#Théoden

[rokonrrc2]

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Tonight, we remember one who lent his enormous talent to telling the story we have all come to love. Hail, the victorious dead!

May the Simbelmynë cover his tomb as it did the tomb of the one he so accurately portrayed.

Bernard Hill Dec 17, 1944 - May 5, 2024

[thranduilofsmirkwood]

Lσɾԃ σϝ ƚԋҽ Rιɳɠʂ Mҽɱҽʂ

Tԋҽ HσႦႦιƚ Mҽɱҽʂ

[autistook]

Rest in Peace, Bernard Hill 🤍🕊

[dindjarism]

REST IN PEACE, BERNARD HILL (1944–2024) THE LORD OF THE RINGS: THE RETURN OF THE KING (2003)

[from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras]

Bernard Hill said once that he came up with the line, “No parent should have to bury their child.” And, no, it’s not canonical, but it’s absolutely what the story needed. It’s what the character needed. Hell, it’s what we needed. It’s a better and more compelling and more relatable and more moving and more empathetic film for having that emotion expressed. It was such a simple idea, but such an important one. And we needed him to get it. May the simbelmynë always bloom on your place of rest, Mr. Hill.

[dagordagorath]

For he was a gentle heart and a great king and kept his oaths; and he rose out of the shadows to a last fair morning.

[nathsketch]

Extremely sad news today with the passing of our beloved Bernard Hill.

“Arise!! Arise, Riders of Théoden!”

“The horn of Helm Hammerhand shall sound in the deep one last time.”

He will go to his fathers. And even in their mighty company he shall not now be ashamed. 🗡️🐴👑

Forth, Eorlingas!!

[hail-theoden-king]

[monkeyscomics]

Théoden, King of Rohan.

Never thought I would draw Théoden.

Watched the battle scenes again.

I must try to do a drawing with the time I have.

R.I.P Bernard Hill

[lukedanger]

I have some thoughts on Héra's "death" line at the climax of War of the Rohirrim and how it relates to Rohan's story during the War of the Ring.

Spoilers below for the movie!

When Héra tells Wulf that she was promised to death on the siege tower, I think that she was genuinely expecting to die there. Even if the plan went perfectly, she would be isolated from the Hornburg (as the siege tower's gangplank burned down) surrounded by an enemy army. Even if Fréaláf showed up, which to her is still a big if on timing if nothing else, that is not a situation one can reasonably expect to survive.

Yet, it's the only hope her people have to escape. She might die, but the rest would live if she could keep enough attention on her. Is this not what Théoden would do centuries later, first on the ramp of the Hornburg drawing the attention of the Uruk-Hai? Then again at Pelennor Fields, one probably last charge to try and win survival for their people. Failing that, at least choosing to die on their own terms instead of waiting for their turn to fall.

Is that not why Théoden's riders cheered "death!" at the enemy as they charged, throwing back the fear Mordor sought to spread back at its hosts? That they had accepted it and were ready to meet it? Is that not what the ideal of a warrior is so often touted as, fighting because they love what stands behind their aegis?

Héra may not have been fighting the same kind of existential war that Théoden was, but the same kind of courage was needed. Even if it all went well, I doubt she had any expectations of surviving that night. She nearly didn't, even with Fréaláf arriving and utterly terrorizing the Dunlending host into such a panicked rout. Yet, it was the way she could save those under her charge.

The moment she rode out onto the tower's gangplank, Héra truly promised herself to death.

[anghraine]

Another Tolkien rant before I (finally!!) go back to BG3:

By and large, heredity and ethnicity in Tolkien cannot be understood through blood quantum logic. I don't think this is even seriously debatable, really—it does not work.

Yes, Imrahil of Dol Amroth is many generations removed from his nearest Elvish ancestor. Yes, he's still visibly part-Silvan to someone like Legolas, and is Silvan-style pretty to everyone else, and his sister was mystically susceptible to Mordor's miasma and died of sea-longing.

Yes, Théoden has as much Númenórean ancestry as Eldacar, a literal Númenórean King of Gondor, and has the same Elvish ancestor as Imrahil. No, Théoden is not a Dúnadan and does not inherit Silvan features. Tolkien specifically contrasted the visible Silvan Elvish heritage of Imrahil and his nephews Boromir and Faramir with Théoden and Éomer's lack of them, though in some versions, Éomer inherited remarkable height from his Númenórean ancestry (but not specifically Elvish qualities like beardlessness).

The only known member of the House of Eorl to markedly inherit the distinctive Elvish appearance of the House of Dol Amroth is Elfwinë, son of Imrahil's daughter Lothíriel as well as of Éomer, and Elfwinë's appearance is attributed firmly to Lothíriel-Imrahil rather than Théodwyn-Morwen.

Aragorn and Denethor are descendants of Elendil removed by dozens of generations, and Elendil himself was many generations removed from Elros. Aragorn and Denethor's common heritage and special status results in a strong resemblance and kinship between these incredibly distant cousins, including innate beardlessness and various powers inherited from Lúthien, and a connection to the Maiar presumably derived from Lúthien's mother Melian (great-great-grandmother of their very distant ancestor Elros).

Galadriel has one Noldo grandparent (half as much Noldorin heritage as Théoden has Númenórean). She has ties to her Telerin and Vanyarin kin and inherits some of their traits (most notably her silvery-gold hair), but she is very fundamentally a Noldo.

Túrin Turambar is a member—and indeed, heir—of the House of Hador via patrilineality. However, he's strongly coded as Bëorian in every other way because of his powerful resemblance to his very Bëorian mother, while his sister Niënor is the reverse, identified strongly with Hadorian women and linked to their father, whom she never met.

Elrond and Elros have more Elvish heritage than anything else, but are defined as half-Elves regardless of choosing mortality or immortality. In The Nature of Middle-earth, Tolkien casually drops the bombshell that Elros's children with his presumably mortal partner also received a choice of mortality vs immortality (and then in true Tolkien style, breezed onto other, less interesting points). Elrond and his sons with fully Elvish Celebrían are referred to as Númenóreans as well as Elves, with Elladan and Elrohir scrupulously excluded from being classed as Elves on multiple occasions. Their sister Arwen, meanwhile, is a half-Elf regardless of how much literal mortal heritage she has but also is identified with the Eldar in a way they never are.

There's a letter that Tolkien received in which a fan asks how Aragorn, a descendant of Fíriel of Gondor, could be considered of pure Númenórean ancestry when Fíriel was a descendant of Eldacar, the "impure" king whose maternal heritage kicked off the Kinstrife. Tolkien's response is essentially a polite eyeroll (and understandably for sure), but it's not like ancestry that remote (or far more so) doesn't regularly linger.

The point, I guess, is that there's no hard and fast rule here that determines "real" ethnicity in Middle-earth or who inherits what narrative identification. It's clearly not dependent on purebloodedness (gross rhetoric anyway, but also can't be reconciled with ... like, anything we see). It's not based on upbringing or culture alone. Túrin and Niënor, for instance, are powerfully identified with the Edain narratively despite their upbringings. Their double cousin Tuor, however, is a more ambiguous figure in terms of the Elves, whom he loves and lives among and possibly even joins in immortality—yet Tuor's half-Elf son Eärendil, whose cultural background is overwhelmingly Elvish, is naturally aligned with Men and only chooses immortality for his wife's sake.

Elladan and Elrohir, as mentioned above, are sons of an Elf, Celebrían, and of Elrond, a half-Elf who chose immortality and established a largely Elvish community at Rivendell. But the twins have a centuries-long affinity with their mortal Dúnadan kin and delay choosing a kindred to be counted among long after Arwen's choice.

Patrilineal heritages are more often than not given priority, which has nothing to do with how much of X blood someone has, only which side it comes from. Queen Morwen's children and descendants are emphatically Rohirrim who don't ping Legolas's Elvishness radar (though Elfwinë might, later on; we're not told). King Eldacar is firmly treated as a Dúnadan with no shortening of lifespan or signs of Northern heritage. Finwë's children and grandchildren are definitionally Noldor.

But this is by no means absolutely the case. The Elvishness of the line of Dol Amroth is not only inherited from Mithrellas, a woman, but passes to some extent to Boromir and Faramir through their mother Finduilas. Denethor and Aragorn's descent from Elros primarily comes through Silmariën, a woman (and also through Rían daughter of Barahir and Morwen daughter of Belecthor for Denethor, and Fíriel daughter of Ondoher for Aragorn). And of course, Elros's part-Maia heritage that lingers among his descendants for thousands of years derives from women, Lúthien and Melian.

So there's not some straightforward system or rule that will tell you when a near or remote ancestor "matters" when it comes to determining a character's identity, either to the character or to how they're handled by the narrative. Sometimes a single grandparent, or great-grandparent, or more distant ancestor, is fundamental to how a character is treated by the story and understands themself. Sometimes a character is so completely identified with one parent that the entire other half of their heritage is negligible to how they're framed by the story and see themself. It depends!

[cilil]

Headcanon: Oromë personally welcomed Théoden when he came to Mandos and bid him farewell when he went beyond the world. He was so proud of him

[thranduilofsmirkwood]

𝕬𝖓𝖈𝖎𝖊𝖓𝖙 𝕷𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕽𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 𝕸𝖊𝖒𝖊𝖘 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖒𝖆𝖐𝖊 𝖒𝖊 𝖑𝖒𝖋𝖆𝖔

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[autistook]

Bernard Hill

1944 - 2024

[aurademortt]

[from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras]

The last few things I wrote were quite sad, and so I had a HC that little Éowyn was a real menace to the women who wanted to date Théodred and I had a few hours at a boring work conference so…here’s a thing, presumably less sad! Less than 1,500 words!

Théodred is 26ish and Éowyn is 9ish.

“What do we say, Éowyn?”

Théoden put a hand behind her shoulder and lightly propelled her toward Théodred, who sat quietly a few feet away. Her lips were pressed into a thin, straight line and her eyes still burned with a fiery gleam, but, lacking any other choice, she complied with her uncle’s direction.

“I am sorry, cousin, for calling your visitor a Donkey Face,” she muttered, the words hard and cold as she glared down at the stonework on the floor.

“And?” Théoden gave her another small prod.

She sighed heavily, as though he had burdened her with the weight of the world itself. “And for putting a spider in her hair. And for laughing while she screamed and danced around to get it out.” She shot a look up at Théoden, her eyes accusing. “Even though the spider was perfectly harmless, and you didn’t need to squish it.”

“No commentary, please. Just continue with what we talked about.”

She drew another breath to spit out the rest of the scripted apology, feeling the distastefulness of the words in her mouth already. But when she turned back to Théodred, looking him in the face this time, she stopped short. His eyes were soft and a small smile played across his lips, a look of fond affection that somehow felt more damning than any of her uncle’s stern reprimands. It was easy for her to meet anger with anger, but to sustain a sharp temper in opposition to Théodred’s quiet warmth was nearly impossible, feeling somewhere between absurd and callous. Her voice faltered, its prior edge dulled by the first stirring of true regret.

“Uncle says that I made myself look bad, but also him and also you.” She swallowed hard, her words sticking in her throat from contrition now rather than petulance, and she took another small step toward him. “I didn’t mean for that to happen. I hope that you aren't angry with me, and I promise not to do it again. A real promise this time. Do you forgive me?”

Théodred’s small smile widened, blooming into a grin, and he waved a hand, a little brushing gesture to push the whole matter behind them. “Of course. Consider it forgotten.”

“Not forgotten,” warned Théoden. “Forgiven, yes. But let us remember in the future that we are not to treat guests this way, especially very important guests who are here at my personal invitation.” He nodded to Théodred and then turned for the door. “Now, if you’ll both excuse me, I have some ruffled feelings to smooth in the other room. I’m not sure Éowyn’s first apology went over as well as this one did.”

Théoden walked out and Éowyn was about to follow when Théodred’s hand caught her elbow.

“May I ask you something, little cousin?” He released her arm and pointed to the chair next to him.

She had hoped to escape the room, to run off to a branch of her favorite tree from which she could watch the king’s guards go through their daily combat drills and pretend the whole morning had never happened. But instead, she perched hesitantly on the edge of the proffered chair and waited for him to speak.

He sat for a long moment in silence, fingers tented in front of his chest, and studied her face. “I’ve always loved your mischievous spirit,” he said at last. “It reminds me of your mother, and it brings a sense of laughter and fun into what used to be a very somber place. But your mother never turned her mischief against unsuspecting strangers, and neither did you until recently. One incident is a fluke, two is notable, but four is a pattern. Is there something troubling you lately that would explain this change? Anything that you’d like to talk about?”

“No.” The answer came out quickly and defensively, an attempt to ward off further inquiry, but it seemed only to encourage him to keep talking instead.

“I can’t help but notice that the targets of your mischief have all had one thing in common. They’re all noble ladies, daughters of your uncle’s closest friends and allies, that he’s brought here to visit with me. Have these women done something to you that would perhaps warrant your dislike?”

The straight line reformed at her lips, and she shook her head.

“If you don’t know these women and they’ve never caused you offense or given you reason to view them unfavorably, then why are you so intent on tormenting them?”

A hot blush came to her cheeks, and, embarrassingly, some tears to her eyes. She looked down to hide them, staring intently at a small crack in the floor, and tried to think of what to say. But all her thoughts only brought the threat of more tears and so she shrugged her shoulders instead.

“How about if I tell you what I think, and you can tell me if I am wrong?” He paused just long enough to see her reluctant nod and then continued. “I think perhaps you dislike the fact that your uncle keeps bringing women here in the hopes that I’ll choose one as a bride. I think you know that things will change once I have a wife, and perhaps you worry about what those changes will mean for you. And I think you’ve been trying to run these women off, so that maybe you won’t have to find out.” He leaned forward and put a hand gently on her arm. “Does that sound right?”

She shrugged again, keeping her head down, but she couldn’t hide the big, round tear that dripped from her chin and landed heavily on the back of his hand. And once the first was seen, the will to hold back the others quickly crumbled. Whatever response she might have made was lost in an instant, and she began to sob.

“Oh, Éowyn, come here.” He gestured her toward him, and she stumbled forward into his open arms, her little frame swallowed up in the big, tight embrace he wrapped around her. “Getting married is something most of us will do some day. And if we’re lucky, we get many happy years together with a beloved husband or wife. Your uncle was cheated out of that chance, and he wants to see me enjoy what he was denied. But when I find a wife to love, that doesn’t mean that I’ll then love you any less. That’s not how love works. A heart always has room for more. And I’ll guard your share like it’s one of my most cherished treasures, because it is. I promise, cousin.”

He let her cry for another few minutes, releasing the fear and sadness that had been trapped deep within her for the last several weeks, until eventually the tears began to slow and her breathing to calm. A little sniffling noise emerged from somewhere inside the embrace, and he felt her dry a wet cheek on his shirt before pulling back to look up at him, all wide eyes and creased brow. “Your favorite cousin?” The tiniest shadow of a smirk appeared on her lips.

He laughed, and then she did, too. “I won’t be snared in your trap that easily just to see Éomer angry with me later. But you’re my one and only Éowyn, and that is a special thing indeed.”

She smiled, wiped her face again on a sleeve, and returned to her chair, dropping back into it more comfortably this time. “If you do have to pick a wife, I hope she’ll be much better than the ones Uncle has brought so far. All they do is sit there and smile and agree with everything you say. And they all laugh too hard at Uncle’s jokes. There hasn’t been a good one in the lot.”

He laughed again. “Would you like to know a secret?” He leaned forward and switched to an exaggerated whisper. “I don’t much like them either.”

“You don’t?” Her eyes widened but she worked hard to keep a note of gleeful triumph from her voice.

“That doesn’t mean that I condone calling them names or covering them with bugs, of course, but no, they’re not right for me. It’s not their fault, and I know that your uncle means well in bringing them here. But I intend to find my own wife, in my own time. And when I do find her someday, I am certain that she’ll meet with your approval. No insects or dirty looks or ‘accidentally’ spilled tea required. After all, you trust my judgment, don’t you?”

She nodded.

“Good.” He smiled and held out a hand. “Now let’s go out to the garden and see if we can find you a new spider friend.”

Dividers by the lovely @quillofspirit!