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windemereYeah, that title needs changing.
Disclaimer: Tolkien. Peter Jackson. Need I say more? There are quite a few lines from TH: AUJ in here, which of course belong to Fran Walsh, Philippa Boyens, Peter Jackson and Guillermo del Toro.
AN: I’ve always felt that Fili and Kili rather get the short end of the stick. There’s plenty of dwarven back-story in the book(s), but most of that relates to Thorin. We know Fili is his heir, as Thorin has no children himself, but the nature of that isn’t really explored. Ori is, obviously, the youngest dwarf on the quest, but Fili and Kili are the heirs to the throne and young. They were clearly raised to be warriors, but for what battle? It seems that life in the Blue Mountains was reasonably safe and I can’t imagine they were allowed into much actual danger growing up, for fear they’d be killed. How did they join the quest and, better still, how did they manage on it? A look at two young dwarves from childhood through, well, you know.
***
In childhood, children will believe almost anything. Even the most fanciful legends and stories, conjured by weary parents in attempts to induce sleep, will be met with complete and utter belief. Is it not until children become older that they learn that many of the stories of their youth are just that – stories. Others they learn hold some half-truths. But sometimes, just sometimes, even the most unbelievable story of childhood turns out to be true.
Fili could remember Erebor. Except that wasn’t quite right. He couldn’t remember it because he had never been there. But he had heard so many tales growing up that he felt like he had. Sometimes, as a young dwarfling, he would wake with night terrors of fire-breathing monsters, of death and pain and the end of everything. Often these terrors fell after he had convinced Uncle Dwalin to tell him a bed-time story. Uncle Thorin didn’t tell stories. Uncle Dwalin, who wasn’t really an uncle but certainly acted like one, would look very sad when Fili asked why, and say in a soft rumbling voice that is was because – for Thorin Oakenshield – the stories weren’t over yet.
Fili didn’t really know what that meant when he was a little one, but he started to figure it out later. Sometimes Uncle Thorin would get a faraway and sad look in his eyes and Fili figured that was when he was remembering. Because Thorin could remember Erebor and all the horrors that came with it. Fili’s night terrors were bad enough; he couldn’t imagine having lived it.
When Kili was old enough to sneak into Uncle Dwalin’s lap and hear the stories too, Fili started to think that the tales of high deeds and great courage and nasty dragons sounded made-up. Kili, still as young as his brother used to be, thought otherwise. But he never woke from night terrors, crying about fire and death and pain. Fili was only a little jealous of that.
There were months when Uncle Dwalin did not visit. He was travelling in the east their mother said. There were months when Uncle Thorin was not around either. Those months were harder to bear, but it allowed Fili and Kili to grow up out of the shadow of that which blanketed their uncle. A fact for which their mother was duly thankful. Fili learned to use a sword and axe and Kili found a love of the bow. And they learned to fight like all dwarf youngsters did, when deemed old enough. They learned what their fathers and grandfathers and great-grandfathers had learned. But where their fathers’ had gained such skills in the comfort of vast halls and the strength of armies, Fili and Kili and the others learned in forgotten caves amongst a scattered people. Never did they learn to fight as an army did. There was no use for armies in Ered Luin. They had peace, of a sort, after all.
Fili and his younger brother Kili had never known another way of life. After all, the stories of old – though grand – could hardly be as true as Uncle Dwalin made them out to be. Just tales to frighten the children at night, as uncles are inclined to do.
But, of course, the tales least likely to be true are usually the ones that are.
***
TO BE CONTINUED
Disclaimer: Tolkien. Peter Jackson. Need I say more? There are quite a few lines from TH: AUJ in here, which of course belong to Fran Walsh, Philippa Boyens, Peter Jackson and Guillermo del Toro.
AN: I’ve always felt that Fili and Kili rather get the short end of the stick. There’s plenty of dwarven back-story in the book(s), but most of that relates to Thorin. We know Fili is his heir, as Thorin has no children himself, but the nature of that isn’t really explored. Ori is, obviously, the youngest dwarf on the quest, but Fili and Kili are the heirs to the throne and young. They were clearly raised to be warriors, but for what battle? It seems that life in the Blue Mountains was reasonably safe and I can’t imagine they were allowed into much actual danger growing up, for fear they’d be killed. How did they join the quest and, better still, how did they manage on it? A look at two young dwarves from childhood through, well, you know.
***
In childhood, children will believe almost anything. Even the most fanciful legends and stories, conjured by weary parents in attempts to induce sleep, will be met with complete and utter belief. Is it not until children become older that they learn that many of the stories of their youth are just that – stories. Others they learn hold some half-truths. But sometimes, just sometimes, even the most unbelievable story of childhood turns out to be true.
Fili could remember Erebor. Except that wasn’t quite right. He couldn’t remember it because he had never been there. But he had heard so many tales growing up that he felt like he had. Sometimes, as a young dwarfling, he would wake with night terrors of fire-breathing monsters, of death and pain and the end of everything. Often these terrors fell after he had convinced Uncle Dwalin to tell him a bed-time story. Uncle Thorin didn’t tell stories. Uncle Dwalin, who wasn’t really an uncle but certainly acted like one, would look very sad when Fili asked why, and say in a soft rumbling voice that is was because – for Thorin Oakenshield – the stories weren’t over yet.
Fili didn’t really know what that meant when he was a little one, but he started to figure it out later. Sometimes Uncle Thorin would get a faraway and sad look in his eyes and Fili figured that was when he was remembering. Because Thorin could remember Erebor and all the horrors that came with it. Fili’s night terrors were bad enough; he couldn’t imagine having lived it.
When Kili was old enough to sneak into Uncle Dwalin’s lap and hear the stories too, Fili started to think that the tales of high deeds and great courage and nasty dragons sounded made-up. Kili, still as young as his brother used to be, thought otherwise. But he never woke from night terrors, crying about fire and death and pain. Fili was only a little jealous of that.
There were months when Uncle Dwalin did not visit. He was travelling in the east their mother said. There were months when Uncle Thorin was not around either. Those months were harder to bear, but it allowed Fili and Kili to grow up out of the shadow of that which blanketed their uncle. A fact for which their mother was duly thankful. Fili learned to use a sword and axe and Kili found a love of the bow. And they learned to fight like all dwarf youngsters did, when deemed old enough. They learned what their fathers and grandfathers and great-grandfathers had learned. But where their fathers’ had gained such skills in the comfort of vast halls and the strength of armies, Fili and Kili and the others learned in forgotten caves amongst a scattered people. Never did they learn to fight as an army did. There was no use for armies in Ered Luin. They had peace, of a sort, after all.
Fili and his younger brother Kili had never known another way of life. After all, the stories of old – though grand – could hardly be as true as Uncle Dwalin made them out to be. Just tales to frighten the children at night, as uncles are inclined to do.
But, of course, the tales least likely to be true are usually the ones that are.
***
TO BE CONTINUED
