#Celebdil

[aspenrockymountainhigh]

But the Balrog's whip lashed out, and grasped Gandalf by the knees, causing him to fall into the pit.  Yet Gandalf did not die; he and the Balrog fought long in the bowels and deep places of Arda. After restless pursuit over the course of eight days, Gandalf and the beast finally came to the summit of the Endless Stair upon the peak of Celebdil. There, he fought the demon for two days and nights. The Balrog had burst into flame anew when it exited the stairs; ice, wind, and smoke swirled about them as they duelled. Gandalf used his last measure of strength to slay the Balrog, throwing him down the mountainside in ruin. Gandalf himself died following this ordeal, but was later sent back to Middle-earth with even greater powers as Gandalf the White.

Image by Ted Nasmith

#balrog #gandalf

#balrog #gandalf #lotr #fellowship of the ring

[ebaeschnbliah]

They had been a fortnight on the way when the weather changed. The wind suddenly fell and then veered round to the south. The swift-flowing clouds lifted and melted away, and the sun came out, pale and bright. There came a cold clear dawn at the end of a long stumbling night-march. The travellers reached a low ridge crowned with ancient holly-trees whose grey-green trunks seemed to have been built out of the very stone of the hills. Their dark leaves shone and their berries glowed red in the light of the rising sun.

Away in the south Frodo could see the dim shapes of lofty mountains ...

 ... that seemed now to stand across the path that the Company was taking. At the left of this high range rose three peaks; the tallest and nearest stood up like a tooth tipped with snow; its great, bare, northern precipice was still largely in the shadow, but where the sunlight slanted upon it, it glowed red.

Gandalf stood at Frodo's side and looked out under his hand. `We have done well,' he said. `We have reached the borders of the country that Men call Hollin; many Elves lived here in happier days, when Eregion was its name. Five-and-forty leagues as the crow flies we have come, though many long miles further our feet have walked. The land and the weather will be milder now, but perhaps all the more dangerous.'

`Dangerous or not, a real sunrise is mighty welcome,' said Frodo, throwing back his hood and letting the morning light fall on his face.

'But the mountains are ahead of us,' said Pippin. `We must have turned eastwards in the night.'

'No,' said Gandalf. 'But you see further ahead in the clear light. Beyond those peaks the range bends round south-west. There are many maps in Elrond's house, but I suppose you never thought to look at them?'

`Yes I did, sometimes,' said Pippin, `but I don't remember them. Frodo has a better head for that sort of thing.'

`I need no map,' said Gimli, who had come up with Legolas, and was gazing out before him with a strange light in his deep eyes. `There is the land where our fathers worked of old, and we have wrought the image of those mountains into many works of metal and of stone, and into many songs and tales. They stand tall in our dreams: Baraz, Zirak, Shathûr.

`Only once before have I seen them from afar in waking life, but I know them and their names, for under them lies Khazad-dûm, the Dwarrowdelf, that is now called the Black Pit, Moria in the Elvish tongue. Yonder stands Barazinbar, the Redhorn, cruel Caradhras; and beyond him are Silvertine and Cloudyhead: Celebdil the White, and Fanuidhol the Grey, that we call Zirak-zigil and Bundushathûr.

`There the Misty Mountains divide, and between their arms lies the deep-shadowed valley which we cannot forget: Azanulbizar, the Dimrill Dale, which the Elves call Nanduhirion.'

`It is for the Dimrill Dale that we are making,' said Gandalf. `If we climb the pass that is called the Redhorn Gate, under the far side of Caradhras, we shall come down by the Dimrill Stair into the deep vale of the Dwarves. There lies the Mirrormere, and there the River Silverlode rises in its icy springs.'

`Dark is the water of Kheled-zâram,' said Gimli, `and cold are the springs of Kibil-nâla. My heart trembles at the thought that I may see them soon.'

`May you have joy of the sight, my good dwarf l' said Gandalf. 'But whatever you may do, we at least cannot stay in that valley. We must go down the Silverlode into the secret woods, and so to the Great River, and then ...'

He paused.

'Yes, and where then?' asked Merry.

'To the end of the journey ... in the end,' said Gandalf. 'We cannot look too far ahead. Let us be glad that the first stage is safely over.

JRR Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings, The Fellowship of the Ring, The Ring goes South

#the lord of the rings #the fellowship of the ring #the ring goes south #jrr tolkien #gandalf #aragorn #boromir #frodo #sam #merry #pippin #bill the pony #legolas #gimli #movie pics #peter jackson

[theworldsoftolkein]

Upon Celebdil - by Raoul Vitale

#tolkien legendarium #the lord of the rings #jrr tolkien #tolkien #the fellowship of the ring #gandalf #balrog #gandalf the grey

[carlandrea]

'I need no map,' said Gimli, who had come up with Legolas

They're already—

and was gazing out before him with a strange light in his deep eyes.

He does have beautiful eyes doesn't he Jolkien

'There is the land where our fathers worked of old, and we have wrought the image of those mountains into many works of metal and of stone, and into many songs and tales. They stand tall in our dreams: Baraz, Zirak, Shathûr.

So is this a metaphor? Does he mean that he knows them from stories, or from literally his dreams? I think—either way it doesn't matter. This is Tolkien and there's always this lovely mysticism attached to songs and tales—I think the metaphor is also true.

Also I love Gimli a lot oh my god

Only once before have I seen them from afar in waking life, but I know them and their names, for under them lies Khazad-dûm, the Dwarrowdelf, that is now called the Black Pit, Moria in the Elvish tongue. Yonder stands Barazinbar, the Redhorn, cruel Caradhras; and beyond him are Silvertine and Cloudyhead: Celebdil the White, and Fanuidhol the Grey, that we call Zirakzigil and Bundushathûr .

all of these names are such bangers like. Ok Dungeons and Dragons tries to go for a tolkein-esque vibe with its names, but dnd names are always just. ridiculous nonsense because the dnd people're just not? as good? These names all sound real. They sound like real places in another langauge. And also they sound cool as fuck. And also Gimli I love you.

#lotr newsletter

[middleearthtolkienfantasyart]

Ancalagon, also known as Ancalagon the Black, was the greatest of all winged dragons. He was bred by Morgoth during the First Age and was the largest dragon to have ever existed in Middle-earth. His appearance in history was restricted to the War of Wrath.

After Eärendil made his journey to Valinor to convince the Valar to overthrow Morgoth and rescue the overmatched and defeated Elves and Edain, The Host of Valinor made war upon Morgoth and destroyed his armies.

Facing final defeat, Morgoth unleashed his last and greatest weapon; a fleet of winged fire drakes, led by Ancalagon. So terrible was their onslaught that the armies of the Valar were driven back from the gates of Angband, and their coming was said to have been accompanied by a tempest of fire and lightning.

But Eärendil came out of the West in his blessed ship Vingilot, accompanied by "a myriad" of the Eagles of Manwë led by Thorondor. The Eagles and Eärendil dueled with Ancalagon and the other dragons for a day. Eventually, Eärendil was victorious, casting Ancalagon down upon Thangorodrim and destroying the volcanic mountains in his fall. The death of Ancalagon marked the end of Morgoth's final resistance.

Gandalf spoke of him as he told Frodo the true origin of his Ring. "It has been said that dragon-fire could melt and consume the Rings of Power, but there is not now any dragon left on earth in which the old fire is hot enough; nor was there ever any dragon, not even Ancalagon the Black, who could have harmed the One Ring, the Ruling Ring, for that was made by Sauron himself."

Ancalagon's size is not specified, but must have been colossal due to the destruction of "the towers of Thangorodrim" when he fell on them, which are elsewhere identified with the three smoking peaks of those mountains.However, his size cannot be assumed to be larger than Thangorodrim; some powerful but comparatively small creatures are able to cause great destruction even in death, such as Durin's Bane breaking the slopes of Celebdil.

Like all other Urulóki, Ancalagon breathed fire, which was implied to be hotter than any other dragon's flame.

Art by Corinna Springl

#tolkien

[tolkienillustrations]

The Mountains of Moria by Daniel Reeve

#LOTR #Tolkien #Misty Mountains #Caradhras #Celebdil #Fanuidhol #Eregion #Maps #Daniel Reeve #Tengwar #Moria #I deciphered this last night and it was SO fun #For the full transcription go to this link: #http://www.elvish.org/gwaith/movie_otherinscr.htm

[khorazir]

Z is for Zirakzigil

Last one for the Illuminated Alphabet challenge @illustrationhq. Each day of April until today, I posted a letter inspired by The Lord of the Rings. All drawings were done in iron-gall ink and Egremont Red watercolour. I’ll post the full set later today.

#tolkien #jrr tolkien #tolkien art #tolkien illustration #illuminated alphabet #drawing #ink #watercolour #egremont red #lord of the rings #lotr #zirakzigil #celebdil

[mellamame]

#celebdil

[eldamaranquendi]

Near the Mountains of Moria by Crocorax

#tolkien #silmarillion #lotr #moria #celebdil #caradhras #fanuithol

[cozymarsh17]

Durin’s tower

Inspired by Summoning's song "Silvertine"

#jrr tolkien #middle earth #lord of the rings #durin's tower #khazad-dum #moria #dwarfes #misty mountains #celebdil #silvertine #mountains #snow #landscape #digital art #digital painting #illustration #art #tower #artists on tumblr

[quarkmaster]

Upon Celebdil

raoul vitale

#Upon Celebdil #dragon #demon #warrior #battle #combat #fantasy #fantasy art

[therealvagabird]

Gandalf and the Balrog Upon Celebdil - by Ted Nasmith

[middle-earth-companion]

On this day: 🗓 January 25 Year 3019 1- Gandalf defeats the Balrog and passed away in Celebdil “There upon Celebdil was a lonely window in the snow and before it lay a narrow space, a dizzy eyrie above the mists of the world... Out he sprang, and even as I came behind, he burst into new flame.” . . . . . . . . . . . Illustrations by: 1- Raoul Vitale Art . . . . . . .⁣ .⁣ .⁣ . #middleearthcompanion #art #bilbobaggins #book #bookish #booklover #bookstagram #bookworm #fantasy #fantasyart #frodo #frodobaggins #gandalf #todayinmiddleearthMEC #hobbit #hobbits #jrrtolkien #legolas #lordoftherings #lotr #lotrmemes #loroftheringslore #middleearth #sauron #silmarillion #MECProfiles #thelordoftherings #tolkien #tolkienart #todayinmiddleearth
 (at Middle Earth) https://www.instagram.com/p/CZKg6Vvtg2Z/?utm_medium=tumblr

#middleearthcompanion #art #bilbobaggins #book #bookish #booklover #bookstagram #bookworm #fantasy #fantasyart #frodo #frodobaggins #gandalf #todayinmiddleearthmec #hobbit #hobbits #jrrtolkien #legolas #lordoftherings #lotr #lotrmemes #loroftheringslore #middleearth #sauron #silmarillion #mecprofiles #thelordoftherings #tolkien #tolkienart #todayinmiddleearth

[elliemarchetti]

Clear As Silver Drops

It’s my birthday and I post what I want to! *sing this as Necessary Evil by Motionless in White*

To be totally honest, this is inspired by @my-darling-haldir who was asking for Haldir fic recs for her bday and I said myself why not? Why not indulge in your love for elves and mixed ocs? So here we are, with something in which Legolas isn’t with the Fellowship and in his place we have Elva, the only woman in a group otherwise made up of men only.  Enjoy!

Words: 3132

"I'm afraid we can't stay here any longer," Aragorn said, turning his gaze to the mountains, raising his sword as if he wanted to curse Gandalf for his recklessness.

“What hope do we have without him, now?” asked Frodo under his breath, talking mainly to himself.

“We’ll have to do without hope,” replied Elva, talking to the whole Fellowship. “It may be that one day at least he’ll be avenged, but for now, let’s have courage and stop mourning: we have a long way to go and a lot of things to do.”

At her words they all stood up to look around, making her weigh for the umpteenth time what her role really was in their mission. She should’ve asked Gandalf when she still had time, but now he had taken that secret to the grave and she could do nothing but find it herself. A skilled archer and an excellent diplomat, Elva felt more like she was there to act as a glue between cultures, and thus prevent those men, all with different histories and upbringing, to go one to the North, dominated by three sparkling white peaks, Celebdil, Fanuidhol and Caradhras, one to the East, where the forward-projected arms of the mountains steepened abruptly, with distant lands extending beyond, and one to the South, where the Misty Mountains stretched endlessly. 

Less than a mile away, slightly lower, as they were located at a high point on the eastern flank of the valley, they saw a lake: it was long and oval, looking like the tip of a spear stuck deep in the basin to the north, with the southern waters out of the shadows, bathed in sunlight but still dark, the deep blue of a clear night sky seen from a lighted room. The surface was calm, and all around the bare banks were covered in soft grass. The Fellowship walked the uneven and bumpy road that descended from the Gates of Moria, just a winding path among heather and twigs, sprouted between the broken stones; it still could be seen that it once meandered from the Dwarf Kingdom’s lowlands, but the broad paved street was now reduced to a ghost of itself, just like Durin’s stone.

“I can’t go on without deviating for a moment to see the wonder of the valley!” exclaimed Gimli.

“Be quick, then!” said Aragorn, checking the gates behind them. “The sun sets early, and even if the Orcs won’t come out, perhaps, sooner than dusk, we must already be very far away at sunset; it’s almost new moon, so the night will be dark.”

Elva almost cursed under her breath: if the lightless night was approaching, even her monthly blood was coming. Of all the advantages of being a half-elf, unfortunately she hadn't inherited the one of not suffering like mortal women.

“Come with me, Elva!” cried the dwarf, distracting her from her thoughts. “I don’t want you to go away without first seeing Kheled-zaram.”

For some strange reason, despite her elven half, the dwarf liked her company, and quite a lot too. Together they descended the long green slope swiftly, followed slowly by the hobbits. A brief glance into the dark waters, and back again to the road, now turning south, going down quite steep from two offshoots that embraced the basin. A little lower than the lake, they encountered a deep well of crystal clear water, from which a steam rose, flowing right after down a rocky groove.

“Thirsty as you may be, don’t drink this water,” Gimli warned. “It’s cold as ice.”

“Over there, are the woods of Lothlorien,” said Elva, pointing at a golden haze in the flat lands. “It’s the most beautiful among all the homes of my people. There are no trees like those of that land: in autumn, their leaves don’t fall but turn to gold, replaced only in spring by the new buds covering the branches with yellow flowers. Then, the soil is gold as the ceiling and the smooth and grey bark of the trees make them look like silver columns, as our songs in Mirkwood still tell. My heart would be so happy if I were among the branches of that wood and the spring smiled!”

“My heart will be happy even if it’s winter,” Aragorn said. “But many miles separate us, let’s hurry!”

For a time, Frodo and Sam managed to keep up, but the warriors advanced swiftly and soon they were left behind. When Elva noticed, she immediately told Aragorn, who, seeing them so far away, ran back on his own steps, calling Boromir to follow him. He apologized, full of disquiet.

“So many things happened today, and we’re such in a hurry that I forgot you were injured. You should’ve said something, because in silence nothing has been done to alleviate your pain. A little further on there’s a place where we can rest for a moment. Come, Boromir, let’s carry them!”

They soon encountered another stream flowing down the western slopes, confusing its gurgling waters with the swirling ones of the Silverlode, diving together from an overhand of green coloured stone and foaming down in a hollow surrounded by fir trees, low and curved, with steeps sides covered with rapeseed and blueberry bushes. They stopped at the bottom, where was a flat area crossed by the bed of shiny pebbles in which the creek flowed noisy. It was nearly three in the afternoon, and they had travelled just a few miles from the Gates. The sun was already turning to west, painting a grave expression on Aragorn’s face as he cared for Frodo and Sam’s injuries.

“Lucky you” he exclaimed, to lighten up the gardener’s mood. “Many have received a worse reward for killing their first Orc. The cut isn’t poisoned, as is unfortunately the case for most wounds inflicted by their blades, so it’ll heal well.”

He then opened his saddlebag and took out some withered athelas. While fresh were more effective, the leaves would still do their work in cleaning the wound. When Frodo’s turn came, he was quite reluctant, saying he was fine and just needed some food and rest, but Aragorn persisted, and took off his old tunic and worn shirt, giving an exclamation of astonishment, which soon turned into laughter: the hobbit wore a silver coat that sparkled before their eyes like light on a choppy sea, the gems bright like stars and the tinkling of the rings producing the same sound as the first raindrops falling into a pond. If word got out that a hobbit had such a wonder, all the hunters of Middle Earth would’ve galloped towards the Shire, but all their arrows would’ve been vain before a mithril armour. Still, there was a dark blackened bruise on Frodo’s right side and one of the rings had passed through his soft leather jacket, penetrating into the flesh. While the others prepared the meal, Aragorn made more athelas water, filling the basin with its acrid fragrance. After the late lunch, the Fellowship put out the fire, erasing all traces of it, and climbed out the hollow, resuming the road. They hadn’t come far when the sun disappeared behind the western heights and great shadows crept along the sides of the mountains. Twilight veiled their feet, and a light mist glided in the depression, while far to the east, the evening lit up with its pale glow lands, plains and distant forests. Sam and Frodo managed to walk briskly and Aragorn led the Fellowship for another three hours with a single, shot break, after which the late nigh imposed her dark reign. There were several stars, but the moon waning would appear much later.

“Lothlorien!” Elva cried. “We have reached the edge of the Golden Wood!”

The trees stood imposing, arching over the road and the river that swept suddenly under their leafy branches, trunks gray in the pale starlight and leaves quivered with a touch of fallow yellow.

“We’re still too little far from the Gates, but we can’t go further. Let’s hope that the Elves virtue will protect us from the danger pursuing,” said Aragorn.

“Assuming the Elves still live here, in this darkening world,” Gimli said, joining them.

“It’s been a long time since some of my folks came back to see the land we abandoned centuries ago,” replied Elva, “but we know that Lorien is still not deserted and a secret force repels evil far from this district. Nevertheless, its inhabitants rarely show up, and perhaps now they live deep in the woods and far from the northern borders.”

Aragorn confirmed with a sigh, as if some memory in him had been awakened. “We must suffice to ourselves, for tonight. We’ll still walk a short distance, until the trees are thick around us, then we’ll leave the path to look for a place to rest.”

“There’s no other way?” asked Boromir, irresolute.

“What better way would you want?” asked Aragorn.

“A simple path, albeit flanked by a hedge of swords,” Boromir replied. “Our Fellowship has been conducted in strange ways, and all of them so far with an inauspicious outcome. Against my will we passed under the shadows of Moria, towards our perdition, and now we have to go into the Golden Woods, even if we have heard of that perilous district in Gondor, where it’s said that few of those who set foot there come out, and of these, non has been released unharmed.”

“Don’t say unharmed, but unchanged, and then your words will be truthful,” Aragon retorted. “Wisdom has certainly diminished in the city of those who were once wise if now they speak ill of Lothlorien. You may not believe me, but there’s no other way for us, unless you want to go back to the Gates or climb the mountains or swim alone along the Great River.”

“Then guide us!” agreed Boromir. “But it’s dangerous.” “Very,” Aragorn confirmed. “Beautiful and dangerous, but only the evil has to fear here.”

They walked a little over a mile into the forest when they encountered a third stream flowing rapidly from the tree-lined slopes, climbing west towards the mountains. They could hear it roar in a cascade hidden by the shadows, before the dark water crossed the path ahead of them, joining the Silverlode in a whirlwind of ponds hidden by tree roots. It was the Nimrodel, the river on which a long time ago the Silvan elves composed many song. She grew up singing them in the North, mindful of the rainbow over the waterfalls and the golden flowers floating on its foam. Everything was dark, now, and the Bridge over it collapsed, but its waters were still able to wash away any sign of fatigue, so she proposed to wade it to find on the other side a place to rest.

“The sound of falling water will perhaps bring us sleep and forgetfulness from sorrows.”

One after another, the men followed her and when they were all on the other bank, they sat down, rested and refreshed. Elva told the stores of Lothlorien, the ones the Mirkwood elves still treasured in their hearts, stories of the sun and stars on meadows along the Great River, from a time before the world turned gray. When finally silence fell, they heard the music of the waterfall that flowed smoothly in the shadows.

“Do you hear Nimrodel’s voice?” she asked. “I’ll sing you the story of a girl who was called like the river next to which she lived a long time ago. It’s a lovely song in Sylvan, but I’ll sing it in Westron for you.”

Then, with a sweet voice so faint it almost disappeared in the rustle of the leaves, she intoned the ballad of the elf with a white mantle edged with gold; she had long hair and white skin, the free girl with a voice clear like silver drops. It was evident that some of her companions thought this creature lost in the dewy mountains could’ve been her, so she sang about her lover, an elven king of trees and clearings, went away on a ship swept by the north wind.

From helm to sea they saw him leap, As arrow from the string, And dive into the water deep, As mew upon the wing. The wind was in his flowing hair, The foam about him shone; Afar they saw him strong and fair Go riding like a swan. But from the West has come no word, And on the Hither Shore No tidings Elven-folk have heard Of Amroth evermore.

When Elva's voice trembled, the song ended. She said she couldn't continue because she didn't remember how it went on, but it was a lie: long and sad was the story about the doom befallen on Lothlorien when the dwarves roused evil in the mountains. She glances sideways at Gimli, who looked somewhat grateful, and quickly changed subject, proposing to camp on the trees for the night. The Fellowship left the path, entering the shadows of the forest further dense, headed west along the mountains steam and far away from the river, until they found a small group of trees with big trunks.

“I’m at home in roots and branches, but this species is unknown to me; I need to climb to see what their shape and way of growing is,” said Elva.

“Whatever they are,” replied Pippin, “they would really be wonderful if they offer a possible night’s rest to others than birds: I don’t know how to sleep perched on a hanger!”

“Then dig a ditch in the ground, if that’s more to the habits of you race,” Elva retorted, impatiently. “But you have to dig fast and in depth, if you wish to hide from the Orcs.”

Before she could do anything else, however, an authoritative voice spoke from the shadows. In amazement, she crouched frightened against the trunk.

“Stay still,” she whispered to the others. “Don’t move and don’t speak!”

A soft laugh was heard in the foliage, and another clear voice spoke in an elven language. Elva looked up and answered in the same idiom, different from the ones the western elves used.

"Who are they, and what do they say?" asked Merry.

"They're Elves," Sam replied. "Don't you hear their voices?"

"And they say you breathe so hard they could pierce your heart despite the darkness,” Elva hissed, silencing the hobbits. To be honest, there was no reason to be afraid: the elves said they’ve been long aware of their presence but they didn’t hinder the Fellowship in crossing the river since they heard her voice beyond the Nimrodel and recognized she belonged to their Nordic lineage.

“They’re begging me to go up with Frodo. It seems they’ve received news about our journey but they ask the others to be patient for a moment and guard the feet of the tree, waiting for them to decide what to do.”

At those words, a ladder was lowered from the shadows: it was made of a silver-gray sparkling cord and despite its frail appearance, it proved itself strong enough to withstand the weight of several people. Elva went up fast, while Frodo tried to persuade Sam to stay with the others. It would’ve been a wise choice, it was easy to offend her people, but the gardener was immovable and in the end they entered the flet, talan in elvish, through the circular hole open in the centre. The elf holding the ladder, the eldest, invited her to sit with his companions, two younger guards, both fully dressed in silver gray fabric, a valid help to hide among the stumps and then greeted the hobbits in a slow Common Tongue.

“It’s rare for us not to use our mother tongue, since now we live in the heart of the forest and don’t like to deal with other people. Even our own relatives in the North are divided from us, but some still go in foreign lands to gather news and watch over enemies, and therefore they speak different languages like me. My brothers Rumil and Orophin understand little of what you say, but we heard of your coming from Lord Elrond’s messengers when they passed by Lorien on their way home. From many years we no longer knew anything about your race and we didn’t think there were still any hobbit in Middle Earth. You don’t seem bad natured and since you come with an elf of our lineage, it’s with pleasure that we’ll help you, as Elrond asked us to, although is not out habit to lead strangers across our land, but you’ll have to spend the night here. How many are you?”

"Eight: me, four of them,” said Elva, alluding to the hobbits, “and two men, one being Aragorn, an elf-friend of the Westernesse folk.”

“The name of Aragorn son of Arathorn is known in Lorien, and he has the benevolence of the Lady. So, everything is fine,” said Haldir. “But you have so far only named seven.”

“The eight is a dwarf,” admitted the girl, never lowering her eyes, no trace of shame in her voice. She knew that Haldir must’ve understood by now that not only elven blood ran in her veins, but he didn’t seem to care.

“This is not good: we haven’t dealt with them since the Dark Days and they’re not allowed into our country. I cannot let him pass.”

“He’s of the Lonely Mountain, one of Dain’s trusted people and friend of Lord Elrond, who has personally chosen him to be part of our Fellowship,” she explained. At her words, the three elves exchanged a long, knowing look.

“Is he perhaps your companion, milady?” Haldir asked.

“Would it make any difference on his courage and loyalty?” she asked, heedless of what some strangers might think. If she had cared about the opinion of all the souls she had met in her long life, her heart would’ve already burst with pain.

"Very well," said Rumil at last, displeased. Ignoring the fact that the hobbits didn’t understand him, he told her in Sindarin that if she and Aragorn had watched and answered for Gimli, he could’ve passed, but only blindfolded.

“Now, we mustn’t waste any more time,” Haldir resumed. “Your companions have been on the ground too long and soon in the morning you’ll have to continue your march. The hobbits will stay here with us, while you’ll remain in the other talan with the rest of the Fellowship.”

“Call if something is wrong!” he added in the end, as a farewell. Elva was halfway down the ladder when she heard one of his brothers mutter something about such a beautiful voice wasted in a terribly vulgar way, but she couldn’t understand his reply.

#lotr #haldir #aragorn #gimli #boromir #gandalf #rumil #orophin #frodo baggins #sam gamgee #pippin took #haldir x oc #the fellowship of the ring

[warrioreowynofrohan]

Today in Tolkien - January 8th

On the morning of January 8th, the Fellowship of the Ring reach Hollin (Eregion). They plan to rest for the whole day, have a good cooked meal, get a good night’s sleep, and rest the next day as well, setting out the next evening. However, this plan is disrupted when Aragorn sees flocks of black crows flying over the land as if searching it out, and concludes they are spying they choose to put out the fire and keep walking that night, much to Pippin’s disgust.

This day includes one of Tolkien’s biggest Linguist Moments in the narrative, via Gimli’s speech:

Yonder stands Barazinbar, the Redhorn, cruel Caradhras; and beyond him are Silvertine and Cloudyhead: Celebdil the White and Fanuidhol the Grey, that we call Zirak-zigil and Bundushathûr.

On rereading this, I noticed for the first time why Caradhras is called the Redhorn:

At the left of the high tange rose three peaks; the tallest and narrowest stood up like a tooth tipped with snow; its great, bare, northern precipice was still largely in the shadown, but where the sunlight slanted upon it, it glowed red.

I’m also intrugued by Legolas’ statement of being able to hear the stones lament the lost Noldor: deep they delved us, fair they wrought us, high they builded us, but they are gone. Some parts of nature, like trees, might prefer to be left alone and obviously not wish to be cut down, as we see with Fangorn later, but the stones want to be quarried and shaped and used and altered, and even have a sense of the beauty of the creations that are made with them. Could elves talk to a building, in some fashion? To a statue? Legolas doesn’t mention the stones of Moria communicating with him, so maybe it’s specific to elf-shaped stone. Certainly Elves have a considerable effect on, and bond with, the land; Hollin is a healthier and more pleasant area than the rest of the surrounding territory merely because Elves lived there several thousand years ago.

#tolkien #the lord of the rings #today in tolkien #elves

[tolkienillustrations]

Durin I Discovers the Three Peaks by Ted Nasmith

#LOTR #Durin #Tolkien #Misty Mountains #Ted Nasmith #They are called in Dwarvish: #Bandushathur #Zirak-zigil #Barazinbar #In Sindarin: #Fanuidhol #Celebdil #Caradhras #In English: #Cloudyhead #Silvertine #Redhorn