#the stiffbeard clan

[mrkida-art]

Based on this A Stiffbeard dwarf and their companion.

Certain parts of the Stiffbeard clan breed giant cats. The mother cats sometimes take it upon themselves to help out with the dwarflings.

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

Happy birthday from me! Thank you guys so much for another great week of getting to share some works and ideas. This story has been a labor of love and I'm so happy to get to share it with all of you.

Beneath the Oak Tree

Rating: T

Warnings: N/A

Status: Complete

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence | Pre-Quest of Erebor | Childhood Friends to Lovers | Dwarves and Hobbits Have the Same Lifespan | Bilbo's Grandmother has Dwarf Blood | Young Bilbo Baggins | Young Thorin Oakenshield | Angst with a Happy Ending | Misunderstandings | Thorin goes off to war | Non-Explicit Sex

Summary: Bilbo found Thorin when they were both quite young beneath an oak tree in the Shire, and it became a promise to meet there every chance they got. The oak tree saw them through years of friendship, falling in love, and even the day Thorin proposed before he was swept off on the tides of war.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Thorin dug in his heels hesitantly, but Bilbo only gave him an encouraging grin. He said something to Thorin, but all he could grasp was ‘come’, ‘mama’, and ‘help’. Not sure what to do, but hoping Bilbo would actually be able to help since they were friends now, Thorin let him lead the way through the forest. He tried not to despair as nothing seemed familiar to him. Luckily, Bilbo seemed to know the way very well. In almost no time at all, the trees began to thin and large hills dominated the landscape. Thorin thought that alone would have amazed him the most, but the moment they passed through the treeline, they became the subject of the stares of several beardless faces. 

All of the people had Bilbo’s same curly hair, same large feet, and same pointy ears even if they came in all different shapes and sizes and colors. Thorin thought he finally understood now. This was Bilbo’s clan! So he clearly wasn’t an elf then. Thorin ran through his lessons with Balin on the seven clans. Well Longbeards, Firebeards, and Stiffbeards were definitely out. Blacklocks didn’t seem likely either. Feet, there was one having to do with feet…OH! They must be from the Stonefoot Clan.

“Vemu (Greetings)!” Thorin called out, performing another bow.

He had thought that would maybe get the other dwarves to relax around him, but it somehow felt they were staring even more now. Thorin shifted on his feet, when a female voice called out.

“Bilbo Baggins!”

Bilbo winced beside him and Thorin couldn’t help wincing too. He knew that shout all too well himself. A dwarrowdam with plump cheeks and long curly hair came running up to them with her hands on her hips. Yep. Thorin could only imagine this was Bilbo’s mama. Not wanting to watch his friend get in trouble, Thorin let his gaze wander. His eyes lingered on the hill before them that all the other dwarves were lingering around. That’s when he realized the hill had windows and a door! It was a home!! Or perhaps a castle considering it was very large. And he didn’t see any mountains so he supposed the Stonefoots had to live somewhere, but still, how odd.

For more of this chapter, please click the AO3 link above!

[sillylotrpolls]

(Notes below poll)

Dwarves really do have a thing for reincarnation! Admittedly, they think it's largely confined to Durin "the Deathless", but hey, you never know. As for the different dwarf clans, I will sum up for you:

Longbeards: The super-bestest most special-est dwarves (if Elrond was a dwarf, he'd be a Longbeard)

Firebeards: Built at least one really nice city, possibly crafted the most beautiful necklace in the world, probably have red hair

Broadbeams: Built at least one really nice city, possibly crafted the most beautiful necklace in the world, probably don't have red hair

Ironfists, Stiffbeards, Blacklocks, Stonefoots: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Petty-dwarves: Outcast dwarves who were particularly fucked over by the narrative/Elves

[brighter-arda]

Day 4 @tolkienlatamandcaribbeanweek (Dwarves, Religious diversity): The Seven Clans

My day 3 and day 4 entries will be out of order due to computer problems. For day 4 I decided to represent the seven dwarf clans with seven different religions

Part 9 of toi's indigenous tolkien series

[id: images in rows of two.

Row 1 left: text 'Longbeards'. Photo of Jamaican Jews in the middle of a Star of David. The points of the triangle are parts of a photo of the mountain of erebor. Background is from the hobbit movies, a shot of inside of erebor. Row 1 right: Jewish cemetery gate with a star of david, somewhere in the Caribbean

Row 2 left: a santeria altar. Row 2 right: a Black santeria practitioner, text 'Firebeards'

Row 3 left: crowd of black brazilian women in white dresses practicing candomblé. Row 3 right: black and white photo of candomblé altar

Row 4 left: photo of mosque. Row 4 right: woman in hijab and a dress made like a Trinidad and Tobago flag, text 'Ironfists'.

Row 5 left: Taino person in a feathered headdress with necklaces, text 'Stiffbeards'. Row 5 right: art showing Zemi figures (believed to have held religious significance to ancient taino)

Row 6 left: purple Haitian vodou flag. Row 6 right: Haitians practicing vodou underground by firelight, text 'Blacklocks'.

Row 7 left: two indo-caribbean women from the 1800s, text 'Stonefoots'. Row 7 right: unspecified hindu temple

end image description.]

[porphyriosao3]

Day 9 - Duty

Deep in the polished basalt halls of the fortress of Kalilzumur King Ghurzum had had enough already, and the day had only barely begun. Not a good omen, he fumed, not at all, not at all. His chief advisor crept in, as though he wouldn't notice. Ghurzum fought back an irritated sigh. Puk always hunched down like that with bad news. Aggravating. "What?" he demanded curtly, barely glancing over from the ore projections in his hand. When an answer wasn't forthcoming immediately, he looked up, glared, and expanded on the topic at hand. "I said what now, damn it?" A thought occurred to him and he wished it hadn't. "And if it's another bloody request for another bloody shipment of bloody anything at all for those mole-shaggers over in Shahzurad, tell them to go suck Mahal's hairy sack! I swear, it's like they think starting a new colony involves stealing my whole kingdom bit by tiny bit and having it shipped by cart three days to the south!" Puk hunched a bit more but that was all. Still no response. Worse and worse. "Bones of the Mountain! Spit it out, Puk."

"There's been a message." Bloody useful. Why did he have advisors at all, the Stiffbeard king wondered sourly. He held out his hand imperiously, snatching the small scroll as soon as it was in view. Puk was a good dwarf for all his problems; he knew this. Phenomenal at logistics, could plan pretty much anything and make it work, but by Mahal's glowing hammer he couldn't explain how to flow downhill to bloody water.

Unrolling the parchment, Ghurzum squinted at it. The extreme angularity of the runes said it was from the Longbeards, which was already a bad sign. All respect to Durin, but he needed to hurry up and come back from the Halls because without him the whole clan was a short, sharp shower of shit and no more. Ever since they'd been run out of Khazad-Dûm it had been one damn thing after another. Whole lot of them couldn't find their own asses with both hands and a map from what he could tell. Even so, as he deciphered the message he could feel his blood boiling. "They what?!" he demanded furiously, making Puk (who was only beginning to uncurl) crunch into a small package again. "The filth," he shouted.

Puk didn't even pretend not to have read it. "What..." Puk muttered, clearing his throat and repeating himself a little more loudly. "What response do you wish to give? Will we send soldiers, or...?" he trailed off, fingers twining around each other.

"Aye," Ghurzum ground out. A king of a clan beheaded? His mouth filled with coins and his head flung out a gate by an orc? Thrór might not have been Ghurzum's idea of a perfect king for sure - mad as a rat in a mercury seep, for one thing - but no. That was irrelevant now. This was an insult that couldn't be borne. How such a thing came to be would have to be determined, but for now, they marched. He was already thinking of how to make this happen quickly. "Ready a thousand footmen, and a hundred on goats. We march for Dunland in a week at the latest. All the seven clans will come, and the Stiffbeards will do their duty. We'll not be found wanting." Puk nodded. Ghurzum could tell he agreed from his face, though it mattered not. All the clans - all dwarves - had a duty to respond to an insult like this. This 'Azog' would be brought down along with the whole bloody race of orcs, if it came to that, and Ghurzum felt it might. A thought struck him and made him smile; it wasn't a pleasant expression. "Send a message and tell Shahzurad to send a hundred dwarves too, and properly armored at that; time they finally pulled their weight, isn't it?" His snickering chased the aged advisor down the hall.

[swanmaids]

the petty dwarves and the forest elves

written for khazad week day 7, for the prompt “folkore and myths”. a third age dwarven fairytale.

do i think the hunted petty dwarves were eaten? not sure. do i think the dwarves think they were? absolutely.

Long before the Sun and the Moon were young, the first of our forefathers awakened. And after they awakened, they multiplied and formed the seven great clans that stand strong even today. Longbeards, Blacklocks, and Firebeards; Broadbeams, Ironfists, Stiffbeards, and Stonefoots.

 Now, we Dwarves are a proud people, a good people, and we have never as a whole been corrupted by evil. But amongst any group there will always be those who have done evil of their own volition, and so it was amongst the clans of the Dwarves. Each clan found amongst their number criminals; thieves and deviants and even killers of kin. The Dwarves argued for many an hour about what should be done with such criminals. Should they be killed in revenge? But that would surely lead only to more killing. Or ought they to be imprisoned? For how long? Eventually, the debate reached the Seven Kings, and they sat in thought for many days, until they came to a decision. And so it was decreed by the word of the Seven Kings themselves that the dwarves who had done evil would be cast out from the homes of their clans with their families into the wider world, and never again would their descendants walk under the halls of their ancestors. And these outcasts came to be called the Petty Dwarves.

Now, exiled from their homes forever, the Petty Dwarves wandered far and wide to find a place to live, and unsatisfied with everything this side of the Blue Mountains, they came to cross the border into the Drowned World- of course, this was long before it came to be drowned. First those from the Blue Mountains, and then those from further to the East, and so on. And when the Petty Dwarves reached the Drowned World, they looked for a place to live.

First, they came upon a flat, wooded plain. But “This place is too close to the Blue Mountains!”, they said. So they walked some more. Next, they came to a great green plain. But “This place has no good stone!”, they said. So they walked some more. Next, they came to a small cool plain. But “This place is too cold!”, they said. So they walked some more.

Finally, the Petty Dwarves came to a region of many great and dark forests. And they were uneasy, because it is not the nature of Dwarves to live under sky and branches. They wished to continue on. Nevertheless, they had been walking for many days and many leagues, and they were tired. The Petty Dwarves bedded down in the forests to sleep.

As it turned out, the Petty Dwarves were not alone in the forest. As they slept, a group of Forest Elves came upon them, and many looked upon the Petty Dwarves, whom they had never before seen, with wickedness in their hearts. They looked upon the Petty Dwarves, not as a speaking people, but as animals to be butchered for their meat. And they made up their minds to eat them. However, the leader of the Forest Elves wanted to know first what they were, before he ate them. So the Forest Elves decided to convince their leader that the Petty Dwarves were truly animals.

Eventually the leader of the Forest Elves decided to wake the Petty Dwarves.

“What are you?” he asked.

 “We are Petty Dwarves,” the Petty Dwarves replied. However, the Forest Elves could not understand their speech.

“What is this hair that covers your bodies?” asked the leader.

“It is our beards,” said the Petty Dwarves, though the Forest Elves still could not understand.

“Only the beasts are so covered in hair,” said the wicked Forest Elves instead.

 “Why is your stature so small?” asked the leader.

“All Dwarves are made with short stature,” replied the Petty Dwarves.

“They are closer to the ground because they are beasts,” said the Forest Elves.

“Why are your ears so large and round?” asked the leader.

 “So that we may hear the words of the stone,” replied the Petty Dwarves.

 “It is so they may listen for predators,” said the Forest Elves.

And the leader of the Forest Elves hearkened to his kin, and decided that the Petty Dwarves were indeed beasts to be eaten.

The Petty Dwarves were bound and put into sacks and carried off to the dwelling of the Forest Elves. And when they reached that dwelling- the horrors that were in store! For indeed, the Petty Dwarves were put onto spits and roasted alive, and the Forest Elves gnawed the flesh off their bones like dogs. Then they ground down their bones to make their bread. And this they did to all of the Petty Dwarves, except one little girl, who was so tiny that she hid behind a tree trunk and was not caught.

Now this girl, a  darkhaired Broadbeam she was before her family was exiled, and her hair was dark as night. And she cut off all of her hair- even her beard!- and she made a cloak to wrap herself within so that no Elf could see her under the cover of night. Then she ran for seven days and nights, from the forest, through the cool plain, through the green plain, through the wooded plain, and back over the Blue Mountains.

When the girl reached the great hall of Belegost, she told the King of the terrible things she had seen. And he listened, and told his people never to trust the Elves of the Forests, and soon the word spread amongst all the seven Clans, and perhaps many were saved thanks to the bravery of the little girl.

And what happened to her? Well, she was still kin to the exiled Dwarves, and so after she had told her tale she was once again turned out of the halls of her ancestors. And what happened to her after that, nobody knows. 

[ironfoot-mothafocka]

#Dwecember - Eight Nights

So I was going to write dwarf-inspired chanukah fic, but then life happened. Still, here's some unapologetically Jewish holiday fic featuring dwarves. Menorah lighting, Stiffbeard customs, fried foods, remembrance and inter-cultural relations.

--

The Eight Nights

“I don’t understand the time of year, though—” gasped Gaelan as he huffed down the Ereborian street after Vadlik. Though Gaelan stood head and shoulders above the tallest dwarves, it was still a tight squeeze. He’d lived in Dale for ten years now, and never before had he been inside the mountain when the Festival of the Clans was happening. From Vadlik’s excited commentary in the month leading up to the eight nights, he knew that it was a big occasion for not only the Stiffbeards, but for all of the houses of the dwarves. Vadlik slowed, and proffered a leather drinking vessel to Gaelan. The Man took it warily and sniffed it, almost spluttering at the pungent stench of neat spirit. He swigged it anyway; it was colder than he had anticipated, with a blizzard howling down from the nothern hills. The stone under his feet was chilly enough to sap away any warmth his thick socks provided, and Vadlik’s breath puffed out before him in a cloud of wispy vapour. “I don’t know why,” said Vadlik after considering this for a moment. He shrugged. “Something to do? It is cold at this time of year, and we need the light of candles and lamps. The light helps us to see, binds us together. Makes us remember.” Vadlik tapped the side of his skull with a thick, leather-covered finger. At least he had the foresight to bring gloves and a hat with ear-flaps. “Remember is very important to all khazad. Darkness better for remember. The fire good, see many thing in fire when darkness is around.”

Even though the Stiffbeard’s Westron was still quite broken, Gaelan knew exactly what point he was making. There was, he supposed, a reason why even in the religious rites of Men, candles were lit in Temples and a sea of light transformed the prayers of petitioners into an otherworldly experience. Telling stories of old legends in the darkness of a winter night was enhanced by crackling red flames, which leapt and twisted together to create the forms of creatures and figures of ancient times. Remembrance was aided by candlelight, the same way that the races of Middle-Earth had been aided by the rising of the first sun. It was linked in ways that Gaelan couldn’t fully put to words.

They walked together in silence, Gaelan’s huge frame turning heads. Not only was he a Man, of course, but he was also close to seven foot tall. Some dwarves goggled up at him with their jaws hanging open, but Vadlik simply strode in front of him with a proud, disdainful stare, jutting out his jaw as if daring any of them to comment. Gaelan didn’t mind though; he knew his dwarven friend took it more personally (as he suspected he would do if their roles were reversed), but he knew for some more sheltered dwarves it was rare to see someone this tall so far inside Erebor. Still, he greeted everyone with a smile and a ‘Shamukh!’ where appropriate, Vadlik’s liquor burning his oesophagus as he tipped more of it down his throat.

Finally, they stopped in the middle of a square in the Eastern district of Erebor. Here was the confluence of the Red Mountain diaspora among the Longbeards, an enclave where East met West. Gaelan had spent time here, and he smiled down as a few of the dwarves around him waved and shouted his name jovially. Vadlik hugged some other Stiffbeards who were huddled around a brazier at one corner of the square, warming their hands with their hair bedecked in multi-coloured ribbons and the dwarrowdams sporting incredible hats. Something sweet-scented was burning, an incense that Gaelan had last smelled when he had travelled through Kikuama. He breathed in the robust, smoky air, feeling the hair in his nose tingle. A tug at his sleeve brought his gaze down. A small dwarf child was reaching up towards him, shaking something clutched in their fist. He bent down and opened his palm: a small, sticky pastry fell into it. “S’ganit!” Exclaimed Vadlik, who had drunk half the bottle of fire-water and was now weaving. “Very good to eat!” Gaelan popped it in his mouth. It was incredibly oily but coated in a thick layer of sugary syrup that cut through its density. It was delicious. He noticed then that an array of fried foods were being hawked around the edges of the square from various stalls: potato-cakes floated on top of vats of oil; other vendors sold salted, cheese-filled doughs from hand-carts; and a queue of dwarves lined up outside a nearby house, which had the shutters of its kitchen window thrown wide open and a portly Stiffbeard dwarrowdam tipping out rows of s’ganit by the tray full into the hands of customers. “Is this another custom?” Gaelan asked, as he chased Vadlik to the cheese-pastry seller. “Yes,” Vadlik said, waving a handful of coin towards the dwarf, “we have custom to light many oil lanterns, and therefore we eat everything fried in oil!” It was a loose connection to Gaelan, but he didn’t mind. Oil-fried foods was one of his favourite food groups.

After Vadlik had bought Gaelan and himself a dozen pastries and fried potato hashes, which he doused with a dollop of soured cream, they crouched down on the porch of a closed shop-front to eat. “So — what will happen tonight, then?” Gaelan asked, his eyes straying to the huge, unlit candelabra that had been erected in the centre of the square. It was eight-pronged, like a trident, built elaborately from brass. One of the candle-holders was positioned higher than the others at the left-most side, while the others were still lower. It stood around twice his height. “One of the elders of Stiffbeards will light this tonight,” Vadlik said, gesturing towards the candelabra. “They will make blessing for all of us, for our Clan, for our homeland.” “And each of the eight nights,” Gaelan went on, “is to commemorate a different house of the dwarves?” “The eighth night — final night — is for all of us. The seven coming together as one,” Vadlik corrected. “Tonight, night five, is a special night for Stiffbeards. Stiffbeard night tonight. Many songs, many dances. You see costume dances — dwarves will dress as animals and dance: many will dress as one mammoth!” “A mammoth! You mean, one for the head, and one for the arse?” Gaelan laughed, imagining him and Vadlik taking on the role of mammoth-dancing. He’d much prefer to be a head than a backside, though. “No — many dwarf! Sometimes six will be one mammoth on… ah—” Vadlik mimed something being attached to the bottom of his legs. “Stilts? They dance as a mammoth… on stilts?” “Yes,” said Vadlik, raising his eyebrow at him, “no short mammoth. Tall mammoth.” He supposed he was right about that. As more and more dwarves crowded into the square, Vadlik recounted tales of his youth as a drummer for a band of mammoth-dancers, and how competitive difference dancers got; not just those dressed as mammoths, but those who performed as a whole host of beasts and creatures for the fifth-night carnival. Snow leopards, birds, dragons, and even nuruk, ancestral spirits, all came alive in intricate costumes — stitched with a mosaic of spiralling, glittering beadwork, and even outfitted with moving eyes and mouths.

Before that, however, the lights had to be kindled. A hush fell over the square as an elderly Stiffbeard mounted a set of steps next to the candelabra, assisted by a carven cane. Their face was so deeply lined and brown that they looked as though they had been hewn from an ancient oak tree. Their plaited hair stuck out on either side of a huge, tiered fur hat, and their shoulders bowed under the weight of yak-pelt furs. Someone passed them a torch from below the steps, and they raised it high above their head. A few, commanding words of khuzdul were uttered, though their dialect and accent was so thick that Gaelan could barely understand with his limited knowledge of the dwarven tongue. Vadlik, however, intoned the set responses next to him solemnly along with the rumble of the crowd. The Stiffbeard elder bent forwards slightly, and touched the tip of the torch to the first oil well, the largest of the eight. It went up in a spurt of yellow flame. Then, slowly, they lit five more. Even at a distance, Gaelan felt the heat on his forehead, and shouted in a cheer as the whole square erupted in screaming and clapping. He grinned caught sight of Vadlik’s face, dark eyes reflecting the light in their depths. The beginning of a memory, perhaps. “Khag sameakh!” Vadlik said, gripping Gaelan’s forearm. “Khag sameakh, Vadlik,” Gaelan replied. Tonight he would remember the time they met, the words of khuzdul he had been taught that he still held dear, the many times he had sat at a cramped, food-laden dwarven table in a Stiffbeard’s house and been shown boundless hospitality. Tonight, his heart got just a little more dwarven.

[arofili]

in their halls of stone || Chapter 5: Amethyst

part of Heirlooms

A history of the Dwarven-Rings: from their gifting to the Kings of the Seven Clans, through the bellies of dragons, and into Sauron's grasp. Chapter 5: The Amethyst Ring of the Stiffbeards.

For @khazadweek​ Day 5: Stiffbeards! ft. old friendships, new friendships, and dastardly dragons.

START AT CHAPTER 1!

chapter 5 notes:

Rating: M | Major Character Death | Graphic Depictions of Violence Relationships: Sauron & Audun III (OC), Gudbrand II (OC) & Rûvek III (OC), Aiwareiks (OC) & Hrímil Frostheart Characters: Audun III (OC; Stiffbeard King), Sauron, Sindri VI (OC; Stiffbeard King), Gudbrand II (OC; Stiffebard King), Rûvek III (OC; Ironfist King), Hrímil Frostheart (LOTRO), Aiwareiks (Nazgûl OC) Word count: 2k

READ CHAPTER 5 ON AO3!

[talesfromtheshire]

Post 02

*Disclaimer: The following is personal headcanons treated as hobbit history for this blog.

The Mullcans

At the birth of the dwarves, Mahal, their creator, dropped the seven fathers into the world. Durin, father of the Longbeards, was dropped in the Misty Mountains at Gundabad. The fathers of the Firebeards and the Broadbeams were dropped in Ered Luin, and the other four fathers were dropped in the Sea of Rhun. The Ironfists and the Stiffbeards left to go east from there to the Red Mountains. The Blacklocks and Stonefoots traveled south to Ered Lithui. 

The Blacklocks and Stonefoots lived in harmony, but some of the Stonefoots found the environment of Ered Lithui to be barren and rough. A caravan, led by King Thrambek, traveled south seeking warmer climates and greener mountains. Little is known about their travels during this time period, but somewhere in their travels, they befriended a small tribe of Men. For a couple of centuries, they traveled together. As interracial pairings became more common between the two, a new breed began to emerge. A strange cross breed of dwarven sized beings with large mannish feet. They were given the name “Mullcan” which was (as best as could be determined) a butchered Mannish interpretation of the khuzdul word “malkân” or Halfling.

Eventually the Mullcans were all that were left of the group, and once they reached Sutherland, they were left with a choice. Sail west along the coast to the Blue Mountains, or head north to the Misty Mountains. Unable to come to a general consensus, the group split in half. The first group made it all the way to the blue mountain range of Ered Luin. They took to the wilderness, eventually stumbling upon a group of dwarves in exile for various crimes. While initially weary of each other, they eventually settled down together, and the first “petty dwarves” were born. 

The second group made slow progress, their numbers growing and splitting as they did (creating three clans of Mullcan). Some settled just south of the city-state of Rohan. Some made it all the way to the Greenwoods, but the majority eventually found a home at the base of the Misty Mountains. However, no matter where they went, they were given a new name based on the burrow-like homes they built in the ground: holbytas (hole-dwellers).

[angrenwen]

The Seven Houses of the Khazad by Artigas

Stiffbeards: Renowned Craftsman, they make their homes in ice caves on the vast frozen lands up north, starting around the ice bay of Forochel and all the way down in between the mountains of Angmar and the grey mountains (Ered Mithrim). Very secretive and peaceful, they avoid taking part in any troubles from the outside world at any costs. Despite their secretive ways, they are also accomplished merchants, and regularly travel vast spans of the frozen lands to trade with many diverse cultures. The items they create from exotic materials such as Ivory and bones from sea monsters are very sought after, in particular their fabled toys. Stiffbeards are ultimately free spirits, lovers of music, stories and the tribe above everything else. Stonefoots: They are the somewhat less developed branch of Durin’s folk, widely regarded as great miners, gem cutters and delvers. They are otherwise considered by many to be quite simple-minded, stubborn and difficult to deal with, but despite that they are greatly favoured by the Longbeards, which hold them in high regard as dependable and trustworthy allies. They dwell on the southern part of the Orocani on the east side, near the pinewoods and shores of the sea of Rûn. Broadbeams: Great merchants from Zirakbhund (Mallost) and later Mount Dolmed in the Ered Luin, they were Founders of the great city of Belegost (Gabilgathol). The Broadbeams are well known for their wealth, their prosperity, and the formidable fortresses they have built. They are also widely respected for their military might, and in particular for their legendary Dragon-Warriors. They are also considered the greatest armourers the dwarves had ever produced and were the creators of the fearsome Dwarf-Masks. Most prominent among the Broadbeams was King Azaghâl who wounded Glaurung the Dragon, and whose Dragon-helm was later passed down to Turin Turambar as part of his family heirloom. Longbeards: Noble and wise rulers, originally from the northern part of misty mountains on Mt. Gundabad (under which Durin himself is said to have awaken) and later on its southern ranges where they founded the great city of Khazad-dum, dug under the three peaks- Barazinbar, Zirakzigil and Bundushathûr. Regal, prosperous and traditionalist, they are the righteous heirs of Durin I The Deathless, and are therefore the supreme rulers of the dwarf kind. The Longbeards are held as a divine and sacred lineage by the other clans and command great power. Firebeards: Hot-headed, warlike and tough, Firebeards came from Nogrod (Tumunzahar) in the Blue Mountains. Supreme metalworkers, they are said to have invented maille. They are also hailed as the greatest Blade-smiths among Dwarves, and naturally many of the best came from their ranks, such as:  Gamil Zirak (said to be the greatest of all times, maker of the knife Angrist, the sword Andúril and the Dragon-Helm of Dor-Lómin), as well as the legendary Dwarf-smiths Telchar and Garmur. They befriended the elves with whom they traded profusely, and were commissioned by King Thingol of Doriath to delve Menegroth as well as to create treasuries and weapons for him. The necklace Nauglamír was their greatest creation for the King, and the cause of equally great woe. Ironfists: Proud, strong and fierce, the Ironfists are renowned for their formidable warriors of noble descent and their military might. Hailing from far up north on the Orocani mountains and near the gulf left by the now extinct sea of Helcar, they are said to be the first to unveil the secrets of Iron and Steel, which they brought to Durin as their gift when they answered to his call. They are a very warlike and greedy people though, and are accounted to have been involved in many shameful minor wars against other clans, particularly with the Firebeards, to whom they bear a grudge and consider to be their rivals. It is also with great difficulty that they accept to be ruled over by the Longbeards, and despite recognizing their authority as rightful rulers of the dwarfkind, they take every opportunity they can to act independently. Blacklocks: Great architects and Jewell makers that made their homes in the Mountains of Shadow’s far eastern side (Ered Glamhoth), among the remnants of Hildórien in the arid lands scorched by the never-ending sun. They were the first to develop civilization and are prodigiously rich and unbelievably proud. The Blacklocks are very famous for their wealth and they guard it with extreme avarice. They are also accused of being the “black sheep” of Durin’s folk and of being greedy and selfish, as well as of worse things such as dealing with orcs and perhaps even Mordor. Unfortunately, many times those accusations bear more than a hint of truth.

[vee-vee-writes]

The Hardest Day (Thorin x fem!reader)

A/N: This is the first fic I have written in a very long time so I am a little out of practice but I hope you like it. The dwarvish might not be 100% correct. 

The idea behind the y/n is that you name the character - I’ve called it an oc now because it’s not inclusive as I’ve gendered the character (I was confused about fic labelling)

Part two

The hardest day of (Y/N)'s life to date had been the day she had been made to leave her adad (father). In the days preceding the Battle of Azanulbizar her adad had been swamped under the weight of trying to help stay the King's madness. Although it was a hard decision, her amad (mother) had decided that it would be best to take her young dwarfling to live amongst her kin. The Stiffbeard's were a proud people that would do their best to help one of their own. No longer would (Y/N) must suffer the hardships that had befallen them after the Sack of Erebor. Furthermore, Y/N would get a proper education where she could become a proper Dwarven lady.

That night as the girl peeped through the crack in her door, she watched her khahay (family) fall apart. Pacing back and forth her father argued in harsh hushed whispers with her mother who was perched in an armchair in front of the fire. "You cannot take my only child from me. She is the future of our clan and I have as much right to make these decisions for her as you do" her father snapped. Calmly her mother reasoned back, "Now you listen to me and you listen good. Our nathith (daughter) is not safe here, she is not safe here, if she is the future of this clan and your love is as deep as mine then surely you wish for (Y/N) to grow up in a place where she can flourish. I have not made this decision lightly."

Her adad looked away, brow furrowed, and jaw clenched. Her mother reached out, gently grabbing him by the chin and guiding him to look back at her. "Amrâlimê (my love) this is a hard decision, but you know that it is best for our Mizimith (jewel that is young)" her mother spoke softly. A sigh of despair left his lips, head hung low. Her ama held him to her chest, tears pooling in her eyes. "Preperations have been made for us to leave on the morrow" her amad choked out as tears tracked down her cheeks. The two lovers embraced as they simultaneously felt their hearts shattering to pieces.

Rubbing fiercely at her eye’s Y/N whimpered at the thought of her family being broken. Rattling pants left her mouth as she fought desperately to gain back her breath as anxiety crept in like a thick fog creeps over a swamp. Out of the corner of her eye the girl noticed movement, her father was moving towards her room. Hurriedly the girl wiped the tears from her eyes and scrambled towards the bed, pulling the furs up and turning on her side away from the door.

The door creaked and heavy footsteps filled the silence. The bed dipped beside her and her fathers calloused hand caressed her hair. "I'll miss you Khajimel (gift of all gifts). Knowing that I will see you at the end of the everyday fills my heart with love and gets me through hard days. The thought of not being around to protect you or teach you, to miss you growing and learning fills me with an endless sadness. I long for the days of old where our kin were safe behind the stone walls of Erebor, and I could have provided with you with anything your heart desired." his voice was thick with emotion. The girl who had been trying hard to keep her tears at bay let out a sob, rolled over, and threw her arms around her adad's neck. Taken aback he wrapped her in a tight embrace shushing her gently. He placed a rested his forehead against her smaller one and wiped her tears with his thumb.

"I don't want to leave you adad" the little girl wailed as she clung to him. "I know my child, I know. I do not want you to leave either, but your mother is right, until our people have found safety and settlement this is no place for a small dwarfling like yourself." he said gently, squeezing his eyes shut as not to cry in front of his already distressed child. Sobbing Y/N buried her face into the furs of his coat, clinging to him desperately. He cooed at her, softly shushing her, and occasionally laying gentle kisses on her hairline. Eventually the young dwarfling drifted off in the arms warm embrace of her adad.

-//(Next Day)//-

Y/N was awoken with a start as her amad shook her awake. Blinking in confusion the youngling sat up, rubbing her eyes. "It's time to get up and have some breakfast before we leave" her mother uttered. Her voice was strained, and her eyes were rimmed red. Her usually neatly kempt braids were sloppily pulled together. The sight of her mother in distress upset Y/N and the events of the previous night flooded in. Whipping her head around she searched the room for her father but did not find him. Rising from the bed she undressed as her mother prepared a quick bath for her, telling her that it might be some time before she next bathed. Her mother was rough and hurried as she scrubbed the dwarfling clean. Just as quickly as she had gotten in the bath Y/N was out and dressed in a rather uncomfortable woolen tunic. Scratching uncomfortably at the fabric the girl heard a deep baritone chuckle from the doorway. Y/N's eyes snapped up where she found her adad resting against the doorway.

"Come out into the kitchen little one, I'll braid your hair for you while your mother finishes packing the things you will need" he said, smiling tenderly. Nodding the girl retrieved her brush and padded out after her father. He sat down on the rug in front of the fireplace. The soft glow lit up the room, dawn had not yet cracked in the sky. Y/N sat down cross-legged in front of him. His large hands unclasped her braid caps and began untangling the hair. Leaning into his touch Y/N smiled, it had been a long time since she had gotten to spend time with her adad like this. The dwarfling furrowed her brow, closed her eyes and tried desperately to burn this moment into her mind. If she left with her amad then it may be some time, if ever, that she spent a moment like this with her adad again. A stray tear tracked down her cheek. Her fathers calloused thumb wiped it away. Running the hairbrush through Y/N's thick hair he broke the silence.

"I know you do not want to leave me kurdu (my heart) but things are too uncertain for you to stay. Just think of it as an adventure, imagine all the things that you will see and all the people you will meet. You'll hardly have any time at all to think of me" he assured, a half-smile painting his lips. "Besides, I'll write you whenever I can, and you can write back whenever you feel" he assured. By this time, he had begun to intertwine strands of her hair together, capping them off with the braid clasps he had made her.

"It…It is only temporary isn't it adad?" Y/N spoke hopefully. Thorin adverted his eyes but hesitantly answered her question, "yes but it could be some time before we are find somewhere and then fully settle into the land. Until then, you would have to stay." Y/N's little bottom lip began to quiver again. Thorin tilted her head up gently so she looked him in the eye. "It is not forever Mizimith (jewel that is young)." he comforted. "Come now let’s go find your amad" he smiled kindly down at her, caressing her cheek.

Taking her father’s hand, which dwarfed her own, the two strolled outside. Parked in front of their cottage was a carriage filled with the few worldly possessions belonging to them. Stood in front of it her mother was in deep conversation with the carriage driver. Spotting them she wrapped up her conversation and headed towards them. "The time has come, we should leave now before it gets too late in the day" her mother announced, a weak smile painting her lips as not to upset her dwarfling. Her father sighed but nodded in understanding. Hoisting Y/N up on his shoulder he carried her up into the carriage and popped her on the bench inside.

Kneeling down he spoke up, the final few utterances to be shared between them for a while. "I want you to have something" he reached up to one of his braids and unclasped the braid cap. They had been forged by her sigin'addad (grandfather) and gifted to him upon his coming of age. "This braid symbolises my future, our future, and the future of our people. All are intertwined. The time will come when I take back our homeland, if I am successful I want you to bring this back to me to symbolise our new future." He pronounced; eyes gleaming. Placing the clasp into her small hand he curled her fingers around it. He pressed his forehead against Y/N's in a last show of affection. A stray tear tracked its way down his cheek. He broke away from his young child and hastily wiped the tear from his cheek before retreating out of the carriage.

A few moments passed before her mother entered the carriage, hastily shielding her eyes from her dwarfling while taking a seat across from her. With that her mother rapt on the wall and the carriage began to move. Kneeling on the seat Y/N gazed out of the window at her father’s figure shrinking in the distance. He stood stoically watching the carriage leave, his expression foreign to his young daughter. Eventually his figure disappeared in the distance and still his dwarfling looked on, longing to go back.

[mrkida-art]

A Stiffbeard dwarf and their companion. Which is a cat! Big one too. These cats are commonly used by this clan for pulling sleds and hunting (and in rarer cases, warfare).

[nenuials]

What are your favourite HCs regarding the Avari? I know you've got an Avari OC and I'm curious since I feel they're kind of overlooked in favour of the other Elves in canon.

I consider the Avari to be such an untapped source of meta and fanon. But happily, a lot of the gaps left empty by the narrative are filled in by MERP. In the case of my avari oc, I took MERP as a base and started building from there. 

These are my humble thoughts but when I think about the Avari I can only imagine an elven culture completely opposite to that of the Noldor. The Avari never had the chance of seeing the light in Aman or have the Valar as mentors. Also since MERP places Avari geographically in the east and south of Middle Earth (in the Orocarni Mountains, east of Rhun and in the jungles south of Harad), I do very well expect that they do not share the same sentiments or behaviors as the Noldor. 

One point I would like to make is their relationship to dwarves. The Avari had no Silmaril or Nauglamir, and they live far away from Beleriand, so them having a strained relationship with dwarves like the Noldor or Sindar do makes absolutely no sense to me. On the contrary, I think the Avari and the eastern clans of dwarves (Ironfists, Stiffbeards, Blacklocks and Stonefoots) must have quite excellent diplomatic ties. Diplomacy between an elven kingdom and a dwarven kingdom is not unheard of, since Eregion and Khazad-dum were practicing this, so I expect my theory to be fully applicable to canon. 

I also do believe that the Avari must have good relation with their Nandor kindred as well, since they pretty much stem from the same branch. There must have been many Avarin messengers coming to Thranduil’s court bringing tides from the east. And probably to Lorien too before Galadriel became its Lady. I do imagine that hearing remotely about all the destruction and wars the Noldor brought upon Beleriand, would make the Avari extremely cautious when dealing with the Noldor. 

The humans of Rhun are very much based on Mongolian people and/or a central and west Asian aesthetic. so I do believe it’s not out of the realm of possibility to develop the Avari with a more south and east Asian aesthetic. 

I do hope I’ve answered your question.

[thedwarrowscholar]

Hello! I was wondering if dwarves have a particular way to pronunce the sound R... I have recently watched the appendix on the blue ray of the hobbit and the way they pronounce the words with an R in it sounds peculiar, like the R in french.

Well met booksandcatslover!

And thank you for that question.  Congratulations, by the way, you have stumbled upon the only attested dialectal distinction of consonants in Dwarvish. For those going “how so?!?”, “really?!?” or even “ “waaah!?!”, let me explain….

The LotR Appendices tell us that the Orcs, “AND some Dwarves”, were said to have used a back or “uvular r”. A sound which the Elves found “distasteful”, by the way… but let us ignore the purported Elvish opinion of our beautiful Dwarvish language for a minute.

So we know that some Dwarves pronounced the r as an uvular, i.e. in the back of the mouth, a thing apparently all Orcs do as well - which might explain the Elvish disdain for it. Seeing Tolkien said “some dwarves” it automatically means some other dwarves did not, which leads us to believe that this was an accent or dialectal distinction in Khuzdul.

Those dwarves that did not use a voiced uvular trill [R], used a voiced alveolar trill [r].  Now before we dive in further, let us make the distinction between these words, by an example of the Dwarvish word “Barazinbar” through a sound file (alveolar first, followed by uvular). 

Some sources claim the uvular trill is the original Khuzdul pronunciation, used to this day by the four Eastern Clans (Stiffbeards, Blacklocks, Stonefoots and Ironfist), while the voiced alveolar trill is a later variant used by the Western Clans (Longbeards, Firebeards and Broadbeams); though the evidence for that is scant and can be contradicted even, it is backed up by Tolkien’s own pronunciation.  Seeing that recordings of J.R.R. Tolkien uttering words that contain “r” in dwarvish (like Barazinbar) clearly use a voiced alveolar trill and not the uvular version. And taking into account that all dwarvish characters in The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings were Longbeards, this confirms the theory that they would have used the voiced alveolar trill.

The above creates a problem for the Hobbit movies though, as in these movies Thorin (and select others that use some dwarvish) clearly use the voiced uvular trill [R] and not the voiced alveolar trill [r], which would be very uncharacteristic for Longbeards; none the less that is what is clearly used here. Mind though, that in the Lord of the Rings movies, Gimli does use the voiced alveolar trill (as should be the case with Longbeards) when uttering his insult at the Forest of Lothlorien - so there they did get it right.

In conclusion… Yes, the dwarves in the Hobbit movies use a voiced uvular trill [R], a sound that does exist in Dwarvish but likely would not have been used by Durin’s Folk. Why the choice was made to use a voiced uvular trill for these movies - even though there is enough material to suggest they would have pronounced it otherwise and even got it right in the LotR movies - is sadly unclear.

Ever at your service,

The Dwarrow Scholar

[porphyriosao3]

Happily Ever After

(Have some Bagginshield fluff!)

---

"Thorin."

A word falling endlessly into darkness, a rope spiraling coil after coil into a frozen depth that even light cannot pierce.  He is dead, he knows. There is nothing there, he is sure... only cold, and stillness, and the unbearable urge to cry out.  He lies beneath the ice, deep in the black water, limbs drifting unresponsive, tangled dark hair floating in a choking cloud, nothing but the gape of unbreathing jaws and the tension of unuttered screams keep him company.  The sound is past, an illusion... he knows there is nothing to hear here in death, only cold, only silence, only punishing stillness and empty blackness.  He has failed.  Worse... he is failure itself.

"Thorin."

Another inexpicable ripple in the unyielding blackness.  How can there be movement here, even in death?  He knows that voice, though; that's the voice he likes, the soft voice.  He fights, tries to move upwards, outwards, away from this place then remembers the pain, dives, returns, no, can't make me come out, hide...  In spite of himself, sensation appears, a disturbance at his hand, wetness on the knuckles, pressure, heat... crying?  Attention to it is too much, the pain returns, body shrieking and spasming against the agony, tendons creaking in protest against the unbearable...

"Thorin!" =

One year later

Bilbo sat in front of the fire in the King's Chambers, staring at a map.  The room was quite warm, but he valued the slight motion the fire brought to the air; this deep within the mountain, the warmth of the great forges kept the stone from being too cold, but even so the still, dead air was a bit much for a hobbit raised to be out of doors.  He studied the map closely in the light cast by the lamp beside his chair, one of the crystalline globes the dwarves could trap sunlight in somehow (though they become quite stroppy at the word 'magic', Bilbo had discovered quickly).  Khand, where was Khand?  Supposedly there was a kingdom of dwarves there, the Stiffbeard clan, but he couldn't seem to find it on the maps.  So intent was he on searching the tiny script on the parchment, the feeling of a hand on his shoulder made him startle and curse.  He looked up into a pair of shining blue eyes and a gleaming white grin.  He grinned in response, leaning up for a quick kiss.

"Thorin," he said delightedly, "you're finally done with that endless Council meeting.  Is it time for dinner?"  Thorin limped over to the fireplace and poked it up with the elegant brass poker provided.  Bilbo still sometimes winced to see the king's halting step, though Thorin assured him that he no longer felt pain from his foot; there was simply too much damage to the nerves and tendons for it to heal fully, and the terrible infection had done its own damage.  Oin said he would never walk without a limp again, but the king had taken to carrying a cane which looked elegant but could be used as a weapon of war at the slightest provocation.

"Yes, azyungel, it's too late for a proper dinner but Bombur will be bringing us food shortly," Thorin said.  "What are you looking for in those old maps?"  The king shuffled around behind Bilbo's chair, looking down over his shoulder.

"Khand," the hobbit replied in a distracted tone.  "I know you said that we were trying to establish a trade route with the Stiffbeards who lived there, and I'd never heard of it.  I wanted to see where it was, but..."  The king's finger stabbed down on a spot far to the south of Gondor and well east of anywhere the hobbit had ever heard of, in a blank spot to the east of Near Harad.

"Here," Thorin rumbled.  "They all live here, there are two or three great halls of them, and they themselves need iron but what they have to trade to us is things from the Men who live around them, more than anything they find in their mountains.  Ivory, spices, and decorative woods, mainly, though there's a fair amount of food that we'd love to have, there's just no way for it to ship such a long distance without spoiling, and the climate is wrong here for growing anything that tropical."  The king eased himself onto the couch, wincing a bit as he sat and Bilbo was immediately at his side.

"Leg hurting?" he asked as he was already massaging it.  Thorin groaned and lay back.  "Thorin..."  Bilbo looked up at him from where he leaned over the king's scarred leg, and Thorin raised his head and looked down.  "Did you ever think we would end up like this?"

Thorin gave a half-smile, familiar with this line of questioning and always willing to come up with a new answer.  "Like what?  Sitting on a couch while you rubbed my leg?  Yes, even as a child I knew this was where we would be."  He laughed aloud at Bilbo's scoff and fake swat at him.

"Did you think you would one day be a king with a husband, in a reborn, remade Erebor?  Maybe I should also ask, did you think we would ever get even this much of the mountain clean and repaired again?"  Thorin smiled but stared off into space.

"As I have told you more than once, I hoped, after I had met you.  I wasn't sure it was possible, but I wanted you from the moment I saw you.  Whether we would survive the journey and the dragon..." A shrug was the only answer he could give.  "As for cleaning, Mahal alone knows we aren't done yet.  But we will get there."  The sound of the door opening after a brisk knock could only be Bombur, and they went to feed themselves.  I am the luckiest hobbit alive, Bilbo thought, looking over at Thorin's face as he ate.  He little suspected that his husband thought the same.

[tehri]

U still open fr lotr asks? Whatever happened to the eastern dwarven lines?

I’m absolutely open!

And well, I’m guessing you’re talking about the Ironfists, the Blacklocks, the Stiffbeards, and the Stonefoots?

It is actually not known what exactly happened to them. But when Sauron’s power grew again in the East, many of the eastern clans fled their homes and journeyed west - some of them passed through the Shire. It is mentioned in the Fellowship of the Ring that Frodo met and spoke with some dwarves from clans that he’d never encountered before, and that they all spoke of a growing shadow and a threat in the East.

“There were rumours of strange things happening in the world outside; and asGandalf had not at that time appeared or sent any message for several years,Frodo gathered all the news he could. Elves, who seldom walked in the Shire,could now be seen passing westward through the woods in the evening, passing andnot returning; but they were leaving Middle-earth and were no longer concernedwith its troubles. There were, however, dwarves on the road in unusual numbers.The ancient East-West Road ran through the Shire to its end at the Grey Havens,and dwarves had always used it on their way to their mines in the BlueMountains. They were the hobbits’ chief source of news from distant parts - ifthey wanted any: as a rule dwarves said little and hobbits asked no more. Butnow Frodo often met strange dwarves of far countries, seeking refuge in theWest. They were troubled, and some spoke in whispers of the Enemy and of theLand of Mordor.”- Fellowship of the Ring, Book 1, Chapter 2: The Shadow Of The Past

To my knowledge, this is the only mention at all in the Lord of the Rings trilogy of the eastern clans. The information we have comes mainly from the Silmarillion and from the The History of Middle-earth series - specifically The Peoples of Middle-earth.