itarille1

mostly musing on The Lord of the Rings and all things Tolkien, with the occasional dive into other realms

[echo-bleu]

The tapestries made by the Aubusson manufacture based on the art of JRR Tolkien are currently exhibited at the Collège des Bernardins in Paris until May. @actual-bill-potts and I went there yesterday, they're so beautiful!!

These are all handmade tapestries, each is based on a Tolkien artwork (the Rivendell one has the facsimile on the right for scale).

Under the cut: group ID and bonus details

ID: 7 photos of the tapestries, which are each about 3m high, located in a 13th century monastery. The first is the map of middle earth, the others are illustrations Tolkien made of his books. The bonus photos below are details of the tapestries.

[esotolkienweek]

Mark your calendars one and all for the newest fandom event on the block - Esoteric Tolkien Week! This event is dedicated to the strange, inexplicable, fantastic, obscure, and uncanny in Middle-earth and beyond. It will run from July 13th to July 19th, 2025, and accepts all varieties of fanworks. You can read more about event guidelines here.

Inspirational prompts, as well as an ao3 collection, are forthcoming. Prompts will be out within the next two weeks; the collection will open somewhat closer to the event, most likely in May or June.

In the meantime, stay tuned for updates, feel free to reach out with any questions, and above all get excited!

— mod @riding-with-the-wild-hunt

(Banner artwork by Ted Nasmith)

[riding-with-the-wild-hunt]

it's happening!!!

[darkfrozenabyss]

That ballet photo always reminds me of Eärendil and Elwing, particularly of their reunion aboard his ship after the Kinslaying...

[itarille1]

A Day of New Beginning

“In Gondor the New Year will always now begin upon the twenty-fifth of March when Sauron fell, and when you were brought out of the fire to the King…,” said Gandalf to Sam.   

Much has been written about how Tolkien chose specific dates for the Quest of the Ring: the Fellowship started its journey on 25 December, and the Ring-bearers completed the quest on 25 March. 

Since Tolkien envisioned his legendarium as a mythology of England, the fact that 25 March used to be New Year’s Day in England from 1156 until 1752 was likely significant to him. 

More importantly, imagine a devout Catholic author, with extensive knowledge of the classics, searching for a date to place the climax of his story—the triumph of good over evil.  What other date but 25 March could he have chosen, even when he did not intend his work as an allegory of his faith? 

Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger (Pope Benedict XVI) expounds on the significance of 25 March in his book The Spirit of the Liturgy. 

The late Pope described how the Jewish (and later, Christian) tradition considered 25 March as the date of Creation, the day when God said: “Let there be light,” and light came to be. 

It was also considered in ancient time as the day of Christ’s death and as the day of his conception. 

The Church eventually made Easter a movable feast, celebrated on the first Sunday after the first calculated Full Moon on or after 21 March.  Thus, Good Friday is no longer celebrated on 25 March, except when the cycles of the sun and the moon align to repeat the event of two-thousand years ago. 

The Feast of the Annunciation, on the other hand, is still celebrated on 25 March by many Christian denominations.  This feast commemorates the day the angel Gabriel announced to the Virgin Mary that she would bear a son.  It was also considered the day of Christ’s conception in Mary’s womb. 

Since 25 March was regarded as both the day of Christ’s conception and the day of his death on the cross, it can be viewed as both the beginning and the end of his redemptive work. 

I wonder if Tolkien considered starting the Quest of the Ring and completing it both on 25 March.  But that would mean a year of quest... poor Frodo and Sam should not be made to suffer that long! 

Tolkien explicitly stated that he did not intend his work to be an allegory. In the foreword to the second edition of The Lord of the Rings, he wrote: “As for any inner meaning or ‘message’, in the intention of the author, there is none. It is neither allegorical nor topical.” 

In Letter 181 he writes, “But though one may be in this reminded of the Gospels, it is not really the same thing at all. The Incarnation of God is an infinitely greater thing than anything I would dare to write.” 

But one’s faith permeated one’s life and writings. 

Apart from the choice of dates, I wonder if the choice to destroy the One Ring was not in some way influenced by his faith. 

LOTR describes how the Dark Lord Sauron was caught off-guard by Frodo and Sam creeping into Mount Doom to destroy the One Ring.  He had thought that the West would choose someone powerful to wield the Ring and to challenge Sauron.  After all, that would be the logical way to fight an enemy.  Who would foolishly destroy such a powerful weapon? 

Related to this, in the preface to the second edition, responding to the belief that LOTR is an allegory of the Second World War, Tolkien wrote that if the real war “had inspired or directed  the development of the legend, then certainly the Ring would have been seized and used against Sauron; he would not have been annihilated but enslaved...” 

I wonder if the other event believed to occur on 25 March—the Crucifixion of Christ—could not be described in a similar way.  Was Evil caught off guard by the event?  A great battle against the Host of Heaven led by Archangel Michael was expected, but death of the Incarnate God?  Who would have thought of such a folly? 

In his letter to the Corinthians, St Paul acknowledged, and took pride on, this apparent foolishness.  “The language of the cross may be illogical to those who are not on the way to salvation...here are we preaching a crucified Christ... to the pagans madness... For God’s foolishness is wiser than human wisdom, and God’s weakness is stronger than human strength.” 

Happy (belated) Ring Day! 

[bretwalda-lamnguin]

Faramir does not need or want to be coddled 2k25!

[voyaging-too]

My favourite thing about Éowyn and Faramir is that when Éowyn tells Faramir she’s in love with Aragorn, his response is basically “well duh, who isn’t.” He truly gets Éowyn, not only because he has similar experiences with despair and grief, but also because the two of them feel the exact same way about Aragorn.

Strictly, canonically speaking, Faramir isn’t in love with Aragorn, but his old-school Medieval fealty has the level of passion and intensity that a modern reader tends to associate with romantic love. (Though of course he isn’t an outlier in a series about passionate friendship and fealty.) The first time Faramir ever saw Aragorn, in the Houses of Healing, “a light of knowledge and love was kindled in his eyes” and he immediately volunteered to do anything his king asked of him, even though he had just woken up from life-threatening illness and probably didn’t have the strength to get out of bed under his own power. And what he offers to Éowyn, among other things, is this: you can continue to love Aragorn as your king and captain, we can both love him that way, and love each other with a quieter peacetime love.

[itarille1]

The passion and intensity in Faramir's love (both for Aragorn and for Eowyn) is certainly in a level that a modern reader is not used to.

[itarille1]

The Ides of March

In Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar, a soothsayer warns the powerful Caesar, ruler of Rome: “Beware the Ides of March.” 

In his famous play, Shakespeare describes a series of ominous portents that foretell the fateful day. 

A mighty tempest, unlike any the sky and sea had ever seen; a common slave with a burning yet unscorched hand; a lion roaming the streets; men walking in flames through the city; and the bird of night hooting and shrieking at noonday upon the marketplace. 

Casca, one of the conspirators plotting Caesar’s death, interprets these prodigies as signs of something momentous. 

Caesar’s wife urges him to stay home on the fateful day, but a flattering conspirator convinced him otherwise.  Caesar goes to the Capitol, and meets his death on the Ides of March. 

Meanwhile, in Gondor, presumably thousands of years before Caesar’s death, another ruler* meets his end on the Ides of March, in a similarly tragic manner, if not more. 

Tolkien does not describe ominous portents leading up to the Ides of March in 3019, Third Age—perhaps the absence of dawn that day is ominous enough.  That day, the Shadow from Mordor encircles Minas Tirith, and the people inside the city cannot distinguish morning from night, further weakening their spirit, already troubled by the impending assault by a far greater force. 

On the eve of the Ides of March, Denethor, the Ruling Steward of Gondor, stands at the pinnacle of the White Tower of Minas Tirith, and sinks into despair.  He has lost his favoured son and heir, Boromir, to the perilous war against Sauron.  His other son, Faramir, less favoured and (in Denethor’s mind) less loyal to him, is dying, having spent his strength defending the borders of Gondor as Denethor commanded.  Through the palantir, Denethor sees Sauron’s mighty force, ready to crush Gondor.  Pride and despair grip Denethor’s heart. 

For Caesar, the Ides of March is heralded by “men all in fire walk up and down the streets”, by a common slave whose hand is burning yet unscorched. 

For Denethor, he walks into the burning fire, scorched, and burns to death. 

It is the betrayal of his compatriots, more than the many wounds, which undoes Caesar.  “Et tu, Brutè?—Then fall, Caesar”. 

For Denethor, it is the sight of his second son covered in wounds and dying, coupled with the cunning of the Enemy, that leads to his undoing. 

While betrayal is not intended, Denethor does feel betrayed by Mithrandir, a wise man supposed to be Gondor’s ally.  To Mithrandir, he protests: 

“So! With the left hand thou wouldst use me for a little while as a shield against Mordor, and with the right bring up this Ranger of the North to supplant me.” 

He feels betrayed, too, by his son Faramir, who follows Mithrandir’s counsel, and has let the One Ring go, instead of bringing it home as a powerful weapon. 

While Tolkien is known to choose important dates for the events in the Lord of the Rings (the Fellowship begins their quest on 25 December, the Ringbearers complete their quest on 25 March), Denethor’s death on 15 March does not seem a deliberate choice. 

A source (The Lord of the Rings: A Reader's Companion–-but I have not read this) suggested that while Tolkien was writing, he decided to move the Battle of the Pelennor Fields (and thus the Pyre of Denethor) from 14 to 15 March, to give more time for Aragorn to reach the Pelennor.  Tolkien might simply count a certain number of days back from 25 March, and that gave him 15 March. 

Beware the Ides of March.  Caesar’s death sparks chaos and civil strife in Italy, as prophesied by Antony, his ardent supporter. 

In contrast, Denethor’s death opens the way for a new age for Gondor.  The Stewards have served their purpose; they safeguarded Gondor during the absence of the King, stalwartly held off Sauron’s threat.  Now the King has returned to once again rule Gondor.  It is the King, not the Steward, who will lead Gondor into the golden age.  

In a way, Denethor’s bitter assessment is correct: the Steward’s task is to be a shield of Gondor against Sauron, even unto death.  Not for him the glory of the golden age.  But this is one of the messages of The Lord of the Rings, as spoken by Gandalf and embodied by Faramir: 

A Steward who faithfully surrenders his charge is not diminished in love or in honour. 

*Two rulers died on 15 March 3019 T.A: Denethor, the Steward of Gondor, and Theoden, the King of Rohan. Yet Theoden’s death was a heroic death and not a tragic one. 

[lady-of-ithilien]

headcanon: a large portion of faramir's month between the fall of barad-dûr & the coronation of aragorn was spent writing an extremely detailed, minute-by-minute schedule for the handover of office, complete with footnotes referencing historical precedent for each part of the ceremony so that he could ensure everything was done precisely and correctly.

[torchwood-99]

Faramir was sending missives off to Aragorn to keep him updated, but without realising he was also doodling Eowyn in the margins. When Aragorn wrote back asking if the pictures of Eowyn were relevant to the handover of office or if he should buying wedding gifts, Faramir decided now was the time to get to the Houses of Healing and see where Eowyn's head was at.

[itarille1]

“an extremely detailed, minute-by-minute schedule for the handover of office, complete with footnotes referencing historical precedent for each part of the ceremony” -- I can totally imagine Faramir doing this. 

I also imagine that Faramir stationed a scribe at Cormallen, to serve as a link between the City and the King during that delicate transition time (Faramir and Aragorn were still in the early stages of their friendship at that time). In the weeks between Gondor's formal acceptance of Aragorn’s claim and the coronation, Faramir sent a flurry of letters to the scribe, so that he could limit his direct correspondence to Aragorn to one or two brief, dignified letters. Every other morning, the young scribe would appear at Aragorn’s tent, with a list of questions or messages “from the City”. Then in the afternoon he would write his reply, which would be delivered to Minas Tirith the following morning. 

When asked about his preference for the robe for the coronation, Aragorn said he obviously had none with him and would be happy to enter the City in his armour.  He added that he would not mind wearing a robe, if the Council thought it was important and would provide one.  Two days later, a tailor accompanied the scribe in his morning visit with the King. 

[from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras]

While we’re marking the tragic and noble death of Théodred today (we’re all marking this, right? We should!)… here are a few thoughts on his last words:

“Let me lie here — to keep the Fords til Éomer comes.”

I don’t think it’s 100% clear exactly what he meant by “let me lie here.” A lot of people read it literally with “lie here” meaning “left here undisturbed” until his beloved cousin can arrive. But I also like to think that he’s specifically asking to be *buried* at the Fords, with “let me lie here” being in the sense of “here lies Théodred, son of Théoden,” for a very specific purpose.

All throughout Middle Earth (and, more broadly, Arda, because this is a thing that happens in the Silm a *bunch*, too) the final resting places of good and worthy people can take on a special hallowed quality. The land itself seems to hold some memory of the dead person that is manifested in both physical and metaphysical ways — grass and flowers flourish where they might otherwise not, and (critically) enemies and dark things become afraid to tread there. So perhaps Théodred wanted to be buried at the Fords rather than at home among the kingly barrows so that his final resting place could protect a strategically critical location (as the only place where a crossing of the Isen was possible) and forestall a full-on invasion until such time that it could be better defended by actual reinforcements from Éomer.

I think there’s good evidence for this reading. For starters, Elfhelm and Grimbold did bury Théodred at the Fords, and it makes sense that they’d act based on his expressed wishes if he had any. In addition, Théodred would have been perfectly aware of the almost magical hallowing effect of certain graves, and not just because of the tradition of simbelmynë spontaneously appearing on Rohirrim grave barrows. His own great grandfather had twin brothers, Folcred and Fastred, who were slain together in Gondor and buried there in the Haudh in Gwanûr (Mound of the Twins), which the enemies of Gondor thereafter always “feared to pass.” So it’s entirely plausible that he was thinking specifically about that when he spoke those words and hoped to achieve a similar effect. 

Éomer also gives some credence to this reading when our heroes pass by the Fords on their way to Isengard after Helm’s Deep. When they see the burial markers there for Théodred and his men, Éomer says, “Here let them rest. And when their spears have rotted and rusted, long still may their mound stand and guard the Fords of Isen!” He may just be speaking metaphorically there, but he may not. Based on a known phenomenon of his world, he may actually see their graves as a legitimate source of protection for the river crossing.

Anyway. There’s obviously an appealing emotional element to the idea that Théodred wanted to be reunited with his beloved cousin/quasi-brother at his death, and that’s what he meant by his final words. But I think there’s an equally emotional element to the idea that even as he lay dying, he was still trying to think of how he could use himself, in death as much as in life, to help defend his people and his land. ♥️

Either way, what an incredible person!

@sotwk and @celeluwhenfics fellow Théodred enthusiasts!

[emmathefanficgal]

".... And some have said that under the moon of a quiet night, you can see the shape of a man standing watch. However, he is not always alone. From time to time there is another man who joins him. And in his hand he holds a horn."

[from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras]

With this addition for the Borodred fans out there…

[itarille1]

He must grow greater (Part 2 of 2)

John the Baptist and Jesus

Apart from David and Jonathan, the Bible presented another story of love and surrender.

The Gospel introduced us to John the Baptist, who “preached in the wilderness of Judaea... wore a garment made of camel-hair... his food was locusts and wild honey”, who did not mince words with even the king.  He was an unlikely figure to wax poetic about another person.   

Yet the Gospel recorded his sayings “Someone is following me, someone who is more powerful than I am, and I am not fit to kneel down and undo the strap of his sandals”.   

Before Jesus appeared, John had been a popular preacher, all the people made their way to him.  After Jesus started His public ministry, everyone went to Him instead of John.  Upon learning about this, John replied, “He must grow greater, I must grow smaller”. 

I could very well imagine Jonathan, or Faramir, saying those words.

Like Jonathan, and Boromir, the Baptist departed the world before his king accomplished his quest. The Gospel stated clearly that the Baptist was the pre-cursor, the herald, the messenger of the new era (Christ’s), and he belonged to the preceding era.

The Prince from the East

If Faramir and Jonathan surrendered their place to the rightful king, there was another prince, who was the rightful heir to the crown, yet chose to renounce his right, out of love. 

Devavrata, better known as Bhishma, “the one who undertakes a severe vow”, was the only surviving son of King Shantanu of Kuru (ancient India).  His story is recounted in the epic Mahabharata. 

His mother was a goddess, he was raised in her realm under the tutelage and training of the most eminent sages, both mortal and immortal.  When he came of age, his mother presented him to his father.  The court and the people rejoiced and marvelled at his wisdom and prowess, thrilled that such a great crown prince was among them. 

Yet it came to pass that King Shantanu met a woman and they fell in love (Bhishma’s mother, the goddess Ganga, left the king shortly after Bhishma’s birth).  However, the woman’s father said that he would only agree to their marriage if Shantanu promised to put the son born to her as the heir. Shantanu rejected the offer, and returned to his palace in sorrow. Bhishma noticed his father's sorrow, discovered the reason behind it, and proceeded to resolve the problem, by renouncing his claim to the throne. 

For those unfamiliar with this epic from the East, think of an AU to the Silmarillion, where Fëanor learned that Finwe and Indis loved each other, but Ingwe prevented their marriage in the ground of an old prophecy that Indis would be “a mother of kings”. 

In sorrow, Finwe gave up Indis, unwilling to rob his beloved son of his birth right.  

Upon hearing this, Fëanor went to Indis and Ingwe, and took an oath that Indis’ son would be king of the Noldor, instead of him.  When Ingwe cautioned that Fëanor might be magnanimous but his (future) sons may be less so, Fëanor swore another terrible oath to remain unwed all his life.  He then escorted Indis to the Noldoran palace that very day. 

Isn’t that a terrible, powerful story? 

Bhishma renounced his claim to the throne for his half-brother, out of love for his father. Later, after his half-brothers were born, he came to love them as well. 

Unlike Jonathan, Bhishma lived to see his half-brothers reigned.  Unlike Faramir, Bhishma outlived the kings he helped place on his father’s throne. 

The love between him and his half-brothers endured till their deaths.  The band of love did not snap. 

Bhishma went on to become a statesman and the highest military commander of the kingdom.  He lived a long, virtuous life, yet full of sufferings.  There was a deeper meaning to the story—Mahabharata is a major epic in Hinduism.  Yet, even for us who do not understand the religious significance, the story of Bhishma remained a moving, unsettling, one. 

[itarille1]

He must grow greater (Part 1 of 2)

Aragorn and Faramir

One of the most compelling narratives in J.R.R. Tolkien’s masterpiece The Lord of the Rings is the story of Gondor, the realm described as the bastion of the West (the free peoples) against the Dark Lord Sauron. 

Gondor had been without a king for hundreds of years.  After the last king disappeared to answer the taunting call of an enemy, Gondor had been ruled by the Ruling Stewards—noble men with high but not royal lineage—who ruled in the name of the king, “until he shall return”.

At the time of the War of the Ring (the main story of The Lord of the Rings), the Ruling Stewards had governed Gondor ably for nearly a thousand years, and “until the king returns” had become a common saying to describe improbable events.

When Aragorn, a descendant of the kings, finally came to Gondor to claim the crown, the book recounts how the last Ruling Steward, Faramir son of Denethor, willingly surrendered the ruling authority to him.  Faramir’s acceptance was contrasted with Denethor’s outright rejection.  Gandalf—a representation of wisdom in the story—clearly stated that Faramir’s choice was the wise one.

Not only did Faramir accept Aragorn, but he also loved him.  In their first meeting, after Aragorn healed Faramir from the Black Breath which had nearly claimed his life, (Faramir) “looked on Aragorn... and a light of knowledge and love was kindled in his eyes...”.  He immediately acknowledged Aragorn’s kingship: “My lord, you called me.  I come.  What does the king command?”

Aragorn returned Faramir’s love with honour and friendship.  During his coronation, Aragorn confirmed Faramir and his descendants as Stewards of Gondor, and later in the story, he granted Faramir a princedom. 

The book does not delve into Aragorn – Faramir relationship in the years that followed, but it does state that Aragorn’s reign ushered in a golden age for Gondor, and it was implied that all was well for the King and the Steward. 

In one of his letters, Professor Tolkien provided more detail about Faramir’s important role in Gondor under the King’s reign.  Again, it was implied that all was well between the King and the Steward. 

In summary, we have here a prince (in all but name), who was supposed to succeed his father as the ruler, but willingly stepped aside to make way for the anointed king. And there was great love between the magnanimous prince and the rightful king. 

David and Jonathan

If this sounds familiar, perhaps it is because there is an older story with a similar motif: that of David and Jonathan. 

The Old Testament (the first book of Samuel), tells the story of Jonathan, the eldest son of Saul, the first King of Israel, and David, who would eventually ascend the throne, displacing Jonathan. 

Like Faramir, Jonathan loved David at first sight. 

“... Jonathan’s soul became closely bound to David’s and Jonathan came to love him as his own soul.” 

Early in their friendship, Jonathan “took off the cloak he was wearing and gave it to David, and his armour too, even his sword, his bow and his belt.” 

At that moment, he may not have known yet that David would one day be king.  

Yet even after it was clear that the LORD (God) chose David to be the next king, Jonathan’s love did not waver.  He said to David, “And may the LORD be with you as he used to be with my father...” 

“Have no fear... you are the one who is to reign over Israel, and I shall be second to you.” 

Like Aragorn, David returned the love.  In one of their final meetings, David “fell with his face to the ground and bowed down three times”.  Then they kissed each other and both shed many tears.  Upon learning of Jonathan’s death, David lamented: “Very dear to me you were, your love to me more wonderful than the love of a woman.” 

In his poem David and Jonathan, St. John Henry Newman, a gifted poet and writer, ventured that it was well that Jonathan did not live to become David’s second-in-command.   

My interpretation of Newman’s poem is that Jonathan’s death acted as an influence on David (a spell was o’er thee), safeguarding the mighty king from arrogance (to cool earth-joy and kingly pride). 

It is probable that the joy of battle and the grandeur of royal ceremonies would have reminded David of Jonathan (the pale calm spectre of a blameless friend).  Note that David knew Jonathan as a mighty warrior, perhaps even looked up to him in his youth—Jonathan was already a captain of a thousand when David was a mere boy. 

Curiously, Newman seems to suggest that if Jonathan had lived to David’s reign, their bond of love and friendship might have been broken. 

Ah! had he lived, before thy throne to stand, Thy spirit keen and high 

Sure it had snapp'd in twain love's slender band  

Would the pressures of kingship have broken their bond?  Perhaps.

Aragorn, Faramir and Boromir

Did the pressure of kingship and duty break the bond of love between Aragorn and Faramir?  While there may have been occasional disagreements, as in any relationship, I’d like to think that their band of friendship did not snap. 

For one, Aragorn was presented as a wise, noble leader, one that would surely know how to navigate the delicate dynamics with a capable right-hand man who had once been the former ruler. 

A stronger reason (at least in my headcanon) to hope that their friendship remained intact is Faramir’s upbringing and character.  As the second son of the Steward, he had been raised as the spare, the understudy.

I imagine that a ruler’s second son would be raised to master the skills and knowledge necessary to support his elder brother, and step into his place should the undesirable happen.  However, he would also be trained to stay in the background, stepping forward only when needed.

With the threat of war and Gondor’s dwindling power, Denethor would have raised both Boromir and Faramir to be stout captains and effective leaders (he needed as many commanders as he could get). 

On the other hand, given his great love for Boromir, and the bitter memory of his own father preference for Captain Thorongil over himself, the heir, Denethor would have made sure the primacy of the heir was clearly observed by all during his reign.  He likely had a frank conversation with Faramir to make clear his expectations and Faramir's place.

Raising a spare prince is a tough job.  Do it wrong, and you risk creating a frustrated, or usurping, spare. Do it right, and you get Faramir. 

In Tolkien’s own words: 

(Faramir) had been accustomed to giving way and not giving his own opinions air, while retaining a power of command among men, such as a man may obtain who is evidently personally courageous and decisive, but also modest, fair-minded and scrupulously just, and very merciful. 

In short, Faramir was used to being a capable second, and was content with it.  This served him extremely well in the Reunited Kingdom. 

And that brings us to Boromir.  Had Boromir lived, I believe he would have loved Aragorn—not less than Faramir did—and eventually accepted him as King.  But, as Newman predicted for David and Jonathan, it is very likely that their “love’s slender band” would have snapped.  

This is Boromir we are talking about: the prince of the White City, the formidable Captain General, the hero of Osgiliath, who blew the Horn of Gondor more mightily than any Steward’s heir before him.  And you ask this man to surrender his ruling authority—for which he had been trained since birth—to bow to a king, to be the king’s servant all his life? 

I admire Boromir, and I think Tolkien knew best, when he gave Boromir a heroic death at Parth Galen. 

...

[glorf1ndel]

I want to know what Tolkien line hits you hard every time. Where you are just left stunned. It can be from the books, movies, a scrap of paper the Professor wrote on once, whatever. Share your impactful line!

[voyaging-too]

There are a lot of grand brilliant hopeful lines I could list here, but the one that actually floors me every time is a bitter, bitter one, and one that proves me that when Tolkien briefly remembers that he was meaning to write female characters, he writes them with amazing honest power.

‘All your words are but to say: you are a woman, and your part is in the house. But when the men have died in battle and honour, you have leave to be burned in the house, for the men will need it no more.’

[itarille1]

Though all the crannies of the world we filled

with Elves and Goblins, though we dared to build

Gods and their houses out of dark and light,

and sowed the seed of dragons, ’twas our right

(used or misused). The right has not decayed.

We make still by the law in which we’re made.

From "Mythopoeia"

Why should a man be scorned if, finding himself in prison, he tries to get out and go home? Or if, when he cannot do so, he thinks and talks about other topics than jailers and prison-walls?

From "On Fairy Stories"

And of course, this:

(though it may sound cliche--not because it is cliche, but because it is so popular)

'But fear no more! I would not take this thing, if it lay by the highway. Not were Minas Tirith falling in ruin and I alone could save her, so, using the weapon of the Dark Lord for her good and my glory. No, I do not wish for such triumphs, Frodo son of Drogo.’

From The Lord of the Rings.

[itarille1]

No Other Oxford: Remembering St John Henry Newman

John Henry Newman was an influential figure in the Church of England during the 1820s-1840s. He was a fellow of Oriel College in Oxford University, the vicar of St Mary’s University Church, and a leading figure in the popular “Oxford Movement”.  He eventually left these positions, and the church where he had been baptized and raised, to join the Roman Catholic Church—a move which stunned Victorian England, and made him a household name. 

While Newman came to believe, and declared, that the Catholic Church was the one, true Church (hence his conversion), he did not cease to love the church of his baptism. 

In a letter to a friend in 1845, shortly before his conversion, he wrote, “Accept this apology, my dear Church, and forgive me.  As I say so, tears come into my eyes;—that arises from the accident of this time, when I am giving up so much I love...” 

Giving up so much he loves, he wrote.  Being single, and with no living parents, chief among those he loved dearly were the Church of England, his friends, and Oxford University, his home for all his undergraduate and adult life. 

In his spiritual autobiography, Apologia Pro Vita Sua, he wrote briefly about his leaving Oxford.  Being a gifted writer (James Joyce of Ulysses fame described Newman as “the greatest of English prose writers” and spoke of his “silver-veined prose”), his brief account conveyed so much: 

I left Oxford for good on Monday, February 23, 1846.  ... Various friends came to see the last of me; ... and I called on Dr. Ogle, one of my very oldest friends, for he was my private Tuor, when I was an Under-graduate.  In him I took leave of my first College, Trinity, which was so dear to me, and which held on tis foundation so many who had been kind to me both when I was a boy, and all through my Oxford life. ...  

There used to be much snapdragon growing on the walls opposite my freshman’s rooms there, and I had for years taken it as the emblem of my own perpetual residence even unto death in my University. 

On the morning of the 23rd I left the Observatory.  I have never seen Oxford since, excepting its spires, as they are seen from the railway. 

Apologia Pro Vita Sua, Chapter IV 

In a letter written in January 1846, a few months after his conversion, he wrote: 

‘Obliviscere populum tuum et domum patris tui,’* has been in my ears for the last twelve hours.  I realize more that we are leaving Littlemore, and it is like going on the open sea.” 

If he constrained himself to a brief account in his autobiography, he allowed himself more in his novel.  Charles Reding, the protagonist in his novel Loss and Gain, was an Oxford under-graduate who, like Newman, left the university because he lost his conviction on the Church of England. 

He had passed through Bagley Wood, and the spires and towers of the University came on his view, hallowed by how many tender associations, lost to him for two whole years, suddenly recovered—recovered to be lost for ever!  

There lay old Oxford before him, with its hills as gentle and its meadows as green as ever. At the first view of that beloved place he stood still with folded arms, unable to proceed.  Each college, each church—he counted them by their pinnacles and turrets. The silver Isis, the grey willows, the far-stretching plains, the dark groves, the distant range of Shotover, the pleasant village where he had lived with Carlton and Sheffield—wood, water, stone, all so calm, so bright, they might have been his, but his they were not.  

Whatever he was to gain by becoming a Catholic, this he had lost; whatever he was to gain higher and better, at least this and such as this he never could have again. He could not have another Oxford, he could not have the friends of his boyhood and youth in the choice of his manhood.  

... Oxford had been his place once, but his place knew him no more. He recollected with what awe and transport he had at first come to the University, as to some sacred shrine; and how from time to time hopes had come over him that some day or other he should have gained a title to residence on one of its ancient foundations.  

... All had passed as a dream, and he was a stranger where he had hoped to have had a home. 

Loss and Gain, Part III, Chapter 3, “Leaving Oxford” (bold mine) 

Charles Reding was an undergraduate student who had hoped to gain a title to residence in the University, and leaving Oxford caused him great pain.  Newman had not only gained the title (as Fellow and Vicar), but also enjoyed it for many years, before leaving Oxford. Everyone with a heart should not even ask what pain leaving Oxford had caused him. 

While Reding, and Newman, could not have another Oxford, Newman was granted some consolation.  In the latter half of the 19th century, the strict religious restrictions at Oxford were relaxed, and Newman was elected an Honorary Fellow of Trinity College in 1878. 

In a later edition of Apologia, Newman recorded what must have been a heartfelt return in a brief footnote: 

At length I revisited Oxford on February 26th, 1878, after an absence of just 32 years. 

In 1878, he published a second edition of his work “An Essay on the Development of Christian Doctrine”, and dedicated the edition to the President of Trinity College.  Courteously, and free from any illusion that his return to Oxford was more than a visit, in the dedication page he wrote: 

Not from any special interest which I anticipate you will take in this Volume, or any sympathy you will feel in its argument, or intrinsic fitness of any kind in my associating you and your Fellows with it, — 

But, because I have nothing besides it to offer you, in token of my sense of the gracious compliment which you and they have paid me in making me once more a Member of a College dear to me from Undergraduate memories;— 

An Essay on the Development of Christian Doctrine, 1878 edition 

Two years before his conversion, Newman preached his last Anglican sermon at his parish church in Littlemore.  The valedictory sermon was titled “The Parting of Friends”.  Oh, my heart. 

Written in honour of Newman’s birthday, 21 February. 

*“Forget your people and your father’s house”, a quotation from Psalm 45:10 

[itarille1]

Of all dwellings the most blessed

Lately, I keep thinking about this scene.

Minas Tirith, the Council Chamber, Fo.A 90

SCRIBE

The next request is from the Chief Warden of the Houses of Healing, seeking additional funds for repairs to the East Wing.

ELBORON

Another one? Did we not approve their request just last year?

SCRIBE

That was for their study on Haradric poisons, my lord. And the Warden includes a note reminding the lord Steward, most graciously, that he owes his very existence to this most blessed dwelling.

ELBORON

This is perilously close to blackmail.

ARAGORN

Their craft has grown more refined over the years.

ELBORON

I suggest we place this request under careful consideration for next year’s budget, and move on to the next item, Sire.

ARAGORN

A wise course. And a word of counsel, Elboron: do not set foot in the Houses in the near future, or you may find yourself granting them the funds from your personal vault. Your father learned this the hard way.

[itarille1]

Once a Steward

Father saw an old bookshop on our way back to the holiday house, or perhaps he caught the scent of old paper and leather.  He asked, polite as always, if we would mind stopping by for a few minutes. 

Mother, knowing him quite well, glanced around.   Spotting a pleasant tea room, she told him she would do the sensible thing (wait in comfort with a cup of hot chocolate), and expected him to do the sensible thing as well (not to keep her waiting for too long, that is). 

Father walked us all to the tea room, and saw us settled in a comfortable corner that afforded a view of the street outside. 

“Indulge yourself,” Mother said, “not too much, though.” 

Father laughed, limping slightly as he went off.  The Great War ‘had left its mark on him’, Mother once told me. 

Cirion, five, had not yet learned the peril of following Father to a bookshop, library, antique shop, or museum of any kind.  He toddled along happily, holding Father’s hand.  “Can I get a colouring-in book?” 

I, eight and wiser, remained with Mother. 

When Father returned, he carried a small brown paper package tied with string.   Cirion waved cheerfully to us.  As I had suspected, the old (‘quaint’, Father said) bookshop did not carry colouring-in books, but Cirion was a sunny lad.  He seldom complained.  Mother said he got this trait from Father. 

Mother gave Cirion a scone with cream, and placed a plate of orange sponge cake in front of Father.  She knew all our favourite things. 

She carefully unwrapped the package, and took an old-looking book from the top of the stack. 

“Is it a second-hand bookshop?” she asked.  There were yellow-brown spots on the edges of the pages. 

“No,” said Father.  “But they are struggling.  Their books are rather old-fashioned for this fashionable neighbourhood.  And they do not have the means to properly preserve their books.” 

Mother tilted her head slightly, resting her cheek on her hand, a smile tugging on her lips. 

“And how many books in distress did my husband rescue today?” 

Father leaned over to help Cirion wipe his cream-smeared cheeks. 

Then, turning back to Mother, he smiled sheepishly and took the book from her hand. 

“This one has started to turn yellow, and it is an underrated work to begin with.  No one would purchase it, it would languish there and grow moldy.” 

As he spoke, his hand gently smoothed the frayed edges of his new old book. 

Mother looked at Father endearingly (if that is the correct word, I am still expanding my vocabulary).  Then she laughed and they kissed.   They often did. 

“But wouldn’t it still turn yellow, even after you’ve rescued it?” I asked, puzzled. 

Father raised an eyebrow.  “With the right temperature and lack of humidity, it will last longer,” he began.  “And when the book finally turns yellow, or moldy, at least it will have been treasured.” 

“In other words,” Mother said, “your father knows how to care for precious things, and people.  He bears his name well, does he not?” 

Our family name was Stuart—it was Steward, hundreds of years ago. 

Rather hastily, Father added, “And I have been fortunate enough to have the means to do so.”  He disliked boasting of any sort. 

He patted my head, ruffled Cirion’s hair, then settled his arm around Mother’s shoulders. 

I sometimes wondered if all families were like ours, but I suspected not.  As Father often said, we were fortunate. 

[itarille1]

You look upon a woman

Among the most memorable lines Tolkien wrote were the Witch-king's boast in the battle of the Pelennor Field: “No living man may hinder me!”

This is followed by what may be the most admirable lines ever delivered by a female character: 

“But no living man am I! You look upon a woman. Éowyn I am, Éomund's daughter...” 

And Éowyn, a woman (not a man) proceeded to slay the Witch-king, aided by Meriadoc Brandybuck, a hobbit (again, not a man). 

Together, Éowyn and Merry fulfilled an ancient prophecy concerning the Witch-king, that “not by the hand of man will he fall.” 

The idea of a villain or an evil whom no man could vanquish is an ancient one.  Much has been written about the “no man of woman born” phrase in Shakespeare’s Macbeth.  In that famous play, it is foretold that Macbeth may “laugh to scorn / The power of man, for none of woman born / Shall harm Macbeth”.

Finding a false security in this prophecy, Macbeth is shocked to learn that among the lords who opposed his tyrannical reign, there is one Macduff who “was from his mother's womb / Untimely ripp'd”.   

Tolkien, reportedly unimpressed by the solution Shakespeare devised for the fascinating riddle of “no man of woman born,” proceeded to write a superior one, i.e. Éowyn and Merry.

The idea of a woman vanquishing evil is even older than Shakespeare.  In the Biblical account of the Fall of man, it is the woman who is cast as the enemy of the serpent (representation of Evil).  The Bible includes these poetic lines—which Tolkien, a devout Catholic, must have been familiar with: 

Then the LORD God said to the serpent, “Because you have done this, 

... 

I will make you enemies of each other: 

you and the woman, 

your offspring and her offspring, 

It will crush your head 

and you will strike its heel.”  

[maenefa]

I’m in my feelings about Denethor and Faramir again (what’s new), and this! conversation! is! killing! me!

He turned to Faramir. ‘What think you of the garrison of Osgiliath?’

‘It is not strong,’ said Faramir. ‘I have sent the company of Ithilien to strengthen it, as I have said.’

‘Not enough, I deem,’ said Denethor. ‘It is there that the first blow will fall. They will have need of some stout captain there.’

‘There and elsewhere in many places,’ said Faramir, and sighed. ‘Alas for my brother, whom I too loved!’ He rose. ‘May I have your leave, father?’ And then he swayed and leaned upon his father’s chair.

‘You are weary, I see,’ said Denethor. ‘You have ridden fast and far, and under shadows of evil in the air, I am told.’

‘Let us not speak of that!’ said Faramir.

‘Then we will not,’ said Denethor. ‘Go now and rest as you may. Tomorrow’s need will be sterner.’

Denethor already knows that he is going to send Faramir to Osgiliath!

He is a meticulous planner, and his strategy dictates that this battle has to happen. He’s already got his little presentation ready, and he knows that tomorrow’s meeting is going to suck.

But he wants to include Faramir in his plans. Because he wants Faramir on his side, and because he considers him worthy of being in his confidence, and because he hopes that Faramir will agree with him and volunteer to lead the mission, so that Denethor doesn’t have to order him.

And he values Faramir! “They will have need of some stout captain there”—the stout captain is obviously Faramir! This is Denethor trying to be chill and collaborative and it does. not. work. Faramir’s own insecurities and grief and exhaustion take over—he hears “stout captain” and all he can think of is Boromir.

But his father believes in him. Denethor believes that Faramir is brave and strong and that he can step up and do Boromir’s job! Why else would he be saying all these things to Faramir? Prince Imrahil is a certified badass, but Denethor isn’t having this late night chat with him, is he?

You desperately want them to hug it out and have a big, weepy heart-to-heart, but Faramir is too fucking tired! and Denethor can see that! So he just tells Faramir to go to bed.

*screams*

The worst part is that Denethor simply can’t be Faramir’s dad right now. Faramir cannot be his little boy that he loves and wants to protect from all harm. Or else Denethor could not do what he has to do, which is send him into mortal danger.

Denethor is afraid that if he expresses his softer emotions he will completely lose his shit—and that’s exactly what happens!!!!!

[itarille1]

Reading this passage in the book, and the next scene in the Council meeting, I also got the impression that:

1. Denethor hoped Faramir would agree with him and volunteer to lead the mission, so that Denethor didn't have to order him.

2. Denethor restrained himself (as @maenefa put it "Denethor simply can't be Faramir's dad right now), so that he could make decision as the Steward, and not as a father. If he had let go of this restraint, he wouldn't have been able to order Faramir to go. He had just lost one son, and now he had to sent another to almost-certain-death? Those cruel words "it depends on the manner of your return"--I believe they cut Denethor as deeply as they did Faramir.

This does not absolve Denethor from his flaws--he had many. But he was a noble Steward who succumbed to despair (and even that, only at the very end), not a deranged, cruel, incompetent man.

I wrote a short fanfic, about Barahir (Faramir's grandson) imagining an alternate ending for Denethor. In that alternate ending, Faramir did volunteer to lead the mission.

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

I also wrote another fanfic chapter, about Denethor's reflection as he waited for Faramir's return. This was just a start--I fully realize Denethor is much more complex than what I presented there.

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Need I say I'm talking about Book!Denethor?

[maenefa]

Oh, it’s nice to hear from the author of a fanfic I enjoyed! You will be pleased to hear that I ugly cried over Chapter 9 of “The Shadow in the Past.”

Your story was actually one of the things that unlocked my appreciation for Denethor—I was surprised by the emotion that chapter made me feel, and I realized that I had apparently been waiting for that closure for a good 20 years (since Tolkien never shows how Faramir reacts to his father’s death).

[itarille1]

@maenefa Thank you so much! It's very encouraging to hear that someone read our story and enjoyed it. I'm very glad that my musings helped unlock someone's appreciation for Denethor.

I started writing fanfic because I couldn't get enough of Faramir. But when I wrote about Denethor, he fascinated me even more than his son did.

ps: I'm new to tumblr, so I'm not sure if I should reply or reblog in this situation. I hope I didn't make any gaffe!