bead-bead:

wizardlycatpants:

“No one is finally dead until the ripples they cause in the world die away—until
the clock wound up winds down, until the wine she made has finished
its ferment, until the crop they planted is harvested. The span of
someone’s life is only the core of their actual existence.”
Terry
Pratchett – Reaper Man

Its been a year already, but the ripples have yet to fade.

GNU Terry Pratchett

Angsty bit … After Azanulbizar, Thrain and Groin have six kids to mind between them. Trying to keep them all fed and clothed is a challenge, especially while remembering all the dead folks.

oh fuck of course they would, oh my god OF COURSE

Thorin, Balin, Dwalin, Oin, Gloin and Dis

owwwwwwww

now I need the Angsty Ongoing Adventures of Thrain and Groin, both of whom are mourning the loss of family and spouse and damn-near EVERYONE, even as they try to care for six of the most stubborn, traumatised, determined and badass teens & kids everrrr

(Groin would shoot off his mouth when worried, as though arguing with Fundin like he always does… and Thrain ofc cannot respond the way his brother did. It falls flat, they both fall silent… 

Groin saying ‘Haban’ thoughtlessly, without thinking, and

Thrain freezes in place, Groin’s throat trying to choke the next words, after … 

Thrain sighing over the kids as they discuss what to do about them, this time, Dwalin’s so young, he’s so angry, and wee Gloin doesn’t quite understand, and he absently says, ‘I’ll see what Da thinks…’ or perhaps ‘Thorin, Frerin and Dis…’ before he remembers that it isn’t anymore, there’s no Da, it’s not Thorin-Frerin-and-Dis… 

and oh GOD the silence. The awful silence that follows.)

culturalrebel strikes again: Hobbit4Ham AMAZINGNESS AHOY

[ENSEMBLE]

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, niiiine!

[THORIN]

There are ten things you need to know.

[ENSEMBLE]

Number one!

[THORIN]

We broke across the barriers at dawn.

My kin rode out with me, Dwalin served as my

[ALL]

Number two!

[THORIN]

Azog was there with his crew.

His son Bolg, and some Warg-Scouts that he knew

[ENSEMBLE]

Number three!

[THORIN]

I watched as he examined the terrain.

I don’t want to tell you what was happening in his brain.

The end of my line, this beast has pursued!

[ALL]

The end of his blade, you must elude!

Number four!

[THORIN]

Azog hid, maintained his position

We went up the hills, his death our mission

This is an Orc with a general’s ability

Even with his kind, he’s regarded with infamy.

[ENSEMBLE]

Five!

[THORIN]

Our allies were running out of time

So I passed the same spot where Fili died

And that’s why-

[ENSEMBLE]

Six!

[THORIN]

I examined my sword with such rigour

Fire in my soul and vengeance tasting bitter.

[ENSEMBLE]

Seven!

[THORIN]

Confession time? Here’s what I got:

My kinsmen and the burglar, in my hate I forgot.

[ENSEMBLE]

Eight!

[THORIN]

My last chance, don’t negotiate.

Kill or be killed, see if hell or Mahal’s Halls await.

They won’t say this part when this tale’s told

But here it is: I let my pride and fury run cold.

Why? So I could take deadly aim.

It’s him or me, the world will never be the same!

I had only one thought before the slaughter:

This Orc will not take the last son of Thrain’s daughter.

[ENSEMBLE]

Number nine!

[THORIN]

Look him in the eye, aim no higher!

Summon all the courage you require!

Then count!

[ENSEMBLE]

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight nine!

Number ten paces, fire!


Me: *curled on the floor, alshgdshdjagfajhgajha NOOOOOO AUGH THIS IS AMAZING*

Don’t know if this’ll make a difference, but if helps I think you should keep your FF account because the best way to give these jerks ammunition is when they feel like they’re in control. My money’s on them being hapless internet trolls; “experts” who took one psych class in HS and feel like they need the biggest beard in Erebor to feel important. It’s of course your choice, and you should do what makes you comfortable :) Just remember, there’s a lot more of us then them and we’re way more fun~

*hugs* you’re a beautiful, wonderful soul, Nonnie. Thank you so much. 

I will keep the FFN account for now, I suppose, though I dislike it. I may yet turf it, idk. Can you disable anon reviews at the Pit? I should check. 

It’s always vaguely boggling to me that the flagrant hypocrisy of such people doesn’t ever occur to them. I mean, the character they hate so much doesn’t go around pursuing, targeting and hurting real people.

Still can’t believe they think that nobody else fucks up in Sansukh, either. I mean, I dragged out Gimli being an arrogant condescending lil shit for hmm, eight chapters or so? Him deciding on his own for two people, arbitrarily taking away Legolas’ choice? 

(oh yes, and who was the one trying to help Gimli the whole time. Who was the one who has in fact, supported Gimli the whole time whether he even knew it or not)

Bilbo’s the picture of decorum too, oh yes, no hiding or getting angry instead of talking it out, no bluster and secrecy and being needlessly insulting or sharp-tongued here, no siree. 

Dain’s idea to send Gimizh to the mine went so SWIMMINGLY, didn’t it? 

Bomfris hasn’t made a bad decision in her life, ohhhh no. That’s why she’s in such a condition. 

Oh, and Baris’ big exciting idea to build tunnels in the first place: NOTHING WENT WRONG AT ALL LA LA LA her dad didn’t die or anything, pffft. 

Pippin is the physical embodiment of never fucking up. 

And naturally, Balin’s choice to go to Moria, that was ofc top notch decision making. 

Lmao, looking at that, it’s becoming clear to me that everyone makes gigantic yikes-filled mistakes all the way through this fic, how about that. So, the only one equating “person with mental illness fucking up = being a fuck-up” is… hmm, let’s see, who could that ableist person be…

Urgh. Been so snowed-under by work I’ve had barely a second to scratch – and that rubbish greets me at 5am this morning. 

Question: I know Oin is somewhat psychic, with the reading portents aspect, but do you think there are other dwarves who can do things like that? Burning chicken bones and reading the answer to questions in the cracks, or messages in the clouds like in ATLA? Or even ones, rare though they are, who can /see/ those who have died and sometimes help counsel those who have lost many loved ones and provide closure?

Hhmmmmmmm, excellent question, Nonnie. I had to put on my thinking-cap. Here’s what I came up with!

I think it’d be tremendously rare, tbh? Dwarven ‘magic’ tends to be far more physical and/or mechanical: invisible doors with super-tricky passwords, that sort of thing.

I haven’t ever seen ATLA, sorry!

The stuff we have on portents (which is film-verse only, and not from the books) is also pretty thin on the ground:

Gloin: “Aye, Oin has read the portents, and the portents say: it is time.”
Oin: “Ravens have been seen flying back to the mountain as it was foretold. When the birds of the old return to Erebor, the reign of the beast will end.”

The ravens are mentioned again at the end of AUJ:

Oin:  A raven. The birds are returning to the mountain.
Gandalf: That, my dear Oin, is a thrush.
Thorin: Well, we’ll take it as a sign. A good omen.

Not much to go on!

Using these two bits of info, I guess that Dwarven ‘portents’ are very much based on the actions of the natural world. I also guess that any reading of signs would probably be done by Dwarves who have either been taught familiarity with ravens or other birds, or have spent a LOT of time outdoors, enough to be familiar with the habits and migrations of animals (Oin is very learned and is also an apothecary: he has to collect plants, after all!)

I don’t think that any living Dwarf can see the dead ones except under INCREDIBLY EXCEPTIONAL circumstances – hence, in Sansukh, Gimli only sees Thorin in Galadriel’s mirror or upon the Paths of the Dead.

Mandos rules the Halls of the Dead and has only ever changed his mind once (Beren). The mists between Middle Earth and Aman are impenetrable, and there can be no returning. The Halls of the Dead are even more inaccessible – they’re a world removed within a world removed. None can see the dead, unless they are horribly cursed (the ghouls of the Dwimorberg, the wights of the Dead Marshes, the Nazgul, the Barrow-wights), and thus still residing in Middle-Earth. 

Again, in Sansukh, the only reason Thorin’s Gift works at all is because of a loophole (the

Olórë Mallë), Gimli’s extraordinary perceptiveness, the pool of Gimlin-zaram, and the compassion of a Vala – Aule himself.

When it comes to being comforted, Dwarves would know that after their deaths they are gathered to Mahal’s Halls and cared for there. They have absolute and personal proof of his love for them, after all – their dark names

leaving all this aside, though: it has to be said that the idea of a Dwarf medium has a certain Pratchettesque humour about it

At some point after Vili dies, Thorin finds a perfumer who sells the cheap (but nice) lemongrass pomade that Vili used. He buys a bunch and secretes it in Dis’ room.Dis finds it and 100% cries. She puts some on her pillow so it smells a little of Vili. Thorin makes sure she never runs out. Post-Botfa, the various Durin cousins continue this tradition. Gimli is responsible for sneaking the bottle into her rooms.

Oh jeez, and scent is such a superhighway to memories, and nnngh

ooohhhh I love it, it’s perfect – augh and also thank you Nonnie!

Did sauron ever use an illusion of Custard against Thrain? Or just illusions of his family?

The Dwarf scrunched himself tighter into a ball, his arms wrapped tightly around his wild tangled head with its wild tangled thoughts. 

“Mrow?”

The stone was black, he told himself, his breathing whistling hard through his nose. It was black it was black it was black

“Mrrrrow mrrr… meow? Mrraow?”

where you were born, the place where she pounced and purred

He could hear the clack of claws on rock (grey rock, not black, not black, the stone was black), nearly feel the whisper of fur across his bare forearms. The wind, he gibbered, it is the wind, just the wind and the stone was black

where she gnawed on your knuckles in kittenish play

“Meow! Mrrrr, mrrrow, roww?”

don’t look don’t look

His hands fisted, his uncut and filthy nails settling into the furrows that had been dug into his palms over long, long years

not real

That was a soft paw touching his knee, a small sweet furry face pushing against his elbow, it wasn’t, but she was but she was but she was

dead

“Miaaaaaaaouw!” 

Oh the cries were growing frantic and pitiful. The unnamed-undone-unravelled-unreal Dwarf’s heart yammered and howled in his chest: she’s hurt!

“Miaowwww, mrowww…!” 

the stone was black, in Erebor, where she lived

don’t look

Her cries rose and rose, turning into whimpers. Her velvet paws patted at his elbow, pleading pleading pleading…

no, no – don’t – !

He looked. 

(and began to scream)