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shadowofwar-goober · 1 year

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The Shaman and the Bard- Ch.10 Coughs, Flowers and Names

Something is being passed around Udûn and it's killing them all one by one. Brat doesn't know if they could stand to die nameless and forgotten…

Warnings: Sickness Mentioned, Fear of Death

xxx

The warmth that Brat had felt in the weeks after their birth began to rapidly cool, changing into a chill that wracked them to the bone. Moving from Durthang to a smaller outpost, they worried they would be separated from their tall friend. It wasn’t so! Together they remained, making their daily suffering all the more tolerable, if only a little bit. Life was to become harsher the longer they lived in Mordor with no reprieve in sight.

A wet cough broke the silence in the camp. Then another. And another. It wasn’t just the youngbloods that were ill, but uruks of many different ages, occupations, and states of pre-existing health. Some coughed up thick, greenish yellow mucus. Others had specks of black blood staining their teeth after a coughing fit. Many couldn’t remain on their feet for long, wheezing and struggling to catch their breath.

Brat began to develop an aversion to these uruks. They were sick… but with what? How did they get it? What if they got them and their friend sick?! The healers were overwhelmed. There was always a shortage of some kind, namely herbs that soothe the throat and the airways. In an attempt to distance them both from the sickness that surrounded the outpost, Brat helpfully volunteered themself and their friend to go out scouting for herbs.

“Now you see this, here?” The healer held up a cluster of yellow flowers, root and all still attached. A sudden waft of bitter stink filled their nostrils and both pups recoiled in an attempt to distance themselves from the smell.

“This’s mallos. Get as many as ya can. Don’t mistake it for alfirin. The stink’ll give it away. Take it with ya so you don’t fuck it up.” He all but threw it between Brat and their friend. Brat caught it and held it at arm’s reach, eyes watering from the musky stink.

“This’s lothrond. ” He held up a yellow mushroom, who split away from the stalk in large, flower-like segments. “It grows in caves. Don’t bother with anything else cause we need it now.” Brat nearly missed it being thrown in their direction.

“And this-” The healer put on a glove and picked up a simple looking green plant. “-is hithlas. Don’t fucking touch it ‘cause you’ll die.” He dropped it on the table and threw the glove on top of it.

“Painfully. Now go on an’ get! I’ve work to do an’ so do you!” They were ushered out of the healer’s tent without so much as another word or glance directed at them.

Okay… just two things… They can’t fuck this up, right? Brat looked down at the flower and mushroom in their hand then up to their friend. He shrugged and motioned for them to follow him.

“Ain’t both of these for coughs?” Brat asked aloud. Their friend shrugged once more.

“Think so, yeah… do you really think that green plant’ll kill ya if touched?” Brat almost dreaded the question.

“Don’t know, don’t care. Ain’t touching it! …are you?” He shook his head, grimacing.

“Nope!”

They had nothing to store the herbs in once they collected them, though it’s not like they really needed anything other than their hands. Brat ripped whatever mallos they found out of the ground, roots and all, while their friend kept an eye out for anything potentially dangerous. It was uncharacteristically calm in Udûn; no sounds of fighting, no clashing of metal upon metal, no shouts or screams… simply nothing. It was eerie. As unnerving as it was… Brat would take this unnatural quiet over the ragged, wet coughs of camp any day.

“Why’dya want to do this?”

“Huh?” Brat was resting on their haunches, wiping dirt onto their tunic as they stared at the fresh patch of dirt left behind from them pulling out a flower by the roots. Why’d- oh.

“Just… wanna get out…” They mumbled, shrugging. They rose to their feet and their friend followed them to a shaded underbridge. He already knew why they did this. Brat didn’t want either of them getting sick! It was already getting worse and worse… Soon enough, they all would have that cough and they all would just- they all would- would…

“There’s some…” He knelt down and dug his fingers into the cool ground in order to pull as much as the mushrooms out as he possibly could. Will it even matter in the end? What if they were just delaying the inevitable? Not just for those that are sick, but themselves as well? What they were thinking must be written all over their face, because he put a hand on their shoulder and began to rub it back and forth.

“It’s okay to cry… Ain’t no one but us here.” Brat scoffed, blinking away their tears.

“A-Ain’t cryin’... just… g-got dirt in me e-eyes…” They sniffled, wiping their eyes with the back of their dirty little hand. Crying always lead to reprimands, yelling and physical punishments… Brat’s friend hooked his arm around their neck and pulled them closer.

They were both scared of what was to come. If it wasn’t a rival captain’s raid, it would be a beast attack. If it wasn’t a beast attack, it would be sickness. If it wasn’t sickness, it would be starvation. If it wasn’t starvation, then it would be-

Brat sunk to the ground and began to rock back and forth. Their friend held them tight, not saying a word, rocking in rhythm with them. Would they die in Udûn? Would this terrible place really be their graves? Will they die, young and nameless, forgotten? Crying only made Brat feel worse. They forced their tears to dry and slipped out of their friend’s arms.

“C-C’mon… ‘s just get this over with…” They motioned for him to follow and he did.

They were scolded for not getting enough. There wasn’t any more. Other places were experiencing the same shit; sickness, coughs, death. It was better than nothing and they were sent off and out of the healer’s way.

Death was something that was on Brat’s mind more than ever before. Out collecting mallos and lothrond once more, Brat dropped the herbs they were carrying and turned to their friend.

“Somethin’s botherin’ me-”

“Yeah, ‘bout time ya talk ‘bout it.” Brat was too tired to be visibly annoyed. They ignored the comment and said-

“We need names.”

He paused, dirt falling from his fingers. He looked at Brat, down at the ground, then back at Brat. He knew that death and all the things relating to it was eating his friend alive. Not having names was never a big problem before. So now-

“Yeah… guess it ain’t a bad idea.” He won’t say it. He can’t. There’s no point in saying it aloud, anyway. Brat’s shoulders released some tension and they sighed, relieved.

“Heard some lad’s callin’ ya ‘the Mountain’.” They drop to the ground, sitting cross legged. He rolled his eyes.

“It’s a title, not a name. ‘s dumb, anyway…” He grumbled under his breath. His ears began to throb and he pouted as Brat grinned at him.

“Ya like it…” He shook his head.

“N-Nope! ‘s dumb, like I said!” They laughed, light and bell-like, for the first time in months. He wasn’t annoyed, not really, but it all went away when they smiled like that.

“Still a title…” He whispered under his breath. Brat nodded, appearing to be deep in thought as they tapped their chin with their forefinger.

“Erm… What about Felgrat!” He curled his lip in disgust.

“Ugh, no! Ain’t havin’ nothin’ with ‘rat’ in the name!” What was he, a little glob? No! He was bigger than half of the captains that ordered them around! Brat closed their eyes.

“Mozfel? Like that captain at Durthang? Ya know, the angry one with the tark swords?” He opened his mouth to debate, then-

“Hmm… Ya’re gettin’ warmer…” It didn’t have such a bad ring to it. Mozfel… Maybe if nothing else, that would be the one!

“...Gorfel.” His ears perked up at that one.

“‘member that captain that came from Nurnen? That killed a graug with only a throwing axe?!” Brat said excitedly, squirming in place. Yeah he did! He couldn’t stop himself from becoming excited too.

“Yeah! An’ he nailed a glob from the other side of Durthang with that axe!” That was an exciting day! They both remember it well and began to gossip back and forth on how amazing that bloke was and probably still is.

“Why not take that name fer yaself? I think it’d suit ya nicely! Gorfel.” Brat jostled his arm with a giggle. It was enough to make him blush. To make Gorfel blush.

Yeah… He liked it! Gorfel the Mountain…

“Now me! C’mon!” Brat shook Gorfel from side to side practically beaming. Oof… this will be difficult.

“Hrmm… well, ya got the gift of the gab-” Brat scoffed.

“I ain’t takin’ the title ‘the Gab’!” They cross their arms and set their jaw. It wasn’t terribly impressive, given they were half his size and soft around the edges. But their glare could kill and Gorfel raised his hands in a ‘sorry’ gesture.

“Kay, kay… uh, what about ‘Ogg’-” Brat punched him in the arm.

“Be serious! I was bein’ serious with you!” Gorfel rubbed his arm. He was being serious…

“Oi! What’s wrong- Nevermind! What about ‘Khrosh’?” Brat paused, thinking, then scratched their head.

“Why’d that sound familiar? Ugh, anyway- No. Gotta bad feelin’ ‘bout it.” They couldn’t place why, but they did and that was final. Gorfel narrowed his eyes.

“Yer so picky- What ‘bout ‘Takra’?” Another old bastard from their time at Durthang! But…

“Yeah… the one that always talked shit, but the other captains didn’t do nothin’ ‘bout?” Gorfel nodded.

“He’s the one that always lied! OW! Why?!” Brat pushed him to the ground.

“You callin’ me a liar?!” Gorfel furrowed his brows, confused.

“Y-Yeah? You lie all the bloody time! N-Not to me, though!” He raised his hands in defeat and braced for a blow that would never come. They would argue, fight, even, but they never hit one another, especially not in the face…

“I do lie, but ya don’t gotta bring attention to it!” Gorfel snickered a little.

“That’s why ya say: ‘Takra, Gift of the Gab’! Ya ain’t a liar if ya ain’t ever caught!” Brat opened their mouth to argue, but…

Yeah… he is right… They liked old Takra… he was full of shit, but blokes gathered around to listen to him speak. It’s not a lie if you're never caught, and who even cares when you’re just passing the time…

“Kay… it’s startin’ to grow on me…” Takra said, blushing a little. Maybe ‘the Gab’ part of it could use some work. But ‘Takra’?

“Gorfel and Takra… OR Takra and Gorfel…” He raised his hands as Takra glared down at him.

“I like it.” Takra nodded as well.

They weren’t sure if they were the first of their littermates to pick names for themselves, but they were proud nonetheless. Maybe they didn’t. Maybe some died without ever having a name… Takra wasn’t going to be like them. Neither was Gorfel! They weren’t going to die, nameless and alone in ash covered Udûn. They were going to make something of themselves! …what, exactly, they weren’t sure of yet. Someday, though, they will… They have to, or they’ll just be another body added to the pile.

@space-arsonist, @sinick, @elvenmoans, @boozy-dwarf

#lotr #middle earth shadow of mordor #middle earth shadow of war #uruk hai #uruks #uruk ocs #my ocs #tw illness #some blood #mentions of violence

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ao3feed-tolkien · 2 years

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for who of the living (not pure, not evil)

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/uCGehHX

by eintausendschoen

Think, that Adar almost made his Uruks a free people on Arda with his land-with-no-sun. Had Sauron not come back and enslaved them all in the land of Mordor, could he have created healing for the tormented?

Adar's Uruks wait out Orodruins wrath on the flanks of the Black Mountains. Adar remembers his past.

Words: 5810, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: The Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power (TV 2022), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Categories: Multi, Other

Characters: Adar (The Rings of Power), Original Orc Character(s), Sauron | Mairon

Relationships: Adar (The Rings of Power) & Original Character(s), Adar (The Rings of Power) & Sauron | Mairon

Additional Tags: original Uruk characters, slice of live, among the Uruk, Character Study, mostly Adar introspection, Flashbacks, memories of Angband, mentions of torture, mentions of cannibalism, mentions of child death, Mentions of Slavery, Eldar racism, Uruk culture, Sauron has many names, the usual Sauron-related warnings, Adar wants a home, and tries to free his people, Emotional Hurt, Physical hurt, Grief, Loss, Trauma, Some comfort, No Fluff, probably AU for s01e07, spoilers for s01e06 “Udûn”, survival post Orodruin, Body Horror

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/uCGehHX

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #Tolkien #JRR Tolkien #Tolkien works #ao3 #fan fiction

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author-morgan · 4 years

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Núrn | Day | Shadow of Mordor

#shadow of mordor #shadow of war #virtual photography #myedit #I was shook when I first went to Núrn because it’s so unlike the plains of Gorgoroth #or even Udûn

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mara-xx217 · 2 years

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SoW OC Sheet: Takra the Bard

Uruks born in Udûn rarely live long, let alone become anything other than faceless canon fodder. Takra was small for an uruk, so small that he was barely taller than a man! He should have died in his first season, let alone his first year, but he's as persistent as he is swimming in natural talent... He's got the gift of the gab, able to talk circles around even the thickest or cleverest uruks in all of Mordor. Takra was tribeless, but he managed to gather a following wherever he was posted. It was inevitable that the Marauders would eye him up, and eventually buy him from the captain the smaller uruk worked under. A Marauder's life is full of hard work, but when you love your job, is it truly work at all?

Appearance

On the shorter side for an uruk

Short brown hair that’s always a mess

Absolutely obsessed with birds to the point that most of his attire has crebain/hawk feathers woven into them

Orangish skin

Hazel eyes that are clear with normal pupils and white sclera

Born

In Udûn as a foot soldier

Tribe-less, but later integrated into the Marauder tribe

Occupation

After “joining” being purchased by a Marauder crew, Takra learns to not only play various instruments, but how to properly perform as well

Quickly learns to read and write

Good at both defusing situations and also causing the escalation in the first place

Random Stuff

Lost the fourth finger on his dominate (left) hand in an ""accident"" (his boss was pissed he flubbed a performance and made an example of him)

Now wears a cape stitched full of crebain feathers to detract from his loss of a finger

Had to become ambidextrous due to the... unfortunate amputation

Has a husband/blood brother

Eventually a son and a grandson

Will eat anything placed in front of him

Massive flirt

Steals books ALL THE TIME

Would maim/kill at the slightest inconvenience if his husband would allow it

#lotr #middle earth shadow of war #middle earth shadow of mordor #uruk oc #my oc

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warrioreowynofrohan · 3 years

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Today in Tolkien - March 18th

Today the army sets out from Minas Tirith for Mordor.

Ere noon the army came to Osgiliath. There all the workers and craftsmen that could be spared were busy. Some were strengthening the ferries and boat-bridges that the wnemy had made and in part destroyed when they fled; some gathered stores and booty; and others on the eastern side across the river were throwing up hasty works of defence.

The vanguard passed through the ruins of Old Gondor, and over the wide river, and on up the long straight road that in the high days had been made to run from the fair Tower of the Sun to the tall Tower of the Moon, which now was Minas Morgul in its accursed vale. Five miles beyond Osgiliath they halted, ending their first day’s march.

But the horsemen pressed on and ere evening they came to the Cross-roads and the great ring of trees, and all was silent. No sign of any enemy had they seen, no cry or call had been heard, no shaft had sped from rock or thicket by the way, yet ever as they went forward they felt the watchfulness of the land increase. Tree and stone, blade and leaf were listening...

Then Aragorn set trumpeters at each if the four roads that ran into the ring of trees, and they blew a great fanfare, and the heralds cried aloud: “The Lords of Gondor have returned and all this land that is theirs they take back.” The hideous orc-head that was set upon the carven figure was cast down and broken in pieces, and the old king’s head was raised and set in its place once more, still crowned with white and golden flowers; and men laboured to wash and pare away all the foul scrawls that orcs had put upon the stone.

It was not long ago, only on the 10th, that Frodo passed the Cross-roads.

When the sun rises in the morning, Frodo and Sam can see the Isenmouthe, Carach Angren (“Jaws of Iron”), where spurs from each of the mountain ranges come out and join to enclose the roughly circular valley of Udûn behind the Black Gate. Sauron is moving his forces from the wider Plateau of Gorgoroth around Mount Doom into Udûn to face the army of Gondor and Rohan.

The plain to their right [the direction of Mount Doom] was dim and smoky, and they could see there neither camps nor troops moving; but all that region was under the vigilance of the forts of Carach Angren.

Frodo sleeps in the morning while Sam goes to look for water and finds some. At the water, he glimpses Gollum, and hurries back to check on Frodo, who is fine. The two of them sleep much of the rest of the day. At night, lacking other options, the hobbits follow the road towards the Isenmouthe, 20 miles away. The cover 12 miles in the night, but are overtaken by orcs, and between a cliff-wall on one side and a sheer drop on the other have nowhere to hide. In a stroke of nigh-miraculous good fortune they are mistaken for orcs rather than being identified, but they are whipped on at a horrific pace.

Just as Frodo is about to collapse, they reach the Isenmouthe and there is confusion as multiple companies meet at the entrance. Sam pulls Frodo away, and they climb over the side of the road and down to the plain of Gorgoroth without being spotted in the confusion.

They are now no nearer Mount Doom than they were when the first escaped from the Tower of Cirith Ungol, but the plain between them and the mountains is empty here rather than full of encamped troops.

#tolkien #the lord of the rings #today in tolkien #aragorn #frodo baggins #sam gamgee

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theblackpanther · 3 years

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It was customary to talk about recent wounds suffered in fights. But Khrosh didn’t ask about his other new scar even once, even though it was hard to miss it. And Grom was grateful for that. He also didn’t comment on the fact that Grom’s gang of hunters was considerably smaller than before. The lot that stayed at his side consisted mostly of young and inexperienced warriors or Orcs that were too cowardly to run off and stay on their own.

There was also one other topic that came up and had occupied most of the attention of Orcs in recent times—the Gravewalker. When he first appeared in Udûn almost two years ago everyone was convinced that he was just an ordinary Ranger, a sole survivor of the Gondorians stationed at the Black Gate. While undoubtedly he was a skilled and cunning opponent, all Uruks thought that sooner or later he would fall in a fight, especially as he was certainly looking for trouble. Orcs had numbers on their side, so it was only a matter of time. While Tarks made useful slaves, trying to capture this one was not worth the effort. Uruks had a saying that a good Ranger was a dead Ranger. Not to mention that revenge-driven foes were too dangerous.

But then the terrifying news started to spread, brought by the Orcs that somehow managed to escape from under his blade—that he couldn’t be killed for good. And what was even worse, that he possessed some kind of Elven magic and used it against you. That he could drain strength out of your body and leave nothing but a broken shell. That he could bend your mind to his will and force you to kill your closest companions, even your own blood brother. Make you fight for a cause you didn’t support, turning against the Dark Lord. They also talked a lot of other nonsense—that he tamed the Mordor beasts as if he was one of the great Beastmasters and challenged the Black Captains themselves.

Grom hadn’t believed half of these things, thinking that the grunts that escaped from Udûn and Núrnen exaggerated to have an excuse for their own cowardice. That was until he saw the Gravewalker with his own eyes. And learned that in fact all of it was true.

Continue reading on AO3.

#shadow of mordor #shadow of mordor fanfic #orcs #shadow of war #talion #uruks #orcs customs #gap filler #morality is objective #fanfic

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vezely-a · 3 years

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@dunadaneth asked: what's vez's opinion on dwarves? has she worked with/done trade with them during her time as an emissary?

I sourced a lot of this from the New Notion Club Archives cause that’s how we roll here and I needed to place it into context.

The Eastern Dwarves are said to have awoken in the Spine of Arda and the northern Orocani rather than the Westlands. There were four houses: Stiffbeards, Ironfists, Blackloacks, and Stonefoots. The Ironfoots are most historically known to have interacted with the Men of Rhûn. Initially relations were hostile but a neutral relationship of trade and mutual dependency formed. The Men of Rhûn were the Ironfists’ main food providers, while they dealt in metal and weapons. For a long time, the Ironfists kept the secret of steel to themselves so men remained dependent on them. After the secret was unveiled, the dwarves were viewed with less of a superstitious awe though still used for their metallurgy.

Before coming to Mordor for work, Vezely had limited interactions with these dwarves though she was aware of this history. Big cities and trade hubs such as Mistrand on the banks of Rhûnaer would see its share of dwarves and she may have briefly interacted with some there.

But in Mordor, Vez would class dwarves as foes needing to be overtaken in the upcoming war and further, see their primary value as slaves and engine burners. Mordor had a class of thrall-dwarves called the Stout-axes (formerly known as Drása's folk). They are thought to be descended from the Ironfists and Stiffbeards, but were brought to ruin by the ring granted to them by Sauron and the treason of the Mornaugrim ( Dwarvish traitors who, after the War of the Last Alliance, fled to Mordor ). The Stout-Axes worked the dangerous engines of the Udûn and beneath Barad-Dûr. There were also some expert craftsmen and blacksmiths making weapons. Vez’s scimitar was made by a Stout-axe.

#hadgalah gazar; archive.#character study.#ask.#belenchlekh elch; apathetic emissary (vezely of rhûn).#oršin suuh gazar; residence (mordor).#(( thank you for sending this - i actually should be made aware of dwarves in the east and am ashamed i haven't given them much thought ))

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lotro-natevaelle · 5 years

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In Udûn, Mordor

#Lord of the Rings Online #LotRO #Middle Earth #Mordor #Udun

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a-funeral-pyre · 3 years

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I am back!

I am back with more music inspired by books/movies/comics/whatever!

I will do multiple posts from now on, because scrolling back until I find the last one is getting hard. I think this is the third one I am making? And it will be kilometric because I know a lot of songs about Tolkien.

A lot.

(Thanks @drondskaath for some of the suggestions)

The Silmarillion:

-Children of Húrin (full album), Ainur

-The fall of Gondolin, Cruachan

-Arise in Gondolin, Emyn Muil

-Nirnaeth Arnoediad (full album), Nirnaeth

-The Akallabêth (full album), Archangel

-The sons of Fëanor (full album), Dwarrowdelf

-Elenion Ancalima, Emyn Muil

-Oath of Fëanor (full album), Moongates Guardian

-Two trees of Valinor, Moongates Guardian

-Nan Elmoth, Nan Elmoth

-Noldorin of Vanyarin blood, Vanyar

-Warriors of Arda, Bauglir

-The eyes of Glaurung, Bauglir

-Amanyar, Dol Amroth

-Gondolin, Minhyriath

-He who arises in might, Anfauglir

-The forgotten fields of Anfauglith, Anfauglir

Norse mythology/lore:

-Twilight of the thunder god, Amon Amarth

-Völuspá - Die weissaging aus der lieder - Edda, Duivelspack (please forgive me for the way it’s written, as of now I know little to nothing of German)

-Prophecy of Ragnarök, Brotyhers of Metal

-Tyr, Brothers of Metal

-Thor (full album), Wizard

-Arise (full album), Rebellion

-Völuspá, Wardruna

-Hrungnir, Danheim

-Valhalla (Blind Guardian cover), Fenris

Chanson de Roland:

-Rolandskvadet, Trio Mediaeval (this one is a folk Norwegian song and I will probably suggest other versions later on)

Lovecraft:

-Cthulhu, Iced Earth

Arthurian legends:

-Lancelot, Desdemona

Greek mythology/lore:

-Labyrinth (full album), Fleshgod Apocalypse

Star Wars:

-Inside the circle, Solar Fragment

The Hobbit:

-The breed of Durin, Wind Rose

-The king beneath the mountains, Fangorn

-A battle near the Misty Mountains, Fangorn

-Nazgûl, Frostmourne

-There lived a hobbit, Morguth

-Riddles in the dark, Warg

-King of the Lonely Mountain, Dol Amroth

-Towards the mountains (full album), Herc

-In Bëorn’s hall, Minhyriath

-Ered Engrin - the Iron Mountains, Svarte

The Lord of the Rings:

-Osgiliath, Barrow Wight

-Knights in Sauron’s service, Barrow Wight

-Witchking, Keys of Orthanc

-King’s return, Land of Mordor

-Lothlόrien, Land of Mordor

-Two towers, Land of Mordor

-Darkness above Middle Earth (full album), Moongates Guardian

-Malbeth the Seer’s words (full album), Moongates Guardian

-Roads go ever on, Moongates Guardian

-Let horses be briddled, horns be sounded, Moongates Guardian

-The lord of the Rings (Blind Guardian cover), Moongates Guardian

-Tom Bombadil, Moongates Guardian

-The marshes of the dead, Moongates Guardian

-Tales from Middle Earth (full album), Ringwraith

-Aragorn son of Arathorn, Rivendell

-A drinking song, Rivendell

-Song of Nimrodel (pt. 1 and 2), Rivendell

-Return of the shadow, Tengwar

-A dwarf sings in the dark, Tengwar

-The bearer’s choice, Tengwar

-Voice of the fallen kings, The Ring

-Gil-Galad, Valar

-Death by the river, Avathar

-Shelob the great, Khazaddum

-Lord of Isengard, Khazaddum

-Amon Sûl top of the winds, Altú Pagánách

-War of the Ring, ARC

-Barad Dur, Barad Dur

-Khamûl - Schattens des Ostens, Carn Dûm

-Boromir’s death, Cross Borns

-Isildur’s curse, Cross Borns

-Captains of the west, Dol Amroth

-Ride of the Rohirrim, Dol Amroth

-One Ring to rule them all, Dol Amroth

-Farewell Boromir, Dol Amroth

-From the Grey Havens and far away, Dol Amroth

-Il Signore delle Argentee Fonti, Dol Amroth

-First step of the halflings’ journey, Hithlum

-Land of the horse lords, Hithlum

-Cirith Ungol, Cirith Ungol (well, more or less...)

-Za satum... (full album), Zabiis

-Rise of Rána, Zabiis

-Mithrandir, Dagorlath

-Frodo’s dreams, Hawkmoonmor

-Symbelminë (pt. 1 and 2), Minhyriath

-Journey’s end, Mirkwood (the lyrics are not really LoTR-specific, but the feeling is Tolkien all over)

-Lόrien, Svarte

-Drums of Moria, Witchking

-Flame of Udûn, Witchking

-The will of the Ring, Witchking

-Approaching the white shore, Wormtongue

-The birth of the white wizard, Zirakzigil

Egyptian mythology/lore:

-Egyptian suite (full album), Armageddon

#metal #tolkien #music #books #mythology

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asgardian--angels · 7 years

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Here, I wrote a short thing in stream-of-consciousness style, didn’t do much proofreading, but I hope you enjoy :)

Listened to Lonely Day and Ego Brain by System of a Down on repeat for this...

Warnings for pure a n g s t

If anyone wants this on AO3 I’ll put it up

Mairon stared blankly out at the desolation of Mordor, stretching outwards into the horizon, a bleak, cratered landscape where little stirred. From his view in the tower, he could just make out the pale flames of torches dotting the valley of Udûn, hundreds of orc-camps crowded side by side in the endless dark. The hot dusty wind fluttered through his hair, and there was moisture in it, coming up from the south. Good, they needed the rain. Orcs did not require much to subsist, but they could not go without entirely, and Núrn was late in their harvest this season. They should have grain aplenty soon enough. There was this and more to think about, all the moving parts of his vast dominion, working together like gears in a great machine. But as his gaze drifted along the rugged mountains and down across the plateau, a repeating mosaic of the same muted shades of grays and browns, he could dwell only on how much this land reminded him of the aftermath of the War. Perhaps it was his curse to live here and be reminded of it day after day, to smell him in the breeze and yet see only that which brought about his end. If he could only keep his eyes closed, maybe it would be bearable. Instead he just let his vision lose focus, becoming a lifeless blur before a lifeless face. Allowing his perception of time to fall away, like a thin shawl slipping off his shoulders, he sat undisturbed and unmoving, silhouetted by the faint orange glow of the fuming cone of Orodruin in the distance. None of his servants important enough to have direct contact with him, even the Nazgûl, ever dared attempt to rouse him from these states when they occurred.

When finally he stirred, Mairon looked out upon the exact same view he had left, but now the air was heavy and held a chill that crept quickly through his light robes. Six months had passed; the sea had brought rains to Núrn, the wheat seeded and was reaped, it was delivered and ground and baked and long since devoured by the famished orcs. Quietly he stood, limbs stiff and aching, and descended the steep stone stairs from the high tower. Upon seeing their master his loyal guards snapped to, straightening their backs, lifting their chins, and lining up to make a path for their lord, while the handful of thralls under their supervision scrambled to get back to work repairing a crumbling section of wall. Mairon took no notice of them, his deep amber eyes roving back and forth as if in a trance. He passed them by, and with a relieved sigh the men, gaunt and unshaven, slouched back once more. The crack of a whip, once, twice, three times, sent them back into action, frantically laying bricks and mortar as Mairon continued to amble down the twisting halls, guided by little more than muscle memory. In front of a large wooden door he stopped, staring into it vacantly. Within a few seconds a guard appeared, and seeing his lord waiting, retrieved the key from his belt and pushed open the door with some effort. He bowed low and stepped back. Without acknowledgement, Mairon shuffled into the wide room, making his way to a large wardrobe against the far wall. With cold fingers, he pulled the tarnished gold handle and was met with a cloud of stale air. He paid it no heed, glassy gaze scanning the contents of the wardrobe. Gently he tugged towards him an old cloak, trimmed and lined with thick mottled fur from a breed of beast that had not walked the earth for over three thousand years. Though its deep crimson was now faded, it was in surprisingly fair condition given its age, as were the other garments on the rack next to it.

Like he had so many countless times before, Mairon wrapped the cloak around himself and felt life seep back into his tired bones. He stood there, face buried in the musty fur, breathing in the scent of him that lingered still, the memory of that old life of his. If he could just keep his eyes closed… maybe he could pretend. Perception returned to him slowly, and he became painfully aware of the absence of warmth in this place. He had lived in worse, but here, being alone made everything colder than ice. Picking himself up, he breathed deeply, letting the frigid air fill his lungs, and strode out of the room. Mordor did not sleep, neither could he. Until the next time, that is. This old thing would fall apart someday, he knew.

He needed a vacation. Somewhere new. An island, maybe. He hadn’t been to one of those for a long time. It would do him good to get away for a while.

#sauron #mairon #angbang #lord of the rings #the silmarillion #my writing #look i've had a pretty fucking awful night and i had to write to get it out #i always seem to settle on the second age

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