#Ephel Dúath

[riding-with-the-wild-hunt]

"They had come to the desolation that lay before Mordor: the lasting monument to the dark labour of its slaves that should endure when all their purposes were made void; a land defiled, diseased beyond all healing; unless the Great Sea should enter in and wash it with oblivion." - J.R.R. Tolkien, The Two Towers, "The Passage of the Marshes"

@tolkienhorrorweek day 3 ⇢ mordor + "the pitiless land" || GEOGRAPHY OF MORDOR

[ID: an edit comprised of seven banners in muted natural tones.

1: A lake surrounded by mountains overhung with mist and trees giving way to gravel banks. White gothic-style text in the center reads "Lake Núrnen," and below that in a thin sans serif, "the lake of sad waters" / 2: A valley between dark mountains, with a dirt path leading through it. Text reads "Udûn" and "the dark valley" / 3: A rocky plain leading towards distant mountains that fade into a dark, smoggy sky. Text reads "Gorgoroth" and "the plain of deadly fear" / 4: An erupting volcano in the dark. Text reads "Orodruin" and "the burning mountain" / 5: Sharp mountain ridges with snow along the lower slopes beneath a cloudy sky. Text reads "Ered Lithui" and "the ashen mountains" / 6: Bare rock mountains beneath clouds. Text reads "Ephel Dúath" and "the mountains of shadow" / 7: Pale rock formations on an arid plain, with slopes rising in the distance. Text reads "Lithlad" and "the plain of ashes" //End ID]

[savage-kult-of-gorthaur]

"...AND IN HIS FORGING; AND IN THE MIDST OF THE LAND OF MORDOR HE HAD FASHIONED THE RULING RING."

PIC(S) INFO: Spotlight on a Tolkien Legendarium piece titled "The Forging of the One (Ring)," artwork by Ted Nasmith, gouache on illustration board. First appeared in the new illustrated edition of "The Silmarillion," published by HarperCollins in 2004.

Resolution at 892x1359 & 736x1152.

"[Sauron] came in secret... to his ancient kingdom of Mordor beyond the Ephel Dúath.... There... was a fiery mountain in that land that the Elves named Orodruin. Indeed for that reason Sauron had set there his dwelling long before, for he used the fire that welled there from the heart of the earth in his sorceries and in his forging; and in the midst of the Land of Mordor he had fashioned the Ruling Ring."

-- "The Silmarillion," c. 1977, "Of the Rings of Power and the Third Age," written by J.R.R. Tolkien

Sources: www.tednasmith.com/tolkien/the-forging-of-the-one, www.henneth-annun.net/events_view.cfm?evid=1085, & Pinterest.

[niamhcinnoir]

Oneshot for Day 1 of #lotrweek on tumblr

Prompt: memory | history | home 

This oneshot is inspired by these lines from Seeds of the White Tree by @GreenScholarTales :

"When she had first come to him in Minas Tirith, Aragorn discovered his bride to be both joyful and restless. No longer was the elvish reverie enough for her to fully replenish herself, but neither did a human's sleep come easily. It had taken time, and many long nights spent lying awake in Aragorn's arms after he nodded off before she learned to sleep and dream as he did."

•●•●•●•

The memory of smoke still lingered in the air.

It was a pale morning, one of Arwen's favourite kinds. The city of Osgiliath was just about visible, with a combination of distance and morning haze obscuring its ruins. The sun had not quite risen yet, but the sky was light, light blue, with distant clouds a rosy hue that heralded dawn.

Arwen knew the meaning of the rising of a red sun, and shivered, wondering how many of the wounded soldiers had died in the night. The number was decreasing day by day - in fact, for the last few weeks, nobody had died at all, and the remaining wounded were healing, slowly but surely. Even so, the old elvish saying remained in the back of her mind.

She wrapped her shawl more tightly around her shoulders and looked to the mountains beyond the fields of Pelennor, still darkened where horses' hooves had trampled blood into the earth, of orcs and men alike; black indentations where the Mûmakil carcasses had been burnt still dotted the landscape.

Last night, Gimli had regaled them all with a song in his deep bass voice about the Misty Mountains, a melody passed down to him from his father about the quest to reclaim Erebor. The Misty Mountains could not be seen from Minas Tirith, but the Ephel Dúath were a good imitation, reminding her of the view of the Misty Mountains from the Hidden Valley - tall grey peaks, blurring into shadow. Gimli's song was a reminder that they were grim, and cold, and very, very dangerous.

Now however, they were at peace. It was a sensation they were not quite used to, Arwen could sense that, but now the mountains slept, knowing the evil they held was banished from this world.

Arwen felt a hand on her shoulder then, and knew without looking that it was Aragorn, leaning back against him even as his free hand slipped around her waist. The easy way in which they slipped into such shows of affection, as in Lothlórien in times of old, was a testament to both the endurance of their love, and relief at its survival into this new world.

"Your hands are cold, meleth-nîn," he noticed, his voice low and warm. Arwen smiled at his concern.

"I have been here for some hours already," she explained. "Sleep eludes me, even now. I feel its pull, but it is such a fleeting thing. I confess, Estel, I am used to a different, darker feeling than mere tiredness - a weariness of the soul, where lying still with my eyes closed, or wandering dreams, would not bring much relief. Now that weariness has vanished - and thank the Valar for it -"

"Thank the Valar for it," Aragorn repeated into her hair, so quietly that she could hardly hear him, even as his arms trembled slightly. The Evenstar had been made anew, but Arwen knew that her husband was still plagued by visions that haunted the darkest corners of his dreams; visions of her life smashing into countless pieces as if it was crystal on a cold marble floor.

"What need do I have to sleep? The Enemy had been defeated, and even the Ephel Dúath radiate a serenity they have not felt in generations. Now my weariness has vanished, and I feel so light, that sleep seems so trivial an occupation."

Aragorn laughed. "You have a great many things to learn, rían-nîn. The mortal body does not function very well when it lacks sleep."

Arwen nodded slowly. "That stands to reason. I went to see Éowyn last night - she has been moved from the houses of healing, you know - and was told she was asleep. I was confused, because Adar always told me that sleep is the greatest healer - why then would she be taken away, if she still needed to heal?"

"He was right," Aragorn said, taking hold of Arwen's hands properly and rubbing them gently within his own. The increased blood flow restored some warmth, and he guided her over to a nearby couch where they sat and observed the view together. "However, you and Éowyn and every woman and man in the world still need to sleep - to be mortally wounded is not a requirement."

Arwen yawned, despite herself, and leaned her head onto Aragorn's shoulder once more, settling into his warm tunic. "What about you, meleth-nîn? You are the king. You need rest at this time more than anyone."

He ran his fingers softly through his wife's hair, the strands as soft as the blossoms of the White Tree even as its jetlike darkness reminded him of the night sky. Even more so when she wore white gems in it, or the queen's diadem, that sparkled like starlight. In his youth he had dreamed up a thousand songs about his lady's hair, or her endless grey eyes, or her soft white skin like silk - more than he cared to remember, as his skills at poetry had improved somewhat since then. Even so, a thousand songs would not be enough to do her justice. To say nothing of her endless patience and wisdom, her kindness and steadfast loyalty, and her love - her love, her love, her love. 

To hold her in his arms like this was unbelievable, yet he could think of no other possible reality. Finally, they were together - he was hers and she was his, after a lifetime of patience and despair.

"Estel?" Arwen could tell he was lost in thought. "What of your sleep?"

Aragorn came back to reality slowly, and laughed softly, answering with a question, as he had in the days of their courtship in Lothlórien where they spoke in nothing but riddles and song. "Do you know what home means to a human, a mortal human?"

"Home." Arwen thought about it. 

Just then the sun graced the eastern horizon and crept over the balcony rails, slowly and steadily bringing light to the White City. Soon the haze that lingered in the distance would be dispelled; soon the daily work of rebuilding the city would begin. Arwen would find herself in high demand again, surrounded on all sides by men and women who sought her guidance and leadership as their queen. She loved it, being the one these people needed the most, being able to help those in need and provide the support that her people needed in this time of regrowth and renewal.

"Home is where a person feels safe," Aragorn explained. "Safe enough to build a family, safe enough to have a fire and not worry about attracting orcs or other beings of evil with its light. Home is where you feel safe enough to fall into helpless sleep, where you can curl up and rest without fear."

Arwen only half heard him. The edges of her vision were blurry, her head was heavy, and Aragorn's rhythmic stroking of her hair was making her feel very sleepy indeed. It was hypnotic, and would be an almost frightening sensation, were it anybody but Aragorn.

"Then -" just before darkness consumed her entirely - "home for me is with you."

Thus, the newly crowned High Queen of Gondor fell asleep in her husband's arms on the morning of the one-month anniversary of the Fall of Sauron, finally safe in the knowledge that she could be helpless - just for once.

•●•●•●•

[sindar-princeling]

There agelong she had dwelt, an evil thing in spider-form, even such as once of old had lived in the Land of the Elves in the West that is now under the Sea, such as Beren fought in the Mountains of Terror in Doriath, and so came to Lúthien upon the green sward amid the hemlocks in the moonlight long ago. How Shelob came there, flying from ruin, no tale tells, for out of the Dark Years few tales have come. But still she was there, who was there before Sauron, and before the first stone of Barad-dûr; and she served none but herself, drinking the blood of Elves and Men, bloated and grown fat with endless brooding on her feasts, weaving webs of shadow; for all living things were her food, and her vomit darkness. Far and wide her lesser broods, bastards of the miserable mates, her own offspring, that she slew, spread from glen to glen, from the Ephel Dúath to the eastern hills, to Dol Guldur and the fastnesses of Mirkwood. But none could rival her, Shelob the Great, last child of Ungoliant to trouble the unhappy world.

god forbid women do anything 🙄

[anthropomorphique]

Far above the Ephel Dúath in the West the night-sky was still dim and pale. There, peeping among the cloud-wrack above a dark tor high up in the mountains, Sam saw a white star twinkle for a while. The beauty of it smote his heart, as he looked up out of the forsaken land, and hope returned to him. For like a shaft, clear and cold, the thought pierced him that in the end the Shadow was only a small and passing thing: there was light and high beauty for ever beyond its reach. His song in the Tower had been defiance rather than hope; for then he was thinking of himself. Now, for a moment, his own fate, and even his master's, ceased to trouble him. He crawled back into the brambles and laid himself by Frodo's side, and putting away all fear he cast himself into a deep untroubled sleep.

[merilles]

Can I just say I adore Dúvain?! She's so cool! I have a bunch of Nazgul ocs myself and I hardly ever see any other Nazgul ocs out in the wild. She reminds me a bit of my oc, Lily. Both have a lot of angst surrounding their Nazgulification. I was wondering if there's a summary of some kind of Dúvain's backstory? I've gotten tantalizing hints and I need to know more! :D

Giggling and kicking my feet, it's delightful to know people are interested in her! My favourite wet cat lady knight <3

CW below for non-graphic discussion of topics such as war, death, and torture

Dúvain, born Lómivanë, was the niece of the Lord of Andúnië during the last years of Tar-Atanamir's reign. Her uncle, Andúnion, was married to the princess Antaríel and had a daughter as well, Eldacál��. the two grew up like sisters, but were very different people and the Lord obviously favoured his own over Lómivanë. She was strange, solitary, quiet; preferring books and horses over people. Her beautiful mother Melilótë died in childbirth, while her beloved father Tindómion later fell ill shortly before her majority. She was thus left to her uncle who loved her little, deprived of an independent inheritance as the daughter of his younger brother.

Andúnion sought to marry her to another Lord of Númenor, condemning her to keep his house and bear him children. She feared that fate more than death, her dread driving her to join the Númenórean military as a calvary soldier. Few mortal women participated in such an occupation, and she found herself scorned both by men and her own sex. But she always wanted to explore Middle-earth, seeing the colonial wars as an excuse to do so. At the time Númenor was rapidly expanding and fighting sauron's vassal-kings, who had grown mighty with their rings of power. She had no idea what she was getting into, succumbing to Númenórean propaganda and having grown up quite wealthy and sheltered.

Through deeds of surpassing valour and sacrifice she rose in the ranks despite being a woman. She was knighted, established in Lebennin by the king's decree as the captain of the Númenórean forces in that land. She also translated her name into Sindarin to reflect her new life. She was very principalled: valuing honesty, honour, and obedience. She followed orders from her superiors closely, because she believed that they knew what was best. They were fighting against people they perceived to be evil, and some certainly served Sauron, not the least those who received rings of power from him. She bought into this sentiment, though had frequent second thoughts when killing soldiers who were just like her.

She imagined they too had brothers-in-arms that mourned them, certainly making many widows and orphans. She questioned the purpose of this war of attrition, for they gained little ground and could not kill these kings. The council of Númenórean lords upon Middle-earth gathered under the shadow to make a deadly decision. They sought a foray into enemy territory to gain an advantage at last in the lands over the great river, and so a company of the finest warriors was sent secretly into the land under the Ephel Dúath (which would later become Ithilien). Sauron perceived them, in part thanks to the traitorous lord of Umbar. They were outnumbered and defeated, a their Captain taken prisoner.

She was brought in chains to Barad-dûr, where she was thrown in the deepest dungeons and tormented endlessly. She was isolated in the darkness, grieving for the deaths of her fallen brothers. She blamed herself for leading them to their doom, despite it being the Númenórean Lords' decision. Sauron intended to put her to his own use by granting her a ring of power, a dark knight to lead his armies against his enemies. Dúvain only hung onto life by a thin thread, for she still feared death, as was the condition of mortals. She was broken, quailing under the weight of her own despair.

Now weakened, she was taken out of the dungeons and brought in chains at the foot of Sauron's throne. Worn down to nothing with no power of her own, she had no choice but to accept a ring of power from her enemy; in fact, it was forced upon her by his hand. No deceit did he use, only the full extent of his cruelty and will to dominate others. He twisted her into a deadly weapon, unmatched on the field of battle; men fled before her upon her return from Mordor, their blood and the blood of their sons staining her sword. And she wept in secret for what he had turned her into.

She became known only as The Black Blade of Lebennin, bearer of Sapthân the Foolstone, the woman she once was forgotten...

[roselightfairy]

Here Spring was already busy about them: fronds pierced moss and mould, larches were green-fingered, small flowers were opening in the turf, birds were singing. Ithilien, the garden of Gondor now desolate kept still a dishevelled dryad loveliness.

South and west it looked towards the warm lower vales of Anduin, shielded from the east by the Ephel Dúath and yet not under the mountain-shadow, protected from the north by the Emyn Muil, open to the southern airs and the moist winds from the Sea far away. Many great trees grew there, planted long ago, falling into untended age amid a riot of careless descendants; and groves and thickets there were of tamarisk and pungent terebinth, of olive and of bay; and there were junipers and myrtles; and thymes that grew in bushes, or with their woody creeping stems mantled in deep tapestries the hidden stones; sages of many kinds putting forth blue flowers, or red, or pale green; and marjorams and new-sprouting parsleys, and many herbs of forms and scents beyond the garden-lore of Sam. The grots and rocky walls were already starred with saxifrages and stonecrops. Primeroles and anemones were awake in the filbert-brakes; and asphodel and many lily-flowers nodded their half-opened heads in the grass: deep green grass beside the pools, where falling streams halted in cool hollows on their journey down to Anduin.

The travellers turned their backs on the road and went downhill. As they walked, brushing their way through bush and herb, sweet odours rose about them. Gollum coughed and retched; but the hobbits breathed deep, and suddenly Sam laughed, for heart's ease not for jest. They followed a stream that went quickly down before them. Presently it brought them to a small clear lake in a shallow dell: it lay in the broken ruins of an ancient stone basin, the carven rim of which was almost wholly covered with mosses and rose-brambles; iris-swords stood in ranks about it, and water-lily leaves floated on its dark gently-rippling surface; but it was deep and fresh, and spilled ever softly out over a stony lip at the far end.

[roseslaces]

Far above the Ephel Dúath in the West the night-sky was still dim and pale. There, peeping among the cloud-wrack above a dark tor high up in the mountains, Sam saw a white star twinkle for a while. The beauty of it smote his heart, as he looked up out of the forsaken land, and hope returned to him. For like a shaft, clear and cold, the thought pierced him that in the end the Shadow was only a small and passing thing: there was light and high beauty for ever beyond its reach. His song in the Tower had been defiance rather than hope; for then he was thinking of himself. Now, for a moment, his own fate, and even his master’s, ceased to trouble him.

-The Return of the King

[officiallanxichen]

[Image description: a traditional colored pencil drawing of a scene from Lord of the Rings. Faramir and Eowyn are seen from the back looking out over the land in front of Minas Tirith. Eowyn has long blond hair and wears a green smock over a brown dress and brown boots. Faramir has wavy dark hair and wears a blue tunic and gray trousers with black boots. Faramir has an arm around Eowyn's waist and their hair is blowing in the wind in the same direction. Visible in the distance are the Ephel Dúath, with Osgiliath to the right and the River Anduin just in front of the mountains. The sky is pink and yellow to evoke a sunrise. End image description.]

out of death, life/out of night, day/glory from sorrow

[insufficient-earth-skills]

Having feels about the incredible weight of a story that puts Isildur in Mordor before even one Ring is forged. Truly great storytelling. Bind him to the land. Let him sink his teeth into the Ephel Dúath and never let go.

[nonbinary-porthos]

“Average cave contains 100 spiders “ factoid actually just statistical error. average cave contains 0 spiders. Spiders Gorge, which sits on the Ephel Dúath & contains 1 fuck-off huge spider, is an outlier adn should not have been counted

[torchwood-99]

Descriptions of Ithilien

Description: "...a fair country of climbing woods and swift-falling streams. Before them, as they turned west, gentle slopes ran down into dim hazes far below. All about them were small woods of resinous trees, fir and cedar and cypress. and other kinds unknown in the Shire, with wide glades among them; and everywhere there was a wealth of sweet-smelling herbs and shrubs. The long journey from Rivendell had brought them far south of their own land, but not until now in this more sheltered region had the hobbits felt the change of clime. Here Spring was already busy about them: fronds pierced moss and mould, larches were green-fingered, small flowers were opening in the turf, birds were singing. Ithilien, the garden of Gondor now desolate kept still a dishevelled dryad loveliness.

South and west it looked towards the warm lower vales of Anduin, shielded from the east by the Ephel Dúath and yet not under the mountain-shadow, protected from the north by the Emyn Muil, open to the southern airs and the moist winds from the Sea far away. Many great trees grew there, planted long ago, falling into untended age amid a riot of careless descendants; and groves and thickets there were of tamarisk and pungent terebinth, of olive and of bay; and there were junipers and myrtles; and thymes that grew in bushes, or with their woody creeping stems mantled in deep tapestries the hidden stones; sages of many kinds putting forth blue flowers, or red, or pale green; and marjorams and new-sprouting parsleys, and many herbs of forms and scents beyond the garden-lore of Sam. The grots and rocky walls were already starred with saxifrages and stonecrops. Primeroles and anemones were awake in the filbert-brakes; and asphodel and many lily-flowers nodded their half-opened heads in the grass: deep green grass beside the pools, where falling streams halted in cool hollows on their journey down to Anduin. TTT, Book IV, Ch 4, Of Herbs and Stewed Rabbit

Great ilexes of huge girth stood dark and solemn in wide glades with here and there among them hoary ash-trees. and giant oaks just putting out their brown-green buds. About them lay long launds of green grass dappled with celandine and anemones, white and blue, now folded for sleep; and there were acres populous with the leaves of woodland hyacinths: already their sleek bell-stems were thrusting through the mould.

TTT, Book IV, Ch 7, Journey to the Cross-roads

Ithilien - Places - Henneth Annûn (henneth-annun.net)

Just sounds like a really gorgeous place. Love imagining Eowyn arriving for the first time and exploring every corner of it with Faramir.

[marimosalad]

Ostirith, Ephel Dúath (The Rings of Power, Season 1)

Not sure what to do with this exactly, started out as a practice drawing then I just kept going... so, here it is!

[sunyot]

Did you know in Lord of the Rings... The mountain range separating Mordor from Gondor, the Ephel Dúath ("Shadowy Mountains"), is riddled with watchtowers and hidden passages, constantly patrolled by Gondorian rangers.

[camille-lachenille]

Day 24 of All of Arda is Autistic:

Prompt: infodumping/shyness/wildflowers

Rating: Gen

Faramir/Éowyn

Éowyn followed her husband on the barely visible trails used by the Rangers, marvelling at how he was able to navigate this hidden path almost blindly; she felt like an Oliphaunt tramping along, in comparison. Faramir was scanning their surroundings with a peaceful focus, pausing every now and then to point out a plant that caught his attention, explaining its properties, symbolic and function in the wild. He wore a wide smile as he showed Éowyn the countless species that blossomed in Ithilien.

After a long walk, they exited the woods proper and came upon a rocky slope that marked the first steps of the Ephel Dúath. Faramir’s face lit up and he practically dragged Éowyn to a cluster of small, pale yellow flowers that grew amongst the bare rocks. “Look!” he exclaimed, beaming. “This is ithilgoloth, a rare flower that grows only in Ithilien. The Shadow almost eradicated it but it’s growing again!”

His enthusiasm for this frail-looking little plant was contagious and Éowyn crouched next to her husband to give a better look at the ithilgoloth. Faramir was delicately running a finger on the small leaves and long stem of the plant, radiating genuine happiness at the sight of this little flower growing back after the destruction of its home. In this moment, Éowyn understood that her husband’s knowledge for Ithilien’s flora was more than the interest of a scholar. It was a knowledge made of love for this land and an bubbling will to share it. And so, as she listened to Faramir talk about the ithilgoloth, Éowyn fell in love all over again.

This prompt was delayed by a surprising amount of research on Ithilien’s flora. My botanical knowledge is close to nothing when it comes to Mediterranean plants and it was surprisingly difficult to find a rare Mediterranean flower. Ithilgoloth (moon-flower in Sindarin) is my extremely amateur attempt at translating the French common name of the Biscutella rotgesii. This is a flower endemic to Corsica and it’s highly endangered. I figured that it was a good candidate for a flower that got almost destroyed by the Shadow’s pollution of Ithilien.

[glitteringaglarond]

Far above the Ephel Dúath in the West the night-sky was still dim and pale. There, peeping among the cloud-wrack above a dark tor high up in the mountains, Sam saw a white star twinkle for a while. The beauty of it smote his heart, as he looked up out of the forsaken land, and hope returned to him. For like a shaft, clear and cold, the thought pierced him that in the end the Shadow was only a small and passing thing: there was light and high beauty for ever beyond its reach. His song in the Tower had been defiance rather than hope; for then he was thinking of himself. Now, for a moment, his own fate, and even his master's, ceased to trouble him. He crawled back into the brambles and laid himself by Frodo's side, and putting away all fear he cast himself into a deep untroubled sleep.

This is beautiful in ways that are impossible to express