#ulwarth

[grey-gazania]

My Silm/LotR friends! Hypothetically, would you be interested in an Easterlings Week?

Yes

No

See results (Don't click unless you're me, please!)

Voting ended onJul 14, 2023

I feel like the Easterlings (both First Age and Third Age) don't get enough love in this fandom, and I'd like to rectify that if I can. Woul anyone be interested in participating if I were to set up an Easterlings Week?

[arofili]

men of middle-earth ⧎ easterlings and southrons ⧎ headcanon disclaimer

         Pegmûl was the chieftain of a tribe of Easterlings who entered Beleriand in the First Age. He was a charismatic orator, leading his people westward with promises of fertile lands and freedom from cruel overlords. Ever at Pegmûl’s side was his eldest son Khagan, fiercely loyal to his father and his self-appointed bodyguard; his other two sons, Lundda and Mûlda, took more after their mother Lorrad, preferring hunting and scouting to keeping their people in line.           Lorrad was a scout, leading forays into new territories to see if they were suited for settlement, and when she and her second son Lundda crossed the Blue Mountains to investigate Beleriand, they returned with praises for the forests and fields in its eastern regions. Thus Pegmûl led his people across the mountains, arriving in Thargelion some months before their kinsmen led by Kulren even reached the foothills.           Soon they encountered the folk of the elven-lord Caranthir the Dark, who offered allegiance to them, remembering the valour of Haleth of the Haladin and not wishing to overlook the worth of Men a second time. Pegmûl and Khagan at first refused, for they had no wish to bind themselves to any lord’s service, but when they were faced with the hostility of the Green-elves of Ossiriand, Pegmûl reconsidered and took Caranthir up on his offer.           Pegmûl and his people settled in the lands of Thargelion, which were just starting to recover from the Battle of the Sudden Flame. Farming was difficult, but ash enriched the soil, and after a few years their fields began to give good harvest. Nonetheless, Pegmûl’s health soon began to decline, for he was an aging man and had gone without food on his long journeys so that others might eat.           At this time, Lorrad took Lundda and Mûlda out hunting. They disliked the methods of their lord Caranthir’s brothers Amrod and Amras, and preferring to trust to their own traditions, embarked on patrols into the wilderness without any elven guides. On one such venture, they were attacked and captured by orcs, and though they expected to perish on the monsters’ swords, they were instead imprisoned in a cave. The orc-captain let Mûlda loose to return to his father, demanding Pegmûl parlay with his Master for Lorrad and Lundda’s freedom.           Mûlda’s message was grievous to Pegmûl, especially as he was yet weak and unable to travel great distances. Khagan pledged to go in his father’s stead, agreeing to Pegmûl’s insistence that they recover their captive family members, whatever the cost. Mûlda led his brother back to the cave, where the orc-captain’s Master, Gorthaur, awaited him. Gorthaur presented a choice: to betray their elven overlords, save their family, and earn land and riches once Melkor defeated the Union of Maedhros—or die here and now.           For Khagan, it was an easy choice. He agreed to Gorthaur’s bargain, and his mother and brother were released, deeply shaken but alive. Khagan returned to Pegmûl, who was relieved to see his wife and sons safe, and reported the terms of his agreement with Gorthaur. At first Pegmûl was troubled, but Khagan had long nursed resentment against the elves who demanded tribute, and suspected them of poisoning his father, and with his zealous words Pegmûl was swayed to agree.           Not long after, Caranthir invited Pegmûl’s people to join his brother Maedhros’ Union against the Dark King, and he accepted under false pretenses. Mûlda and Lorrad served as spies and messengers, reporting to Gorthaur’s agents all they knew of the Union’s plans, while Khagan and Lundda remained in Thargelion, quietly turning their people against Caranthir and his brothers. Two years before the Fifth Battle, Pegmûl at last succumbed to his illness, and Khagan took up leadership of his tribe with a dark and heavy heart.           When the day of the Battle arrived, Khagan conspired with his mother and brothers to receive “messages” of enemy movements that counseled Caranthir and Maedhros to hang back instead of marching forth as planned. This delay kept the eastern half of the Union from reaching the western forces and crushing Morgoth’s armies beneath them, and when Maedhros at last reached a company of foes, Khagan signaled his warriors to turn against the elves.           Kulren and his sons, vassals of Maedhros, retaliated against their traitorous kinsmen, and soon Easterlings fought Easterlings amid the chaos of death and dragonfire. Khagan slew Kulren and his second son Kulnab, but before he could rejoice in his victories, Caranthir’s brother Maglor hewed him down from atop his horse in vengeance. Lundda and Mûlda battled Kulren’s remaining sons, slaying them both at the cost of their own lives. Alone of her family, Lorrad survived the Nírnaeth Arnœdiad, rallying her people around her when the Union broke formation and fled the battlefield.           For her family’s treachery and sacrifice, Lorrad was unjustly rewarded: Gorthaur and Melkor betrayed their promises, shutting the Easterlings into the lands of Hithlum and denying them the fertile lands they had been assured. While some of Khagan’s under-captains, including Brodda and Lorgan, would become tyrants over the remnant of Hador’s House, Lorrad herself faced the rage and blame of her people, and was martyred for her and her family’s failure to deliver on the promises that led them to Beleriand in the first place.            The elves and Edain would not forget the betrayal of Pegmûl’s House in the Battle of Unnumbered Tears, and cursed their names, giving them new, unflattering monikers in the Sindarin tongue: Ulfang the Black for Pegmûl their first chief, Emerul the Ugly Mother for Lorrad who stood by her sons, Uldor the Accursed for Khagan who led the treachery upon the battlefield, Ulfast of the Hideous Hair for Lundda who had adopted an orcish hairstyle upon the day of the Battle, and Ulwarth the Betrayer for Mûlda who carried messages of deceit to his overlords.

[tolkienmatters]

Ulfast, Ulwarth, and Uldor The Accursed were the sons of Ulfang and Easterlings of the First Age. They are notorious for betraying Caranthir and Maedhros at the Battle of Unnumbered Tears (Nirnaeith Arnoediad). In the First Age many Easterlings came to Beleriand. They came when they heard of the riches of Beleriand, some came secretly in service of Morgoth, while others fled the destruction of Dagor Bragollach. They were outsiders to the native Edain. Two Easterling leaders came to Beleriand at this time, Bór and Ulfang. Bór and his sons Borlach, Borlad, and Borthand swore allegiance to Maedhros. Ulfang and his sons Ulfast, Ulwarth, and Uldor came into the service of Caranthir. The Edain did not trust the Easterlings, but Maedhros and other elves who had lost faith in their kinsmen welcomed these new warriors into their ranks - knowing that another battle with Morgoth was imminent. Maedhros believed that if he could unite the free peoples of Beleriand he could stop Morgoth, and he formed an alliance called the Union of Maedhros. Bór and Ulfang called their kinsmen from the East and were armed and trained for the upcoming war. The Union of Maedhros attacked Morgoth in the north of Beleriand at Anfauglith, a desert outside of Angband. Bór and Ulfang’s armies marched with the Western Army through the hills designed to flank the armies of Morgoth. The Eastern Army under Fingon assailed Angband but were forced to retreat. During this retreat the Western army came to reinforce Fingon’s host. Angband was emptied; wolves, balrogs, and Glaurung the dragon came to the battle. At this pivotal point Ulfang and his sons betrayed the sons of Fëanor and attacked them in the rear. Uldor had hidden armies in the hills who now emerged and attacked Maedhros’ flank, leading to a mass retreat. Many of the faithful easterlings fled due to the confusion and lies they were told. Uldor The Accursed was slain by Maglor, and Bór’s sons died killing Ulfast and Ulwarth. The fate of Ulfang and Bór is unknown. Nirnaeith Arnoediad was a massive defeat for the Union of Maedhros. Morgoth was uncontested in the North and raided Beleriand freely, he restricted the Faithless Easterlings that served him to the small region of Hithlum, forbidding them any of the riches of Beleriand, which made them bitter and they ruled in that fashion. The War of Wrath would sink Beleriand, but it would not sink the legacy of their betrayal. The many tribes in the East would continue to serve Sauron in the Second and Third Ages.

“Yet neither by wolf, nor by Balrog, nor by Dragon, would Morgoth have achieved his end, but for the treachery of Men. In this hour the plots of Ulfang were revealed. Many of the Easterlings turned and fled, their hearts being filled with lies and fear; but the sons of Ulfang went over suddenly to Morgoth and drove in upon the rear of the sons of Fëanor, and in the confusion that they wrought they came near to the standard of Maedhros. They reaped not the reward that Morgoth promised them, for Maglor slew Uldor the accursed, the leader in treason, and the sons of Bór slew Ulfast and Ulwarth ere they themselves were slain. But new strength of evil Men came up that Uldor had summoned and kept hidden in the eastern hills, and the host of Maedhros was assailed now on three sides, and it broke, and was scattered, and fled this way and that. Yet fate saved the sons of Fëanor, and though all were wounded none were slain, for they drew together, and gathering a remnant of the Noldor and the Naugrim about them they hewed a way out of the battle and escaped far away towards Mount Dolmed in the east.” - Silmarillion, Of the Fifth Battle: Nirnaeth Arnoediad.

Art by https://magpiecrown.tumblr.com/

[grey-gazania]

That's 31 yes, 5 no, and 8 people who can't follow directions. I think 31 people expressing interest is worth doing an event for, so I'll start posting at @easterlingsweek once I've got the details hammered out!

[meisiluosi]

Ulwarth - fanmix

Link to playlist: https://soundcloud.com/helena-t-p-nov/sets/4-1

Tracklist: Dawanggang - Shan dao shang zhuang jian liang ge zhoushi (Meeting 2 wizards on a mountain road) Dou Wei - Mi zou jiang hu (Lost in Jianghu) Ling Yi (aka Voodoo Kungfu) - Ci an (This Shore)

(My headcanon for Ulwarth is that he changes *a lot* in the course of his life... This selection reflects the “after”...)

[meisiluosi]

Headcanons: The Sons of Ulfang

Yldar (aka Uldor) Yldar was something of a prodigy. He was a gifted leader, a very capable diplomat and a bit of a scholar, too. He excelled at learning languages. His Sindarin was nearly flawless – and he was one of the very few among his folk who could not only speak but also read and write it. He loved stories with a passion and he recorded many of his people's tales and legends. He was an expert on The Lay of Badu, a legend that existed in many variations among most tribes of all four alliances. He knew well over 30 variations on it and took great interest in comparing some of its passages with stories he heard from the Eldar and Edain. He was also a formiddable warrior: not many people could match his archery skills (Borrad being one of the very few who surpassed him), he fought very well with both sword and sabre – and he was a very good rider, to boot. When he was still very young, he loved hunting with eagles and often disappeared for days, spending long hours riding across the plains, enjoying the crisp, cold air, the rustling of the grass, the warmth of the sun – and the freedom these solitary rides afforded him. He loved eagles dearly and he loved the wind - and the moment he first heard of Manwë, he immediately developed a soft spot for him. He was the only child of Ylpang's first wife Börte and took a lot after her. Which was generally considered a blessing, since Ylpang was not the handsomest man – but Börte was a beautiful woman. From a fairly young age, Yldar acted as his father's chief advisor. Not that he wanted to – but Ylpang noticed early enough that his eldest son's observations and insights tended to be spot on – and he simply sought Yldar's counsel often. Thus Yldar became „politically aware“ very early on – and ever since then, his people's plight was of utmost importance to him. Yldar was in absolute awe of the elves. And he actually genuinely liked Caranthir. He was good friends with Bör and his children. He had three wives – but they were all political marriages and while he got along well with all his spouses, he loved none of them. His second wife gave him a son and daughter – twins. One bad winter took them all.

Ylchaz (aka Ulfast) Not much of a fighter but an outstanding spy and scout. Also a great coordinator – whenever a problem presented itself that required a lot of logistics, Ylchaz was the one to plan and organize everything. During the times when the clan moved from one place to another (and that happened once a year at least), Ylpang relied on him a lot for making everything run as smoothly as possible. Ylchaz was a passionate, hot-headed man and he sometimes had the tendency to make ill-advised decisions, albeit for the noblest of reasons. His name meant „keen-eyed wolf“ and it suited him well – he was a pack animal and the pack always came first. He was extremely distrustful of strangers and fiercely protective of his people and his family. He could be quite morally flexible if his people's well-being or his family's safety was at stake. While he hated Morgoth, he never came to fully trust the Eldar and the Edain. He had respect for them but always suspected they didn't quite have the same kind of respect for him and his people – and he was not entirely wrong there. He was a great craftsman – his specialty were music instruments, ornaments and jewellery of all kinds, usually made from wood, bone, buckhorn and (or) leather. He played the fiddle really well. His only wife was killed by orcs during the years of terror and he didn't marry again. He was always accompanied by a blind wolf he'd rescued and raised from the cub. He called him 'Dog'. He was a loner and he hardly ever spoke in whole sentences. Ylchaz was the first one to suggest that they maybe should honor their deal with Morgoth. He found no pleasure in it, would have much rather stayed loyal to Caranthir – but he let himself be persuaded that there was no other choice.

Ylchar (aka Ulwarth) Ylchar was the one with the brawns, although he didn't exactly look it. He never backed out of a good fight – and he seemed to genuinely enjoy himself on the battlefield. He found little pleasure in killing and he actually didn't kill if he didn't have to – but he loved brawling and winning. He laughed and howled his way through most battles – and whoever saw him fight came to the inevitable conclusion that he was probably batshit crazy. Off the battlefield, Ylchar was a funny and easy-going fellow who loved good food, good booze and good sex. He was a steadfast friend and an entertaining drinking buddy. He was a carefree, happy soul, innocent in a way, always looking for the best in everyone and everything – until the years of terror came and changed that. Ylchar watched his father grow weary and old under Morgoth's shadow; he saw his nephew and niece - whom he loved with that kind of doting affection that only silly childless uncles are capable of - taken by a long, bleak winter; he saw their mother die shortly afterwards, hard to say whether of hunger or grief or both; he saw how every year the situation progressed from bad to worse... He wasn’t cut out for such trying times - and after a few years, he became an empty husk of a man, a pathetic echo of the person he once had been. He tried to cling onto all the good, positive emotions that he had once taken for granted – but he couldn't. Years passed and while outwardly not much has changed, those who knew him well couldn't help but notice that there was now very little enjoyment in whatever Ylchar was doing. When he first met the Noldor and the Edain, the only emotion he felt was bitterness. Bitterness at the Edain for getting so bloody lucky, bitterness at the Eldar for being – well – Eldar, bitterness at the Valar for not giving a damn. In his heart of hearts he knew himself to be wrong and he hated himself for feeling the way he did but he never really warmed up to the flame-eyed folk or their straw-headed pets, as he called the Edain. In the end, he found the betrayal all to easy, even though he'd rather die than suggest it himself. When Borchand's spear pierced his throat, he didn't even try to dodge or defend.

[lintamande]

Could I have a fic involving Ulfang and Caranthir, at around the time Ulfang decides to join Morgoth. At least partly from Ulfang's perspective, if possible. Thank you!

In Thargelion there were long tracts of land that lay scorched by something worse than fire. Even grasses would not grow there. The Elves, as he’d come to realize was typical of Elves, had a detailed plan to rehabilitate the lands. The plan (this he had also come to realize was typical of Elves) would come to fruition in two hundred years.

The Elves were planning for a war ‘soon’, which to them meant less than a decade away. The siege the Elves intended to take up again, if they won their war, had lasted already for four hundred years. He’d tried to fathom that, the scope of it, and fallen short. Utterly failed.He’d thanked Caranthir graciously for the reforestation plan - thoughtful, detailed, requiring only moderate effort, including plans for the allocation of the lands once they were habitable again. He’d promised to begin implementing it. And he’d left utterly, chillingly certain that Men could not live as the vassals of Elves.

He’d been seven when they left the East. The crops were failing; it never rained. The trade was failing because the roads were unsafe, convoys slaughtered senselessly, blights and plagues rolling in alongside the dust storms.He’d been thirty when they’d stopped in the shadow of the mountains, dug in fences so the animals could graze, grounded the tents, built a temple. By the time he was twenty they were doing the old rites all wrong. There was a blessing for your dead ancestors and for your unborn children, a blessing for the rains and a blessing for gentle winds. These had been said every day on the desperate migration, and they were remembered. But in the scrolls he couldn’t read there were others, more complicated ones - blessings for a rising chieftain, blessings for foreknowledge, blessings for the successful execution of a complicated plan. Once they’d been an integral part of their life as a people, and now no one could remember them. When the parchment crumbled they’d be gone - except perhaps they were gone already, as no one remained who could read it.

It hadn’t rained that summer either. 

In the autumn, during the full moon that should have celebrated a harvest, a god had come to speak to them. 

They’d known he was an evil god. All the gods were, really. The god of fertility strangled children at their birthing bed. The goddess of war fed the hunger in men’s souls that would in return spill the blood which fed her. The god of rain denied them, or drowned them, and rejoiced in it. The gods were petty and capricious and powerful beyond measure. This is how they knew the man for a god, and how they knew him for an evil one.

Ulfang was not the tribe chieftain. The blessing for a chieftain had been forgotten and he’d refused to take up the role without the words. He’d been close to relenting, really, that autumn, on the off chance it was his refusal that had earned his people their disfavor. 

Ulfang was not the tribe chieftain but he was the strongest, the most courageous, the most learned, the one whose plans saw their way through to execution with the least interference by the fates. They turned to him, of course, and recklessly he’d strode forth and kneeled at the feet of the god, kissed his robes in half-remembered ritual. 

The god had been pleased.He’d taken Ulfang aside, then, and spoken to him of a war in the distant divine paradise. Ulfang had not been surprised. Evils could happen in peacetime, but this sustained campaign of horrors, driving men from their homelands, swallowing knowledge itself in its maw - of course that was war.

The god claimed that he stood alone against all the others, and that he was winning. He spoke of lands, fertile lands, where the hungry could eat for ever and the rains came in the spring. He set his hand to the ground, then, and drew metal out of the rock in a fine and silky ore, gleaming, a sword, and to Ulfang he had handed it. "Will your people be my servants," he said, "against the terrible occupiers who hold those lands now? Will your people die too timid to lay a claim to the food that rots in storehouses, to the grasses that grow wild and free on untamed plains? Or will they serve me?"

"Which god are you?" Ulfang had asked. 

The god had claimed the name of Melkor. He was, he’d said, the god of changing things that others were willing to leave in their stalled and fruitless current state. If they went across the mountain they would see.

"I will serve you," he’d said, since one didn’t refuse gods, not to their face, not if one didn’t want all of their line damned to painful deaths. And he’d returned to their settlement and considered it.

The god of changing things; they needed that. Things needed to change. The lands rich and occupied by distant peoples, unconcerned with anything save their war against Melkor - he would accept those lands, if granted them for his service, and their peoples could serve him in building anew the world he’d left behind. The god was evil. But then, all the gods were. 

When they crossed the mountains, he left the sword behind. It would attract questions. And he spoke the scattered words which he remembered of the ceremony for a new chieftan, a rising leader of his people. To Melkor he pleaded for blessings, for guidance, for wisdom. To Melkor he pleaded forgiveness for leaving the sword.When the ceremony ended he stood straight and tall and felt slightly ill inside. Looking into the eyes of his people cured this. They hungered for food, yes, but they hungered also for a memory, for a return to the greatness they’d abandoned to the eastern storms. They’d hungered for gods, and the gods had seen fit, at last, to extend their intemperate and conditional favor.

                                                      ****

His children were eleven, and eight, and six, when the Elves began planning their war. They were twenty-three and twenty and eighteen when the Elves saw fit to begin it. 

Men, Ulfang thought, could not live under Elves. Men wasted away in the service of Elves, generations and lifetimes spent loyally on work they’d see no fruits from. There was a reason the harvest came each year. It corrupted the soul and spirit to never see any return to your labor. It made the labor feel empty. It made it too easy to pride the effort as its own virtue. It was leaving his people hollow.On the eve of the war (as Elves counted time; six months, still, remained) he called his children to his home. It had been built in the old style, on some of the land laid waste in the last war. That land was now in the first stages of its painful rehabilitation. The first stage called for small seedlings to be planted at an even distance and meticulously cared for. He called it ‘my garden’, and the Elves heard no mockery.

His sons walked beside him in the gardens, and he spoke the old blessing for wisdom in wartime."Long ago," he said, "I swore my loyalty to Melkor, for to do otherwise would have drawn his wrath. I do not think that my words bind me. An oath cannot be extracted at the point of a sword; such sworn word can be broken honorably."Uldor was the tallest, with the graceful, easy strides of a man fully grown. He still walked half-a-step ahead of his father, overeager, like he’d done as a little boy. “Yes,” he’d said.

"Twelve years ago," Ulfang continued, "I swore my loyalty to the Lord Caranthir of Thargelion as our men crossed the pass from the mountains into the land which he claims as his own. Those words I spoke at the point of the sword of hunger, thirst, and desperation. They too, I think, do not bind me."

 Ulfast had long hair he refused to cut; it seemed to make the Elves take him more seriously, so his father hadn’t protested. In any event Melkor was the god they served in these days and Melkor had given no rules for grooming. Melkor was an odd god. “Yes,” Ulfast said. "I choose, then, between the allegiances offered to our people, bound only by my conscience and by the memory of my ancestors. I swore to lead this people. That word, I think, binds me.”"Yes," Ulwarth murmured, it being quite transparently his part, but he was frowning.

"I have no desire to see our people live as the vassals of Elves," Ulfang said.

"If we win the war there’ll be more land," Uldor objected, "and land less despoiled, and less call to collaborate with them closely.""Sure," Ulfast said, "it’ll be less unbearable. Unbearable still, though. A world ruled by Elves will change too slowly for our people; they’ll hunger forever."

Ulwarth did not speak.

"And," their father said, "there is the question of who wins the war, and what it means to lose it. Melkor is a wrathful god, and we stand in his favor. He aided us in our time of need, and advised us truly, so far. If we lose, we will face his wrath. And he will annihilate us.""I have no faith in the strength of the Elves," Uldor said.

"They risk too much," Ulfast said, "they risk everything. They do so expecting sincerely to win, then. It is not a front put up to win our aid."

Uldor shook his head. “They could expect to win sincerely but wrongly.”

Ulfast pulled to a halt. “They know more than we do.”

"Indeed," said their father. "Sit down."

The ground was blackened, still. The plants looked fragile and sickly. Caranthir had claimed that in twenty years they would look stronger. The four of them sat in such a way as not to squish the stalks. Ulfang reached out and began rubbing one leaf; it was waxy."If we bet for the Elves, and bet wrongly, we will be annihilated as a people," Uldor whispered."If we bet for Melkor, and bet wrongly, he will pity us little and protect us not at all," Ulfast countered."The Elves might spare our children," Ulwarth said, "assuming that we lose utterly and are defeated." His hands reached out to touch the plant as well; they were cold against Ulfang’s weathered fingers."That’s not enough," Ulfast snapped. "As a people we would still be dead.""As a people," Uldor said, "under the Elves we are already dead."They turned all at once to look at their father. He was still prying at the leaves of the plant. “Two hundred years,” he said, and turned up to look at them. “My heart is with you,” he told Uldor, “and my head. But I will hear you say your parts first, all of you. I will not have us divided.”

Ulfast smiled at his younger brother bitterly.  ”We are not divided,” he said. 

Uldor smiled lightly back. “Fair to say, though, that we disagree.”

"The Elves are good, in their own way. Poor rulers of our people, but good warriors. I feel more call to serve them than to serve Melkor. I - I hesitate at this. If it's not wrong, it seems as it is still tragic. Somehow. But," he swallowed, "I don’t think I even disagree with you. Not really. No, we are not divided.""We are divided anyway," Ulwarth said, "for we are not the only people who came across these mountains. And to them we have made overtures of friendship, we have married, we have given oaths that we cannot duck out of by naming them coerced. Would you see us war with Bor’s people?"They sat in silence."I would," Ulfang said, "if it saves ours. And it is possible they will reach the same conclusion as we. I would not blame them for mistrusting us too much to share it." His fingers toyed with the poisoned, blackened dirt. "If we win we’ll be kinder masters that the Elves are. Or - not kinder, really. Better suited.”

"If we win," Uldor said, "when we are no longer hungry, then will be the time for kindness, maybe.""Then will be the time for building," Ulfang told him. "Don't comfort yourself with the thought of luxuries you haven't won."

"I didn't," his son said defensively.

"Father means that kindness is a luxury, and so are fantasies," Ulwarth said. He looked tired. "I do not dissent."

When they stood to leave Ulfang looked back and realized that the plant was dying. Two hundred years, he thought, and after that day he did not doubt.