#dúnedain lore

[theadwyn-of-rohan]

I always wondered what age all the rangers, especially the grey company ones would be, and also more in general how dúnedain aging even works, and how the maturity compares to "normal humans"/middle men

I mean we do know that all the grey company rangers are dúnedain, even if they aren't of royal blood/direct descent of isildur, and therefore still have a longer life expectancy than normal humans. I don't know/am not sure, if we actually have information on that, but I would say, that means that the usual one is about 140-150 years, maybe?

Now the question is, where do the gc rangers fit in, and how old are they compared to aragorn?

In my mind, idk if I read that somewhere, i believe that Dúnedain mature at 25, and that's probably when they get sworn to aragorn, so Helchon is somewhere around 25 or 26 years.

Thanks to an ao3 fic I read some time ago, I hc Candaith to be rather young for a ranger, somewhere in his early thirties, also because (courtesy of that fic aswell) the lone ranger thing wasn't actually planned, but the other rangers just- died (blame garth agarwen. that always works) another contributing factor to young(ish)!candaith might be bc of the oc that i ship him with- but that's beside the point

Calenglad, as we know, is older than Aragorn, by at least about 20 years, and with him, in my mind-, looking like he's in his forties somewhere (leaning towards late forties), something inbetween 107-120 seems fitting

Golodir, I'd believe, is somewhere similar to Calenglad, possibly a bit older, but due to all the Angmar shit- being mordirith's favourite punching bag for a few years straight does that to you- has aged faster, which puts him somewhere in the range of 120/120+ give or take

Corunir and Lorniel were besties and a similar age, change my mind. With that, and my headcanon for Angmar being give or take 10 years long, they were definitely older than 25 to actually go on that journey, and at the very least two-to-three years older, for the experience, which would put them somewhere in their early 40s/40s. That would mean that Golodir had Lorniel at about 80- which is fine, ig? Aragorn had Eldarion at 91, tho he also lived to 210, so I dunno if he is a valid comparison.

Anyway, this were the first rangers that came to mind- [actually, now that I think about it loth and rads too- and amdir, dagoras, daervunn, saeradan, halbarad- but i can't be bothered to write smth about them]

here you go *cutely hands you my first post*

#my first post #yayyy #lol #hello world #lotro #lotr #grey company #i shall be spending a lot of time in the sad about rangers tag #i already know #my poor babies #i love them so much #lotr lore #dúnedain lore #english not my first language is #do not judge thank you in advance #helchon #candaith #calenglad #trying to figure out ranger ages #dúnedain aging #much ado for a lotr/lotro text rp with friends yay #golodir #aka mordiriths favourite punching bag #sorry not sorry for that #lorniel #corunir #might add more later #*hands you this and runs*

[starks-hero]

Avert Your Eyes from Your Demise, Though Lovely It May Be

Pairing: Thorin Oakenshield x human!Reader

Summary: In which giant spiders aren't the only threat Mirkwood has to offer.

Word Count: 4.0k

Warnings: they're high on Mirkwood mist the whole time. Do with that what you will.

Translations: Siúlóirí portaigh - bog walkers (Irish) , amrâlimê - my love (Khuzdul) , lansel - love of all loves (Khuzdul)

a/n: I know movie Thorin is described as 5'2ish but I write him as 4'8 - 4'10 because it's more book accurate and because we should embrace this short king. Anyway, I call this 'the intimacy of going insane with your crush.'

You couldn't shake the unease. Even now, as you sat at the edge of a clearance, bark biting harshly into your back, you could almost feel the forest closing in on you. Shadows scurried above you and the air itself was stale.

Your company of fifteen had quickly fallen to a number of just two, with only yourself and Thorin making it through the mist-clouded trails together. Neither of you were certain what had become of the others and given the eeriness of your surroundings, you didn't want to give it too much thought.

A sudden gust of wind rushed through the clearing and the limbs of the trees creaked inward. It was as if the forest was breathing.

“We have to find the others,” you said. Your voice sounded foreign and far off.

Thorin was pacing in front of you, twisting the hilt of his sword in his hand. “They would know well enough not to linger in these woods. We keep heading East.”

“Which way is East?”

“We follow the river.” You didn't miss the beat of uncertainty before Thorin's answer.

You shook your head. “We don't know where it leads.”

“It will lead us away from here which is good enough.”

Almost to emphasize Thorin's point, the surrounding trees creaked and groaned and another shadow scurried overhead. Caution steered your hand to the hilt of your sword and following Thorin's order, you moved on swiftly.

The forest felt too small and too large all at once. Branches knabbed and tore at your clothes and skin, the twisted limbs of rotting trees giving you no option but to duck or crawl beneath their roots. A glance skyward reminded you that this place, in all its foulness, was unending, the tree canopy stretching miles above your head and blackening out the sun's light.

That was if the sun was still up. You'd lost track of the time what seemed like hours ago.

You came to a sudden, harsh stop as your front rather unceremoniously met Thorin's back. With a quiet grunt, you found the reason for stopping was a tangled thicket of twisted branches that now stood before you. The tree, in all its obscure glory, seemed to consume the path entirely, its limbs too thick to cut and trunk too tall to climb. Too tired to think of a solution, you found yourself uncharacteristically willing to give up. Until Thorin shrugged off his furs.

You watched as the grey fabric rolled off his broadened shoulders and revealed his shirt, knotted pattern running up the arms.

“I'll go first,” he took the liberty of explaining as he bunched the furs together and placed them in his pack. “It will be easier for me to get out should I need to.”

You would have liked to argue but Thorin, a regularly stubborn fool, was surprisingly right. He was shorter, his limbs less likely to snag. His dwarven frame would move through the thicket much easier than your own.

He disappeared into the grove, swallowed by bark and darkness and you already found yourself questioning why you let him go alone.

You kicked at the dirt beneath your feet as you waited. Eyes set on the trees, you felt increasingly uneasy. You picked at the leather of your sword sheath. Thorin was a capable warrior and you didn't doubt his ability to defend himself. But something wasn't right, you could feel it, crawling on your skin and putting your hairs on end.

Giving in to impulsiveness, you followed after Thorin.

The branches clawed at your skin and snagged your clothes. You pushed aside what you could, rotting wood giving way easily beneath your palm, but as the many limbs began to swell into trunks, it became increasingly difficult to move. Your chest was pressed uncomfortably against the rough bark. You were never one to fear tight spaces but the sudden inability to take a deep breath came as an unwelcome shock. Just as panic had you reaching for your sword, relief found you in the form of the dwarrow prince.

With renewed determination, you mustered a final push and freed yourself from where you were wedged.

Thorin stood with his back to you, stance stiff. You called his name and he hushed you quickly.

His eyes were set on the tree line ahead of you. His gaze was hard, analytic and you didn't fail to notice how his fingers grazed the hilt of his weapon. He turned to you.

“Do you not hear it?”

“Hear what?”

As if the bugle of battle had been sounded, Thorin's stance shifted and in one swift, fluid movement, he drew his sword. His free hand guided you further behind him. Then, he shot forward, swinging his sword at an invisible target. His expression was one of determination as well as unmistakable fear. Another aimless swing and he turned to you.

“Can you not see it?!” He barked, frustrated at your unwillingness to help.

You raised your head and all but willed yourself to see anything but the winding trails of the forest. But despite how hard you employed your imagination, you saw nothing. Somewhere in the treeline, a bird took flight.

An uncomfortable recollection settled in the forefront of your mind. A shiver ran up your back.

"Thorin," Your hand cautiously fell against his shoulder. He turned to you with fire in his eyes but your expression made him pause. “Gandalf said a dark magic lay over this forest.”

At your words, his defensive stance melted away and defeat took its place. The elvish blade fell from where it was held at his side as he looked around and the fear in his eyes slowly shifted to confusion, then realisation.

“It's toying with our minds?”

You swallowed. The thought made your skin crawl; the idea of the forest as its own conscious entity was a horrifying one. That its magic could sink its claws into your mind and deprive you of your senses, keeping you walking in circles till your feet gave in. The entirety of Mirkwood was one giant spider's web and you hated to think what that made you and Thorin.

“We just need to keep our wits about us and our feet moving forward,” you managed eventually, casting weary glances towards the trees. "Now that we know what's happening we have the upper hand, we stay together, stay vigilant and keep our minds clear."

Thorin felt the sudden need to commend you for your calm demeanor and sudden leadership. But he'd also just attempted to fight a non-existent enemy so he decided saying anything at all was against his better judgment and settled for a curt nod instead.

Your plan fell apart comedically fast. You tried to remain optimistic but as you passed the same tree stump for what must have been the fourth time, you felt as though the forest was laughing at you. Your feet ached as though they'd been walking for days. You could hear each of your breaths echo as they came and the thud of your boots against the earth shook your bones.

The child-like laughter had started not short of an hour ago. Thorin couldn't seem to hear it.

When the rough terrain of rock and dirt softened into the cold, squelching mud of a bog, you both silently agreed that a break was needed. You sat at the end of the wetland, where the moss and reeds sprouted up between damp rocks. The water was gloomy, tinged grey and dark green with a sinister mist resting upon its surface.

The dreariness of the place seemed to seep into your bones.

Thorin sat an arm's length from you, hands braced against his knees as he looked out over the bog with a sullen stare.

“What do you see?” You asked.

“Fire." He said no more and you didn't pry.

In an attempt to ease the aches that had set deep in each of your muscles, you pulled your water canteen from where it hung against your pack. A cool drink of fresh water would be a small but welcome relief that you wouldn't take for granted.

But the liquid was thick and warm as it touched your lips and when you pulled it away it was coloured red. You tossed the canteen away with a grunt of disgust. It unceremoniously met the surface of the water before sinking into the mud.

“We need to leave this place,” you said, hands threading through your hair and pulling at the roots. Thorin didn't argue.

You walked until you felt the leather of your boots threatening to give way. You thought one of the trees you had passed seemed familiar, distinctive enough from the rest of the foliage that it stood out.

“We've been here before,” you said. “We're going round in circles.” You turned to on your heel and found no sign of the dwarf.

“Thorin?”

The eerie silence of the forest echoed back to you.

“Thorin?!”

The feeling of unease returned tenfolds. Shadows crawled above you and the wind quivered through the trees. The mist had worsened, hiding your feet beneath its thickening grey clouds.

But then, like a lifeline being tossed to a drowned sailor at sea, you heard your name. Far off and faint, but your name all the same. Spoken in a voice that flooded you with relief. Calling after him, you followed the resonating sound of his calls until they led you to the point where the water met the soil.

Logic quickly took a back seat as your desperation to find Thorin had you stepping off the path. You sunk immediately, the bog swallowing you up to your knees. You pushed through the thick, sluggish mud, ignoring the burn it caused in the back of your legs. The voice became clearer until his form finally appeared, carved out from the mist.

"Thorin," you greeted him with a smile. But Thorin's expression did not mirror your own. His brows were drawn together and every ounce of air vanished from your lungs when an unsteady hand reached out to cup your cheek.

“I was so worried." Your name fell brokenly from his lips. "I feared I'd lost you.” His hands, shaking and trembling, ran down your arms then back to the swell of your shoulders. His breathing was labored and you could only imagine what Thorin must have witnessed to put the usually stoic king in such a state.

“You're alright? You're not harmed?"

You shook your head and gently grasped Thorin's wrists and he smiled, softer and more sincere than you had ever seen him. The sight made you feel at ease for the first time since stepping foot in the forsaken forest.

"I am glad, Amrâlimê.”

You were not well versed in the culture of dwarves but you were no fool either. You had heard the word spoken among the dwarrow people you'd crossed paths with in the Blue Mountains, noticed the tenderness and sincerity that always encompassed the word, how it was never said with any amount of offhandedness. The word was a confession itself, a confession of the highest kind.

And Thorin had just spoken it to you. As if it were the simplest thing on Earth.

Your confusion must have been evident as Thorin smiled again, the corners of his eyes creasing in amusement.

“You must not look so surprised, my love,” his thumb grazed your jaw. “That I should wish to call you by such a name.”

“What–” You managed in a clumsy attempt to make it known to the dwarf in front of you that you had no idea what was going on. “Thorin.”

The king didn't answer. Rather he kept his eyes fixed on you, coarse fingers working their way from your jaw up to your temple, then brushing just beneath your eye. He touched you as if you were made of something more precious than all the metals held in the great halls of Erebor. And despite the nagging feeling in the back of your mind, in that moment you would have been content to stay there.

In the bogs of a cursed forest with your friends lost and your mind bewitched, all so that the king would keep looking at you as he was now.

But your better judgment, (or more likely, the uncomfortable feeling of mud and bog water dampening your clothes,) brought you back to reality. You moved to speak again but Thorin stopped you.

“It's alright, we're safe here, you and I,” he promised. “You needn't think of anything else.”

You tried to ignore how believable his words sounded as you took a step back. Hurt flashed in the dwarf's eyes.

“No, no we need to find the others. The company–”

“–will find their own way,” he calmed you, hand reaching out again to touch your shoulder. It sent a jolt of warmth through you. “You carry so much, endlessly worrying for the well-being of others. But you needn't burden yourself any longer, lansel. You know what it is you desire, what you deserve. So take it.”

You closed your eyes at his words. His hand found the back of your neck and you allowed him to draw you in closer.

“Let it be just us. Stay with me, Amrâlimê. That's all I ask.”

You had never felt such temptation in all your years. Would it truly be so wrong of you? To allow yourself to have this after all you'd persevered. You had long given up trying to convince yourself that you felt something for the dwarven king. That his bravery, stoicism, and unbridled loyalty to his people didn't fascinate you. You had wanted Thorin since not long after the journey's beginning. And now he wanted you too. There was no reason to keep this from yourself, no reason you shouldn't have it.

But somewhere in the back of your mind, was the persistent reminder that something was wrong. A reminder that resurfaced in the form of Bombur's cooking and Bofur's songs and Balin's stories and Bilbo's immeasurable trust in you. Your friends were still lost and that proved enough to bring you back to rationality.

“Thorin,” you started sternly.

“Forget them,” he said, as if he already knew what you were going to say. “Forget everything else. It is just us now. All is as it should be.”

You felt a tinge of discomfort at his words and you took another step back. Thorin would never forsake his kin, not if he was in his right mind. He traced your cheek again and this time you grasped his arm in a strong enough hold to pull it away.

You caught sight of his hand out of the corner of your eye and what you saw made you feel ill. The skin was rotting, bones threatening to tear through their paper-thin bonds. The fabric of Thorin's clothes had vanished and your nails had sunk into the rotting flesh which had begun to fall way in your grip.

You yanked your hand back in disgust, tripping and falling backward into the water at the sight of the creature. A gaping hole sat in the center of its face where you imagined its nose should be and a rigid crack served as its mouth. Green threads of damp mossy hair sprouted from its head and hung in front of the hollow cavities of its eyes.

An Siúlóir Portaigh. A creature you hadn't crossed paths with since you'd last traveled East of Gondor.

A bony hand reached out for you and you shot yourself backward, scrambling to your feet. Thorin's deep voice had been replaced with a low rasping gurgle, the sound growing louder as the creature lunged for you.

You turned and ran.

Thorin's voice had grown hoarse from calling your name.

He had turned away for one moment and you were gone and now as he searched, he feared to think what may have become of you.

His feet sunk into the ground beneath him, water reaching his ankles and soaking through his boots. Reeds sprouted up from the water, the smallest brushing his knees and the tallest towering a foot above his head. With a grunt, he pushed on.

The wind howled as it passed through the hollow chamber of the reeds and Thorin felt the hair on his neck stand up. Then, a shadow passed in front of him. He instinctively reached for his blade. It pushed through the long grass as it approached him but the glint of familiar armor has him dropping his sword.

“Thorin!” You beamed as you reached him. “You're alright. I lost sight of you in the fog.” You grabbed hold of his arms and Thorin was taken back by your sudden brashness. “I'm so glad I found you.”

He watched you for a moment, his joy at finding you unharmed outweighing the odd tinge of suspicion he felt. He cleared his throat and tilted his head forward in a curt nod.

“We must get back to the others.”

He turned to walk on but your arms held him in place.

“You needn't worry, they'll be alright,” you said casually. “As will we.”

Thorin offered a baffled look that doubled as a warning. He was uncertain what had caused your uncharacteristic forwardness and in all honesty, wasn't quite sure what to do about it.

You raised your head skyward and smiled again. With no shortage of confusion, Thorin followed your gaze

The sun had come back up and its light was seeping through the leaves above his head. The forest's canopy turned golden, as if set alight by dragon fire. Thorin's expression softened.

“Beautiful, isn't it?” Your hand found his own. “We could stay here, Thorin. You and I. Imagine it.”

Thorin blinked. He could stay here, with you. He could tell you everything he'd been longing to say since the escape from the goblin tunnels and the orc ambush on the cliffside. After all, why shouldn't he? Did he not deserve this after so many hardships? You could truly be together, you could offer him a new start, a new home– Thorin blinked again.

“And what of Erebor?”

You seemed amused by his question. You brushed his braid away from where it hung against his jaw and Thorin surprisingly let it happen.

“Erebor lies half a world away, a buried kingdom of dust and despair in the clutches of a dragon. Is it truly worth so much? Worth so many lives lost,” you asked. “We have everything we need here.”

And Thorin could only think about how right you were; your hands in his, the feel of your fingers brushing his hair, the rising sun and golden leaves– he could want for nothing else.

“Do you not want for this?”

“I–” he tried.

“You have done honorably by your people, Thorin, but you have been selfless for far too long.” He closed his eyes as you spoke. “Choose not what is right by them but by you. No more pain, no more fear.” He could feel your breath against his cheek. “Just us. Stay with me, my love.”

And Thorin decided in that moment that he would.

Your legs ached and your lungs burned.

The bog was becoming harder and harder to navigate but you were yet to find Thorin and you did not plan on stopping till you were certain he was safe.

The water grew shallower and you took it as a blessing. With your lower half free of the mud, you drew your sword. You rounded the trunk of a decaying tree and were met with a horrific sight.

Thorin, with decaying hands grasped round his neck and a deformed maw nearing his face. Thorin stood in a trance, eyes glossed over and body stiff. The siúlóir's mouth widened, rotting skin tearing as it did. Its nails dug into the side of Thorin's neck, harsh enough to draw blood. Still, he didn't move.

You acted on impulse. With a quick lunge forward, you drove your sword through the creatures back, twisting it twice before pushing it deeper.

Its screech was inhumane. It grasped at its wounds, its guttural yowls putting your hairs on end. You ran it through again. The siúlóir went quiet and Thorin screamed out.

“No!” His voice was distraught, his hands grasping at the creature as it slumped to the ground. “No–!”

“Thorin!” You grabbed his shoulder and roughly yanked him back. He raised his head and looked at you as though he'd seen a ghost. “It's alright– it's alright, it's me.”

His gaze fell back to the creature at your feet and given the twist of horror and disgust in his expression you figured he was now seeing it in its true form.

“Siúlóirí portaigh,” you muttered under your breath. “Bog walkers.”

Thorin blinked before taking in his surroundings with frantic eyes. He regarded you with a cautionary look. He said your name and when you nodded, you saw his stance relax slightly. His fear turned to confusion. “What–”

“They were going to drown us,” you answered plainly. You nudged the creature's shoulder with your heel and watched it sink a few inches into the water. “We need to go, this place will be crawling with them.”

Thorin wanted to question how you knew so much about such monsters but given how desperately you wanted to leave their hunting ground, he prioritized.

He offered one last glance at the creature, body now mostly submerged in the sullen water. He shuddered at how well the creature had worn your face, how much its voice had mimicked your own. How easily fooled he'd been.

He silently followed after you.

You walked until the mud on your clothes had hardened and the silk webs coating the trees had all but vanished. The leaf canopy above you had thinned out and the surrounding forest was now warm with the sun's light. The moment you heard a nearby bird song, you knew the dangers of Mirkwood had passed.

Thorin rested against the trunk of a sapling. His gaze was focused on something over your shoulder but given the blankness of his stare, you knew he wasn't looking at anything at all. You took a seat at his side and began to tend to his wound.

A nasty gash ran from the back of his neck to just below his throat. You worked silently. Thorin didn't even seem to notice until you applied a fraction too much pressure and with a sharp intake of breath, he turned to you.

“Sorry.”

There was a beat of silence. Then Thorin spoke.

“What did you see?” he asked you. “That creature, it toyed with my mind, showed me things I longed for that I hadn't even admitted to myself. So what did it show you?”

“Nothing.” The lie came easy. “Nothing of worth. I've dealt with siúlóirí before, they feed you lies, draw you in and then drown you before you even realise you're in danger. Whatever you seen, I wouldn't linger on it.”

Thorin seemed almost saddened by your answer. But it vanished as quickly as it had appeared, he gently brushed your hand away and got to his feet.

“We keep heading East.” The usual stoicism had returned to his voice. “Dwalin would know to do the same. If we do not regroup with the company in a day's time we head back the way we came and search.”

You nodded and got to your feet like a soldier following orders.

And as you fell into step beside the dwarf you thought maybe it would be best to take your own advice. To pass what you'd seen off as baseless lies not worth thinking about. But the feel of Thorin's shoulders brushing your arm reminded you that would be no easy task.

You entered Mirkwood wondering if what you felt for the dwarven king was more than just fondness. Now you were certain.

quick authors note: I invented the siúlóirí an portaigh for this fic and the name translates to ‘bog walkers/walkers of the bog’ in Irish. It was pretty fun combining two of my interests, writing and folklore, to create my own mythological creature :)

#I like to imagine that reader is dúnedain #and that Siúlóirí Portaigh inhabit the dead marshes po #because i love adding unnecessary lore to my fics 😌 #thorin oakenshield x reader #thorin x reader #thorin oakenshield #thorin oakenshield x you #thorin x you #thorin x y/n #the hobbit x reader #the hobbit fic #lotr fic #lotr imagine #the hobbit imagine #the hobbit

[theblogofdurin]

Cloaked in Green || Pt.2 || Chp.21: One of a number

word count: 1.9k

summary: the shadow is being unveiled.

warning(s): mentions of darkness, mentions of misogyny.

a/n: We're getting there people! please Like! Comment! and Reblog! to let me know how you all are liking this series so far!!

Thorin Oakenshield, Fem!Oc reader

Links: readers guide, series masterlist, chp.20

----

They pushed on.

Aranea and Gandalf rode for 2 full day’s before they finally made it to the High Fells. As both of them dismounted, Aranea looked around puzzled.

"This way." She gestured to the wizard after she finished tying her horse to a small pine tree. The deep green grass providing a healthy meal to the stressed mare.

Walking up the small hill, was when Aranea finally spotted what she was looking for.

"Ragorn!" She yelled, scaring the lean general. Beside him was 3 other plainly dressed men, each of them jumping up from their position. Drawing their weapons before their general with wide eyes realized who was speaking to him. The Dúnedain smiled, gesturing to his men as he resheathed his sword.

"My Lady." He proudly stated, hand resting on his chest as he bowed slightly at Aranea. All the men stiffened and nervously replied the same. Never having met her before, they were clueless on how to perform in front of her. Bowing back, as they approached Aranea gestured to the field around them. "Where is everyone?" She questioned with a stiff brow.

"Evening march." Ragorm explained smugly, "it's a customary-"

"Customary Marches did not fall under stationery guards." Aranea questioned. Ragorn smiled.

"Yes, My lady but-"

"Did Halthron tell you anything about why I stationed you here?" Gandalf had to glance at Aranea, the tone she used was not one who was used to hearing from his friend.

Ragorn stiffened as he glanced nervously between the wizard and her. "Well he…he mentioned that ther- there was tracks and-"

"And you thought that 4 men could protect the Fells." Aranea spoked, "There were originally 18 stationed here before the tracks even appeared." Nodding, Ragorn continued stuttering, "Ye-Yes, my lady."

"So you still decided to break protocol. I may be a lady, General but I know what goes on during these marches and I won't hesitate to strip both you and Elfmond of your commands. If I hear of either abandoning your posts again, Am I clear?"

"Yes, Ma'm" Ragorn answered clearly with a swallow. Sighing Aranea, glanced over at the 3 other young men, who had their head low to their chest, staring at the ground. She shook her head as she spoke softer.

"You all are not in trouble." All of the men looked up at her. "The world is changing and new enemies are coming forward. " She gestured at the small group. "You all can not protect yourselves and do your duty at the same time. It's why I order for 2 companies to be stationed here. "

Nodding Ragorn bowed deeply again as he pressed a hand hard over his chest above his heart. "You are most gracious, Lady Aranea."

"I understand the misunderstanding, Ragorn. '' Aranea placed a calm hand on his shoulder, as she gestured for Gandalf to head up the larger hill to the left. "However-" she spoke slowly and hard as she looked at the 3 other rangers. "My Brother is not as forgiving as I and if he heard of any of you breaking orders in a state of emergency again.."

"We won't." Ragorn bowed again, and with a glance, Aranea left them, catching up with the wizard up the steep hill. Reaching him just as he was starting up a treacherous looking staircase up the sides of a massive cobblestone structure.

"The Men of the time were sure not to make this easy." Aranea giggled as Gandalf stumbled slightly into the wall of the building. "Every 15th step is a false-" she started just as Gandalf stepped on the trap step, causing him to stumble up to the next step.

Catching himself, he slowly turned to look down at the red faced woman. "I see that." He stated with an eye roll before walking back up the stairs. "Is there anything else you'd like to tell me too late?"

Aranea nodded her head before realizing he wasn't looking at her. "Once we enter you might want to hold onto the walls, There is a long slope down to the entrance of the cavern."

Gandalf nodded, "Great to know."

After a couple beats of silence, the wizard broke the silence. “I never heard you take command like that before.” he looked over at her. “It was impressive.”

Letting a small smile rest on her face for a second, before a twinge of sadness rolled on her face, Aranea replied almost starkly “I’m a woman, Gandalf though I might not always act like one. I have to try harder than my brother to get orders across.”

There was a pause in Gandalf’s steps, “You are an impressive Lady, Aranea.” Gandalf turned with a hand still firmly pressed to the wall of the building to keep his balance. “Anyone can see that.”

“Don’t let the actions of others taint your confidence in yourself.” his eyes twinkled at her softly before he turned to walk back up the stairs.

Aranea nodded as she took in his words. “It's not my confidence that is faulty.” she whispered to herself quietly, and despite her silent wishes he heard her.

Upon sliding down the small slope to look down the vast darkness, Gandalf muttered into his staff crystal, causing a bright light to release from its tip. Peering over him with her torch to look down the cavern, Aranea's breath stopped.

"Gandalf…those bars shouldn't be open like that." One after the other, the metal cages securing the bodies in their tomb were blown out from within. Gandalf reached a hand behind him to try and calm the Ranger. "We still have to check inside, there still is a chance of this being the work of robbers."

"On all nine?" Eyebrows furrowed and adjusted her footing on the slippery rocks. "You can never know." Gandalf twitched slightly.

She tilted her head, that's a fair reason, she agreed but highly unlikely. When building this fortress, the men of the time made sure it was a near impossible task to both enter and exit. A robber would only be lost.

Ignoring her thoughts, and with a nod of her chin towards the bottom of the pit, she all but spat. "He's in the last one."

Gandalf then gestured to the one above the rest and closest to the top. "Do you know the order of the rest?"

Aranea shook her head, swallowing. "Not completely." She took another breath, glancing behind them, "Let's get this done."

"I'll lead." Carefully walking the tight ramp of the tower, Gandalf carefully worked the way down, his hands catching him against the wall. Aranea followed behind with a tight grip on her torch. Inching their way slowly, the pair finally made it to the first burial chamber.

Entering first, the grey wizard carefully pulled away at the thick cobwebs, revealing the broken stone. Sharing a look with Aranea as she entered, Gandalf swallowed hard before he bent over slightly to look into the dark case.

Chirp!

A small bird shot out of the empty coffin. Screeching, Aranea ducked as the bird headed straight for her head.

"Oh, it's you!" Gandalf sighed, taking a breath, as he saw the bird land in the brown wizard's hair.

Aranea scoffed, running a hand through her hair and she stood back up from the floor. "Damn wizards"

Radagast ignored them, shoving his hat back on his head. "Why am I here, Gandalf?"

"Trust me, Radagast. I would not have called you here without good reason." Gandalf reasoned, still looking through the broken case.

"This is not a nice place to meet." Aranea let out a snort, as she maneuvered around him.

“No. It is not.” Gandalf nodded his agreement.

“These are dark spells, Gandalf. Old and full of hate.” Radagast shivered as he peeked over his friend’s shoulder “Who's buried here?”

“The Undying, is what they called him.” Aranea answered, from the entrance, Radagast and Gandalf both spun around to look at her. “It’s said that he was the last to succumb to the wasting powers that eventually swallowed him.”

Radagast's head snapped up and questioned Gandalf, wide eyed and frazzled.

“If he had another name, it's long since been lost.” she growled, turning her head she waved her torch over the darkness of the cavern, lighting up the other eight broken chambers.

“I must go speak with my men.” Aranea breathed, “Aragorn needs to know this immediately. Elfmond and Ragorn have been guarding nothing.” she bolted up the slopes as Radagast and Gandalf both followed slowly.

“Why now, Gandalf?” Ragagast questioned, “ I don't understand.”

“The Ringwraiths-” Gandalf resigned “-have been summoned to Dol Guldur.”

“But it cannot be the Necromancer.” Radgast pointed out, “A human sorcerer could not summon such evil.”

Gandalf turned to look at him as they stopped at the exit “Who said it was human?” Radagast gasped as Gandalf turned back to head down the treacherous staircase outside, “The Nine only answer to one master. We've been blind, Radagast. And in our blindness…the Enemy has returned.”

“Sauron.” Radagast murmured, walking straighter

“He is summoning his servants.” Gandalf nodded as he continued. “Azog the Defiler...is no ordinary hunter.” They now reached the bottom of the fortress. Looking over the cliff edge.

“He is a commander… A commander of legions. The Enemy is preparing for war.”

Running up to the pair, Aranea looked frustrated . “The tracks pointed directly to Dol Guldor, 2 moon cycles ago.”

“It will begin in the East. His mind is set upon that mountain.” Gandalf rubbed a shaking hand over his beard.

“We must warn them!” Aranea exclaimed “ Thorin and the others know nothing of this.” Nodding, Gandalf and Aranea both started down the long path.

“Where are you going?” Radagast asked, confused.

Gandalf only answered him over his shoulder “To rejoin the others.”

“Gandalf.” Interrupting him, Gandalf turned to look at him, “I started this. I cannot forsake them.”

“They are in grave danger, Radagast.” Aranea added, looking back at their horses only a few feet away.

“If what you say is true.” The Brown Wizard spoke plainly,”-the world is in grave danger. The power in that fortress will only grow stronger.”

“You want me to cast my friends aside?” Gandalf asked slowly, non believing.

“You're not casting them aside.” Aranea thought out loud. “I can go warn them. Radagast is right. If the enemy is preparing for war, we need to know what we are up against.

Thinking for a second, Gandalf bit his lip as he looked between the two, Aranea was basically bouncing her feet, wanting nothing more than to rush towards the others. Finally, “I'll meet you at the mountain.” Gandalf pointed his staff at her, “You should be able to make it before Durin's day.”

Nodding, Aranea rushed down the small hill towards her horse, quickly untying it as Gandalf and Radagast came up behind her. “Do not let them enter that mountain without me.” Gandalf shoved a finger at her as she mounted her mare.

"Good luck Gandalf."

With nods, Aranea parted from the two wizards. Taking off in the direction of the others.

.

---

NEXT>

The Nazgûl were they, the Ringwraiths. The Enemy's most terrible servants;darkness went with them, and they cried with the voices of death."

― "Of the Rings of Power and the Third Age"

taglist still open! @lokigirlszendaya ​@caelum-the-part-time-nihilist @emrfangirl ​ ​ @lathalea ​ ​ @hr-nm-grnd-zr ​ ​ @markosgirl ​ ​ @demigoddesofchimichangagod ​ ​ @imaginesfire ​ ​ @kaysteahouse ​ ​ @tamnight ​ ​ @mithrandirssidehoe ​ ​ @panhoeofmanyfandoms @petrelrose @irisv-x ​ ​ @fandoms4everyone ​ ​ @Leabeiersdorf07 @nunyobuisness ​ ​ @fallinloveinoctober ​ ​ @mysterypotatoink ​ ​ @whore-of-many-hot-men ​ ​ @generalgoldfishldrm ​ ​ @thevanillahorizon ​@cloudcatchingstark @wolfers-stuff @depressedemo-152 @triffidgurl @nessarosefiction @itswritingphoenix

#the hobbit #thorin oakenshield #cloaked in green #the hobbit fandom #the hobbit fic #thorin x reader #thorins company #thorin oakenshield x fem!oc #my works #my writings #dwarves the hobbit #nazgul #Dúnedain #lotr fanfiction #tolkien lore #lord of the rings #lotr fandom #richard armitage #gandalf the grey #Radagast #fili durin #kili durin

[runawaymun]

☔Is there a fic concept you have that you'd like to just explain and share because you're not sure you'll ever write it? If so, what is it?

Maybe someday I'll finally get around to an Elrond in Valinor fic, but I'm not sure. I'm of the opinion that Valinor actually isn't good for him. Like, it's good to be able to reconnect with people and also I think going there is necessary to heal from the effects of everything that happened to him and the havoc being a Ringbearer wrought on his body, and that there are certain relationship-wounds that just will not mend unless he can have a conversation with certain people (Gil-Galad & Elwing, mostly) -- and OF COURSE he has to reunite with Cel!! - all of which are things I'd like to write about and explore -

H O W E V E R

big however -- I think after a few years he would start to get a bit stir-crazy, and that he would never feel quite at ease or quite at home there. Everything that he has built and worked for and loved is in Middle Earth (Rivendell, all of Elros' line, all of his grandchildren) -- and in the books, when Elrond counts himself with the Elves, he counts himself with the line of Thingol, with the Sindarin elves, who belong in Middle Earth. He also chiefly considers his people not to be the Noldor or Vanyar, but the Dúnedain.

He never saw the light of the trees. He wasn't raised in Valinor. He was raised in war-torn Beleriand and Middle Earth and Valinor probably feels very stagnant and almost liminal to him. I don't mind interpretations where he and Cel build a sort of...second Rivendell...where he finds stuff to do and finds people to look after, but I personally would love to see him take a couple years to heal in Valinor and then ultimately lead a second exile back to Middle Earth, take up his seat in Rivendell again, and be at home with those that he has always referred to as his people. His heart isn't in Valinor. It's in Middle Earth. Let him go home and look after his brother's line and his daughter's line, and keep cataloguing and preserving lore, walking among the trees just as Melian did, before she grew too heartsick to leave.

idk it's a very Big Idea and I know it's not for everyone, but it's something I'd like to explore eventually. Thank you for coming to my TedTalk :)

WIP ask game

#out of uniform #elrond

[warrioreowynofrohan]

Favourite Female Tolkien Character Poll - Round 2, Match 14

Ioreth

A talkative elderly woman of Gondor who worked in the Houses of Healing. Also chats with her country relative during Aragorn’s coronation.

Then an old wife, Ioreth, the eldest of the women who served in that house, looking on the fair face of Faramir, wept, for all the people loved him. And she said: “Alas! if he should die. Would that there were kings in Gondor, as there were once upon a time, they say! For it is said in old lore: The hands of the king are the hands of a healer. And so the rightful king could ever be known.”

And Gandalf, who stood by, said: “Men may long remember your words, Ioreth! For there is hope in them. Maybe a king has indeed returned to Gondor; or have you not heard the strange tidings that have come to the city?”

“I have been too busy with this and that to heed all the crying and shouting,” she answered. “All I hope is that those murdering devils do not come to this House and trouble the sick.”

Gilraen

Aragorn’s mother. Married Arathorn when she was 22 years old, and had Aragorn at age 24. When Arathorn was killed by orcs two years later, Gilraen went with Aragorn to Rivendell, and he was fostered by Elrond.

When Aragorn first fell in love with Arwen, she advised him against it.

She predicted her own death, saying died saying “Onen-i-Estel Edain, û-chebin estel anim (I gave Hope to the Dúnedain, I have kept no hope for myself),” in reference to Aragorn’s childhood name of Estel (Hope). She died in the year 3007 of the Third Age, twelve years before the War of the Ring.

#favourite female tolkien character poll #ioreth #gilraen #the lord of the rings #gondor #arnor #tolkien

[anghraine]

My f!Aragorn/f!Faramir AU is fun (for me) because it's actually an "every Númenórean throwback in LOTR, determined according to me, is genderbent."

So there's f!Aragorn, Aranor, whose existence breaks the father-to-son chain of heirs of Isildur carried on for thousands of years, but who manages to hang onto the heirship by fiat of Elrond and her own resolute will and immense abilities. She proceeds to fight canon Aragorn's uphill battle, but it's harder at virtually every turn. She passes herself off as a man as "Thorongil" but her gender and identity are recognized by—

—Andreth, the Steward's daughter/f!Denethor. Her only brother died young, while her older sisters are both childless and unwilling to return to Minas Tirith. Andreth, trained in both lore and, unusually, war, has recently waged a bitter if victorious political fight to be acknowledged as Ecthelion's heir, rather than at best a potential regent for her son Boromir. She knows all about fighting uphill battles. Despite her intense dislike of Aranor, Andreth's fight for the Stewardship plays a major part in paving the way for Aranor's eventual ascension as Gondor's first ruling queen.

In all of this, Andreth was backed by her ailing husband, Gwindor of Dol Amroth (m!Finduilas), and his powerful family. This included his gay older brother Túrin (m!Ivriniel) and his younger sister Imraphel (f!Imrahil). Imraphel in particular respected Andreth without feeling the need to like her, all the more after her own fight to get taken seriously as a (hulking) lady knight in Dol Amroth. Imprahel has unhesitatingly presented herself as another Haleth, replicating popular Gondorian imagery of Haleth and proving herself a fierce and dauntless warrior and captain.

Speaking of Haleth, Aranor doesn't have a picked bodyguard of women as Haleth herself did—I don't assume all the northern Dúnedain are throwbacks in the Aragorn-Denethor-Imrahil sense—but she does have a beloved cousin named Haleth (f!Halbarad), whom she trusts implicitly. This Haleth has been attached to Aranor from early in Aranor's active chieftainship, and faithfully joins her with some 30 other Dúnedain, but dies heroically on the Pelennor :(

One major figure is completely absent on the Pelennor, though, both in the lead-up to the major battle, and the battle itself. Míriel, daughter of Andreth, and now her only surviving child, has never had the slightest inclination towards war, though she understands its necessity. She has the iron will of her mother and aunt, along with a distinct strain of her father's gentleness, and like all of them, she can convince men and beasts alike to follow her commands. But she follows Andreth's lead as loremaster rather than warrior, making for a stern, commanding, yet personable Númenórean lady when called upon to convey her mother's will.

Andreth evacuates Míriel with the other women of Minas Tirith, placing her in charge of all the evacuees and warning her of the terrible duty that will fall to her should the battle go ill. They've often been at odds, but not this time; Míriel promises to protect their people as far as her abilities extend if the Stewardship should fall to her.

As it happens, Míriel does receive the news after the battle that her mother, after many years away from warfare, rode out to hold the city's troops together against the Nazgûl long enough for them to retreat into the city. The maneuver succeeded in inflicting heavy casualties, but Andreth died of her wounds not long thereafter. Míriel is now the ruling Lady of Gondor—but not for long. The heir of Isildur has come to claim the throne.

#someday i'll make progress on this! #...someday. #anghraine babbles #fic talk #fic talk: aranor #legendarium blogging #genderbending #long post #my interpretation is that male denethor + female faramir get on way better than in canon #because denethor does not expect fíriel to be a warrior or captain of course and she's a fine loremaster with leadership abilities #even if they clash at times #but female denethor + female faramir are basically canon bc andreth is frustrated by míriel not doing what she did #meanwhile aranor is still difficult in the way that canon aragorn is difficult but also greying hardcore warrior lady aragorn? hella.

[vio-starclad]

According to The Peoples of Middle-Earth, Aragorn’s ancestors are dark-skinned. The Lord of the Rings confirms in the text of the novel and in the appendices that Men are ethnically heterogeneous, that men of Gondor specifically are often dark-skinned, and that your lineage and membership in the Dúnedain is counted by ancestry rather than phenotype/appearance. Die mad about it racist (:

I was intrigued at first and was thinking "Huh that's interesting maybe I should check that out; there's much of the lore I don't know!" But then you went and ruined it. Anyway white Aragorn forever go fuck yourself anon coward.

#thanks for the ask! #we are all racist i may as well become more racist and always enjoy it #journal entry #personal #useful text post

[theladyofbloodshed]

I imagine Jurian as aragorn. You know, the one in Lord Of the Ring that are human and accidentally an immortal. (Correct me if I am wrong, its him right? I remember him and legolas dad the most). He seem quiet and silent but once he open his mouth, all those grandpa image of him is gone all along with ur self respect and dignity.

Without getting too into Tolkien lore, Aragorn is one of the Dúnedain, a race of men from Númenor with long life, but because they married “regular” men too, their lifespans shortened. He dies at around 200 years old and is nearly 90 during the events of lotr so not immortal but longer life than most. After his marriage to Arwen, the blood of Dúnedain is renewed so that race can then live longer lives once more.

ANYWAY.

Yeah I do see Aragorn too for Jurian. Kind of he looks better when he’s covered in mud and blood with greasy hair. When he’s clean, he looks a bit strange.

#anon asks

[tolkienmatters]

'No,' said Gandalf. 'Nor by Saruman. It is beyond his art, and beyond Sauron's too. The palantíri came from beyond Westernesse from Eldamar. The Noldor made them. Fëanor himself, maybe, wrought them, in days so long ago that the time cannot be measured in years. But there is nothing that Sauron cannot turn to evil uses. Alas for Saruman! It was his downfall, as I now perceive. Perilous to us all are the devices of an art deeper than we possess ourselves. Yet he must bear the blame. Fool! to keep it secret, for his own profit. No word did he ever speak of it to any of the Council. We had not yet given thought to the fate of the palantíri of Gondor in its ruinous wars. By Men they were almost forgotten. Even in Gondor they were a secret known only to a few; in Arnor they were remembered only in a rhyme of lore among the Dúnedain.'

- Gandalf on the origin of the seeing stones. Two Towers, The Voice of Saruman

#lotr #tolkien #two towers #palantir #saruman #gandalf #pippin #quote

[tossacointoyourhotmess]

What's the best book to film adaptation you've ever seen?

This is a tough one cause that depends on if you’re asking in terms of direct book accuracy or in terms of a brilliant book has inspired a brilliant movie even though there are differences.

Let’s look at some examples.

Jurassic Park

I’m a Jurassic Park fanatic. I love the movie so much. Its a comfort movie for me, and I’ve seen it so much I can recite the whole damn thing to you. It’s a book adaptation I’m obsessed with.

Is it a phenomenal movie based on a book? Yes.

Is it book accurate? It’s not even close. Characters die in the movie that live in the book and vice versa. Character relationships are completely changed. Characters themselves are completely changed. Would you believe me if I told you that Gennero the snivelling lawyer is actually really macho and brave in the book? There are entire sections that don’t make it into the movie but end up somewhere else the movie franchise in a somewhat different but still recognisable form. And the entire book was switched from a genuinely scary survival horror into a family friendly action adventure.

So in terms of brilliant book to brilliant movie, it’s one of the best. In terms of book accuracy, it’s one of the worst because it bears very little resemblance.

The Middle Earth Saga

I’m going to start with The Hobbit trilogy here because people love to shit on that as not book accurate. And it’s not. But is actually brilliant on lore accuracy, and I will explain that.

There are things that happen in that trilogy that do not happen in the book. If you read The Hobbit, and only The Hobbit, you will not find half of the movie trilogy. However, if you read the appendices of The Lord of the Rings, you will find the movie events in there. And these events were happening at the same time as the events in The Hobbit.

You don’t find out in The Hobbit what Gandalf was doing when he wasn’t with the company, but you do find out exactly where he went and what he was doing in the appendices. And it’s the same as the movies. You don’t see how Gandalf and Thorin meet in The Hobbit, but you can read about it in The Unfinished Tales by JRR Tolkien. And it’s the same as the movies.

Peter Jackson went beyond the confines of one book to build The Hobbit trilogy because he wanted to show what was happening with all the characters, so he went deep into Tolkien lore so that he could tell the whole story. Because The Hobbit is a children’s book. Yes, it’s the official prequel to The Lord of the Rings but it is not meant to be as intense. Jackson wasn’t making a children’s movie. He was making a prequel to his masterpiece trilogy so he pulled all the intense adult drama from the wider lore while keeping the children’s story of the quest for Erebor, with trolls and dragons and gold, intact. And yeah, throwing Legolas in there and creating Tauriel was a decision, but such is the way with adaptations. Sometimes they change things. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. But on the whole, I think The Hobbit Trilogy is a pretty good adaption of Tolkiens lore even though it’s quite wide of The Hobbit itself.

The Lord of the Rings. What can I say? It’s another one I’m obsessed with. Everything about it is phenomenal. The scenery, the acting, the music, the atmosphere, the sheer scale of it. But even the extended editions are slim lined compared to the books.

I wish we had Tom Bombadil. I wish we had the Barrow-wrights on the Barrow downs. Glorfindel deserves better. So does Beregond. And if you don’t know those names, that’s exactly why I say they deserve better. The Scouring of the Shire would honestly have been amazing to see. And where were the rest of the Dúnedain?

But some changes made to the adaptations work well. In the books, none of the Númenór descended men have beards. Actually, in Tolkien lore, these Men of Westernesse cannot actually grow facial hair. But can you imagine Aragorn, Boromir, and Faramir without their beards? It’s such an iconic look now that it’s hard not to. But they are absolutely clean shaven in the books. Even the very brief glimpse we see of Elendil at the Last Alliance shows him with a beard. What we see of Isildur shows him with a beard. But these two are not even descendants of Númenór. They are Númenór, or rather what’s left of it. They don’t have beards.

Arwen is a blink-and-you-miss-her character in the books. You see her at a Rivendell party in the corner of the room, and then at her wedding to Aragorn. That’s it. And these references maybe take up a total of 4 lines, if that. But she’s a significant aspect of the movie trilogy. Is that book accurate? Absolutely not. Is it a good change? Definitely. Side note; I bet you didn’t know she had brothers if you’ve only seen the movie. Elrohir and Elladan also deserve better.

As Gandalf and Pippin speed across Middle Earth on their way to Minas Tirith, they see the beacons already lit. Denethor had the good sense to call to Rohan for aid before Gandalf even turned up to tell him there was a problem. But Pippin lighting them against Denethor’s wishes is such a good moment in the movie that no one’s really arguing about that change. Denethor’s madness and cruelty is given more explanation in the book and it makes more complex, more interesting, and you can begin to understand how he ended up like that. But they just don’t tell you any of it in the movies. I’m not saying Denethor deserved better cause he doesn’t and I hate him, but it would’ve been more interesting if the movies allowed him to stay a complex prick rather than be a 2D one.

I could keep going but I’ve already written an essay 😅

TLDR: Jurassic Park and The Middle Earth saga come to mind but not in terms of book accuracy. But then, in the end, it’s very hard to find a completely book accurate adaptation.

#Essay alert #Jurassic park #the lord of the rings #the hobbit

[cuilpantielthesleepyscribe]

Cuilpantiel's finger prostheses lore

(specific to the Mistaken Identity/Kidnap AU with @thegreatstrongbow and @silvercrowned)

Prostheses themselves:

She is missing her index and middle fingers on both hands above the second joint, her thumbs above the first joint. She wears something similar to these:

Prostheses by Naked Prosthetics, video of them in action.

Suffice to say, Elves have had a lotttttt of war survivors and people who just lost limbs in accidents, occupational hazards, etc to come up with prostheses for.

Being basically Celebrían's foster daughter, she's well-off enough (and is at enough formal events to justify the cost) to maintain two sets: an 'everyday' set and a 'good' set, and sets of spare rods, fingers, etc in various materials (copper, bone, horn, etc) she can swap in and out to change the look, along with spare straps and other paraphernalia. She prefers steel for everyday as it's more durable, but might swap in horn or bone fingertips for formal occasions for a softer look. As and when one set becomes worn out beyond repair, the current 'good' set gets downgraded to 'everyday' and she gets a new 'good' set.

She can handle pens, coins, lacing, keys, and larger knitting needles, but sewing needles and very fine knitting needles are a little beyond her.

Gloves and mittens:

She wears thin (preferably knitted, for minimal seams) gloves under the prostheses to protect it from her skin's oils and sweat. These are usually made to reach to slightly past her wrists, and cover the remaining parts of her index, middle, and thumb, the palms and backs of her hands, but leave her ring and pinky finger bare.

Many of the pairs of gloves are knitted by @silvercrowned's Celebrían and Arwen.

Most are plain wool or linen, but she does have a few with fancy patterns either knitted or embroidered in. She also has a few sewn pairs (eg leather, velvet, etc), sometimes embroidered as well, or with cuffs that can flip up and cover the prosthetic cuff, for special occasions. However, she finds the sewn pairs less comfortable and is likely to remove them as soon as the event is over.

She considers the most irritating sensation to be when something gets inside the gloves from where it's left open for her ring and pinky fingers, akin to getting rocks in her socks, and occasionally wears gloves that cover all of her remaining fingers for this reason.

If it is cold outside, she wears mittens (she does have gloves that fit over them, but it looks weird because of the extra spaces needed to accommodate the prosthetics' mechanics).

Name and misc:

Because of her prosthetic fingers, she is now known as Anglebir - Ang-lebir, Sindarin for Iron-fingers (warning: link for lebir is not safe for elflings).

A side effect of this is that after Elrond begins fostering Dúnedain Chieftain heirs, the Dúnedain become - noticeably more hostile towards Orcs than they would be otherwise. Not that they were ever particularly merciful, but still.

Why? Cuilpantiel Anglebir is usually their teacher for formal education, teaching them languages, maths, basic science, debate, law, etiquette, etc from age 5 to their mid-teens. While she does not teach a hatred of the Orcs, the heirs' first impression of the Orcs is going to be their beloved teacher who is missing six fingers, and for a long time was too traumatised to leave Imladris, due to Orcs.

#thegreatstrongbow #canon verse #silvercrowned #kidnap au #mistaken identity au #thoughts

[find-the-path]

11, 15, 36?

11. If you could have one npc as a companion to run around with you, who would it be? would it be the same for all your characters?

For me, I'd love for Lothrandir to join me on my ridiculous epic adventures. Especially for like, East Rohan stuff with Horn, Nona, and Corudan, for the sole purpose of absent-mindedly rolling up his sleeves in Wildermore while literally everyone else (including the Elf) is freezing.

It'd probably vary for many of my characters. Lastadron would definitely pick Langlas, and Aderthor Corunir, but for the rest I honestly don't know. Amathan would probably pick Radanir.

15. Do you have a favorite class to play? A favorite specialization?

Hunter, rune-keeper, and warden are all very dear to me, but if I had to pick one it'd be captain. Being an invulnerable tank with enormous damage is just too fun, especially for soloing in technically-fellowship areas. For specialization, I generally gravitate towards red lines, for the damage and soloability.

36. Are there any major lore additions or changes you have strong opinions on?

All of them.

Kidding, but I really love what LOTRO's done with Tolkien's works, especially around the really vague areas such as the Lone-lands and Forochel. For specificity, I'll say that the Northern Rangers are one area that certainly wasn't canon, but nonetheless is great. The idea that they are this organized, for lack of a better word, and with as many settlements as they have, and with as much influence as they seem to wield in Eriador (especially the North Downs), wasn't really present in the books, and wasn't something I considered before playing, but adds an enormous amount to the story.

It is pretty funny however, to see the stars of the Dúnedain literally everywhere, and their gear (or at least the Grey Company version) adorned on every available space with them, and imagine that anyone in Eriador holds any misconseptions about where they're from.

#lotro #ask #thanks for the ask!

[tarrevizsla]

Tôdaphêr: what do you enjoy doing around the cottage? What did you take small joys from when ranging?

She hms softly, twisting the signet ring on her finger.

I've become a bit of a gardener, actually. The Rangers have to know our plants, of course, so I learned how to coax buds from the earth and into bloom. Most of those flowers outside are medicinal, in some way — my wife still goes treasure-hunting while I watch the children, so I prefer to be ready in case she comes home with an injury.

The children love the plants, she smiles, especially Gilither — I feel like he'll be a lore-master one of these days; I've been meaning to send him to Minas Anor to study with the wise there — he wasn't meant to be a forest-dweller, I really don't think.

She taps her fingers contemplatively, thinking back to the days before the war.

Back when I was actively a ranger, I'd enjoy spending some time every evening watching the sun set over the trees. It would reflect in the river I camped on, and the whole thing would be stained red and gold in glory. Watching the sun set in the west, it reminded me of our roots as Dúnedain, and I knew there was still beauty to be found amidst all the darkness of twilight.

#tôdaphêr #thank you braigwen #exlibrisastra

[echoofthemusic]

It’s nothing new but I want to reiterate: I think Elros is likely as good a healer as Elrond. Perhaps he even became skillful earlier in life. “The hands of the king are the hands of a healer” is an old lore passed down among the Dúnedain. We don’t know when this belief first started. Maybe it only began in Gondor, but maybe it has origins way back in the past. I doubt all the kings and queens of Númenor were healers, but it could be an ideal image first cultivated in a time of peace after lasting war, in a time for new beginnings.

It’s also notable that Aragorn, who has definitely learned his healing from Elrond, associates Elrond’s own healing power with the Dúnedain’s: “Would that Elrond were here, for he is the eldest of all our race, and has the greater power.” Besides the implication on Elrond’s Númenórean personal identity, this line also provides a basis for Elros, also the eldest of all their race and ancestor of many, to have great healing power.

#elros #elrond #aragorn #dunedain #the lord of the rings #the silmarillion

[askandreth]

//I think the Athrabeth is a missed opportunity to explore the Noldor as colonizers over the Edain and the ramifications this had in their relationship. There are hints of that when Andreth speaks of their lore, and how there are topics they do not go over with the Elves. Finrod of course resists this, and tries to impose his own religious views on her, and when that doesn't work in account of their very different lived experiences and fates, he tries to turn the argument on her by blaming her for being bitter over Aegnor rejecting her. Which is a low blow and also saves Finrod having to examine his own actions and views. I grieve for everything about the Edain that is merely hinted at and never expanded, and I doubt Jirt was self aware enough to actually be able to portray the Noldor as colonizers, the same way he was unable to with the Dúnedain.

#meta #the athrabeth is one of my favourite jrrt texts #athrabeth finrod ah andreth #it's a wonderful text but so incomplete! #i grieve the possibilities it had #q

[arofili]

men of middle-earth ☀ misc. dúnedain ☀ headcanon disclaimer

          Húrin the Tall was the Warden of the Keys of Minas Tirith at the time of the War of the Ring. Alongside Forlong, Hirluin, and Imrahil, he rode to the aid of the Rohirrim in the Battle of the Pelennor Fields, and when the Captains of the West marched on the Black Gate he remained in Gondor. When King Elessar returned victorious, it was Húrin who opened the barricade of the gatehouse to make way for the new King.           The husband of Húrin was Suilor, the Warden of the Houses of Healing in Minas Tirith. He was fascinated by herbs and herb-lore and tended to ramble on on these topics of his interest, much to the irritation of certain of his patients! Despite his enthusiasm for lore, Suilor was ignorant of certain important topics; it was not him, but his aged colleague Golunil, known by all as Ioreth for her advanced age, who remembered the old adage that The hands of the King are the hands of a healer. Hearing this wisdom, Mithrandir brought Aragorn to the Houses of Healing to tend to the sick, and both Ioreth and Suilor were able to bear witness to his miraculous healing of Faramir and Éowyn using the so-called “weed,” athelas.           Another of Aragorn’s patients was the soldier Ingold, who manned the north-gate of Forannest. When an army out of the east crossed the River Anduin, Ingold had been forced into retreat, bringing the grim news that the Rohirrim were blocked from riding to their aid. Yet Rohan’s warriors found their way to the battle nonetheless, and their timely coming saved Ingold’s life in the Battle of the Pelennor Fields, though he was not spared all injury. With the King’s careful healing, Ingold was brought back from the brink of death and was able to reunite with his brother Targon, a storehouse worker who had played his small part in the War by giving food to Beregond and Peregrin Took some days earlier.           Suilor and Húrin had one daughter, an adopted orphan they named Morwen after the wife of Húrin’s namesake. She aided her father in the Houses of Healing, where she briefly flirted with Lady Éowyn’s brother Éomer. Morwen was well-regarded by Lothíriel of Dol Amroth, and her high opinion of the Rohirric king influenced her friend’s decision to give Éomer a chance when he began to court her. Morwen attended Lothíriel and Éomer’s wedding, and shortly thereafter moved to Meduseld as her lady’s handmaid, where she found true love with Idis, a lady of Rohan’s court.

#tolkienedit #oneringnet #lotr #gondor #minas tirith #hurin the tall #oc suilor #warden of the houses of healing #morwen huriniel #ioreth #golunil ioreth #ingold #targon #my edit #my writing #edit writing #headcanons #tefain nin #men of middle earth #misc dunedain