#the fall of khazad-dum

[mrkida-art]

"There's fire in the darkness"

More Dwarrowtober stuff! Made this accidentally out of order due to me relying on memory and not the list itself (woops) . I combined these prompts: Mithril (7), Fire (9), Darkness (10). The Dwarrowtober prompt list:

[poetry-draws]

For a time, the Hollin Gate remains open... For a time, refugees of Eregion have somewhere to run.....

But what will become of them? What does Durin III have to say about all this? Tune in for the epic fic reveal in September for @cycas's answer to these questions!

One of my pieces for this year's Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang (@tolkienrsb)

[lowcountry-gothic]

Galadriel leads the Elves through Moria, by Alan Lee. From The Fall of Númenor: And Other Tales from the Second Age of Middle-Earth, by J.R.R. Tolkien.

[valkyriepirate]

Elrond x Reader- Always Been Yours

Summary: You and Elrond have been close for many years because of your positions on the council. When an army of orcs unexpectedly attacks Lindon while Elrond is away in the dwarven kingdom, you become near-fatally wounded in battle. Elrond rushes home to find you barely alive, calling the name of your lover in your sleep. Little does he know you are dreaming of him. 

Word count: 4.9k words

Warnings: Battle violence, fluff <3

#1- Always Been Yours

Spring had finally arrived in Lindon, and the air was thrumming with the promise of life. A fresh, warm breeze gently swayed the trees of the forest like a rebellious eddy on the open sea, lifting your long sleeves and carrying your voice to the sky. It wasn’t often that you sang on the palace grounds; while you had a beautiful voice, you never prided yourself in it, but the day was far too beautiful not to let it fill your heart with joy through song. You could almost sense the flowers readying to break the surface of the soil and taste the dew that would settle on their leaves.  

You knelt next to a tree by the river, caressing the dirt with your fingers. Your mother had always said that the forest should be greeted as your dearest friend, for it was your greatest protector. As you ran your hand through the crystalline water, you could imagine her voice intertwining with yours, just like how you two would sing together all those years ago. Being here amongst the trees and the earth made you feel closer to her, as if her spirit lived on in the forest.  

“I didn’t know you sang,” a familiar voice from behind lurched you from your thoughts. You turned around, already feeling the tips of your ears heat in embarrassment, to face your longtime friend.  

“Anyone with a voice to speak can just as well sing, can they not?” You brushed loose dirt from your dress as you stood up.  

Elrond smiled, glancing politely toward the ground. “Many can speak, but not many can sing like you. Please- don't stop on my account.”

“I’m afraid that is a song for the wind and water, not for the ears of well-meaning friends,” you teased.  

“Then it would be best I said nothing at all,” said Elrond.  

“And leave me to go on with silent listeners nearby? I think not.”

You stepped out onto the main path, Elrond falling in step beside you. Even though you were reluctant to let him hear your voice, you felt comfortable in every other way around him. You couldn’t help the little spark of gladness that flickered in your chest whenever he was near.  

“What are you doing out here in the forest?” you asked, glancing sidelong at him. The sun was casting amber hues through his hair, making him look like a crowned prince.  

“Looking for you,” he folded his hands behind him. “The High King Gil-galad is sending me to Forodwaith to establish terms of trade with Durin and the dwarves of Khazad-Dum. He expects me to leave in the morning.”

“So soon? It feels as if you just returned from your last journey,” you said, trying and failing to keep the disappointment out of your voice. Seeming to hear it, he nodded regretfully.  

“Apparently I was specifically requested by Durin. The High King fears he won’t negotiate terms with any elf other than I.”

“Ah, I see. The dwarf wants another excuse to see you.”  

Elrond laughed good-naturedly. “I doubt that. I think I’m simply the one he wants to hit with his hammer the least.”

“You give yourself too little credit, Elrond. You have a spirit more kind and gentle than anyone I know. Even a dwarf can see that.”  

He pinked in the cheeks. “And I think you give me too much credit, (Y/N). Besides, the kindest heart in Eriador certainly doesn’t belong to me. I’m afraid that title is taken by a particular elf-maiden with a lovely voice.”  

A fluttering sensation enveloped your stomach, and you bit your lip to keep from smiling. “When do you think you’ll return?” you asked evenly.  

“In a fortnight, perhaps. Though these trips always seem to take longer than initially planned. You know Disa’s hospitality.”

That you did. You considered the female dwarrow a dear friend. Your position as the general of the Sindarin army sometimes took you to distant lands across Middle-earth, and you had become acquainted with Disa in your travels long ago, before she had married Durin. Though you suspected you were in for a thorough scolding the next time you saw her, if Elrond’s account of Durin’s anger amounted to anything. Your kind were wont to lose track of the days, unlike the mortal races. It made you wonder how long it really had been since you’d seen Disa last.  

“Give her the warmest tidings from me,” you said sincerely. “I miss her dearly. How I wish I could accompany you.”

“I wish much the same,” said Elrond bashfully, not meeting your eyes. “The road travel can be quite lonely and tedious at times.”

“Here.” You bent and plucked a white-plumed daylily from a bush that was rooted in the stream, handing it to him. “Keep it with you. When you feel alone, you can pull it out and think of me.”

He handled the flower reverently, as if you had bestowed upon him a precious jewel. He looked up at you, the sweetest, humblest smile gracing his features. “I most certainly shall.”

The two of you talked far into midday, wandering the forest and ignoring the existence of your duties. Your heart began to ache the more time you spent with him, however, knowing that he was bound to disappear once more, and all too soon you bid him goodbye. There were several things concerning the Sindarin warriors to discuss with the king, and Gil-galad was not one to be kept waiting.  

You slept fitfully that night, Elrond’s face flashing in your mind every time you closed your eyes. You rose before the sun the next morning and raced as elegantly as possible to the road past the waterfall where Elrond was set to depart. Only the guards were awake, nodding respectfully to you as you passed. All of Lindon dutifully recognized your position as a war general even when you weren’t in your armor.  

As periwinkle streaks of dawn bled across the sky, you nearly began to worry that you had missed him, but your worries ameliorated when you caught sight of his robes by the front gates. Elrond was loading his supplies onto his horse, his face turned away from you. Silently, you approached him from behind, hoping you didn’t appear as if you’d rushed out to meet him in a frenzy.  

“Attempting to leave without saying goodbye, are we?” you said into the still morning air. Elrond looked up, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise.  

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he tied one last knot around his knapsack. “I only wished for you to have as much rest as possible. It is early to be awake even for I.”  

“So you may say.” One side of your mouth quirked up. “Is everything prepared?”

“Yes. All I need is to collect my will to mount this horse and leave Lindon behind.” His voice caught as he said Lindon, as if he were about to say you.  

Your heart was buzzing inside your chest as if you were a restless bumblebee being separated from your flower. “Do not forget,” you reminded him softly, spotting the daylily tucked into his robe. You reached over and tenderly pressed the petals against his chest. “This flower means I am with you. You will be in my thoughts, Elrond.”

He held your gaze, his eyes filled with some deep emotion you couldn’t express. Gently, he grasped your hand and grazed your fingers with the barest of kisses. Physical affection was rare among your kind, particularly in public, though you sensed the only bystanders observing your interaction were the dandelions beneath your feet and the forest critters slipping between the trees.  

“And you will be in my heart, (Y/N),” promised Elrond. He was the embodiment of a dulcet predawn dream, the kind you wanted to get lost in forever, to never wake up from. Yet you knew both his duties and yours were to the kingdom before they answered your own desires.  

You gave his fingers a slight squeeze. “You will give Durin and Disa my best, will you not?”

He smiled. “I shall.”

“Do be safe. You have duties and friends to come back to, you know.”

“I will do my best,” he bowed. “I am sure my heart will ache with every step I take away from you.”

You parted, feeling as if you were forcing yourself awake from a pleasant dream, and watched as he mounted his horse and trotted away from the front gates. At the end of the path, he halted and turned to face you one last time.  

“Goodbye, (Y/N),” he called.  

“Goodbye, Elrond,” you returned, and didn’t allow yourself to blink until he had passed over the hill into the far reaches of the forest, where the trees seemed to lean down and caress him with their branches as if he were not simply an elf, but a king venturing into a distant land, riding away with your stolen heart.  

*****

A harsh, screeching noise tore you from your sleep. With a jolt of panic, you bolted upright in bed, trying to collect your bearings. Liquid moonlight spilled through your leaf-paned window and leaked over the floor. You judged that it was a little over two hours past midnight. The horrible, dissonant noise seemed to come from all around you. You picked out the sound of Lindon’s warning bell from among the chaos, coupled with pained screams and the sound of something shattering.  

In a heartbeat, you leaped out of bed and grabbed your silver-plated longsword by the door. You burst out of your room and flew down the stairs towards the commotion. The clanging noises intensified as you ran to the royal courtyard. You deduced the source before you saw them- orcs.  

Dozens of the grisly fiends were pouring over the gates, brandishing crude, makeshift weapons and baring their black teeth. Several other elves had already arrived on the scene, defending against the attackers with deadly grace. Swords flashed and arrows flew under the silvery light of the moon, and blood the color of the night sky painted the ground before your eyes.  

You seamlessly entered the battle, lopping the heads off one orc after the other, not stopping to ponder how or why the orcs were leading this raid. Your senses clicked into the mode of war, as familiar to you as breathing. Within seconds, you had effortlessly picked out the opening points of the battleground that were most concentrated by the enemy, and called out regiment orders as more of your brethren rushed into the courtyard. The few elves donning soldier’s gear hastened to obey your command.  

You drove your sword into the gut of a nearby orc and sliced another in half at the waist. The rest of your thoughts fell away with every kill as you allowed your sword to become a part of you, as dexterous and fluid as an extension of your arm. Any sleepiness you might have felt was replaced by an acute focus of your surroundings.  

You worked your way towards the gates to quell the flush of orcs streaming into your territory. With a spin, you dropped three of the beasts at once, moving with all the poise and accuracy of an elven warrior. As you did, you spotted Galadriel at the far side of the courtyard.

You had to step over the bodies of your victims to make berth towards her in the rushing sea, as if you were caught in a dangerous dance between life and death. “Galadriel!” you yelled. “How did this happen?”

“Someone has left the anterior parapets unfortified,” she called back, ducking to avoid a swinging club. “These gates were open when I arrived!”

“How can that be? There are guards stationed here day and night!”

“I do not know. The Dark Lord must have found out about our affairs in Númenor. We are at half our strength. He senses weakness.”

“He won’t find any,” you gritted your teeth. You stabbed a nearby orc in the neck and spun to avoid the spray of black blood. If the Dark Lord thought catching you off your guard would give him the advantage, you were prepared to prove him wrong.

“There is something adrift about this attack. Something...foul. Within the kingdom.”

You raised an eyebrow, though it was doubtful Galadriel could see it in the dark. “You think there is a traitor?”

“Perhaps,” she said. “Or an intruder yet to be detected.”

This troubled you. You were the head of the Sindarin army. It was your job to keep the kingdom safe. If there was a spy under your nose, you would be the first to know about it. Yet with half the army stationed in the Southlands aiding the Númenorians, an attack could come from any side.  

Irrationally, you found yourself becoming steeped in worry for Elrond. It had been days since his departure, and if this orc army had advanced in from the south, it was likely Elrond may have crossed paths with them. While he was more than a capable warrior, standing alone against an entire army wouldn’t be easy even for you. You hoped he had already made it to Khazad-Dum...

Suddenly you cried out in alarm. While you were worrying about Elrond, an orc had approached on your left flank and slashed you across the shoulder.  

Focus, you reprimanded yourself. Do not forget the battle in front of you.  

You dispatched the orc quickly and kicked the dismembered helmet away. Then Galadriel screamed. You whirled around to come face-to-face with the largest orc you had ever seen.  

It was almost twice your size, and armed with a cruel-looking blade. Its armor was detached in places, as if it had outgrown its battle garments too fast for them to be replaced. Galadriel had taken a swipe at the exposed part of its hide, but her sword had lodged in its armor on an angle. In a blink, the orc slammed both its fists into her arm, emitting a sickening crack.  

Her sword dropped to the dirt. You rushed to her side, ferociously stabbing your sword through its calf. The orc roared in pain and slashed at you with its blade. You deflected and thrust upward at its chest, but its height momentarily gave it leverage. It swung again and you narrowly dodged what could have been a fatal slice to the throat.

“Archers, to me!” you yelled over the din of battle. Two elves equipped with bows and arrows raced toward you, taking aim. “On my count!”

You pressed forward, trying to prompt the orc to step into the open. Galadriel took position on your right, one of her arms hanging limply at her side. Together you attacked as fiercely as you could. You needed to wound it somehow and step out of range for your archers to have a clear shot. Any head shots would be futile against its obsidian helmet.  

You moved to the left, trying to keep it distracted, but the orc was swiping at you with its sword in one hand and swatting at Galadriel with the other. You ordered the archers to fire, but most of the arrows struck harmlessly over the thick armor. The ones that buried in its skin didn’t seem to slow it down at all.  

With a growl, the orc hobbled forward and shoved Galadriel to the ground. She cried out as she landed on her broken arm. Without hesitation, you lunged to put yourself between her and your attacker. It raised its blade above its head.

“Fire!” you screamed at the archers, but it was too late. Time seemed to slow down. Arrows flew. Your sword glinted in the light of the moon, sending the world up in a flash of white, and you swung.  

There was a thump and you looked to see the orc’s meaty arm lying in the grass, separated from its body. Its crooked fingers were no longer clasped around its blade. You blinked and gasped, suddenly hit with a wave of pain, and looked down to see that the blade was buried in your stomach.  

One of the archer’s arrows struck clean through the orc’s bare neck, and it was dead before it hit the ground. The sound of it rattled your brain. You felt blood gushing from your torso and trickling down the front of your white nightgown. Your hands grasped the hilt of the orcish blade, but you didn��t have the strength to dislodge it. Your knees gave out and you crumpled.  

Galadriel was frantically calling out your name, but her voice soon melded into the sounds of swords clashing and orcs roaring in the battlefield around you. Your vision went blurry, your lungs desperately searching for air; you were drowning, and all you could see was red before the night itself bled over the trees, overtaking your body completely.  

*****

Elrond rode on a steed of wind and rain. The sky over the next range of hills was darkening so quickly it was as if clouds of ink had been spilled from the heavens, leaking down to the earth in the form of icy droplets that stung his eyes and soaked through his cloak. His heart was pounding in tune with the beat of his horse’s hooves on the soil. Desperately, he pressed one hand against his heart, where (Y/N) had tucked the daylily. He had taken it out each morning of his journey and run his fingers over its soft petals, knowing that with every step he was farther away from her, but feeling her presence in his mind at the very thought of her face.  

He pictured her now and fervently prayed that she was unharmed. Elrond had only been in the dwarven kingdom two days when Durin informed him of the attack on Lindon. The report hadn’t come with many details, only word of casualties among the elves. Elrond was trying to ignore the fact that (Y/N) would have been on the front lines, leading the defense.  

He urged his horse faster. Lindon’s sunset-orange elm trees came into view. He sped into the kingdom, past the gates, and into the royal courtyard. The midnight battle occurred over a day ago, but Elrond could still see the bloodstains painting the ground, a canvas saturated with too much color. He averted his eyes as he dismounted his horse and rushed into the palace.  

Lindon’s exquisite halls, which usually shimmered with magic and light, were opaque and desolate, echoing the sound of thunder and rain pattering against marble. No one was about roaming the palace grounds. It almost seemed that the kingdom was deserted.  

He spotted Gil-galad as he turned the corner, standing in the hall outside the infirmary. The High King, usually so serious and serene, was gazing in concern at the inside of the room.  

“My King,” Elrond said as he approached. “I came as soon as I heard of the attack.”

Gil-galad nodded solemnly. “The Dark Lord sees too much. I’m afraid if he were to advance again, with double the forces, we may not be able to hold our position for long.”

“Our army. Is it...?”

“Intact? Yes. Yet not entirely stable. All we can do is wait and recover.”

“And the wounded?”

The King looked at Elrond and in his eyes was utter sorrow. “Perhaps you should go in.”

Elrond bowed, feeling as though his thoughts were laid bare. With his heart in his throat, he steeled his emotions and stepped into the infirmary.  

It was a wide, circular room, the far side bordered by an arched veranda that opened out onto a terrace with a view of the waterfalls. Curtains of leaves were draped over the arches to keep out the rain, cloaking the room in dim light. Cots layered with forest-green silk were placed evenly about the space. Nearly every one was occupied by a wounded elf. A handful of healers moved about the room, pressing cold cloths to foreheads and spoon-feeding herbal concoctions. A scatter of lit candles cast the place in a sleepy red hue like blood washing away in a river.  

Elrond walked among the wounded. Most of them were familiar faces. Some had sheets pulled over their heads. Others were so scarred and bloodied or covered in salve that he couldn’t recognize them. But there was one elf he was searching for in particular.  

He found her on a cot by the far wall. Her face was so gray that she looked on the verge of melting into a puddle of raindrops. Heavy gauze was wrapped around her navel up to her sternum. Her hands rested peacefully at her sides.  

Elrond’s heart broke at the very sight of her. (Y/N) looked so drained, so lifeless- the stark opposite of the lively elf maiden he knew.  

He lowered into the chair at her side and took her hand in his. Her fingers were like ice. Fighting the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes, he whispered, “I’m here, hiril vuin. It’s me.”

She didn’t stir. Elrond could almost imagine that she was a statue made of marble, carved by a delicate hand, framed in stormy light. Her breathing was so shallow it was hard to believe she was alive at all.  

Elrond didn’t know how long he sat there, staring at her unmoving form. He murmured sweet nothings under his breath as he stroked her palm, as if his whispers would coax her from her sleep.  

A healer came by at some point to check up on (Y/N), but there wasn’t much to do besides dab her forehead with a cloth and make her as comfortable as possible. The healer hummed an old elven healing song over her before moving on.  

“Come back to me,” Elrond whispered as soon as the healer was out of earshot. “You are the light in my life, (Y/N). I cannot walk the darkness alone.”

He reached into his cloak and brought out the daylily. The tips of its petals were wilting, as if responding to the condition of its giver. He leaned over and tucked the flower into (Y/N)’s hair. “There was never a moment you escaped my thoughts,” he said. “You, nin lilui, my daylily, are my dearest friend. Yet you are also so much more.” A tear traced its way down his cheek and dripped onto her fingers. Elrond caressed her cheek, his voice breaking. “You are so much more to me.”

He stayed by her side as the night passed. Soon enough rogue streaks of dawn shone through the curtains. Weariness and heartache weighed him down, but he couldn’t sleep while she was like this. Her eyes moved rapidly beneath her eyelids like she was trapped in a dream and couldn’t find the way out.  

Elrond pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “Dawn is here, nin lilui. Do not let the darkness claim you.”

(Y/N) made a sound in the back of her throat. Her brow furrowed in pain. “Nin onlui mel...”

Elrond sat up straight. He searched her face for signs of life. “(Y/N)?”

She mumbled unintelligibly in Elvish. Elrond’s heart raced. “It’s me,” he said. “It’s Elrond. I’m here.”

“Nin onlui mel,” she muttered. “Mi van me, nin mel...”

Where are you, my love?

Emotions clouded Elrond’s mind in a swift blur. She was on the verge of consciousness. She was going to be okay. His daylily hadn’t left him. And yet a bitter taste filled his mouth.  

She was calling out for her true love. And it wasn’t him.  

*****

You ran through an endless forest. Black trees like twisting claws kept bursting from the dirt, redirecting your path. The hungry screams of your enemies echoed from all sides, and you spun in confusion and fear, unsure where to run. You had no weapon. Your nightgown was drenched in blood. Your heart beat frantically in your chest like you were a wild, hunted animal.  

You followed the line of trees, but shadows formed illusions in the darkness. The trees seemed to grasp at you, pulling your hair, tearing your clothes. Everything looked the same. There was no way out.  

The screams sounded closer now. You turned and ran, but the ground was wet and you slipped. When you got to your knees, you realized you had fallen in a pool of your own blood.  

Your vision was hazy, but you could see vicious shapes snarling and snapping out of the corner of your eye. You felt so weak, so tired. Looking up at the gray sky, you were ready to give up hope.

“Elrond,” you sobbed. You yearned for him with an aching you couldn’t express. The thought of him was like sunlight in this dark place. Your Elrond- kind as summer, gentle as a breeze. “Where are you?”

Your enemies howled, and the world was then no more.  

*****

You didn’t remember opening your eyes.  

At first, you weren’t sure what was a dream and what was reality. The shadows seemed to linger around your body, their wispy hands trailing against your skin. Your head felt like it had been stuffed with cotton. The gray sky had disappeared, and the light of day was pouring into the room from somewhere.  

You blinked, feeling like your eyelids were made of iron. Your entire body ached. An incisive pain ripped through your stomach as you woke, bringing your surroundings into focus. You laid on a cot in the infirmary. Sitting to your left was an elf with tousled brown hair.  

“Elrond?” you groaned. It was as if your throat had been charred with firewood.

"(Y/N),” he sat forward, holding your hand. In his eyes were a million emotions.  “It’s okay. I’m here.”

The sight of him was going to make you cry. “Oh, Elrond.”

He quickly poured you a glass of water and held it to your lips. “Drink this.”

You obliged, though just the movement of your neck set your torso on fire. You had been wounded in battle countless times, though never as bad as this.  

“You came back for me,” you said. Your voice sounded scratchy to your own ears.  

Elrond looked on the verge of tears. He smiled at you, and despite your pain, giddiness fizzed in your veins. “No sooner had I been in Khazad-Dum two days when Durin gave me word of the attack. I set off again that same hour. I came as fast as I could.” He looked down. “(Y/N), I am so sorry.”

“Elrond,” you reached out and cupped his face. “I am a soldier. Battles happen. Warriors fall. Nothing is your fault.”

He closed his fingers around yours. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. His eyes were drawn and his hair was a tangled mess. You had the urge to run your fingers through it.  

“(Y/N),” he said carefully, “What were you dreaming of?”

You closed your eyes again, remembering the figures in the darkness, the gnarled trees moving you about the forest like a ghost, the way you were drenched in blood.  

“I thought I was dead,” you responded weakly. “There was darkness, and I was lost- there was so much blood...”

“You were calling out for someone in your sleep,” he said softly.

“I was? W-who?”

You saw the answer in his eyes before he spoke. “’Nin onlui mel.’”

Silence like an ocean stretched between you two. You turned to face the terrace, where the curtains had been pulled back to provide you with a view of the waterfall. “My true love,” you translated, unable to look at him.

He let go of your hand, placing it at your side. He didn’t speak for a long time. The silence was devastating.

Eventually you couldn’t take it anymore. “Elrond-”

“(Y/N)-”

You turned to face him again. He didn’t meet your eyes.  

“It would be a lie to say some part of my heart does not ache,” he said. “Yet the desire of my heart is for you to be happy. I will not get in the way of your devotion to another.”

You tried to sit up, but a wave of nausea forced you back down. “Elrond, I don’t understand.”

“I am sorry if I have been a bother. It was foolish of me to think...to think with such selfishness.”  

“What are you saying?”

He glanced at you. “Whoever he is, as much as I wish not to be, I am, shamefully, envious. I only hope that you can forgive me.”

“No.” You shook your head. “No, Elrond, you don’t understand. There isn’t someone else.” You took a deep breath, gathering your courage. “Nin onlui mel. It’s you. It’s always been you.”

His expression matched himself on the day you’d given him the daylily- as if your small kindness was as valuable to him as sparkling treasure. “Me?”

You nodded. “I cannot help it. You are the water to my soil; you have made spring bloom once more in my heart where I thought it not possible. You give me hope. My soul longs for you, nin mel. I love you as I love life.”

Tears fell from his eyes. He was beautiful. He brushed a stray curl from your face and murmured, “And to truly live is to love. Will you allow me to love you with all of myself?”

“My love,” you whispered, “I cannot live any other way.”

His lips were soft as he kissed your temple. He leaned his forehead against yours, and in that moment, you had the world.

Masterlist

[aemiron-main]

staring at this s5 bts and s1 will falling out of a tree in the ud vs him disappearing on mirkwood road/in Mirkwood vs the hobbit movies on the s4 board vs the scene in the movies and the book where bilbo climbs up the tree in mirkwood to get above the forest to try and find a way out/briefly escape the hallucination effects caused by the forest (technically caused by leaving the path in the forest)

(and the fact that bilbo specifically climbed an oak tree vs a drift i’ve been working on re: oak trees and the creels in st & scott’s “jason and the talking oak” painting in his house in s1 & “tie a yellow ribbon” playing with barb in s1 & the “around the old oak tree” line from that song & “green green grass of home” being used in s2 & the “old oak tree” line from That song vs that song having huge connections to both victor and henry & being about a man on death row in prison who’s dreaming of his home vs the tfs “its not real/its a dream hallucination etc” stuff & the mirkwood hallucinations & the nina prison stuff & victor in prison & tfs henry in the lab at the end vs him being strapped to the chair very much like an electric chair/death row)

(And also the green green grass of home thing vs the man in that song dreaming about returning to his old home vs that bts of jamie and nell/nell at the creel house & the idea of henward returning to his home but it’s not actually real just like in the song)

(also staring at will falling here vs patty falling off the bridge at the end of tfs vs henward falling through dimension x during nina vs gandalf falling off of the bridge of khazad-dum in lotr & will the wise being paralleled to both saruman and gandalf)

[thekingofwinterblog]

They dug too greedily and too deep

One line that has always bothered me from Tolkien's legendarium, is Gandalf's condemnation of the actions of the Longbeard Dwarves of Khazad-Dum, later known as Moria.

Moria was the grandest city in the history of middle earth, and not by a small margin either, a marvel unlile any other, creates by hard work, dedication, and industrious spirit. And unlike so, so many other great treasures and places in Tolkien's legendarium, there was no harm here. Nature was not destroyed, natural beauty was not despoiled, other people did not suffer for Durin's Folk to prosper.

Almost everywhere else, when tolkien critiques a place or people, he very clearly lays out the big failing underpinning of the society that led to its fall, decline or conflict.

The leaders and people of Gondolin refused to leave their beloved city, even when it had been long foretold that they would need to leave it, and so everyone but 800 died there along with the wonder of that hidden vale.

Their great hubris was a prioriticing beauty and home over their own kind, living people, who's very existence and lives was far, far more valuable, important and beautiful than Gondolin ever was.

Gondor's decline was in large part because it's numenorean population stopped focusing on the next generation, the future that actually mattered, in favor of venerating ancestors who were long since in the grave.

Same as gondolin, only replace their love for their material city, with their ancestors.

The humans, elves and dwarfs at Erebor almost murder each other because their leaders are all too proud to make a peaceful negotiation and sharing of the spoils, and would rather kill each other than give have to give anything beyond what they themselves has deemed as "enough".

This is a clear cut example of how greed almost led to complete catastrophy.

What happened to Moria though, at the surface doesnt seem to fit this.

They dug, and dug, and dug, until they awakened Durin's bane... But Durin's Bane was not a natural part of the misty Mountains. He was an intruder who came here long ago.

Yet the way Gandalf described the doom of their civilization as something that would always come if they went down, down Into the mountain, he makes it sound like this was always going to be the outcome.

From a logical perspectice it makes sense... But from a moral one? At the surface, the dwarves going down, rather than east, west, north or south, or up, doesnt seem like it should be any different. The motivation was the same, and if there was a natural sin or hubris for that, their greed would not be all that different if they went in any of the other directions. And yet endlessly going down was different somehow.

A moral failing that just like Gonfolin prioriticing their stone over their people, or Turin's pride and vainglory leading to the fall of Nargothrond, would lead their civilization to ruin.

The question of course, is why? Why was going down deemed a moral failing of the Dwarves by Gandalf and by extension Tolkien?

Well, the answer comes if you look at moria from the side, because if so, you realize the dwarves were tempting fate long, long before they ever stumbled unto Durin's bane.

Durin's bridge spans over an enormous chasm, so deep that the Dwarves have never reached the bottom, and down there at the bottom is an enormous subteranean cavern and lake.

And in this lake, and in the caverns directly around it, there are things. Nightmarish things, so terrifying, that two Maia, upon reaching this place, rather than finish their battle here, instead flee the place in terror, and make their way back to Khazad-Dum.

That on it's own speaks volumes of what sort of horrors these creatures must have been, but it goes beyond that.

The way Gandalf describes them, and the way he refuses to even talk about them in depth in the light of the sun brings to mind some lovecraftian horrors that lurks in the depths of the earth, where they gnaw at the very roots of the world.

And what little we do know of what these creatures must have been further emphasizes this, for they are clearly describes as Older than Sauron.

This all on it's own gives us a good idea of what these things are, for there is only one, single creature in the legendarium who seems to fit that bill, and she is definitly an eldrich abomination.

Ungoliant, the enormous spider abomination from the first age sticks out like a sore thumb, having powers that are completely outside of the usual magic system of the world, but far more disturbingly, she is described as coming "from the void" aka the primeal outer space as the most likely of her origins, and she crept into the world after it was made.

She, and she alone is the only creature other than Eru himself that fits the bill of "Older than Sauron" for Sauron was there at the worlds creation, but the void was from before even that.

It is very likely then, that Ungoliath was one of these "nameless things" whose kin, now during the third age delved beneath the world.

And there is more that suggests this to be the case. For Unholiath before she vanished from recorded history was last seen in a place in Beleriand called Nan Dungortheb, the valley of dreadful death, where in the mountains above the valley, she bred forth a race of monstrous, giant spiders, such as Shelob.

But she and her spawn was not the only ones who lived here. For along with these monstrosities, there lived men here. Clans of mysterious renegade men, who carved altars to strange, heathen, nameless gods, who were neither the Valar nor Morgoth, and who's very laughter from the mists, brought fear and terror, even into the likes of Turin Turambar.

And to further seal that there is a definite connection here, the northern part of the valley, and the mountains where these terrifying spiders and men dwelt, was one of the few olaces to survive the war of wrath, by the far the largest landmass that survived of Beleriand, when it sunk into the sea... As if some greater power ensured it would remain standing.

Today it is the island of Tol Fuin.

And for all we know, both the spiders, and the men who worshipped these terrible "gods" still live there.

In my opinion, it is probably an underground tunnel and cave system on this island, that if you go down, down, down far enough, and keep going, slowly, but surely, you will find your ways to the caverns beneath Khazad-Dum, and in ages past, when the Balrog of Morgoth fled the war of wrath, it was this passage he used to find a deep, deep hole to hid in, where the Valar could not find him. He has to have gotten there somewhere, and clearly there is a connection between the island and the things beneath Moria.

But with all of this in mind, with these horrible creatures under Khazad-Dum, why was it such a cardinal sin for the Dwarfs to dig deeper?

It was a horrific danger yes, and clearly it was an absolutely terrible idea, regardless of wheter or not there was a Balrog, but why was it it a moral sin where they should have known better?

Well, rhe answer comes if you take another look at the map. From Gandalf's description, one would assume that the great lake was miles, and miles and miles and miles beneath the lowest point the dwarves ever dug.

Theyre not though. That well that Pippin threw a rock down? It goes WAY deeper than where the abyss ends. And it was down beneath that well, that the Balrog seemes to have been when the fellowship came.

Allow me to repeat that. There was a well established, and probably old well in Moria, that went ALLLLL the the way down to these caverns where these nameless things roamed.

Then if we trace the route Gandalf and the Balrog made back to Khazad Dum, we don't know exactly where the two different carved systems of passages interconnected, but interconnect they did, and if that side passage that leads to the Redhorn Lodes is anything to go by, this was probably a very well known and used part of Moria.

Which, if that's true, it it completely changes the ballgame.

Because if so, the dwarves didn't just crack a wall one day, and then accidentally awaken a balrog. No, they dug down, down, down, until they stumbled unto these strange tunnels that were no their own... And kept going anyway, interconnecting them, delving deper, exploring, regardless of the fact that at some point, some Dwarves MUST have stumbled on to the creatures that lived here.

And yet they kept going. They found these tunnels leqding to eldrich abominations, and rather than sealing them, and going the opposite way, they just kept going, following the Mithril lodes down, down, down into the depths, down to the mountain roots, heedless of the obvious danger, all in the search of more and more Mithril... Right up until they awoke something that would follow them back up through the tunnels, they themselves made.

They dug much too greedily... and far, FAR too deep. No they kept digging, long, long , long after the point they should have stopped, the point where all signs and common sense would have told them to go back and never go this way again.

That was the sin of Khazad-Dum. That was their greed and folly, and blinded by greed, they ignored all sense and wisdom in the pursuit of Mithril beyond down the level that was their birthright, beyond the mountain's depths and into the roots of the world, where nameless horrors lie... And one of these horrors followed them home.

[rings-of-power-realm]

Finally watched the trailer on my TV IT LOOKS SO EPIC I AM VIBRATING DHKFGHFGEH

I'm super worried about Durin and Disa is this the fall of Khazad Dum?

SAURON

Also was that Orthanc at the end?

aah theres so much to take in wish I didn't have to cook dinner and do shopping tonight dhfgsdhfgaj but I'll definitely be interested in everyones theories what excited you the most and can't wait to see all the beautiful gifs and things people are gonna make.

Kinda overwhelmed tbh and this was just the teaser trailer! S2 being released in August so we should get another trailer in like July hopefully! I also still have to watch the behind the scenes featurette. SO MUCH TO DO! WE ARE SO BACK MY LOVELIES <3

[dwimmer-crafty]

I like to imagine the moment Gimli stands up in the ruins of Khazad-dum and sings The Song of Durin for the company as the moment Legolas first falls hard.

Gimli: But still the sunken stars appear / In dark and windless Mirrormere / There lies his crown in water deep / Til Durin wakes again from sleep

Legolas: Well, fuck. He can wake ME from sleep ANYtime. Wait. What?

[jiubilant]

Whiterun, Solitude & Riften :) happy skyrim saturday monday

Whiterun - Do you tend to do Bleak Falls Barrow before or after meeting with Farengar?

i always go to farengar first! i've been rewatching the lord of the rings with my sister (we started with the rankin-bass hobbit adaptation and are working our way through jackson's original trilogy to bakshi) and it just clicked for me after all these years that farengar's honor-name "secret-fire" is probably a reference to gandalf's dialogue at the bridge of khazad-dum

Solitude - Who's your favorite Jarl? Who's your least favorite? Why these?

elisif and idgrod are my favorites...i want to write more about both of them soon. skald's my least-favorite. he's not even a skald

Riften - What's your favorite guild? How do you feel about their questline?

well it's winterhold <3 who's surprised. over the years i've honestly come to love every single one of its goofy plotholes...i'm replaying the questline right now and am glad of it because it made me realize that my characterization of a few faculty members was starting to drift a little left of canon lmao

[lesbiansforboromir]

Just saw your posts abt the return to Moria songs - was about to ask if you'd got your hands on the game yet! After the trainwreck of the gollum game I'm rlly interested in your opinions/thoughts on return to Moria, lore wise and mechanically as a game, the trailers always looked great & development sounded like it was going well but since it came out I've mostly been seeing poor reviews. What's the lesbiansforboromir verdict so far?

RTM?? HAS?? POOR REVIEWS?? I'll- m. I suppose. People are entitled to be wrong. Anyway well I fucking love this game.

Honestly I dont want to talk about it as a game like the gameplay is fun, I like exploring and mining and making my little bases with all my friends okay, do you want to be a dwarf and do dwarf things in The Dwarf Place with 7 of your little dwarf friends?? Yes?? Good! The game is literally only 31£ which in comparison to most titles that come out these days is so emminently affordable I was honestly shocked I could get it.

I suppose to be clear I was a beta tester for this game like I've been rooting for it for ages so I guess I was primed to enjoy it but!! Like!! What I actually want to talk about is Return to Moria as a piece of art earnestly engaging in dwarven spirituality and narrative as something moving and poignant in and of itself. The mood and narrative of the game is built more on the experience of playing the game than any story or dialogue.

You have come from any corner of dwarvendom, at Gimli's calling, to reclaim Khazad-dum after Sauron's destruction. For some reason though, the doors both east and west are blocked, the pass code no longer works. In attempting to mine through there is an accident and you fall through the floor into Moria, alone.

Now, I would posit that there are two very different games within this game. On the one hand, you can play with friends. You fell through with a few other dwarves and after finding each other you begin to figure out what to do. You deligate tasks of resource collecting and exploration and base building, someone will cook breakfast for the group in the morning for you to all have together, when you mine together your voices join up into lovely shanty-like melodies and at the end of a hard day or some victory you have a mug of ale together and sing around a fire. If you fall, there is someone to pick you up and the burden of the shadow is born by all, it feels right. You can also distribute different 'masterworks' between all of you, so you are never in the dark, you can always mine swiftly through obstacles and someone can offer you a restorative if you need one. The feeling is so right, like this is simply how dwarves always should be, and as you more rapidly clear rubble and repair the world around you the sense of togetherness and reclaiming a home are very powerful. You still long for Durin's return, you sing his song together each time you mend his statues (all my group instinctively waited for everyone to be gathered before mending any of Durin's statues) but you also feel a part of the great dwarven whole and it makes the game a kind of hopeful determined experience. Like yes the damage of the past is great, and the future is uncertain, you have no guiding light. But you do, you have each other, the dwarves will endure and bring their own light to dark places once again. Together.

But if you are playing alone? It is an entirely different experience. And the singing is really the clearest expression of that difference. Whereas with friends your voice will be raised with your fellows and produce really pleasant melodies, alone there is only you. It seems obvious, but there is something about being on your own, mining an iron vein because you need weapons and armour to defend yourself against the orcs that you can see and hear watching you from the darkness, waiting to strike, and you begin to sing, just to yourself, in a voice that is often not particularly beautiful, but you have to do something just to make yourself feel less alone, to calm your own nerves when you feel like a wolf could silently creep up behind you and attack at any moment (a real threat that happens a great deal during solo-play). It is not joyful anymore, it is desperate, you always start off by humming as though you need to psych yourself up to actually raising your voice in the hollow halls. You are always running out of space in your inventory, one dwarf alone cannot carry everything needed to set up safe havens everywhere you want, and as for masterworks? You have to choose between easy light and a raft of other far more useful things like a cask of miruvor, an unbreakable shield, a pickaxe that cuts your mining time in half! You will still choose the light in the end. Where all the leftover dilapidated bases you find felt cosy with friends, now they feel empty, too much space for just one dwarf. You drink and dance alone now, at the end of a weary day, trying to buoy yourself into enduring another one tomorrow, there is no one to celebrate successes or commiserate failures with. And it FEELS wrong, a dwarf alone in here feels wrong, that community you want to turn too for guidance isn't there, and neither is Durin. The sensation that King Thorin Stonehelm III was right, that you should have waited for Durin's return before trying to restory Khazad-dum, is most powerful in soloplay.

The only time you feel that togetherness, that you dont feel alone, is when you mend one of Durin's statues. Whilst you start off singing the song of durin alone, as you continue other voices join you in an uplifting veneration that every dwarf knows. It's the only time in solo-play that you will hear more voices than just your own. It's like a way to connect to the great whole that is the dwarven people, that you are so cut off from right now but that is never wholly gone, as Durin is also never wholly gone. He is the conduit that connects every dwarf in the world and the longing for him is far more potent in playthroughs where he is the only dwarf you can turn too. Despair is a literal mechanic in the game that will slowly sap your life away if you spend too much time alone in the dark.

So a solo experience of the game more emphasises this fear of the future, fear of the unknown, of walking alone into a world that is dark and dangerous and full of pain and loss. You still have victories, but it is gruelling and each one feels more miraculous.

So that's my take, also obligatory mention of the coolest fucking multiplayer gaming moment of my life where me and three friends walked the pilgrim's road of Durin, found the source of the Kibil-nala where a great monument is built as shrine to Durin's passage, restored it and sang to it together (all of us deathly silent in voice chat just to listen) and the song ending just before we were attacked by a horde of orcs rushing into the chamber whereupon us FFFUCKING NERD ASS BITCHES turned around yelling (in our real human voices, not discussed beforehand) 'Baruk Khazad' and 'Khazad ai-menu' with our weapons raised and defeated the orcs at the threshold LIKE... Theoden screaming 'death' levels of adhrenaline and emotional investment I tell you.

Anyway I have to go now, LOTRO's Umbar update finally downloaded ciao

[invisiblewashboard]

Small Child's Thoughts on "The Bridge of Khazad-Dum"

Why do they need to know what Balin’s fate was? He’s dead. That was his fate.

Why would someone slash and stab a book?

Was Ori one of the dwarves that went with Bilbo? I just cannot remember. There are way too many names now.

Uh oh. “Doom doom” is a bad sound.

I told you orcs and goblins were coming!

Wait, why was Frodo against the wall? (Because he got stabbed.) AGAIN?!

Well, Frodo might not be dead but if he got stabbed again, he is going to be dead. (Well, this wasn’t a Morgul blade. There wasn’t poison in it that will turn him into a wraith.) Oh. But still, he got stabbed so he should probably die soon.

Gandalf should use his staff for light. If he doesn’t they will fall down and be caught.

Uh oh. Fire. But I guess they can see, so that’s good.

What is a Balrog? Can you show me a picture? Oh. It looks like Te Kā from Moana, like a great big fire monster. Maybe Gandalf can just throw water on it? Te Kā cannot touch the water so maybe a Balrog can’t either.

Hey, when you and Daddy say, “You cannot pass” are you pretending me and my sisters are Balrogs? (Sometimes you can be as fearsome and destructive as a Balrog!) That is not an answer to my question. I do not think it’s kind to say me and the girls are Balrogs.

Wait. Wait, why was Gandalf gone? Couldn’t they just grab him and pull him out?

(A pause for a few actual tears shed in honor of Gandalf. Was not expecting that.)

(What did you think of this chapter, Small Child?) *Thumbs down, hiding his face in his arm, refusing to look at me*

[sallysavestheday]

Friday Favorites (21 June 2024)

A lovely range of deliciousness this week:

sisyphus, unhappy (M: 12K, WIP) by @tobermoriansass. Post-Return Curufinrod, and the first 4 tags are Accidental Marriage, Existentialism, Heresy, and Infidelity. Plus snooty Maglor and musical theory. What's not to love??

to sleep, perchance to dream (G: 2K) by @a-tehta. Glorfindel during the Fall of Gondolin. Ouch. Not the usual lighthearted G of this series, and still excellent.

revenant (T: 6K) by @welcomingdisaster. Maedhros and Nerdanel, after he returns. Destroys me every time I read it. Parenting, argh!! Being parented, argh!!

Such lamps as once shone in Khazad-dum (G: 100 words) by @hhimring. A delightful wee Celebrimbor and Narvi drabble that somehow fills about a million prompts and incorporates references from multiple Ages. Read the notes!

Klexos: Views of the Death of Míriel (G: 2K) by Chestnut_pod. Guide to an exhibit of representations of the death (and life) of Miriel. Marvelously complex and layered, with many moods and meanings. Come for the pathos, stay for the tacky tourist brochures!

Enjoy!

Previous recommendations of all shapes and sizes are at my friday favorites tag.

[necarion]

I have seen the "what f-word invocation would you slip into PG-13 LOTR" discussion come around again. Since I cannot find it right now, I'll share the perfect answer here:

Gandalf is clinging to the ledge in Khazad-dum, Balrog's whip around his leg. Where he normally says "Fly, you fools!", in my version he looks down and says "Fuck." and falls.

[welcometolotr]

Elrond doesn’t know what his great-grandmother looked like.

[read here or on ao3]

Elrond doesn’t know what his great-grandmother looked like.

Every work of art that he sees - murals, illuminations, paintings, sculptures, torn-up charcoal sketches - looks different. Sometimes she’s got light skin and short hair. Sometimes she’s blue, with grass growing out of her scalp. Sometimes, her skin is as dark as the night, and with the shadows about her you cannot tell where her hair begins or ends. Are her eyes starry, or abyssal? Did she have hands, or branches?

Maedhros and Maglor never saw her. Anorin, one of Maglor’s horsemen, did, but her description was of a fog that surrounded you with music. 

He doesn’t have any memories of his mother speaking of Lúthien, but he does have a little pin that he was sure was hers. It was on his dress when he and Elros left Sirion for the last time, and its worn brass surface bears the profile of a bear with a music note in its mouth. “That’s grandma,” Elros told him confidently when they were eight, with all the wisdom of their favorite nurse Gereth. Elrond still wasn’t sure if he’d made it up.

The tales that circled Beleriand were nearly as muddled as the art. After the War of Wrath, it became common for each culture to standardize their depictions of Beren and Lúthien, so that Lindon’s stories told of a silver-haired couple with elegant hands and gowns of holly, and the city of Eastvein within Khazad-dum spoke of an impossibly tall pair with skin the color of smoky quartz and crystal droplets threaded through their beards, which they braided together when they were at rest.

Elrond liked that one. Moreso than Eregion’s tradition, at least, which spoke of a beautiful elleth who became old and withered as Beren became young and hale. But he also remembered all of the stories that came before, and with each one he looked in the mirror to try and tell whether any of them could be true.

And then, one chill autumn day, he read Bilbo Baggins’ description of the master of the last Homely House east of the sea. “The master of the house was an elf-friend,” Bilbo had written. “He was as noble and as fair in face as an elf-lord, as strong as a warrior, as wise as a wizard, as venerable as a king of dwarves, and as kind as summer.”

Elrond looked at his fingers then, turning them over to examine the quill-callouses that had long ago replaced sword-callouses. He recalled the last tale that he had received from Minas Tirith from Mithrandir, years back, whose narrator had spoken of an aged wraith whose purpose was to record the histories of all people; who drifted about an immense manor in a valley far to the east, his shadows cooling the hot sun and his hair floating about him as if unbound by nature’s forces.

The peoples of Lothlórien knew him to be an elf; an almost-prince who married their favored daughter. Those in Númenor before its fall knew him to be a king, a Man who had tugged on his bloodline and found the will to rule the Eldar, the king who allowed his brother to die and his kingdom to fade. And Bilbo, full of the cultural context of the shire with its second-cousins-four-times-removed and divorces and family comedy-dramas, knew him to be an elf-friend, aware of Men and Elves but maybe neither.

He looked at his hand again, watching for a moment as his nails flashed crystal-clear and caught the light. Then they became dull again, and he curled his fingers up. 

Maybe all of them were true, each in their turn.

[aspenrockymountainhigh]

🖤™️👁️

At the bridge of Khazad-dûm, Gandalf faced the Balrog known as Durin's Bane, and broke the bridge upon which they both stood, leaving the beast to fall into a seemingly bottomless chasm.

But the Balrog's whip lashed out, and grasped Gandalf by the knees, causing him to fall into the pit. While falling, Gandalf shouted "Fly, you fools" and vanished into the abyss.

The Bridge of Khazad-dum by Alan Lee

[welcomingdisaster]

If it hasn't been asked yet, I'm curious about "Top ten places to grab a bite if you’re doomed in Eregion"!

hi hi hi!! <3 that one is, more or less, just a fic of food descriptions. celebrimbor and narvi hit up all the nice places to eat in eregion and khazad-dum as their doom slowly draws nearer. and fall in love. a little bit