Concerning Hobbits (of Color)

Okay it’s been a whole day and I’m still angry about that hobbit casting thing, so let’s lay down some Tolkien canon here.

Fact 1: Per Tolkien, there were originally three races of hobbit. The Stoors were a small group, they were broad and stocky, they grew facial hair, they liked rivers, and their skin color is not specified, so Tolkien probably meant them to be white (but there’s no reason they have to be, since again, not specified). The Fallohides were a tiny group, they were thin, pale and tall, they were bold and good with languages, and they like trees. The Harfoots were the distinct majority, they lived in holes, they had hairy feet, and they were brown. Tolkien is super clear on this. He explicitly calls out Harfoots as having browner skin than other hobbits when describing the races and he uses phrases like “nut-brown skin” and “long brown fingers” when describing specific hobbits to back it up.

Fact 2: Britain planted its ravenous imperial flag firmly in the soil of India three centuries before Tolkien wrote The Hobbit. He knew what a brown person looked like. He would know he was not evoking a slightly darker shade of Caucasian when he said a person had brown skin.

Fact 3: Bilbo, Frodo, and all of their friends are aristocracy. Sam is the only hobbit we ever meet who is an actual laborer. In Tolkien’s time, laborers worked in the sun and middle class and aristocracy stayed inside where there was something resembling temperature control. Apart from Sam and Aragorn, no one in the Fellowship (or Company) ever voluntarily got a sunburn. If Tolkien talks about brown skin he’s talking about brown skin, not a farmer’s tan.

Where does this leave us?

Well, Tolkien says that after colonizing the Shire, the three hobbit races mingled more closely and became one. This leaves us with two options.

Option A: He’s talking about that thing that sci-fi writers sometimes do where “everyone is mixed race.” So all three races would have smeared together into a single uniform color. What color? Mostly Harfoot, aka brown. The “strong strain of Fallohide” in the Tookish and Brandybuck lines means maybe they’re white-passing, but in this scenario all hobbits are brown.

Option B: He’s talking about a more melting-pot scenario where visual racial distinctions still exist but everyone lives side-by-side in a fairly uniform culure. The Tooks/Brandybucks having a “strong strain of Fallohide” means that they are themselves remaining strains of Fallohide, and are straight-up white. Merry, half Took and half Brandybuck, is thus white (possibly part Stoor, given Brandybuck comfort with water); Pippin, half Took and half Banks, is either white or biracial. The Baggins family, sensible owners of the oldest and most venerable hobbit-hole anyone knows of, are blatantly Harfoot, making Bilbo and Frodo (half Took and half Brandybuck respectively) also biracial. Fallohides being exclusively adventurous high-class types, and the Gamgees being staid low-class homebodies with a distrust of moving water, Sam is obviously Harfoot and thus completely brown. (Smeagol, a Stoor, is probably white, but as discussed above, doesn’t have to be.) In this scenario, a minimum of three of five heroic hobbits are various shades of brown, four out of five of them could be, and most background hobbits are brown.

In conclusion, if you think all hobbits are white, you are canonically wrong. If you geek out over Aragorn wearing the Ring of Barahir, rage about Faramir trying to take the Ring, and do not even notice, much less complain, that Sam, Bilbo and Frodo are being erroneously portrayed by white guys, you need to reexamine the focus of your nerdery.


Old Man of Stoor by Dave


Originally posted by evansmaximoff

Sorry for not having posted in…years. I think that it has literally been a year or two since my last post. Whoops. Anyway, here’s a little story that I thought up that I hope isn’t too cheesy…(It’s pretty long though, I guess)

“So, you’re telling me that you moved all the way out here with no plan, with barely enough money to pay for a month’s rent, and no job prospects?” Y/N’s friend, Margaret, said to her on her first day in the country. Y/N nodded. “Bloody idiot.”

“Well, I’m here now. And here I will stay,” she said defiantly to Margaret. Her friend looked at her with worry, and Y/N felt her heart warming. “Don’t worry about me, Meg, I’ve got it all under control. The bookshop next door might be hiring, and even if they’re not, that won’t stop me from making a living somewhere.”

“Just… take care of yourself, Y/N. I have to go - Ministry work and all that - but please call me if you need anything.”

Y/N nodded and smiled at Meg as she apparated away. She breathed a sigh of relief once she  was gone. Y/N was terrified. Moving all the way from some random suburb in America to cute, little Brighton was quite the change. She really hoped that the bookshop next door was hiring, or she would be struggling to pay her rent this month.


“Do you do anything other than work, like, ever?” asked a concerned Margaret, two months later. The sky was bright, and the light shone from the single window in Y/N’s cramped kitchen. “I feel like you only take the day off when I show up. I bet you’re itching to go back and sort those books, aren’t you? Are you even listening?”

Y/N’s gaze rested on the view from the window as she thought about sorting books onto the correct shelves of the bookshop. What new books were in stock? Maybe she could find a new one to read for tonight… Her mind snapped back to the present as Meg addressed her. “Hm? No, I actually wasn’t thinking about work, thankyouverymuch.”

“Then what could you have possibly been thinking about?” Meg asked, with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh, uh,” Y/N’s mind raced for something to say. “Oh! I was thinking about this guy… who I saw at work a few times.”

Meg sighed. “Baby steps,” she mumbled under her breath, unaware that Y/N heard her. “A guy you say? Tell me about him!” Best friend mode was immediately engaged.

“Oh, no, no, no - it’s nothing like that,” replied a wide-eyed, blushing Y/N. “He’s very handsome, but he’s only come in twice. And he’s engaged, so it’s not like it could go anywhere - not like I want it to…” Her rambling was cut short by a giggle from her friend.

“A homewrecker! Oh, my, how scandalous.”

“Oh, shut it! It’s nothing! Were you even listening?” Desperately, Y/N sought to change the subject from her little crush. “Tell me how you’ve been, it’s been ages.”


At the bookshop, Y/N was clearing away books from one of the reading tables when her favorite blonde-haired boy stepped into the store, the bell above the door signaling his entrance. “Hello, how can I help you today?” greeted Y/N.

It had merely been two days since her conversation with Meg, and thoughts about this customer raced through her head in between conversation.

“I need a book to take my mind far, far away.” He spoke distantly, with an emotionless look in his eyes.

Y/N hesitated at his tone. Did something happen? Her mind held onto this curiosity, but she forced it back before the words could escape her lips. “Sure, are you looking for a fantasy novel, or something more emotionally gripping, as opposed to adventurous?”

Until then, he had avoided eye contact with Y/N, but in that moment he looked her straight in the eyes. She saw a mixture of pain and sadness that caused a lump to form in her throat. “My fiance and I just split up this afternoon, so what would you recommend for that?”

Y/N’s eyes widened. Unsure of how to respond, she remained silent, her mind racing. His voice was laced with bitterness and sarcasm, and she didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. “Well,” she cleared her throat, “I can try to direct you-”

“I’m sorry, but I think I’ve changed my mind. Sorry to have wasted your time,” he said, turning around and walking out of the stoor. When the jingle of the bell above the door stopped, Y/N’s mind cleared. Her eyes scanned the books on the shelves in front of her and, spotting the exact book she was looking for, grabbed it and threw it into a newspaper parcel tied with string.

She looked towards the register, where the store owner motioned for her to hurry up. Her legs took her swiftly outside of the bookshop, where she spotted the blonde-haired customer with the gray eyes walking down the sidewalk. She sprinted towards him and managed to catch up before he rounded the corner.

The man stopped and turned around, likely due to her loud footsteps. “I’m sorry, that was incredibly unprofessional of me back there,” Y/N managed in between her panting. She took a second to catch her breath before continuing. “So, please take this as a gift. I think you may like it.”

She handed him the parcel.  “Right,” she said with a new breath, “I should get back to work.”

“I’m sorry, but what is your name?”

He caught her by surprise, but she replied, “Y/N, sir.”

“Right. Well, take this. I don’t have very much cash on me so I hope it’ll do,” he said, handing her a golden coin. “I’ll be on my way.”

Before she could protest, he was already around the corner. She looked for him, but he seemed to have disappeared. In her hands sat a shiny gold galleon. So, he’s a wizard, she thought. Well, I have no use for this.

She put the galleon into the pocket of her overalls and turned to return to the bookshop, wondering where the man had apparated to, and what his name was.



The headline was everywhere, with the couple’s faces plastered over every magazine article, and every newscaster speaking about them. Y/N couldn’t care less. Their faces seemed familiar, though she chalked it up to seeing them everywhere. Why Meg felt the need to have the TV on celebrity news channels at all times was beyond her.

At any rate, she was glad to have returned to the bookshop for the night, for some tidying up before closing time. “You know, you don’t have to spend all of your time here. You should go out and do whatever it is young people do these days,” said Eve, the owner of the shop.

“I’m happy right here,” Y/N said with a smile. Besides, it’s not as if she had anyone to talk to in this country other than Meg.

Y/N moved to the back of the store, where there was a nook that was only a few feet across - about enough space for a maximum of three people to fit - with three walls lined with books on shelves. Because it was such a popular spot, it was a small mess. The single beanbag chair in the spot always had books laying underneath of it that kids had probably tried to hide.

Being in the back of the store meant that she hadn’t heard the bell above the door jingle with the entrance of a single customer. “Oh, hello,” she said with surprise as he stepped around a bookshelf to see her in this space.

“That book you gave me,” he began, stepping into the confined area of the nook, “was exactly what I needed.”

She smiled. “I’m glad you liked it. How can I help you today? I do have to let you know that closing time is-”

Y/N stopped as his arm reached over her shoulder to the wall behind her. In this space, he had to bend his head down to fit, causing their faces to be quite close together. Y/N could feel her face flush as his breath invaded her space. The smell of his cologne hypnotized her, but before she could say anything, he pulled back, book in hand.

Not realizing she was holding her breath, she audibly exhaled. “That one’s, uhm,” still quite flustered, she struggled with what to say about the book in his hand.

As she was about to speak again, his eyes flicked up to meet hers and suddenly their lips met. The taste of spearmint overwhelmed her, and the smell of his cologne again captivated her.

As he drew back, their eyes met once again. This time, Y/N recognized him from the faces plastered all over the wizarding world news this morning. For a moment, she wondered about that again. Her thoughts dismissed themselves when Draco Malfoy spoke. 

“That was horribly inappropriate,” he stated about himself. Y/N nodded. “Would you like to go out for a coffee, by any chance?” Y/N nodded. “Brilliant.”

Sansukh Re-read Ch.5

“We are going home!” she cried in her ringing voice of diamond and mithril, and a mighty cheer rose up from every throat. Turning, Dís began to walk away from the worked-out mines and the crumbling halls of Belegost that had sheltered them in their poverty, and raised her face to the East. She did not look back. Wagons rumbled along in her wake as she began to march.

As much as I love Dain, can we take a minute to appreciate the awesomeness of Queen Dís, if she had taken the throne? It makes sense why she wouldn’t want to, that throne had cost the lives of her sons and brother, but it’s something I thought of after I finished reading The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings the first time. King Dain is just as awesome, though.

His reunion with Mizim, Gimrís and Gimli upon his arrival at Ered Luin had been nothing short of spectacular. Glóin had wrapped himself around his wife and held onto her tightly, burying his face in her pale hair. She put her hands either side of his head and drew it back, tracing the old scar over his brow with her thumb before kissing him deeply and gently. “Hello, you old bear,” she said softly, her hands slipping into his mane of wild red hair. “You’re late.”

“Jewel,” he said, and his eyes misted over. “More lovely than ever you are, Mizim, crown of my life, light of my heart.”

I wonder when Mizim started calling Glóin a bear. His nickname for her makes sense, since her name means jewel, but I wonder if it’s just something that she came up with randomly and liked, or if there’s a funny story behind the nickname. But also this, the two fo them reuniting? Adorable!

He took her hands and kissed them one after the other before turning to his children – and his mouth slowly formed the shape of an ‘O’.

Thorin privately thought his expression was hilarious. Frerin, of course, didn’t keep such things private. His brother keeled over backwards, laughing his head off.

I’m with Frerin. I probably wouldn’t have fallen over, but I’d have definitely been laughing.

Glóin had gawked for a moment longer before Gimrís was hurling herself at her 'adad and Gimli was doing likewise, and Glóin was buried beneath the bodies of two mostly-grown Dwarves and groaning.

“Oof! You are too heavy for me now, off with you!” he wheezed, and Thorin chuckled at the sight of the bristly and imposing old warrior spluttering and choking for breath.

Glóin survived trolls, goblins, orcs, spiders, stone giants, and elves, but it’s his kids that knock the breath out of him. I can’t help it, I laugh every time I read that.

Bombur’s reunion with his family had been far louder. Alrís didn’t even have a chance to greet her husband before a veritable horde of Dwarflings swarmed Bombur and Bofur, shouting at the top of their lungs. Bombur’s children buried themselves against his warm and hefty body, snuggling close, investigated his walking staff with curious and grubby fingers, pulled at 'Uncle Bofur’s’ hat and begged for a song and a sweet and a story. Bombur tried to kiss and tickle all of them at once, his seldom-heard booming laugh ringing out over the din. The oldest of the tribe patiently pulled the smaller ones away, and finally Alrís was able to give her husband a smacking kiss and show him the new baby, now two years old – a boy she had named Albur. He was a chubby, chuckling little thing with brown hair and eyes that danced like sunlight on water. Bombur gave the little one a whiskery buss on the top of the head, and then wrapped one arm around Alrís again and pulled her against him for another ringing kiss.

Everything about Bombur’s reunion with his family. Like, if I had to pick a family from Sansukh to visit, it would either be Orla and Dwalin’s or Bombur and Alrís’. Bombur’s love for his family is something I love about this interpretation of him (one of many things, really).

“What have you done to your leg?” she said breathlessly.

He shrugged. “Got poisoned. Don’t recommend it.”

“Poisoned, Daddy?” gasped one of his middle children, his eyes wide as saucers.

“Don’t get too close to orcs,” Bofur said succinctly, and a chorus of 'ooooh’s rose from the crowd of children.

“Hospital food,” Bombur said in disgust, and Alrís threw her head back and laughed and laughed.

Only Bombur could play off the fact that he got poisoned by talking about how horrible hospital food is. Another reason to love Bombur.

“That’s an Elf?” Gimli said, wrinkling his nose. “And here I thought they were supposed to be fair and glorious! Hmmph. They’re all stretched and faded.”

Bofur chuckled. “Don’t be fooled. They might look like skinny, insipid twigs, but they’re stronger than they appear and their eyesight is much better than ours in daylight. An Elf will put an arrow through your eye as soon as look at you.”

“No beards at all,” Gimli muttered under his breath, and shuddered.

But no, if Bofur remembers this and brings it up at some point to Legolas, I can see the both of them laughing about it and teasing Gimli who’s all embarrassed because he was just a kid then and it was the first time he’d seen elves.

“Is that a Hobbit?” whispered Gimrís to her brother.

“Again, no beard!” Gimli said, and shook his head in sympathy.

I love Gimli. 'Elf? No beard, not fair and glorious at all’, 'Hobbit? No beard at all, poor thing’.

“You should hear the ruckus down at the Green Dragon,” Bilbo was saying. “Poor old Odo is convinced it’s an invasion and has the whole pub in an uproar. Half of Brandy Hall – that’s the Brandybucks, by the way – want to come out and see for themselves. The other half want to sound the Horn-call of Buckland. The Bracegirdles are wringing their hands and fainting, the Grubbs are calling it none of our business, the Boffins are trying to organise a welcoming party, and the Tooks are giggling up their sleeves and egging everyone on indiscriminately.”

“And the Bagginses?” said Bombur, smiling.

Bilbo laughed gaily. “Are pretending they’ve never even heard of Dwarves, or dragons, or adventures, or rich mad cousins. Whenever someone brings it up they begin talking loudly about the weather or about pie-eating contests or Farmer Maggott’s dogs or some such. It’s terrifically funny.”

I love how the various groups of hobbits are reacting, especially the Tooks. And the fact that Bombur remembers enough about Bilbo’s family to know that his family would be the funniest group of the lot is amusing too.

“Here, Bilbo,” Bombur said into the ensuing silence. “You should meet my family! That’s Barís, my eldest, and over there’s Bomfur, Bolrur, and Bofrur, my terrible little trio of redheads, and the two big dark-haired lads there are Barum and Barur; then there’s Alfur and Alrur and Alfrís and Bomfrís tormenting that poor pony. Barum, stop that lot, would you, before the pony dies of nerves? And over there is my lovely wife Alrís, and our two littlest ones, Bibur and Albur.”

Alrís sketched a bow, her arms filled with squirming child. “At your service,” she called cheerfully.

Thorin was a little dizzy after all those names.

Bilbo seemed to have no trouble with such a crowd, and bowed to Alrís, smiling. “At yours and your family’s – although I may be a little pressed to accommodate so many. Good gracious me, Bombur! I’d think you were part-Hobbit!”

Changing the subject like a boss. Take notes, Bilbo. And Bilbo thinks the same thing I do, that Bombur and Alrís are part hobbit. Alrís being able to bow while still holding onto two squirming kids is cool, though. I love Thorin’s reaction to all of the names, though. I had the same reaction at first, I had to re-read that paragraph to make sure I’d gotten all of the names right.

Bilbo perked up. “Yes, yes, quite right! I brought a few little things for us to share, though now I hope they’ll stretch far enough…”

“We’ve seen how Hobbits eat,” said Glóin dryly. “I’m fairly sure we’ll do fine, laddie.”

“And just think, Bilbo! No washing up!” Bofur nudged him. Thorin wished everyone would stop touching the Hobbit.

Bilbo rolled his eyes theatrically. “Thank heavens!”

Now I’m imaginging 'Blunt the Knives’ only with dwarflings as well as four adult dwarves and dwarrowdams.

“Here now! First you have to meet my set,” said Glóin. “This is my lad Gimli, and my lass Gimrís. Over there tying down the cart is my darlin’ Mizim. Mizim, come here! Come meet our Burglar!”

“I’m a little busy, you daft old bugger,” she snapped, “in case you haven’t noticed!”

Glóin gave them a sheepish grin. “She’s the jewel o’ my life, she is.”

Have I mentioned how much I love Glóin and Mizim’s relationship? Because I do, so much.

“Doesn’t your face get cold?”

Bilbo burst into giggles.

Glóin tugged at his own beard to hide a smile. “Ah, Gimli m'boy, Hobbits don’t grow beards.”

“Oh, some do, but only those of Stoor families,” Bilbo said, still giggling. “Even then, it’s nothing for a Dwarf to boast of. I remember catching you all staring at me for the first couple of weeks when you thought I wasn’t watching. And for the record, not one of you is any good at being sneaky – well, except Nori, but the rest of you were not exactly subtle about it. Was it my poor naked chin, then?”

“That and your riding, laddie,” Glóin said, and then snorted at the Hobbit’s expression of half-amusement, half-exasperation.

“Were we that rude?” said Bofur, grinning.

“You barged into my house, pillaged my pantry, drafted me into an adventure and sang an extremely insulting song,” Bilbo said, poking Bofur in the side. “Staring was the politest thing any of you did!”

“Ah, my apologies?” mumbled Gimli, scratching at his head.

Poor Gimli, he’s so confused. Just let them bicker, they’ll sort themselves out and it’s a bit amusing to watch too.

“Here.” He pushed a bundle of papers into Bombur’s hands. “All my mother’s recipes. She was a Took, you know, and collected recipes from all over the Shire, all the way as far east as Midgewater.”

Bombur looked down with wide eyes at the crushed bundle and then pressed it protectively against his chest. “Bilbo!” he said, and his mouth opened and closed like a fish.

Perfect gift for Bombur. He’s already been working on hobbit style recipes, now he’s got recipes to do even more of them. If he wasn’t already king of the marketplace, this would seal it.

He handed Bofur a strange configuration of sheepskin and dyed leather, with neat little stitches in the Shire-fashion around the edges. “It’s your hat, do you see,” Bilbo said, anxiously wringing his hands. “I bought the skins from the Proudfeet, and I had it copied by Bell Gamgee. Yours was such a wreck, after all, and I thought you might like to have a new one. I do hope I haven’t upset you?”

Bofur slowly opened up the folded brim of the new hat, dyed a handsome red-brown, and suddenly smiled. He pulled it onto his head, lifting his chin and tugging at the flaps. “What do you think, lads?”

“Oh, thank Mahal, I was going to burn the old one in his sleep,” said Bombur with relief.

Again, I love Bombur. Him, Dori, and Bifur are my favorite canonical dwarves.

Thorin growled under his breath. Would nobody stop touching the Hobbit?

Thorin, your married is showing.

“Glóin, this is for you.” Bilbo handed him a polished wooden box, its lid and sides carved with leaves and grapes. Glóin admired the carving for a moment, and Bilbo huffed. “Well, woodworking is probably the only Hobbit craft that you fellows might appreciate. Still, it’s not empty. Open it.”

Glóin cracked it open, and Gimli peered over his father’s shoulder to look inside. “Pipe-weed?”

“Not just any pipe-weed, my dear Dwarf. That is Longbottom Leaf. It’s the year of '32 – a very good year indeed!”

“My dear Hobbit!” Glóin said, and eyed the box with new appreciation. “I am deeply in your debt!”

Bilbo knows what Glóin likes.

“Now,” Bilbo said, straightening his coat, “the inks are for Ori, and the bottles are delicate, so be careful! These herbs are for Óin. So are these notes. I translated a couple of healing texts from the Elvish - and it was a lot of work, so don’t you dare throw them away! Ah, this is for Dori. It’s an embroidery pattern-book from my Aunt Hildigard, and some of those patterns are old enough to impress even Dori, I dare say. I hope he can get some use out of it.”

Bofur opened the little book and smiled down at the curling designs with their friendly motifs of flowers, leaves and vegetables. “Who knows? Perhaps Hobbit stitching will become the new exotic fashion. You could start a trend!”

“I fervently hope my trend-setting days are done, thank you very much,” said Bilbo dryly.

I love how Bilbo knows well enough to tell them to not throw away the notes just because they came from Elvish healing texts. He knows them all so well. And Dori and Ori’s presents are perfect for them both. Granted, dwarves seem to favor geometric shapes and designs, but hobbit stitching would be exotic and a new challenge for Dori to master.

“Now, this is for Nori, from one Burglar to another.”

Bombur’s forehead creased as he took in the candlesticks, the cheese-knife and the little silver gravy-boat. “What’s this?”

Bilbo rubbed a hand through his hair and smiled a trifle wickedly. “I discovered after I got back that it wasn’t only my frightful relatives who were a little too free with my belongings. A certain light-fingered chap had made off with a few small things on the night of the party. I thought he might like the rest of the set, with my compliments.”

Nori’s going to be so irritable! But he’ll also be a bit proud, probably. Bilbo learned his lessons well, he knew when Nori stole versus when Lobelia did.

“Did he faint?” asked Bombur, leaning forward eagerly.

A wheezing little sound of glee came from under Bofur’s hat.

Bilbo paused, and then he sighed. “Yes.”

This is one of my favorite bits in this chapter. Conkers is a bit higher on the list, but this? Especially Bilbo’s little 'nope’ and them all laughing again? I laugh every time I read it.

“An’ being Hobbit and all, it’d seem pretty special and out of the ordinary,” Bofur said, smoothing down his ruffled moustache. “Wonder if we could make a model Bag End?”

“Oh no. Oh, no, no, no, no, no! If I have an entire generation of Dwarves trooping through my house, I will hunt you down and sting the pair of you!” Bilbo said sternly.

Bombur closed his mouth with a snap, but Bofur looked entirely too innocent to be believed.

Bifur’s going to love his toy, but I wouldn’t trust Bofur’s innocent look. That’s probably the same look that he had when he told Dwalin that he wouldn’t make a Dwalin warrior toy.

“Traditional Hobbit weaponry,” Bilbo said, a gleam in his eye. “I in particular have some skill at it. If you must know.”

“No,” said Bofur in disbelief.

“Not…?” said Glóin.

“Conkers?” Thorin said, utterly incredulous.

Traditional hobbit weaponry at it’s finest. Although I always wondered why, in canon, Bilbo never told the dwarves how good at throwing and aiming hobbits are. They would’ve taught him to use a bow, probably, he might have taken to it faster than he took to the sword…again, I need to stop before I give myself more ideas.

Bilbo leaned back, sighing with satisfaction and slapping his knees. “And that’s the game to me!”

“Are all Hobbits so good at throwing and aiming at things?” Bofur said, staring dismally at his halved horse-chestnut. He hadn’t won a single round.

Bilbo shrugged. “Bit of a hobby, really.”

Poor Bofur, you’ll get better with practice. Gimrís seems pretty good at the game, maybe she’ll help you out.

Many of the other Dwarves sent curious glances over to the Hobbit and his odd little game, his bare face and furry feet. Thorin bristled at their interest and barely restrained himself from barking at them to show their Burglar the proper respect.

Thorin, your married is showing again.

“Dís, daughter of Frís, I make known to you Bilbo Baggins of the Shire. He’s a Hobbit,” he added unnecessarily.

“I can see that, akhûnîth,” she said, her mithril-pure voice lilting with amusement, though her face barely moved. “Dís. At your service.”

Bilbo pulled himself upright and tried to look as dignified as a Hobbit can whilst holding a horse-chestnut painted bright yellow. “At yours and your family’s.”

Dís smiled at that, rather sadly. “You already have been.”

There was an awful silence, and then Bilbo burst out, “You look so much like him.”

She froze, and then she dropped her eyes.

This always kills me. If Thorin had lived, this meeting probably would have been a lot happier. As it is, Dís is meeting the little creature who left his comfortable home to help dwarves that he had never met before that night. It’d be worse if she knew how much Bilbo had loved Thorin, but I don’t think she knew that yet. But just…this whole bit right here is so sad and full of feels.

The young Dwarf shifted his weight between his feet for a moment, looking uncertain. Then he said, “Mister Baggins was showing us a Hobbit game, Aunt Dís.”

All heads turned to him, and he flushed as red as his hair, before ploughing on bravely. “It’s a mite tricky to get the hang of it, but I was starting to see how it was done. D'you want to try it?”

Bilbo can take notes from Gimli about how to change the subject, but Gimli needs to take notes from Bombur.

“Here,” said Glóin and handed Dís the red horse-chestnut, his hands gentle as he gave up his place. “Sit down, cousin. I’m going to see if I can find Bombur a chair.”

“Oh, don’t bother on my account!” Bombur protested, but tucked by his side, young Barís nodded vigorously. Bombur grunted and poked his daughter in the shoulder, and she wrinkled her nose.

“Your leg’s going to get all cramped sitting like that, Dad. Best to stretch it out.”

I love Barís. She’s not my favorite OC (that’s undoubtedly Orla), but she’s lovely, an amazing singer, apparently a good daughter and big sister, and she seems pretty witty too. There’s a lot to love about all of the OCs in this.

“Aunt Dís?” Gimli said softly, and she hesitated for a moment before sitting down beside her young cousin and patting his knee.

“Don’t fret about me, young one,” she said. “Time for your sister to watch her back.”

Where’s Nori when you need him? My money’s on Dís winning this round.

“Yes, well,” Bilbo sighed, straightening slightly and resting his head against his hand. “I should really trade in that 'lucky number’ title of mine, shouldn’t I? I had all the luck in the world, but it wasn’t enough.”

“Never is,” Bofur said in a voice that was nearly a whisper.

“You won’t need luck, I swear it,” Thorin vowed fiercely. “Mahal be my witness! You won’t need luck. You’ve got me.”

Thorin is 100x better than luck, apparently, because with his help, things end up mostly okay for Bilbo.

Fallohides. There used to be three, distinct, types of hobbits; the Harfoots, the Stoors, and the Fallohides. The Fallohides were bold and adventurous! They didn’t live on farms or dig holes in riverbanks to live in. They preferred the forest and were skilled hunters.

They were described as being ‘fair of skin and hair’ and ‘never growing a beard’ and for some reason it sticks out in my mind that they were the tallest of the hobbits. 

Both Bilbo and Frodo are part Fallohide through their mothers. Frodo is described as being a “stout fellow with red cheeks, taller than some (hobbits), and fairer than most”. His height and fairness come from his Fallohide blood, most likely. 

In this picture, we have a Fallohide couple travelling to the West. She didn’t start the journey with child but she’s not fazed by it, either. It’s early spring and there is a chill in the air. She is wearing a long, knitted wool dress with poofed sleeves and little crocheted flowers on the sleeves. Underneath her dress she has a practical pair of pants on (she’s had to adjust them and take to wearing suspenders!) and a warm shirt and vest. She’s braided a lot of her hair into a sort of crown to keep it out of her face but she has so much hair still! XD 

You can see that she’s carrying a small hunting horn. In my mind, most Fallohide hobbits would carry small horns so they can call to one another in the woods. Each one sounds different and they can tell who tooted by the sound.

They’re wearing matching scarves he made. XD

He’s wearing a thick jumper and beneath it a pair of pants and a sturdy shirt and vest. He pants and both of their packs have folksy embroidery with a heart theme. These newlyweds are still very much in luuuurve and it shows in how they’ve embroidered their belongings. Everything they own they carry with them.

They could have had a nice life in the forests of the Vale of Anduin but they chose to join the others who were following the Harfoot migration west. Who knows? Maybe these two were Bilbo’s ancestors?

Posted for @tolkienweek

0.3mm Pentel mechanical pencil with HB lead on Paris Bleedproof paper. I have a tablet waiting for me to pick up at the depot. Prepare yourself for terrible digital drawings! Frankly, I don’t think digital will ever replace my love of drawing directly on paper.

Why be sad about Bilbo and Thorin maybe not meeting in the afterlife when you could believe this perfectly feasible headcanon instead!

So–in canon–Yavanna was all worried about the dwarves (who btw were created by her husband, Aule/Mahal) destroying all the green of the earth which was the thing she had dominion over, yeah? So as a bit of insurance, Enu created for her the Ents. 

Well I think that she would be equally as worried about the dwarves rebuilding the earth after Dagor Darorath (‘war of all wars’, basically the Ragnarok of Tolkien’s world) so she asks a favor of Eru. She asks for someone to regrow the earth, to make sure that the dwarves do not forget it in their spark of industry. Eru agrees but tells her he wishes her to grow them from the Houses of Men so they may be in tune with the Music of Ainur and not outside of it as the dwarves are. 

So from the three Father’s of Men, Yavanna takes a lock of hair and buries it deep under the earth in her pastures where she knows her little ones will come to rest after their mortal lives have ended and they await the end of days. 

And she cares for them tenderly and worries over them when she finds they are rather tiny things. Once Eru has come and gifted them life and spirit as only he can do, she unearths their feet from the soil and finds they’ve grown large like roots with little tufts of hair likely left over from the locks she planted. She teaches her children to care for the earth they came from, to love it as they love themselves. 

They’re a gentle folk, as she had hoped, satisfied with simplicity and food (of which they require more than any creature she has ever seen) and good, tilled earth. And when they leave her for the lands to the East, their mourning is so great that they cannot even speak of her even to one another and as the generations go by they forget where they came from all together but not what they were taught. 

As all mortals must though, hobbits do pass on. When they do, they come home to Yavanna and her pastures. And Yavanna…Yavanna is the wife of Aule, creator of the dwarves. So Bilbo finds himself spending his afterlife surrounded by, yes, his mother and father, Frodo and Sam, Merry and Pippin. But there is also his dwarven family. Ori, Nori and Dori. Oin and Gloin. Balin and Dwalin. Bofur, Bifur and Bombur. Fili and Kili. And of course…Thorin Oakenshield who looks just as lovely and regal as he did one fine evening in a hole in the ground where there lived a hobbit. 

And together they rest, and together they toil, and together they fall back into slumber once the work is done and are taken up in in Eru’s arms to the places Men dwell, the places not even the Valar can know…

Now And For Always
Now And For Always

The Lord of the Rings Musical (x)

Track 12: Now and For Always

Sung by Frodo and Sam

[this is the part where Sam reassures Frodo as they near Mordor, as seen in Sam’s speech in the film]

Sing me a story of heroes of the Shire
Muddling through, brave and true
Stubborn as bindweed and tough as old brier
Never too showy or grand
Year after year they persevere
Now and for always
Harfoots who planted, and Stoor folk who ploughed
Bred to endure, slow but sure
Fallohide blood in your veins makes you proud
Sturdy and steady they stand
True to their aim to stay the same
Now and for always

Sit by the firelight’s glow
Tell us an old tale we know
Tell of adventures strange and rare
Never to change
Ever to share
Stories we tell will cast their spell
Now and for always

Sing me a story of Frodo and the ring
Fearless and bold

Tired and cold

Sword at his side
An elf blade called sting
Crossing a miserable land
Wouldn’t retreat
Just followed his feet
Now and for always

Sit by the firelight’s glow
Tell us an old tale we know
Tell of adventures strange and rare
Never to change
Ever to share
Stories we tell will cast their spell
Now and for always

Sing me a tale of the bravest of them all
Comrade and guide, at my side
Stouthearted Sam who wouldn’t let me fall
Holding my life in his hand
True to the end, no finer friend
Now and for always

Sit by the firelight’s glow
Tell us an old tale we know
Tell of adventures strange and rare
Never to change
Ever to share
Stories we tell will cast their spell
Now and for always

I cry every time I listen to this one.

Sam Gamgee's Brown Hands

There are a couple places in the book that describe Sam as having darker skin. I’ll just list them below, and then move on to commentary:

Sam sat propped against the stone, his head dropping sideways and his breathing heavy. In his lap lay Frodo’s head, drowned deep in sleep; upon his white forehead lay one of Sam’s brown hands, and the other lay softly upon his master’s breast.” -TT: The Stairs of Cirith Ungol

Sam drew out the elven-glass of Galadriel again. As if to do honor to his hardihood, and to grace with splendor his faithful brown hobbit-hand that had done such deeds, the phial blazed forth suddenly, so that all the shadowy court was lit with a dazzling radiance like lightning.” -RotK: The Tower of Cirith Ungol

When I originally described Sam as non-white in my Racism in Middle Earth series, I actually got quite a few messages from people arguing that I’d interpreted these passages incorrectly. That Sam’s hands were brown because they were dirty, or because he’d simply been tanned by time spent gardening in the sun. And while both of these are possible explanations, there’s enough evidence of racial diversity among hobbits that I think it’s just as likely that Sam simply isn’t white. (When describing the three main groups of hobbits, Tolkien says “The Harfoots were browner of skin, smaller, and shorter, and they were beardless and bootless… The Stoors were broader, heavier in build; their feet and hands were larger… The Fallohides were fairer of skin and also of hair, and they were taller and slimmer than the others.”) Also, for the record, Sam described one of the soldiers from Harad as having a “brown hand”, and the Haradrim are universally accepted as non-white by readers, so I’m really not sure where the confusion is here…

Finally, I definitely don’t think Sam was a slave. Sam’s family traditionally worked for the Baginses, and because the Baginses were one of the old “genteel” families of the Shire, you definitely get some classism with Frodo and Sam’s relationship, but nothing approaching slavery. Sam’s introduction in the book reflects this:

Old Ham Gamgee, commonly known as the Gaffer… spoke with some authority, for he had tended the garden at Bag
End for forty years, and had helped old Holman in the same job before that. Now that he was himself growing old and stiff in the joints, the job was mainly carried on by his youngest son, Sam Gamgee. Both father and son were on very friendly terms with Bilbo and Frodo.


The Blue Mountains

Given that they’re coastal mountains near wide plains, wouldn’t it make sense for Ered Luin to contain salt deposits, or own nearby salt mines? I mean, sodium chloride is a mineral, and it is mined. The only real close competition would be Stoor Hobbits along the coast harvesting sea salt, which is a slow and expensive process, along with some Men further south. A mine would not only produce more salt, whether via block mining or evaporation mining, but it would be purer, cheaper, and more profitable. Hell, in a preindustrial setting like Middle-Earth, the two most valuable crystals you can get are mithril and salt–except nobody seems to remember that salt used to out-value gold.

Apparently Hobbits and Dwarfs could have met? Back in ancient (sorta) history I mean.

Hobbits originally lived between Mirkwood and the Lonely Mountain, but migrated to the West. 

The Hobbits moved away before Erebor was more than a mining colony, and it is possible that when Erebor was established as a Kingdom there weren’t anyone still alive who had actually met a Hobbit, but, (!!!) it is possible that there is a shared history here. 

Maybe some Hobbits stayed, or that some Dwarfs left with them. (Which could be why there are Stoors!)

I really like thinking about what Hobbits were like before they settled in the Shire. What similarities and differences. 

Of Hobbits, Afterlives, and How to Make Your Interspecies OTP Less Sad

So I’ve been seeing the Tolkien fandom despairing over the whole separate-afterlives thing a lot lately (WHY, Tolkien, why?), and since I have a personal, fairly well developed, fix-everything headcanon concerning this issue, I thought I would share it. Take or leave what parts are useful to you!

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

I'm going to Scotland next year as an exchange student. What should I know? (I'm from Norway if that's relevant)

hi ! I’ve had some Norwegian friends historically what a coincidence

if you come to aberdeen i’ll personally give you a tour

  • we drive on the left
  • if someone says something and you dont understand to you and you’re scared, they’re not trying to be scary, they’re probably saying something nice
  • the word “Scottish” has two t’s, of which, neither are pronounced, but the word “British” has one, which you pronounce twice

  • in the 40s, 40% of everyone in Scotland signed a petition for us to rule ourselves, we didn’t get our own parliament until 1999, and even then, it’s not in charge of everything
  • A lady called Nicola Sturgeon (who has a Scottish name, and is Scottish) is the leader of the Scottish parliament (Holyrood, not Hollywood) in Edinburgh, the capital
  • David Cameron (who has a Scottish name, but is very, very english, and hates the poor, disabled, and foreign) runs the UK and with the parliament in London’s (called Westminster) decides foreign policy, defense, war, and how much money Scotland can have, 
  • he’s a tory 
  • we don’t like conservatives (”tories”)
  • when you look at the map on the BBC weather, scotland looks small, but this is because of the angle of the picture, scotland’s actually very big (comparatively)
  • Scotland is multicultural, diverse, and filled with broad-ranging experiences which you should really take advantage off
    • that implies taking a boat to an island at least once, going very far north, and maybe seeing a dolphin
  • we have a few languages, Gaelic (which is spoken in the Hebrides (islands) and north mainly), English, Scots (and different dialects of scots)

  • Some scots accents are as different from English, as Norwegian is from Swedish. It’s hard to tell, linguistically, what’s a language and what’s not. Sometimes linguistics just go by who’s independent (Norway) at the time or not (Scotland). 
  • some people think speaking scots makes you poor or stupid, they’re wrong
  • Scotland thinks a bit differently than england. We have different cultural perceptions and approaches. 
  • we dont have many cities
  • most people live in the ‘central belt’ (edinburgh and glasgow)
  • If you’re below the central belt, you’re in the lowlands, 
  • in the lowlands are flatter
  • if you’re above the central belt you’re (usually) in the highlands
  • in the highlands there’s mountains
  • sometimes theres tensions between Protestants and Catholics, this is expressed in football (rangers and celtic) mainly, but sometimes in marches and fighting

This is the history of Scotland as simply and as concisely as i can:

  • When people came to Scotland, they were hunter-gatherers, 
  • then they tried farming, but farming was hard, and the land had to be drained,

  • Vikings came, gave us some words, burned some shit, some stayed, the Norwegian word “stoorsooker” (vacuum) (idk how its spelt) is understandable to most scottish people bc ‘stoor’ means dust in scots, which is a word you gave us (and sooker, in scots, means something that sucks)

  • for a long time we were good friends with france, old men talk about this fact a lot

  • we tried having an empire in the 1690s but that failed really badly and also there was a famine, france couldn’t help out bc england owned the seas

  • because of this England said “come into us, and we will give you money” and we needed money bc of the famine and the fact we’d spent Everything trying to build a Panama channel

  • and then (1707) the United Kingdom was a thing, 

  • many people didn’t like this UK bullshit, so there was some fighting, but that ended in 1745 with the battle of Culloden (sometimes when scottish people talk about ‘45′ they mean 1745 and not 1945)

  • from then onwards, a lot of horrible things happened to people, especially gaelic people, in the north of scotland, like; 

    • making the traditional clothing illegal

    • making it illegal to have weapons 

    • making clans illegal

    • making it harder to speak gaelic
      • this is why gaelic is rare in scotland now, when it was once the only main language in the most of scotland (including where im from)

    • teaching gaelic children in english

    • evicting people from the land they farmed
  • The industrial revolution came and went. 
  • we invented some stuff
  • The wars came and went. 
  • oil came and went
  • we got our own parliment
  • we tried leaving, didnt go well, dont bring it up

i hope you have a great time and that the weather’s kind to your visit!!

The three groups of hobbits mentioned in the prologue of The Fellowship of the Ring - Harfoots, Stoors and Fallohides.

The Harfoots were browner of skin, smaller and shorter, and they were beardless and bootless; their hands and feet were neat and nimble; and they preferred highlands and hillsides…The Harfoots had much to do with Dwarves in ancient times, and long lived in the foothills of the mountains…They were the the most normal and representative of Hobbit, and far the most numerous.

The Stoors were broader, heavier in build; their feet and hands were larger, and they preferred flat lands and riversides….The Stoors lingered long by the banks of the Great River Anduin, and were less shy of men. They came west  after the Harfoots and followed the course of the Loud-water southwards. 

The Fallohides were fairer of skin and also of hair, and they were taller and slimmer than the others, they were lovers of trees and woodlands…The Fallohides, the least numerous, were a northerly branch. They were more friendly with Elves than the other Hobbits were, and had more skill in language and song than in handicrafts; and of old they preferred hunting to tilling.

[Fellowship of the Ring - Prologue - p20]