J.R.R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion: At the beginning of the world there were two trees, one silver and one gold, brought forth by the song of Yavanna, Valar of Earth, and the tears of Nienna, Valar of Mercy.
C.S. Lewis, The Magician’s Nephew: At the beginning of the world there were two trees, one silver and one gold, because some coins fell out of a guy’s pocket lol
One of the things I love most about Narnia–something I understood instinctively as a kid but only was able to articulate as an adult–is that Narnia is a place where ordinary life becomes magical. A lamppost in London is so ordinary you don’t even notice it. A lamppost in the middle of a snowy wood is magical. Coins and toffee–boring. Beautiful trees that grow from coins and toffee–magical. A sewing machine? Who cares? A beaver using a sewing machine in the middle of her lodge? Now THAT’S magic.
In Narnia, four ordinary children can become mighty kings and queens. Traitors can mend. Dragons are made human again. Flat paintings turn into vibrant real life. Narnia is alchemy, taking lead and transforming it into pure gold.
Middle Earth is a lament for the fading of magic out of the world. Narnia is a promise of magic returned.
thinking about my elf OC today that I’ve been developing since I was six years old and now I’m taking a college level course and studying elvish language to further validate him
okay but dwarves put SO much effort into their tombs already, carving perfect stone and inscriptions and making records to bury kin with kin and everything, let alone for Gimli son of Gloin Lord of the Glittering Caves.
The years of planning and amounts of paperwork and arrangements for the tomb of Gimli son of Gloin Lord of the Glittering Caves one of the Nine of the Fellowship one of the Heroes of Arda the Elf-friend and sturdy and possessor of the three hairs of Galadriel would be IMMENSE
and then Legolas rocks up in Gimli’s final days of life like: ok so I built this boat
Aragorn: watching the sky get light, clothes worn like a second skin, whispered promises, broken swords, sleeping among the trees, songs of lost love
Frodo: linen shirts, silk waistcoats, self sacrifice, mushrooms, tea by the fire, not daring to trust, romanticizing stories of adventure
Merry: sun flowers, protective, sudden acts of strength, getting into trouble, willing to fight to protect loved ones, stepping into the wild for the first time
Pippin: easy grins and laughter, snatching berries from a neighbor’s yard, quick mind, remembering old songs, getting too deep too fast, pipeweed
Samwise: going to bed after a long days work, love of gardens, loyal to the end, dirt smudges, venturing away from places known, refusing to lose hope
Gandalf: ancient wisdom, heavy with burdens unknown, wool cloaks, fireworks fading into darkness, remembering old languages, many names, scrolls of forgotten knowledge
Legolas: in awe of forests, lost in thought, scared of death, clear night sky and full moon, reading the stars, ivy on old statues
Boromir: overcoming struggle, the smell of blood, steel swords, white stone, honor above all else, the cry of a horn in the night, desperate to do right
Gimli: rubies under mountains, gruff voices, folklore passed down generations, battle cries, humor in the darkness, naming weapons for their deeds, amber ale
Arwen: purple twilight, velvet, fearing the end of the world, prophesy, lyres and harps, bluebells among ferns, fickle magic
Eowyn: plains of yellowed grass, blue skies, freckles, hidden strength, forgotten at home, protecting at all costs, braided hair, farmiliar with grief, intricately carved wood
Galadriel: fine lace, silver laughter, ancient music, overwhelming power, beauty told in stories, full moon, golden embroidery, walking barefoot through the grass
Bilbo: learning the world through maps, finding courage in unexpected places, telling stories to children, running headfirst into adventure, red wool coats, breakfast feasts
Thorin: desperate for home, hiding emotion, crackling trees lit up with flame, hidden doors of stone, old maps handed down from father to son, fearing madness
Faramir: desperate for approval, old cave systems, waterfalls in the moonlight, remembering myth, pine trees in the wild, ruined cities restored, well worn paths
Theoden: weathered faces, greying hair, wisdom earned through experience, strength to lend to soldiers, fingers gripping the hilt of a familiar sword, riding to the aid of another
Elrond: looking into the future, fear of darkness, vaulted ceilings, flute music, fine silk, light filtering through trees, shimmer of water under the moon, honoring old allies
Hello friends, new and old! Welcome to my new blog!
It’s hard to sell oneself in merely a header, title or description, so I figured - for the sake of anyone who wanders into this place - that I would organize a bunch of fundamental information right here!
Who am I?
Who are you?You needn’t think of that now, unless of course, you’d like to.
My name is Jules, I use he/they pronouns, and I am a lifelong fan of Tolkien’s work and world. As a small child, my mother read The Lord of the Rings to me, and by the age of six I had seen the films. I read the books for myself between the ages of eight and ten, and have done so some times since.
Tolkien’s work shaped me fundamentally from that starry-eyed chapter in my youth, everything from my fantastical adventures and ambitious in my backyard to my perception of masculinity, femininity, love, power and comradery. The young man I am and grow to be each day is very much indebted to the characters and stories of all The Professor’s work.
What is this blog?
Obviously, this blog is themed around an appreciation for anything and everything Middle Earth.
In particular, though, I intend to post a combination of quotes from the novels and/or films, and brief observations or notations I find in the margins of my copies of the novels as I re-read them, perhaps with some fresh notes to join them. In addition, I am taking a class this semester in University entitled “J. R. R. Tolkien and Counterculture,” (with our dear @wilderlandranger) and will likely post some notes, food for thought, or even scribbles for assignments.
There will also likely be memes. Maybe some of my own writing.
I am very much going to treat this blog like a more organized version of a very disorganized Word doc currently festering on my Desktop called “Tolkien Diary,” if that adds any briefer explanation or flavor to what you expect.
Additives and Addendums
If I find anything more noteworthy to add to this post of great importance, then it will be listed under this section! But, for now, good day!
“This is going to hurt, lass,” Oin spoke softly, looking into my eyes as he settled down in front of me.
I gave him a short nod, taking a deep breath as he reached forward. Bofur, who sat on my other side, slid his hand into mine, giving me a toothy grin. “Will you tell me about where you live?”
My brow furrowed. “Why would you want to know that?”
Fili snickered from nearby. “I believe he’s trying to distract you, lass.”
“Oh – shit,” I hissed through my teeth when the cold green paste Oin had made was pressed against my wound. I did not think it possible for a wound to burn, throb, and be numb all at the same time. “I live with a man near the Anduin river. He has raised me since I was six.”
Bofur nodded, gently rubbing his thumb over the back of my hand. “Is he a nice man?”
“You would not think so upon meeting him, but yes, he is very kind. Never has he raised his voice to me despite how much trouble I caused him as a child.”
Fili laughed. “You seem the type to be a troublesome kid.”
“Yes, well,” I smiled softly. “Things were not easy for me and I tended to cope in ways that were unhealthy, not only for myself but for those around me.”
Oin brought more of the green paste onto his fingers, slathering it across the wound. I winced, squeezing the dwarf’s hand tightly, prompting him to pat my hand with his free one.
“What kind of trouble did you get into?”
I glanced at Bofur before to Fili and Kili, who had scooted closer to hear the answer. “Well, the thing I did the most was mess with the Mirkwood elves. I would often see them patrolling their borders when I would take walks down the river. Most of them ignored me, some were kind enough to speak with me, while there were a few that did not enjoy my presence. There was one elf in particular that never missed an opportunity to insult me, not that I did not fire back at him, as well. He threatened to hurt me on multiple occasions.”
“Did he?” Kili wondered softly.
“He never acted on his threats. Maybe they were just words meant to instill fear in me or perhaps he never acted on them because I never crossed the border into his lands. Either way, they remained idle threats. Not that I did not make my own threats, though I doubt an elf felt any fear being threatened by a small child that could not see past her anger,” I chuckled at the memory, closing my eyes and leaning my head back against the stone. “He would always make the strangest faces when he got annoyed and he was quite expressive. In a way, he fueled me to keep coming back and arguing with him.”
“Maybe he enjoyed it,” suggested Kili, glancing at his brother who shrugged in response.
“Why would someone enjoy arguing with a child?” Fili countered with a quirked brow.
“Well, he is an elf,” Gloin glanced at us over his shoulder before returning to the pot of stew that he was stirring. “Hurry up and finish chopping the onions, Bombur.”
“I’m almost done, hold your horses!”
“How was that harmful, though?” Kili wondered, tilting his head to the side. “You said you did stuff that caused harm, but that seems pretty harmless.”
“Normally, perhaps, but the man that raised me is…” I paused, biting on my lip thoughtfully. I did not want to let them know that Beorn is a skin-changer, not because I did not trust them, but because it is simply not my tale to tell. He is the last known skin-changer in our world and the more people that know that, the more danger he is put in. Not that he needs protection from me, but we tend to protect those that we love, even if they do not need it.
“He’s what?” Kili pushed, leaning forward.
“He is not fond of others and prefers a solitary life,” I glanced at Gandalf who was watching me intently, most likely wondering what I would say. “He avoids the eyes of others and by antagonizing the elves of Mirkwood, I put his way of life at risk. Even then… he never got angry at me. He would simply tell me not to mess with them and forget about it.”
“And did you?” asked Fili. “Leave them alone, I mean.”
“Hm, not for a while. I believe I had just turned sixteen the last time I crossed paths with them. I had been walking down the river as always when I came across two elves pacing the border of their lands. They seemed agitated so, of course, I had to bother them. These elves, however, were not so nice. Even though I had not crossed their borders, they attacked me. I ran like the fires of Mordor were upon my heels and dodged most of their arrows, but one lodged into the back of my knee. I still have the scar it left behind.”
“Can I see it?” Kili’s eyes had widened and appeared to have a childish glint of curiosity within them.
I chuckled. “It is nothing special. Once you have seen one scar, you have seen them all.”
He pouted. “I guess so.”
“There, all done, lass,” Oin lightly patted my arm and I blinked in surprise, looking down at the bandages that had been wrapped around the wound.
“You work quick, master dwarf. I did not even notice that you were done applying the paste.”
Kili laughed. “You can thank us later!”
Bofur rolled his eyes, an amused smile on his lips. “Hey, I’m the one that started it.”
“Thank you, Bofur,” I offered him a smile, which he returned with one of his own.
Kili and Fili exchanged a knowing look before grinning, but they said nothing.
“Thank you, Oin,” I smiled at the older dwarf before pulling my hand from Bofur’s and standing up, approaching Gandalf who sat upon a rock at the edge of our camp, smoking thoughtfully from his pipe.
“Can we talk?” I questioned softly, leaning against the tree in front of him.
“But of course, my dear Ronan,” he smiled kindly. “What’s on your mind?”
“Back in Rivendell, that she-elf, Galadriel, she spoke to me within my mind.”
“Yes, she does that quite often. What did she say?”
I shifted from one foot to the other. “She told me that I need to find something.”
“Oh?” he raised a brow, eyes shining curiously.
“The dragonstone. The problem is that I have never heard of such a thing. I do not know how or where to begin.”
“The dragonstone,” he repeated, furrowing his brow in thought. “It has been a long time since anyone has mentioned that.”
“So you do know of it, then?” I wondered, stepping closer and glancing toward the dwarves. They were preoccupied fighting about the stew’s ingredients.
“Oh yes. No one knows for sure where the ring came from or even how to use its power. If my memory serves me, lord Elrond once had possession of it before it passing it on to your clan.”
“If my clan was possession of the ring, then,” I frowned at the ground. “It was most likely lost during one of the orc raids.”
“Or taken,” he offered.
I sighed, falling back against the tree. “How am I to find it, then? The way she spoke made it appear as if it were quite important that I do so.”
Gandalf hummed thoughtfully, taking a puff of his pipe before exhaling a ring of smoke. “Perhaps the solution is as simple as sitting back and waiting.”
“You really think that will work? That the ring will just… come to me?”
“Well, it’s certainly not likely but it is possible.”
“Maybe I should have asked Elrond, after all.”
“That would have been wise.”
“Ronan!” Bofur called, waving his hand in the air. “The stew is done!”
“Be right there!” I called back.
“For now,” Gandalf smiled. “I wouldn’t worry too much. Focus on what’s in front of you.”
“I will do my best.”
“I know you will, my dear Ronan.”
━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━
I peered over the rocks, eyes narrowed at the pack of wargs and the orcs that rode them. Beside me, Bilbo did the same and when Azog paused to scan the landscape, I tugged the hobbit down by the back of his shirt. The last thing we needed was to be spotted by the defiler and his band of idiots. After a moment of pause, he kicked his warg and continued on, none the wiser to our location.
“R-Ronan,” Bilbo whispered harshly, tugging on my shirt. I raised a brow at the fear within his voice and then I heard it, the faint growling of a creature neither orc nor warg. Bilbo pointed to the left and I leaned backward, eyes growing wide.
A large bear sat not but a few feet away, watching the orcs as they fled. I knew the moment I laid eyes upon it that it was no mere bear, it was the man that had taken me in and raised me. It was Beorn. I realized now what Gandalf intended to do, but surely that would not work out in our favor. Beorn is about as fond of dwarves as dwarves are fond of elves.
Grabbing my hand, the hobbit quickly began to climb down from our perch, tugging me along behind him. I followed without a word, glancing over my shoulder, but the large bear was gone, its roar filling the night air and prompting the hobbit to run as fast as his little legs would carry him, back to where the dwarves and Gandalf were waiting.
“How close is the pack?” demanded Thorin when we got close to them.
“Too close,” Bilbo whispered, his grip tightening upon my hand. “A couple of leagues, no more. But that’s not the worst of it.”
“Have the wargs picked up our scent?” Dwalin questioned.
“Not yet, but they will do. We have another problem.”
“Did they see you?” Gandalf glanced between us and I shook my head, prompting him to raise a brow in question. “They saw you.”
“No, that’s not it.”
Gandalf nodded with pride. “What did I tell you? Quiet as a mouse. Excellent burglar material.”
The dwarves began to agree, talking loudly amongst themselves. This only further agitated Bilbo. “Will you listen? Will you just… listen?” They finally quieted down, turning their attention to him. “I’m trying to tell you there is something else out there.”
“What form did it take?” inquired Gandalf, his eyes moving to meet my own. “Like a bear?”
My lips twitched up only slightly as I nodded. His eyes widened a fraction in recognition. I suppose it was not his plan after all, but something told me it was now.
“Yes… yes, but bigger. Much bigger.”
Bofur looked between Gandalf and I, his eyes flickering down to Bilbo’s hand still clutching my own and a frown found its way onto his face. “You two knew about this beast?”
“He is no beast,” I scowled at him.
“No beast?” Bilbo sputtered in disbelief. “Did you not see the same thing I did?”
I offered no reply, ignoring the hurt look that Bofur was sending my way.
“I say we double back,” Bofur commented.
“And be run down by a pack of orcs?” Thorin questioned.
“There is a house…” began the wizard. “It’s not far from me, where we might take refuge.”
“Whose house?” questioned Thorin, suspicion clear as day within his dark eyes. “Are they friend or foe?”
I sent Gandalf a look, crossing my arms over my chest, silently communicating that this was a bad idea. Beorn would not be pleased to see such a large company of dwarves within his home. Even if Gandalf and I were there, I cannot guarantee how the man will react.
Gandalf seemed to mull over the options within his mind for a moment. “Neither. He will help us or… he will kill us.”
I sighed heavily, running a hand through my short hair. As badly as I wanted to see Beorn again, I was not sure these circumstances would be the ideal way to meet up with him once more. If I am put into a position where I must choose the man that had become my family or those that I had sworn to protect… I cannot even think of such a thing, but I know who I will choose.
“What choice do we have?” Thorin finally stated, his gaze sliding across his men.
An ungodly howl rang throughout the night, quite close and very angry.
