The war had been devastating. Valar and Maiar, Elves and Men, taking up arms against the forces of Melkor – Morgoth as the children of Eru had named him – and these powers clashing had torn the realm asunder.
But even all the death and destruction raging around them, it could not compare to what happened when Manwë struck the final blow against his brother, binding him in Angainor, the old chain.
The capture of a Valar as powerful as Melkor – one who was so entwined with Beleriand as he – echoed across the fabric of the world, creating fissures where none should be, and Eönwë would feel Arda shake beneath his feet.
The remains of the two armies froze as Melkor’s was dragged away, standing still for but a moment before his influence was torn away.
And then, Beleriand buckled one last time…and it broke. The shadows so closely entwined with the land were ripped out, great chasms opening where they had been and lava too hot even for Aulë and his children came to air as the sea rose to swallow what broke away from the rest of Middle-earth.
Eönwë sprang away from a spout of lava, taking to the air but lost hold of the helmet with the Silmarils his Lord had entrusted to him in the progress. Around him Maiar gathered the survivors of their own armies and brought them to safety as Melkor’s creations fled from the battlefield, the helmet lost in the chaos.
He saw Balrogs, trying to reach the molten rock that spilled out over dead earth, swallowed by sudden waters that perhaps even Ulmo could not control. Their large, flaming bodies died in clouds of steam that rose to the skies, mingled with the shadows that had yet to disperse and turned to acrid smoke that burned Eonwë’s lungs like poison.
He ducked down below the cover of steel grey clouds, searching the shifting, breaking, sinking, ground for familiar faces.
He spied the remaining sons of Fëanor disappear beyond the horizon, saw Curumo and Olórin support each other onto backs of eagles as they fled, orcs and wolves who possessed neither magic nor the love of Eru sink into lava or drown in icy waves. Where the flood came from suddenly he could not tell but it washed away the stench of evil and the blood of Ancalagon as it began to flood into ruined Angband.
He could feel Yavanna’s powers flow into the root of every tree and flower, coaxing them to support Beleriand long enough for the Host of the West to retreat but even her powers were not enough against the force tearing the already dying land apart.
A flash of red caught his attention out of the corner of his eye and he swerved, dodging around a slab of rock that shot into the air to sink like a damaged ship, and his gaze fell upon–
“Mairon,” he breathed. His former friend had fought his way through the fleeing masses and now knelt over his Master’s discarded helm. How he had found it was a mystery he had no mind to solve so Eönwë beat his wings and sped towards him. His feet touched ground just as a terrible cry wrenched itself from Mairon’s throat. The broken voice pierced through him like ice.
Never had he known Mairon to be anything but completely controlled, no matter the circumstances. Even when Manwë had questioned him about possible traitors among the Maiar he had been calm and collected, no shred of emotion he did not want revealed forthcoming.
But now, his armour gone, his hair loose and eyes brimming with tears, Eönwë looked at his friend and, for the first time, saw a stranger.
“Mairon,” he whispered carefully, casting a quick look around them. Lava and sea were closing in rapidly, two mighty waves ready to clash where they now stood. “We have to go.” Mairon ignored him or was unable to hear him.
“We cannot remain here!” Eonwë tried, louder this time. “I will drag you away if I must!“
Once again, Mairon did not react. Instead, he sank low, his head falling to his knees. His shoulders shook, the helmet with the Silmarils forgotten in the dirt beside him.
Eönwë looked around again – the two waves were too close already – and quickly came to a conclusion.
He unfolded his wings and took off. With one great swoop he wound his arm around Mairon’s waist and snatched the helmet up before rising high, high into the burning smoke as below them elements crashed and mingled, pulling the remains of Beleriand down with them.
Mairon was limp in his hold, unmoving as a corpse, and Eönwë sighed as he carried him away to the new and jagged coast of Middle-earth.
There he set Mairon down, watched as his friend fell to his knees and did not rise. He looked so small, vulnerable. It crushed Eonwë’s heart.
He looked down at the helmet still held in his other hand and plucked a feather from his wing, using the sharp point to pry the Silmarils out of their sockets.
As soon as he was done Mairon lunged at him, a clumsy movement very unlike his usual grace, taking the helmet and hugging it close to his chest.
For a moment, there was silence, the only sound the steady pling of tears hitting black steel.
Eönwë sighed. “I’m sorry.” Mairon sobbed once and fell silent again, not speaking. “I wasn’t aware he meant this much to you.”
Mairon snorted, half incredulous and half disgusted, yet he did not raise his head to look at Eonwë. “Doesn’t matter now, does it?” he said, a rough edge to his voice. The tears had stopped. “Since your Master will kill him.”
Eönwë closed his eyes for a moment, sighing through his nose. “I know.”
Mairon hugged the helmet closer to him still, his shoulder hunched. “What happens now?”
“Lord Manwë did not say,” Eönwë answered. “The goal was to…defeat Melkor and his armies.” He paused. “You are defeated.”
“Really? I hadn’t noticed.” Eönwë would have been relieved to hear his friend’s clever tongue return, had it not been for the bitter, hollow tone of his voice. Eönwë took a breath to reply something when Mairon’s voice interrupted him, so small he almost missed them. “If I surrender here, what would become of me?”
Before Eönwë could reply he felt an insistent tugging upon the bond he shared with his Master. Manwë’s gentle worry and calming light flooded his mind, accompanied by a question of his whereabouts. Eönwë replied the same way, told him quickly of what had happened and asked the same question Mairon had.
Dimly, he could feel Mairon attempting something similar, reaching across the bond towards his own Master. Whatever the answer was, it made him crumble further over the helmet.
“They order you back,” Eönwë relayed Manwë’s words. “You shall receive your punishment alongside your Master.”
Mairon nodded slowly. “I see,” he said tonelessly. “So I am to be killed as well?”
Eönwë recoiled in shock. “No!” he exclaimed. “My Lord would not do such a thing! You will be punished but you will receive a second chance, free of his influence. I am sure of it.”
Mairon finally raised his head to fix eyes like golden flame on him, though their glow was muted with grief. “Can you promise that?” he asked. “Can you, a lowly Maia, promise the Valar will be merciful?”
For a long moment, no words came to Eonwë. He could not, he knew, promise such a thing. It was not in his power to promise forgiveness or pardons, only to follow the Valar’s orders. He had not to power to reassure Mairon of anything.
Mairon, it seemed, already knew the answer for he chuckled without mirth and slowly pushed to his feet. He was unsteady, the strength of his fire sapped away by the knowledge of what awaited his Master. “Then I shall graciously refuse your offer.” He spat out the last word like a nasty curse.
“But,” Eönwë said, taking a step towards his former friend, “you were ordered to return, Mairon. You cannot refuse a direct order!”
Mairon rolled his eyes and gnawed on his lower lip, shifting his weight from one foot to another. “True,” he said. “But I am not. My orders say that I must live. And so I shall.”
“But Lord Manwë–”
“I do not care in any way what your Lord Manwë has to say!” Mairon barked, his eyes flashing. “I only take orders from one Vala and his orders are clear. I cannot return with you.”
Mairon…” Eönwë tried reaching out for one trembling shoulder but Mairon snatched his wrist, searing Eonwë’s skin with the intensity of the fire coursing through his veins. The contrast between Mairon’s pale and Eonwë’s warm rosewood tones was jarring, like a visual representation of the difference between them. Once upon a time they had joked about their differences, now it shook Eönwë to his core.
“I will not crawl back to them, I will not be humiliated by them, I will remain alive and free just as Melkor wished for me and nothing you say or do will change my mind,” Mairon hissed, his fingers a vice Eönwë could not break.
“Who are you?” Eönwë breathed, feeling the sting to his heart more keenly than his burning flesh. “You are not the Mairon I once knew.”
Mairon paused, a sneer pulling at his lips. “The Mairon you knew was never real,” he said. “I am the true Mairon, free of your inane desire for superficial peace. I am no longer a slave to your precious Valar, I belong only to myself and my Lord. And you took him from me.” His voice fell dangerously low, bottomless rage and hatred in his eyes, a note of madness in his words.
Eönwë could not help his tears now, his voice lost between emotions. When his wrist was abruptly released he stumbled back, Silmarils clutched in his hands hard enough he could feel every cut Fëanor had ever made upon them.
“Do not look for me,” Mairon said, suddenly calm. “All you will find is your death.” And then, in a flash of flame and shadows, he was gone.
Eönwë could not tell how long he stood there, unmoving, before Manwë’s voice calling him home broke through the ringing in his ears. When he returned, judgement had already been passed.
Melkor was no more.
“Live on, my love, and never forget that out of all the treasures I possessed, you were the greatest.”
The words were a hollow comfort, echoing through his mind like the drums on the battlefield, beating against the inside of his skull until he thought he would go mad. Or perhaps he already had, it was hard to tell.
He lay curled up on his side, the helmet clutched to his chest, on the floor of a cave he had found in the mountains. Mairon did not know how long he had been here, with his eyes closed, holding onto the bright thread of Melkor in his mind until it felt as if it was all there was. His wounds did not matter, his needs were unimportant, the war they had lost forgotten.
He could no longer hear Melkor’s voice, the Valar’s powers weakening their bond so far it was hard to even find Melkor on the other end, but his presence was still there.
Until it wasn’t.
When he finally felt the bond break, a final burst of warmth and affection his only warning, his mind did the same.
The Maia Mairon truly died that night, and Sauron rose up to replace him.
I want to take a moment of my day for Arwen Undomiel who is honestly one of the most badass female characters I know. But the thing I specifically want to talk about is that she gets to be the QUEEN OF GONDOR
Everything below is one of my interpretations on the behaviour of Gondor people, and what I think would happen if a bit more of realism would touch Middle Earth.
An elf who rules a kingdom of men. (albeit by the side of one) I can’t even begin to imagine the life Gondorian nobles must have given her, the gossip that must have existed about her. Snotty nobles wrinkling their noses about how one of their own daughters wasn’t good enough for the King. Noooo, he had to choose an elf, not one of his own kind. Snotty nobles who never invite Arwen to their parties and who never include her in their saloons or who never even meet her if it is not a diplomatic/compulsory meeting. Don’t know what I’m talking about? Imagine movie Denethor but multiplied and a lot worse.
The feelings of the common people after a period of accommodation after the War of the Ring changing from awe and respect, and falling into the other extreme of slight fear and caution, because she’s an elf. How can one of the fair people rule over them. What? Just because elves are supposed to be smarter and more beautiful and better at everything, more than humans gives her the right to act all supposedly arrogant and snobby. Who does she think she is? And I’m not even exaggerating, this is true human behaviour.
Arwen who at first tries her best to act as gracious as possible, charming her way through both nobles and common people alike. Who tries to show them that her experience in diplomacy and battle and many, many years make her an invaluable leader, that she is worthy of this title. But year after year it becomes harder and harder to be kind and towards the end, when Aragorn dies, she leaves Minas Tirith with no regret. Even in canon it says that she said goodbye only to her family and a few dear to her and left without telling anyone.
She observes of course that she is not invited to most “important gatherings”, she observes than even her handmaidens seem distant at times (they change frequently) and she tells Aragorn one time. But what can he do? Force all the city to just “like” their queen? In the beginning Arwen stays never too much in the seventh circle, but in the lower ones, helping her newfound people with their tasks, making her mission to help the orphans of war, donating what elven jewelry she has. But people forget the good done to them and when she stops after some years, her praise stops as well.
She stars to blame her father. He was the one who insisted that Aragorn had to be the King of both Arnor and Gondor in order to marry her. Would it have been so wrong for him to claim just Arnor? She knew Eriador like the back of her palm, the rangers knew and respected her and the country of hobbits was so close. And even the Bree men were more friendly than this lot. (We’re talking about the same lot who not even after 200 years after the War of the Ring started worshipping Sauron again. It’s canon, read in “The new Shadow”). Eowyn and Lothiriel become her closest friends, and Faramir and Eomer. They have fought the War, they know her struggles. In the end, the life in Gondor was harder than she could have imagined.
This is a complete overhaul of my first gif-set (because the quote is amazing and my first take was horrible :P). @oldmarriedspirk, @plaidshirtjimkirk ❤
Long had the terror of the Dead lain upon that hill and upon the empty fields about it. For upon the top stood a black stone, round as a great globe, the height of a man, though its half was buried in the ground. Unearthly it looked, as though it had fallen from the sky, as some believed; but those who remembered still the lore of Westernesse told that it had been brought out of the ruin of Númenor and there set by Isildur at his landing.
J. R. R. Tolkien, The Return of the King: ‘The Passing of the Grey Company’, concerning the Hill of Erech.
I read this and re-read this, and tried to understand what Isildur had been thinking; like, what do you take with you when your home is literally sinking around your ears? A great black stone, twice the height of a man (cf. ‘half was buried in the ground’), and round as a globe – yes, that would be just the thing.
2 further options: 1) Stone is already on board ship, possibly on its way to be made into a lovely new statue of Morgoth for people to be sacrificed on. Isildur grabs ship and sets sail, arrives, starts unpacking, thinks WTF are we going to do with this thing, oh, put it here I don’t want to have to look at it, my capital is in the North.
2) It’s an amazing Numenorean Folding Stone, you press the right button and it just goes SQUISH and becomes a pebble.
If they refuse to go to the halls, their souls (their fea) can stick around
It is more susceptible to corruption and shit, basically they lose who they are very quickly and just become this malicious wandering thing
Sauron can gain control of them quite easily
These wicked versions of the souls are noted as being put into bodies occasionally
Orcs
Originated from something (Tolkien couldn’t decide really) having to do with elves
One version is that they’re tortured/corrupted elves
One version is that they’re beasts/forms made by Melkor then animated like a “parrot”
However they’re not just evil elves, their bodies are all fucked up too
They reproduce in a human/animal/elf method, so their bodies are indeed biological
If we’re going off Peter Jackson’s versions of them, not sure if this is also in the books, orcs can become immensely physically fucked up (head collapsed, head split in two, etc) and just generally a walking heap of deadly injuries and scars
So my concept for orc origin is that Melkor TRIED to make his own original beings, like elves or humans or dwarves, but couldn’t. He could only make Frankenstein’s monster-esque meat dolls. Sauron remedied this by taking the souls of dead elves, which once out of the body easily fall into an orc-like state in which they can speak, function, fight, etc but lose their old sense of self and take on a wickedness. Shove those fucked up souls into the meat dolls and there you go. Instead of making fresh meat dolls you can’t just reuse an actual corpse, which explains how and why orcs look so fucked up like mangled corpses.
I was sharing this in a discord chat with my friends a few days ago and there were some interesting takes/additions on this, like what if one of the bodies used or souls used was slightly recognizable to someone who knew them pre-orc.
*Gets out her monocle and a giant tome about the history of shipping*
Back in the ancient days, young one, even before my time, ships were originally named by putting the characters’ names back to back with a backslash separating them (i.e. Kirk/Spock). This was before the dawn of the internet, when fan magazines were the only way to access fanfiction (OH, THE HORROR). The fandom term “slash” was derived from the aforementioned backslash, popularized by the first recognized gay ship, which was in fact, Kirk/Spock (you can check your communications textbooks, I’m not making this up). This was how all ships were distinguished in fan magazines etc. even through the early days of fanfiction.
When fanfiction REALLY started to pick up and gain popularity, helped along greatly by the dawn of the internet, specially devoted webistes, and the Harry Potter generation, ships were shortened to character initials and a backslash (i.e. Harry and Ginny was H/G). Then, fic names started to get creative by coming up with terms that identified the characters (i.e. Remus/Sirius was known as WolfStar). The latter is the kind of naming I was referring to. In fact, a lot of fandoms populated with FandomOld™ shippers, still use this system. For instance, Once Upon a Time seems to use this system (I’m not part of this fandom, but it pops up on my dash every now and again). I believe they use names like SwanQueen and CaptainSwan instead of the name smushing method.
The name smushing method came about in the mid 2000s when celebrities were given smushed couple names and it crossed over the to the fandoms.
Honestly, Victuuri, is the only smushed couple name I’ve ever really loved because it fits the couple, because it sounds like Victory. Whereas other couples would be hilarious using the older method. For instance Chris/Phichit could be IntoxicatedSelfie or JJ/Yurio* could be something like KittenKing.
Note: Now that I feel ancient, I would like to protest that I am not, in fact, that old. But I am still a permanent resident of the FandomOld™ porch.
*Example ships do not necessarily denote ships I ship, but there is NO ship hate in the Spice Capades.
Do you have a FandomOld™ ship name for Yuri on Ice? Hit me with ‘em!
I love these kinds of names and wish more fandoms used them. It’s why I’m still partial to “Sharkbait” for HaruRinHaru.
I usually go for the namesmush ones, though, because my fandoms are by and large Japanese ones, and so those are the names I interact with most on social media like Twitter or sites like Pixiv or at doujinshi events.
I wonder if there’s a clear trend in using namesmush names for JP fandoms and more of these creative ones outside? I know Victuri/Victuuri was coined not because it’s a namesmush (otherwise we’d go with the JP way of VicYuu or YuuVic) but because it sounded like ‘Victory’.
As a semi-FandomOld, I do see the namesmush and/or ship name thing more in anime/manga fandoms, or fandoms that have a high percentage of participants who are primarily anime fans, as well as younger demographics.
(Generally I would say that I much prefer NameX/NameY to denote pairings, mostly because I’ve been in several fandoms where the ship name thing really took off and made it freaking impossible to know what the hell pairing someone was talking about half the time, especially since there were often a couple of ship names that got popular for the same thing, etc. Some of the ___-shipping fandoms are the worst for this, as seen in the following lists [warning: not for the faint of heart]: https://opaldreamer.deviantart.com/art/Master-Yu-Gi-Oh-Shipping-List-for-Dummies-283565786 AND https://fanlore.org/wiki/List_of_Pok%C3%A9mon_Pairing_Names .
There’s a whole bunch of info about pairing names in various fandoms over on Fanlore [here: https://fanlore.org/wiki/Pairing_Name ], but really, unless the fandom only has a couple of ships, for everyone’s sake, just use Name/Name or Name x Name. It’s SO. MUCH. EASIER.)
The ******-shipping stuff from YGO reminds me, too, of the TeniPuri fandom, taking canon pair names like Golden Pair and Platinum Pair and extrapolating them to EVERY SHIP IN THE SERIES. It was fun and all, but sometimes really difficult to follow which pair you were talking about.
Something that I noticed really irritates me is the stunning lack of research in the Tolkien fandom regarding The Hobbit trilogy and how they pin the blame for everything on Jackson. But as I discovered over the past three months, there’s a bigger story. The trilogy had one of the most nightmarish productions in recent memory and all of it is Warner Bros. and New Line Cinema’s fault.
The first problem emerged in 2008 when New Line Cinema and Warner Bros. refused to pay the Tolkien Estate the money that they owed them (including for The Lord of the Rings). What followed was two and a half years of everything spiraling out of control, not only sending the film into Development Hell but causing Guillermo del Toro to leave production after having been attached to it. To make matters worse, these legal issues got so bad that it would have taken the production out of New Zealand entirely. Only when Peter Jackson decided to come back to the director’s chair in late 2009 was everything sorted out.
And then the studio only gave Peter Jackson and Weta six months of pre-production and told him to start filming immediately afterwards or else. And before production could even begin, Jackson was hospitalized in January 2011 for a perforated stomach ulcer, which eerily was one of the contributing causes of Tolkien’s death. Luckily, it was caught in time and surgery went smoothly. This, however, forced production and principal photography to be halted for a month.
Filming itself went smoothly for the most part until the decision was made to split it into three movies instead of two. The sound designers, mixers, and editors had to create and edit new sound effects halfway through doing the second film. Then there was the decision to CGI Azog, Bolg, and the orcs in the first and second films, with the decision with Bolg being made so suddenly that whole sequences had to be re-shot, which is why in the trailers Azog is the one chasing the dwarves but in the film it’s Bolg.
Another piece of evidence of the suddeness of switching from two movies to three: the scene where the group tries to bury Smaug in gold in the forges was added only because the filmmakers needed a cliffhanger (they confirmed this when asked) and the actors and some of the crew literally had no idea what they were filming until the finished film.
The romance between Kili and Tauriel was always intended to be in the film from as early as 2010 with her relationship with Legolas being strictly platonic and more like a brother and sister. But when re-shoots were done to turn it into three films, the studio forced them to write Legolas into the love story and turn it into a love triangle. Both Evangeline Lilly and Peter Jackson have admitted they hated the idea of a love triangle and just wanted to tell a simple love story. This is also evidenced in the healing scene in Laketown. In the original script, she healed one of Bard’s daughters (most likely Tilda) but when re-shoots happened it was changed to Kili, which coupled with the aforementioned Bolg switch suddenly explains Kili being hit with an arrow.
When it finally came time to do the third film, the studio practically took the film away from Jackson and forced him to edit it in a way he didn’t approve of and imposed tons of baggage onto film, demanding more emphasis on the love story and possibly more Alfrid scenes.
All of this ended up blowing up in Warner Bros’ faces and while the trilogy did do well, it became a Base Breaker for audiences and critics and the Tolkien Estate has relinquished the film rights to the books until further notice. All the aforementioned meddling was confirmed not just by Peter Jackson but also by Graham McTavish and Evangeline Lilly, with McTavish confirming the theatrical cut for the third film isn’t what was intended and that the extended cuts of all three films are closer to Jackson’s original intention.
Yikes. Now you know all this, I hope you at least are aware of what was going on behind the scenes. Thank you.
I WANT THE DIRECTOR’S CUT NOW
Oh, boy….Amazon better do better or they’re going broke.
I don’t consider the Hobbit movies “almost ruined.” I just consider them Bad. Both as a card-carrying Tolkien fan and a member of Jane Q. Public, who likes to go to the movies and have Fun sometimes. But dammit now if I don’t feel sorry for Peter Jackson. And…and lowkey I miss Guillermo Del Toro. A Hobbit movie done in his style would have been awesome.
I still insist on being hopeful for the Amazon show. It hasn’t come out yet. It hasn’t even started production. No sense panicking yet.
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