Elen’s body moved out of instinct as the orc threw his sword at Kili’s back but instead of hitting the young dwarf, the sword came rushing at Elen. The elleth gasped as she looked down, pain gripping her entire being as she saw the sword driven deep in her side. Kili turned around and his eyes went wide but Elen mastered all her strength and turned to follow him. Her hand pulled the sword out off her skin and pushed hard against the wound.

“Run Kili! Don’t look back I’m right behind you!” Elen said as she pushed Kili forward. The young dwarf looked skeptical but ran ahead, looking behind at Elen every two seconds.

They quickly joined Thorin before the rock and Kili jumped into the crack. Elen’s legs were heavy, she had more and more difficulties to move. Her hand was drenched in blood but she tried to ignore it. Thorin’s eyes landed on her and his heart stopped for a second. Thorin made a move to come closer but right as he was about to reach her a high sound pierced the air around them and Elen screamed in pain.

“No!” Thorin screamed as he saw the arrow pierce through the back of Elentári’s left shoulder. The elleth’s eyes widen, pain evident on her features.

She knew that she was too far from the rock to reach it without putting Thorin in danger, the Orcs were too close. She looked at Thorin, her eyes filled with tears as she knew what she had to do. The time seemed to slow down as she heard Thorin’s voice scream her name. She saw him start to run in her direction, fear in his eyes. Elen’s legs shook as she raised her right arm slowly in the air. With the last bit of strength she had left, Elentári pushed Thorin back, a huge wave of white light escaping her hand. Thorin’s eyes widen as he felt the light push him backward and into the crack with the other dwarves. Elen sighed, and her eyes closed as a soft smile appeared on her lips through the pain. He was safe, that’s all that mattered for her.

The elleth’s legs gave way and she fell on her knees, her breathing shallow and rapid. Black spots started to cover her vision and Elen fell on he side. ‘Is this it? Is it how it ends?’ Elentári thought as she closed her eyes. She slowly accepted her fate as she heard Thorin’s voice scream from far away. In the crack, the dwarves were trying to hold the king back as he tried to climb back up to help Elen.

“We can’t leave her alone!” Thorin screamed but Gandalf stopped him once again as he tried to go past him.  

Just as Yazneg and his Wargs reach the Elen’s unconscious body, an Elvish horn sounded in the plain making the dwarves jump and Thorin look up in confusion. A group of mounted Elves rushed into the fray, shooting and spearing the Wargs and Orcs. The Company listened to the conflict from inside the crack. Thorin groaned in impatience but suddenly one of the orcs, shot by an arrow, fell into the cave. The dwarves jumped and readied their weapons but the orc was dead. Thorin advanced through the company and plucked out the arrow and examined its make.

“Elves.” Thorin hissed in disgust and threw the arrow on the ground. Gandalf sighed out in relief as he understood who had saved them and consequently, who had found Elentári.

“Gandalf, we have to help Elen.” Kili suddenly said and Thorin looked up at the wizard with dark eyes.

“We cannot help her, Kili. We wouldn’t be able to heal her wounds, she might die if…” Gandalf started but Thorin stopped him with a shout.

“We cannot leave her alone! Gandalf, she will die! She might as well be dead already!”

“This is why she is in better hands with the elves right now!” Gandalf said, raising his voice. Thorin looked down for a moment and tried to calm down, the company looked around at each other in worry but finally Thorin sighed and glared at Gandalf one last time. “We do not have the choice Thorin. Elentári is one of my dearest friend, I wouldn’t leave her in the hands of fools. I know that those elves are her best chance.”

Thorin sighed but he had no other choice. He could see that his friends looked at him with questioning looks at why he cared so much for the elleth. They all cared but Thorin’s behavior was truly odd. There was a pathway at the end of the cave, leading away, to a place unknown. Dwalin wandered in the cave and brought Thorin out of his daze.

“I cannot see where the pathway leads. Do we follow it or no?” The warrior asked.

“Follow it, of course!” Bofur exclaimed before anyone could protest, even Thorin. The dwarves started to follow Dwalin and Bofur, Gandalf staying behind with Bilbo.

“I think that would be wise.” Gandalf mumbled, only Bilbo noticed the wizard comment.

The Company began to follow the path. It was quite narrow, and the path was actually a crack between two tall cliffs. At times, the dwarves had great difficulties going through the narrow pathway. Thorin couldn’t help but worry, Elen’s hurt face, her hands red from her own blood haunted his mind. He had to see her, he had to see her alive and well. His heart clenched and he felt sick, his throat tightened and a strong feeling of grief gripped his heart. Thorin knew at this instant that if he lost her, if he lost Elentári, he would never love again.  

The pathway eventually opened out into an open area; there was a valley below, and in that valley, was the city of Rivendell.

“The Valley of Imraldis. In the Common Tongue, it’s known by another name.” Gandalf said as the dwarves looked at the city in awe.

“Rivendell.” Bilbo breathed out, looking at the landscape with an admirative smile.

“Here lies the last Homely House east of the sea.” Gandalf said but Thorin’s anger boiled.

“This was your plan all along, to seek refuge with our enemy.” The dwarf king hissed.

“You have no enemies here, Thorin Oakenshield. The only ill­will to be found in this valley is that which you bring yourself.” Gandalf answered, making Bilbo look between the wizard and the dwarf feeling a bit uncomfortable.

“You think the Elves will give our quest their blessing? They will try to stop us.” Thorin asked Gandalf but in reality, that was more a statement than a question.

“Of course they will. But we have questions that need to be answered. If we are to be successful, this will need to be handled with tact and respect and no small degree of charm. Which is why you will leave the talking to me. Moreover, if you want to see Elentári again you will have to follow me.” Gandalf said and started to walk toward the elven city as Thorin looked down in resilience.

If this was the only way to see her again… Thorin would deal with the elves of Rivendell.

Tell me what you think guys! 

xxx Lisy 

[dawnfelagund]

On Writing Aman, or the Balance between the Mythic and the Real

This essay was written for Back to Middle-earth Month 2017 for the orange/nonfiction path and the prompt “Worldbuilding.” It can also be read on the B2MeM community and the Silmarllion Writers’ Guild.

"In Valinor, all the days are beautiful."

This was the very first line I wrote in my very first serious Silmarillion fan fiction, Another Man's Cage . But I don't believe it. (Which is okay--those were Celegorm's words, not mine.) In fact, the twelve years of writing Silmarillion-based fiction could be seen as an exercise in proving Celegorm's sentiment here wrong.

Early feedback on the first draft of AMC largely focused on this point. A comment by JunoMagic (now SatisMagic) sums this up nicely:

What I think is most difficult about stories that are primarily concerned with Elves and Elves in Aman at that, is how to keep their inherent elvishness alive and present throughout the story, a feeling that this is not a story about another kind of men, but about a different kind of beings, however closely related they might be. (emphasis mine)

The challenge of writing not-wholly-human beings is hardly new to the fantasy genre. Ursula LeGuin's essay “From Elfland to Poughkeepsie” addresses it. "But the point about Elfland," she writes, "is that you are not at home there. It's not Poughkeepsie. It's different" (145). Most of LeGuin's essay focuses on style and the precarious process of achieving a style that sounds otherworldly without being distancing. But she takes jabs as well at fantasists who veer to close to the human and the our-worldly in their work:

The Lords of Elfland are true lords, the only true lords, the kind that do not exist on this earth: their lordship is the outward sign or symbol of real inward greatness. And greatness of soul shows when a man speaks. At least, it does in books. In life we expect lapses. In naturalistic fiction, too, we expect lapses, and laugh at an "overheroic" hero. But in fantasy, which, instead of imitating the perceived confusion and complexity of existence, tries to hint at an order and clarity underlying existence--in fantasy, we need not compromise. (148, emphasis mine)

So while LeGuin's essay is ostensibly about style, she also argues for characters of a "kind that do not exist on this earth," which is a profoundly different thing. This gets back to the early criticism of AMC: readers' unease with elements of the story that felt too "human" or "not Aman enough," like weapons and predators and Elves who pee. I think this unease is far less common now than it was ten years ago; I like to think that my generation of Silmfic writers had something to do with that, as did the shift away from Tolkien fan fiction as largely a practice by fans already deeply committed to the books (and the orthodoxy of mainstream Tolkien fandom) and toward participation by fans who came to the fandom through one of the film trilogies (as indeed I did). These fans bring practices common to Fanworks as a Whole but not necessarily the Tolkien fanworks community as it existed in its original online form, practices which seem to allow for an easier break with fanon and orthodox interpretive approaches to the texts. But the issue still remains: How does one worldbuild a place like Aman?

Juno's comment on AMC hints at this: The Elves of Aman are different and more difficult to write than Elves in general (who also pose their difficulties). Or: Aman is more of the rarefied, not-of-this-earth Elfland that LeGuin places at the heart of a successful fantasy story. I don't want to say that this is wrong--I admire both women as writers and thoughtful critics of fiction--but I also see this view as posing difficulties that LeGuin does not acknowledge in her essay. (Juno does, in her discussion with me back when.)

Successful fiction, for most people, requires a connection to something real, something they can relate to. (I know some people would disagree with this. But for most of us, reading a story that carries no connection to anything recognizable to us is not a pleasurable experience.) Tolkien recognized this. In his essay On Fairy-stories, he spoke of the necessity of an "inner consistency of reality" and noted, "The keener and clearer the reason, the better fantasy will it make," i.e., one must understand the rules of the world before remaking them (section "Fantasy"). The best of authors are, in many ways, the builders of bridges: They take recognizable human experiences or components of our familiar world and use them to bear us unwittingly across the chasm to an unfamiliar world or existence. Suddenly, sometimes without knowing how we arrived there, we look up to find ourselves existing (fictionally) as a person we detest or inhabiting an experience we knew nothing about--or living in a world not our own: an alien planet, an underworld, an Elfland.

The risk comes when that bridge is so tenuous, so frail that the crossing becomes difficult or even impossible, and we stand on the other side, looking into a world or existence as a character that we cannot really connect to. It isn't quite believable or real. Some might argue that is part of the point--LeGuin makes the case for escapism in her essay, which was a major component of Tolkien's theory of fantasy as well1--but escapism is far from the sole reason for reading or writing fantasy. In fact one could--and I would--make the claim that fantasy functions just as easily as a test environment for ideas that would perhaps stretch the bounds of belief if grounded in our world. Fantasy as a genre, after all, is defined primarily by the author's ability to bend the rules "just because." That allows for the stereotypical sorcery and dragons, of course, but it also allows authors to add gender equality or benevolent monarchs or immortality, or to explore the darker elements of what it means to be human--genocide, colonialism, and slavery are all present in The Silmarillion, for example--without exploiting or misrepresenting the experiences of actual victims of those things in our real world. Adding such elements provokes interesting questions about what it means to be human in our world without becoming so entangled in the complexities of real-world history and modern society and the emotions these things incite.

Which brings me back to the question of Aman and how best to write stories set in this otherworldly place. A good deal of it depends on your purpose for writing about Aman: Is it an escape? Or are you situating a recognizable human experience inside an otherworldly setting to see what comes of it?

For me, it is the latter, and not just because I find this the most meaningful type of fiction to write but because the material Tolkien gave me to work with suggests this approach. Earlier, I emphasized LeGuin's quote that "[t]he Lords of Elfland are true lords, the only true lords, the kind that do not exist on this earth: their lordship is the outward sign or symbol of real inward greatness" (148). If the magic of Elfland comes from language and style, then LeGuin is correct to hold up Tolkien as a master of "the genuine Elfland accent," but what she says here is a whole 'nuther animal, and had LeGuin had access to The Silmarillion--she wrote "From Elfland to Poughkeepsie" in 1973--then she might have been less confident in this assertion about the "true lords" of Elfland (148).

As a nascent Tolkien fan, I fell in love first with The Lord of the Rings and, when I reread it now, love it anew for reasons I need articulate to no fan of Tolkien. But what seized my heart and transported me fully to Middle-earth was The Silmarillion. I've spent thirteen years now writing stories about The Silmarillion, motivated largely by a desire to understand the flawed world and characters it presents. Most of my stories are set in Aman. This possibly seems contradictory: If I love flaws, then why would I set most of my work in "Elfland," in a place described as "blessed, for the Deathless dwelt there, and there naught faded nor withered, neither was there any stain upon flower or leaf in that land, nor any corruption or sickness in anything that lived; for the very stones and waters were hallowed" (Silmarillion, "Of the Beginning of Days")?

One doesn't have to look far to realize that this description is idealized. There is first of all Míriel Serindë, who not only sickened but died, right there in Valinor, in the most exalted of acts: giving birth to her child. Ungoliant dwelled "there in Avathar, secret and unknown," where "beneath the sheer walls of the mountains and the cold dark sea, the shadows were deepest and thickest in the world," in sight of Valmar and the Two Trees (Silmarillion, "Of the Darkening of Valinor"). Of course, Melkor lived there for many ages; the Silmarils, also described as "hallowed" ("Of the Silmarils"), burned his hand when he touched them, but he could abide the also (supposedly) "hallowed" Aman?

Aman isn't a flawless realm but a realm that carries a convincing veneer of flawlessness. This has been essential in my worldbuilding within the bounds of Aman. Over the years, I have given Aman universities, hunger, seaside resorts, a redlight district, and most recently, democracy. One of my favorite Tolkien resources of all time is Darth Fingon's “Twenty-Two Words You Never Thought Tolkien Would Provide” because it gives us a look beneath the veneer of Aman.

I believe this veneer takes strength to maintain that is not possible to sustain over the long term, even for the Ainur. We see this again and again in Tolkien's world--Doriath, Gondolin, Nargothrond, Númenor, Imladris, Lothlórien, all isolated and protected places that eventually fall or wither with time--but Aman is rarely included as such a place. We assume Aman had genuine sublimity--not least of all because many of the realms on the list above imitate Aman; not least of all because it is the creation of the divine and eternal Ainur--but I'm not sure that the land that harbored Ungoliant can be labeled as ideal. The illusion is tattered, and reality is bound to enter in.

In my stories, the effort to keep up the veneer of perfection means that the further one is from Valinor proper--from the part of the realm most carefully constructed and maintained by the Valar--the more ordinary the realm appears. This is based in the fact that Ungoliant's unnoticed occupancy of Avathar--which including weaving vast, black, light-sucking webs among the mountains there--seems at least partially predicated on the fact that it is "far south of great Taniquetil" where the "Valar were not vigilant" (Silmarillion, "Of the Darkening of Valinor"). However, in the same passage, both Melkor and Ungoliant are described as able to descry the Light of the Trees and other features of Valinor; they don't seem to be that far away. The power of the Valar may be more limited than the idealist description of Valinor in the text would suppose and doesn't seem to extend across the extent of Aman. I have used this same idea in my stories about Aman: As one journeys further from the epicenter, the veneer of perfection thins and then disappears altogether. Formenos in the north, in my stories, is set in a part of the land with seasons, including winter, and predators that residents warn their children against. These elements of my depiction of Aman were among those questioned by early readers of my work.

Likewise, some of the residents of Aman were born in Middle-earth and their personalities shaped in the crucible of the early conflicts with Melkor. Aman, therefore, could hardly guarantee an edenic existence for the Eldar, innocent of the knowledge of grief, violence, and death; rather, the Elves who came to Aman doubtlessly brought with them both survival skills and trauma from their tenure in darkened Middle-earth. This is an idea that is frequently explored by Silmarillion writers (including me) in the context of sexuality: Before the laws of the Valar were imposed upon them, the Elves would have had a more naturalistic and lenient view of sex. Without delving beyond its title, Laws and Customs among the Eldar is just that: among the Eldar, and this choice of wording from the semantically fastidious Tolkien feels deliberate and laden with potential meaning. But the presence of Elves from Middle-earth--including all of the leaders of the Eldar in Aman--presents significance beyond sex. Weapons are an issue I wrote about as early as AMC--proposing, somewhat in defiance of canon, that Elves in Aman possessed swords as historical artifacts and also for athletic pursuits--that drew criticism then, at least in part because what use have the people of Aman for weapons? I say that allowing swords to certain groups of Eldar in Aman is "somewhat" in defiance of canon because Tolkien himself waffled on this issue, seeing the question of weapons as a potential plot hole.2 He concluded that it was unreasonable to expect that they didn't possess weapons on the Great Journey. Consider this implications of this. Into the so-called Deathless Realm came Elves experienced in making and using weapons, whose minds most likely devised of instruments of death and violence on their own, possibly among their first creative acts. How is such a culture shaped by the of reality life in Middle-earth, illuminated only by the stars and under duress of an enemy too strong and cunning even for the Valar? How is that effect amplified when those who endured such an experience do not die, leaving their descendents to progress into a more pacific existence without them, but retain that formative mindset, those skills and those traumas, into the ages?

But trauma does not end with those born outside of Aman. Events within Aman wreak havoc upon those likewise born within its borders: In fact, that they occur in Aman seems an inescapable component of the trauma.

Perhaps the most salient example of this is Fëanor. Fëanor lost his mother and watched the Valar bend the rules to allow his father to remarry, ensuring in the process that Míriel could never be reborn. These events alone would have been potentially traumatic. But consider how their occurrence in Aman of all places compounds that trauma, adding a sort of insult to injury, as Fëanor doubtlessly progressed through his life hearing how fortunate the Elves were to live in the safety of the "deathless realm." His own experience would have been very different, and it must have been painful or galling to hear Aman celebrated while understanding that ideal was only a veneer--a concept doubtlessly controversial, if not impossible, to articulate.

Likewise, the conflict in the House of Finwë is worsened by its happening in Aman. When Fëanor draws his sword on Fingolfin, he is accused primarily of having "broken the peace of Valinor and drawn his sword upon his kinsman"; almost as an afterthought, Námo Mandos adds that the "deed was unlawful, whether in Aman or not in Aman," but it is hard to imagine Fëanor would have received a penalty so severe anywhere else (Silmarillion, "Of the Silmarils"). The primary transgression seems to be manifesting an emotion--expressed through the powerful symbolism of the drawn sword--that belies the illusion of a land without corruption. The cauldron of circumstances that produced this rash act are not examined in any meaningful way; instead, the rash actor is hidden away in the name of restoring peace--or at least the illusion of it.

Taken together, I believe that worldbuilding Aman as an "Elfland" as LeGuin understands it is a fundamental flaw. The lords of Aman are the very ones we see on earth: They are idealistic to the point of naïveté (the Valar); they want what they don't have (Finwë); they are jealous, vulnerable, angry, in pain (Fëanor). One can extrapolate outward from these supposedly greatest of the residents of Aman to assume that the land is not as impeccable as the rhapsodizing of the narrator of The Silmarillion would have us believe. To look no further than the dust of diamonds upon one's shoes in walking there, to never glimpse the faces of those who dwell there and what hides behind their eyes, is to be so dazzled by a beautiful illusion as to miss what matters.

Notes

1. On escapism as a motive for fantasy see Tolkien's essay On Fairy-stories, in the section "Recovery, Escape, Consolation":

I have claimed that Escape is one of the main functions of fairy-stories, and since I do not disapprove of them, it is plain that I do not accept the tone of scorn or pity with which "Escape" is now so often used … Why should a man be scorned if, finding himself in prison, he tries to get out and go home? Or if, when he cannot do so, he thinks and talks about other topics than jailers and prison-walls?

2. On the question of weapons in Aman, see The History of Middle-earth, Vol. X: Morgoth's Ring, The Annals of Aman, note on §97 (page 106 in the hardcover edition). Tolkien originally stated that "Melkor spoke to the Eldar concerning weapons, which they had not before possessed or known," then emphatically argued with himself in a marginal note: "No! They must have had weapons on the Great Journey," concluding that they had "weapons of the chase, spears and bows and arrows." Swords may be a step too far for some people--although Tolkien's own inconclusiveness on this issue leaves me feeling it is far from carved in stone--but weapons in Aman certainly were not.

[misericordae]

ungoliant did nothing wrong she just was real hungry and had a bunch of spider daughters

[ecotone99]

A Different Kind of Darkness [HR]

Ungoliant, they once called me. First of the spiders, shadows made manifest, the great consumer that knew naught but hunger. Truly I feasted in those days. All sorts of creatures would stumble into the gloom of my web, unaware of me or their impending fate. And I felt nothing better than in those days draining them of their life, and becoming larger, greater, and able to feed on even larger beings.

​

But then I was driven away. Flames they used on me, too many to strike at even for my many legs. They forced me away into further darkness, and there I bred more of my kind. Only for the purpose of eating I made them, and thought some would escape, most would not. But they could not sustain me. These shadows were pale imitations of my great shadow, and they added little. Long the world forgot about me in my hiding, and soon they believed I was gone. Hunger consumed by hunger. They say I devoured myself in my great appetite, but they are wrong. For I have always hungered for the light, the eternal flame, and I am so great a darkness that I would be a shadow even upon the sun.

​

No, I could not satiate myself, but nor could I move out of my hiding with such beings of might in the world. So I wove more weds, darkness upon darkness, until I was held fast in place in a void of light. In this darkness, I felt my body shrink. No longer was I the great, terrifying spider, my teeth becoming useless and my great bulk diminishing. Still, though, I had my legs, but of a different kind. I felt I could stretch them out, and they moved through the darkness pulling bits of shadowy web with them. Further, far away from my body they moved, until they came for the first time to settle on man.

​

But these legs were not the same, for even with their great length they did not crush him, nor pull him. But I felt them touch him, and move into his mind, and their connect the dark bit of my web to him. And I fed. Not much, not enough for anything truly satisfying, but for the first time in ages I FED. And the man was diminished, but not destroyed. I took from him pieces, but not the whole flame of his soul. And he went to groups of other men, and as they spoke he unwittingly spun my dark webs into his words, and they came into those around him. On them, too, I fed.

​

These men turned to darkness, but not so thoroughly as to destroy them. Their actions were dark, their thoughts were dark, and they couldn’t find in themselves what made them weak, what made them hurt. I thought of my webs of old, and laughed at their fragility compared to these. These webs of the mind were even greater, for the snared could see and feel them not, and so made no move to escape or avoid them. Instead they built my web for me, capturing more of themselves, all while I ate them slowly. Not even at the end, when their age and frailty finally succumbed to the darkness I had caught them in, could they see from where it came.

​

And as man spread, so did I. My hunger was always growing, but my prey grew to match. What limitations and fears my physical form had known were gone, replaced by a darkness that began to radiate from around me as much as in me. And now, as man pushes past the bonds of this rock, so too will my webs. Much farther out than I could’ve hoped to spin them on my own, and so much closer to the great fire they fuels you all. Man will reach out its limbs beyond the Earth, and carry me in their hearts and minds to greater flame. In consuming these I will become celestial and, in physical relief, stretch out legs that have patiently waited for eons. For this hunger I have waited a sufficient amount of time, and soon, when man conveys me to the great flame, I will sate it with all the world and the creatures of it. Your minds have nourished me long enough. I now require more.

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