#clearly never came in touch with the silm fans

[sillylotrpolls]

This poll was a lot of fun! There are already some fun quotes from the notes (note quotes, if you will) above, but there are certainly much worse ways to spend some time than scrolling through everyone's shopping trips.

I was extremely amused by how many people were surprised to "discover" this was a Lord of the Rings/Tolkien poll. Clearly, the vast majority of tumblr users aren't reading usernames, but then again, I suppose we already knew that.

Regarding the actual results, per usual the initial numbers were heavy on Silm readers, but even as the poll spread the not-going-to-destroy-you Ring of Barahir was the clear favorite with 23.4% of the vote. For context, in an equally split 12-way vote each option would get 8.33%, so the Ring of Barahir overperformed that by 280%.

Silm readers were also fans of the three elvish rings. Their shares were never overly high (4-5% each), but together they came in third place with 13.8% of the vote. The three were largely equal for almost the entire lifespan of the poll, with which was leading changing frequently. I expected to see a preference for one, but these results are well within the margin of error.

Conversely, it was very much the not-Silm-fans/later voters who pushed the One Ring to second place (18.5%). I think these more casual Tolkien enthusiasts were a) voting for the option they recognized and b) more likely to take the source material lightheartedly. Not a bad thing; just an interesting demographical difference.

This post is already a bit long, so a complete breakdown of what each option was is below the cut:

A crystal with an inner fire of blended tree light (caution: hurts to touch) - 9.4%

This is a Silmaril. They are kind of a big deal in the Silmarillion. An elf made three of them and that caused Problems. For more information, read the Silm ask your friend who's read the Silm to sum up the good parts for you, or perhaps just follow the LotR and Silmarillion tags for a while until you naturally absorb information about Fëanor's hubris via osmosis.

To explain the little parenthetical joke there, "Varda [Goddess of the stars, queen of the gods] hallowed the Silmarils so that no mortal or evil hands could touch them without being burned and withered." (Quote from above-linked wiki page.)

Of the 9.4% of people who chose to buy the Silmaril, I saw quite a few interesting notes regarding why, ranging from "turn around and sell it immediately" to "innovative way to meet Fëanorians" to "surely this pretty item will cause me no problems whatsoever." I love every one of you; you're hilarious. XD

A globe with a thousand facets that shines like silver in the firelight - 10.7%

People had trouble recognizing this description of the Arkenstone. I took it directly from The Hobbit, but perhaps Thorin describes it differently in the movies? (This is where I confess I didn't watch The Battle of Five Armies.) Anyway, while not likely to cause quite as many problems as a Silmaril, many of the people choosing this item (10.7%) were clearly of the same stripe of troublemaker.

~~Poetic interlude~~

Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky, Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone, Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die, One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie. One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them, One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.

Ring set with ruby (kinda fiery?), mint condition, "unsullied" - 4% Ring set with adamant (water I guess), mint condition, "unsullied" - 5% Ring set with sapphire (air? seller might have been making these up), also mint - 4.8%

These were the Three Rings for the Elven-kings. These three rings were made at the same time as the other rings in the poem, but Sauron never touched them so they were described as "unsullied." Being a Tolkien invention, of course each one had a name, specific description, and a chain of provenance.

I'm just gonna copy-paste in Tolkien Gateway's descriptions here:

Nenya, the Ring of Adamant and the Ring of Water, was made of mithril with a stone of adamant; it was the chief of the Three, originally — and only ever — worn by Galadriel. Narya, the Ring of Fire and the Red Ring, set with a ruby, originally worn by Círdan who gave it to Gandalf. Vilya, the Ring of Sapphire, Blue Ring, and the Ring of Air, and mightiest of the Three, a ring of gold with a sapphire stone, originally worn by Gil-galad but given to Elrond.

Incidentally, isn't it interesting that all three of those ring bearers were on the boat with Frodo and Bilbo after the War of the Ring? Hmm.

Ring with two serpents with emerald eyes and some golden flowers - 23.4%

This is the Ring of Barahir. Unlike everything else on this list, it has a very nice history. :)

The full description from the Silm is "the shape of two serpents with emerald eyes, one devouring and the other supporting a crown of golden flowers," which is the emblem of Finarfin (elf-king who fucked up less than Fëanor). Anyway, it was associated exclusively with good guys, and Aragorn eventually gave it to Arwen as a betrothal ring. Aww.

Set of 7 golden rings (will split) - 1.7% Set of 9 golden rings (they honestly look just like the other ones) (will split) - 2%

It is unfortunately very Tolkien-like to give a complete history and individual descriptions for anything elvish and then ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ for things relating to men and dwarves. (The men who do get attention, like Aragorn, are almost always related to elves in some fashion, if not literally to start then by marriage as a reward for their labors later on.)

Anyway, I had trouble even finding any kind of useful description of these, and decided to assume that the man-rings looked like the dwarf-rings, which were described in exactly one spot as "golden." No wonder almost no one wanted to buy these, even as a set.

Necklace of countless jewels (hardly weighs anything O_O) - 5.1%

Here we have the Necklace of the Dwarves, or Nauglamír. It was extremely beautiful, set with countless jewels, and yet felt as if it weighed nothing. When Thingol (bitchy elf-king) got his hands on a Silmaril, he glued it on to this necklace, which was Not A Great Idea.

I want to take this time to link to a really great fanfic which posits that maybe the dwarves didn't call their great work of art "The Necklace of the Dwarves," and especially not using the elvish word for dwarf, which translates as "stunted person."

It's called "A Candle for the Hollow City" by @lordnelson100, and as far as I'm concerned it's canon. No Silm background required to enjoy.

Necklace studded with five hundred emeralds (I did not actually count) - 3.4%

Here we have the Necklace of Girion. It's mostly "just" treasure in The Hobbit, though in the movies it was meant to be an heirloom of Thranduil's beloved-but-unnamed wife.

This was one of the significantly less-cursed options, but I think anyone who recognized the various cursed-ness levels was more likely to go for the sentimental history of the Ring of Barahir or the power of one of the Three Rings.

Just a really huge pearl (seriously, it's like the size of a dove's egg) - 12.1%

This was surprisingly popular to me, but I think the description helped sell it as "probably not going to get you killed." Anyway, this is Nimphelos, and it was pretty much just treasure.

A little ring; the least of rings, merely a trifle (not sure why they had this) - 18.5%

Hmm, not sure about this one. Could anyone point me at a movie, or maybe even a trilogy, explaining why 18.5% of voters chose this insignificant little thing over such treasures as listed above?

And finally, a shoutout to whoever is maintaining the various Tolkien/LotR wikis. ♥ This particular poll relied heavily on the Category:Rings and Jewels page of Tolkein Gateway. I may have read the Silm and engaged in more Tolkien discourse than the average person, but I can't remember names for the life of me so the wikis are invaluable, and I love categories so.

Hey guys, I just got back from the flea market and this one jewelry table had some GREAT stuff! Anyone want anything? $5 each or best offer.

[gayjaytodd]

Sealed Together in Death

For the ever-wonderful @imindhowwelayinjune whose words inspired me to write this, bc clearly I had nothing better to do at work today.

Warning for incest, murder, violence, and death

They rally their forces at dawn.

Tyelkormo looks out at the gaunt, little army, and sneers disdainfully. They’re badly armed, weak and starved, and though there is cruelty in their burning eyes, many of them still suffer from wounds sustained in the Nirnaeth.

His brothers are at the forefront of the army; Nelyo, a horrid-looking goblin creature after his stint in Morgoth’s hands (grief is etched on his ugly face, as it has been since word came to them of the death of Findekáno – why, in Vána’s name, Nelyo is still mourning after hundreds of years, is a mystery to Tyelkormo); Makalaurë, grim and pale, but steely-gazed and determined; Carnistir, his sword already drawn, the rings on his hands glittering in the sparse sunlight (of course, Carnistir hasn’t even bothered to take off his jewellery, Tyelkormo rolls his eyes), the lines around his thin lips speak of displeasure – Carnistir has never liked killing; Pityafinwë, his grey eyes empty, devoid of life or feeling, peering at Tyelkormo through dirty, copper red tresses of hair; and Curvo…

Curvo is glorious. Tyelkormo always thinks that his little brother is glorious, of course, a shining silver spear of beauty and cunning. His long, dark hair is tied back in a tight braid, falling all the way to his trim waist, his lithe body covered with simple armour. Curufinwë takes no notice of Tyelkormo’s stare. He looks toward the gates of Menegroth, the entrance to Doriath, instead, clearly contemplating their battleplan, their strategy.

Curvo is the cleverest of them all, thinks Tyelkormo proudly and flushes, when he remembers what it feels like to have that cold, calculating gaze turned on himself. He knows that beneath Curvo’s collar, his brother’s pale chest is covered with bruises and love bites. He knows that his own back is equally bruised, from his brother’s sharp nails.

Word of the whereabouts of the Silmaril had reached them months ago in their exile. Tyelkormo remembers, vividly, how he and Curvo had celebrated. It had involved silk sheets, wound tightly around Tyelkormo’s wrists, and elegant hands, pulling on his golden hair.

The memory warms his body, and he grows hard in his breeches. Discreetly he tries to adjust himself, but his movement catches Makalaurë’s attention. His older brother looks at him searchingly, and Tyelkormo, never one to be ashamed of anything, gives him a dirty grin. Makalaurë narrows his eyes and looks from Tyelkormo to Curvo, and back again. His gaze is very judgmental.

Tyelkormo raises his eyebrows. As if Makalaurë has any right to judge. As if Tyelkormo doesn’t know how Makalaurë and Nelyo use love and tenderness to hurt each other.

Then, as the sun crawls over the horizon, bathing the world in warmth, their scouts return. Dior expects them, of course, and is waiting in the Caves, hoping that his soldiers will kill them, before they can enter the gates.

Nelyo listens intently to the scouts, and then finally, finally, gives the order to attack.

They break through the guards easily and then, at last, they’ve gained access to the Glittering Caves of Thingol and Melian, which thus far have been forbidden them.

Tyelkormo throws himself into the battle with all his heart. His blood sings as he swings his sword and cleaves his foe’s head. It is glorious. The halls of Menegroth have deserved their name, he thinks, looking at the shining walls and the beautiful mosaics on the floor, now slippery with blood and covered in the bodies of fallen soldiers. The blood shines and the light of the lamp is reflected in the amour of the fallen. Tyelkormo laughs.

He swings his sword again, relishing the burn in his muscles, smiling through it all.

Another foe falls.

There is a lull in the battle around him then, and he turns around, trying to locate his brothers, see if one of them needs his help. The sight that greets him, makes him freeze.

Curvo is fighting Dior – and Tyelkormo feels very proud for a moment, watching them, his little brother is fast and nimble and seems to be winning – but then an arrow comes flying, seemingly out of nowhere and hits Curvo’s thigh. The bad thigh. The thigh he almost broke, when Beren Erchamion felled his horse all those years ago.

Curvo falls to his knees.

Dior kicks his shoulder, pushing him over. As Curvo falls to the ground, everything seems to slow down around Tyelkormo and he is frozen, can only watch, as Curvo spits a few, disdainful words at Dior – Tyelkormo cannot hear what they are, though, judging from the way Dior’s beautiful face (and by Manwë, he looks just like his mother) twists in rage and he raises his spear, preparing to drive it into Curvo’s chest, Curvo has not lost his sharp tongue, though he is about to die.

The “NO!” rises unbidden from Tyelkormo’s throat but he is too far away and can only watch, as Curvo turns his head on the ground, meeting his eyes, stretching out his hand. His lips form a word, which Tyelkormo cannot hear, but will forever recognise the shape of.

“Tyelko...” Curvo is trying to say his name, but before he can finish, before Tyelkormo can react, Dior drives his spear down, into Curvo’s chest.

For a moment the slim, dark-haired form on the ground tenses; tears rise in his blue eyes; and then he goes limp, his out-stretched arm hitting the slick floor softly, as his eyes slid closed.

Tyelkormo lets out a cry of anger and, without pausing to think for even a second, he attacks Dior, with only one goal – to kill him.

They fight long and hard. They are evenly matched and at any other time Tyelkormo would relish the challenge but not now. Now he is angry and he wants to kill. And then he wants his ridiculous little brother to wake up and call him a fool and hit him over the head, like he always does.

At one point, Tyelkormo sees a flash of dark hair in the corner of his eye and his attention is diverted, thinking that it is either Makalaurë or Carnistir come to help him. He turns his head, watches Carnistir fall to the ground, a sword sticking out of his chest, and his eyes burn with tears.

His attention is diverted for but a moment, but that moment is his doom, for Dior springs forth, spear at the ready, and catches Tyelkormo through the stomach.

For a moment they stand there, both breathing harshly, then Dior wrenches his spear free and Tyelkormo falls to his knees. Dior stands above him, raises his spear, but he hesitates and Tyelkormo takes his chance, gathers what’s left of his renowned strength and lunges.

His sword catches Dior’s throat and the son of Lúthien falls, dead before he hits the ground. Tyelkormo spares him hardly a glance as he crawls towards Curvo’s body, one hand pressed to the wound in his stomach, trying in vain to stop the flow of blood. He gathers Curvo into his trembling arms and reaches down to press a tender kiss to his forehead, strokes his face gently.

Around him the noise of the battle slowly fades to nothing, but he is unsure whether it is because he is dying or because the fighting is over. In truth, he hardly cares.

Just as he is about to close his eyes at last, he hears a shout and opens them again, slowly. Nelyafinwë is standing over him, tears in his eyes, his scarred face somehow more beautiful when he’s on the verge of tears than at any other time, suddenly worthy of his mother name again. Nelyo falls to his knees.

“Tyelko,” he murmurs, distraught, and Tyelkormo lets out a quiet huff of laughter.

“Do not cry, Nelyo,” he says, “we are not worth your tears, Curvo and I, you have said so often enough.”

“I lied,” whispers Nelyo, and now the tears are falling. He grips Tyelkormo’s hand tightly, and Tyelkormo allows it, something he would not even have considered, if he hadn’t been about to die.

“Shall I tell Atar you said hello?” he asks, gasps, coughs, tastes blood in his mouth and spits it out. The droplet lands with a wet sound on the stone floor by his side. Nelyo nods shakily.

“Yes, Tyelko,” he says, “Please do that. And tell Mother I am sorry, when Námo lets you go someday.”

“Of course, Nelyo,” Tyelkormo smiles, there’s blood between his teeth, he’s sure of it, but he can barely hold his eyes open and he simply cannot bring himself to care. “I think,” he says, “I think, Nelyo, that I would like to close my eyes now. This one,” he pats Curvo’s hair, “is waiting for me, and he will want to give me a thorough verbal lashing for letting it take so long. Or perhaps for dying. You never know with him.”

“No,” Nelyo says, “you never do. Close your eyes, Tyelko. You can sleep now.”

For the first time in his life, Tyelkormo does as he is told, and closes his eyes.