Posts Tagged ‘Tom Bombadil’

#62: Presenting Annatar, Lord of Gifts!

Apr
28

Date: April 28, 501 S.A.
My Mood Is: buoyant

Well, it’s been a few centuries, but I think I have things all worked out. I’ve been living a simple life in the forests of Western Eriador, which is very pleasant as long as I can avoid Iarwain Ben-adar, that annoying little fuckstain.

Sorry, sorry. The “new me” doesn’t use language like that. And Iarwain is free to pursue his lifestyle of singing, scampering, lily-collecting, and making my fucking skin crawl with his insipid banality.

Sorry.

Anyway — working things out. As it stands, most of the Men left in Middle-earth live in the East beyond Rhovanion and south below the Ephel Dúath, although there are a scattering of them here in Eriador. There are a couple of Dwarf cities, notably the Dwarrowdelf in the Misty Mountains and Belegost in the Blue Mountains (the latter is in ruins, but a large number of Dwarves live in the region).

And then there are the Elves. There are still lots of those, in settlements all throughout the big honkin’ forest that covers most of the sub-continent. The major Elf nations are: a Nandorin kingdom at Amon Lanc; another Nandorin kingdom at Lórinand; Edhellond, a Sindarin sea-haven way down in the Belfalas; Eregion, where a remnant of the Noldor still dwell; and finally Lindon, the Land of Seven Rivers, where the Noldorin High King rules over Elves of all tribes.

Aren’t you impressed that I have learned about all these little mortals and their nations? I keep notes on Post-Its.

So the way I see it, as the wisest and most powerful being left in Middle-earth, I have a responsibility to offer my aid to all these little kingdoms — Men, Dwarves, and Elves — and to help them run things more efficiently. You know — agricultural policy, land management, economic policy, that kind of thing. Certainly none of these Children of Ilúvatar has ever completed a formal course in Public Policy! Fortunately, I have a strong sense of Noblesse oblige.

To begin my new career as a senior political adviser, I needed a new name. I thought about this for a long time. Obviously, “Sauron Gorthaur” wouldn’t do, as that name has become associated with certain unfortunate mistakes made, in my name by subordinates, during the Melkor administration.

So that left:

a.) Tevildo, Lord of Cats: Absolutely not. This is from an embarrassing period in my past and I won’t discuss it. Anyway, it lacks gravitas.
b.) Mairon the Admirable: My original name. Eru had hardly sliced my parts off the sprues and cemented them together before he named me Mairon. By the time I hooked up with Melkor I was going by “Sauron”; but while I dated Melian she always called me Mairon.
c.) Thu the Hunter: The Elves of Dorthonion and Dungortheb used to call me that. I was hunting them, of course. Good times. Hardly appropriate now, though.
d.) Mr. Spottybottom: We used to get really, really bored during the long dull centuries in Angband, and we would make silly bets. One time I lost a bet (something about spinning hard-boiled eggs), and had to let everyone call me “Mr. Spottybottom” for a month. It’s okay — Draugluin had to go as “Lady Vaginastank” for an entire year.

Clearly I needed some new ideas. After many years of thought, and some late night brainstorming sessions with Young Man Willow, I came up with these:

a.) Aulendil, the Servant of Aulë: From a practical standpoint, this would be a great name. I taught Aulë everything he knows, and will be sharing many of the same skills with the Children of Ilúvatar. Elves love Aulë; Dwarves worship him as their creator; and Men seem to really enjoy diaereses. But unfortunately, I would have to vomit every time I said it.
b.) Artano the High Smith: Same idea as above, but with no mention of my former boss.
c.) Tom Bombadil: One day I overheard some Mannish children talking about that “wonderful ol’ Tom Bombadil who lives down by the Baranduin River,” and how “handsome” and “amazing” he was. I have no idea how the little sweethearts came up with that silly name for me, but I did briefly consider adopting it. Again, though, not enough gravitas. I am a Maia, fer crissakes.
d.) Annatar, Lord of Gifts: This name has it all. Everyone likes lords — if there were no one to tell you what to do, how would anything get done? And everyone likes gifts!

So from now on, I am Annatar, Lord of Gifts. And this is Annatar’s Blog. Soon, I will be taking off for Lindon, where I intend to present myself to the High King and allow him to take advantage of my services as a counselor.

Yes, this is going to work out perfectly!

#58: Time to Defeat the Valar Once and for All!

Jan
25

Date: March 25, 582 F.A. (Years of the Sun)
My Mood Is: reticent

It’s my birthday. Yes, I have a birthday, remember? If I can make an entire planet, I can have a frikkin’ birthday.

Anyway, I was minding my own business, baking a delicious cake out of milled flour, honey, yeast, nutmeg, and the blood of slain Mannish infants, when I was disturbed by a horde coming down into the forest glen.

I should mention that I haven’t really done anything since my last post. If you’ll remember, I learned from that idiot Balrog that Melkor was finally getting the upper hand in his pointless War of the Jewels against Elves and Men. I figured I’d probably better come out of hiding and go back to Angband — but I would need a good story.

The story I came up with was this: Soon after defeating Huan and Lúthien Tinúviel at Tol-in-Gaurhoth, I heard about a guy in the Far East of Middle Earth who knew how to make those Silmarils that Melkor has such a boner for. I decided to run off and look for him, but I lost track of time.

No, stupid, there’s no guy making Silmarils. Pay attention. It’s a lie. And Melkor’s such a dunce, he’ll probably believe it.

Anyway, that’s the plan. Sure, it’s been about 70 years since I ran into that Balrog, and I haven’t gotten around to heading back to Angband quite yet. I like it here in Eriador — it’s quiet, and there are a lot of tasty Men, Elves and Dwarves to eat, none of whom have ever trained under the stinking Valar. If I didn’t occasionally run into that Iarwain Ben-adar jackass, this place would be paradise.

Besides, I’ve grown quite fond of Young Man Willow. When Melkor and I destroy the Valar, and burn all the world’s trees in a hellish worldwide conflagration, I think I’ll spare him.

Look, I’m billions of years old. If I want to wait 80 years to get around to something, it’s my prerogative.

But back to the horde. I was busy baking my birthday cake when about a thousand Elves came pouring over the horizon. At first I thought it was an invasion — but they were singing and laughing and carrying on, and I remembered this was Elves we were talking about. An Elf army is about as scary as a Gay Pride Parade, whatever that is.

I assumed a pleasing, Elvish form, and mingled. That’s how I learned some really amazing shit. Melkor was victorious in The War of the Jewels. The Noldor, the Sindar and their Mannish lackeys were destroyed or routed. Melkor was now Master of All Beleriand. Indeed, these Elves were the vanguard of a mass exodus of defeated mortals out of Beleriand.

So why were these Elves so frickin’ happy? It was hard to follow, but I guess there’s this half-Elf mongrel called Aaron Dill or something like that who sailed a magic boat to Valinor and begged the Valar to help all the poor, defenseless, idiotic mortals that the Valar had left to their own devices for the last Age. (I know what you’re thinking — isn’t there a rule that says mortals cannot visit Valinor? Yes! But the Valar never met a rule they wouldn’t break whenever they felt like it. Hypocrites!)

So now the Valar, who were happy for the last five centuries to let Melkor and me torture and kill as many Men, Elves and Dwarves as we wanted, have now mobilized — AFTER we already won — and are at this moment marching with their Maiar lackeys and a handful of mortal slaves on Angband.

Idiots!

I was so thrilled to hear this news, I immediately slaughtered all the Elves. Finally, the chance to kill Manwë the Dickless Prick, have my revenge on Huan and Melian, and destroy the Valar once and for all!

Now, I haven’t left for Angband just yet. I don’t want to miss any of the good fighting. But I figure if I arrive during the battle, my sudden reappearance will seem like a miracle for our side, and everyone will be less concerned with where I’ve been all this time.

So I’m just chilling, for the moment. But soon — SOON! — I’ll be off to Angband, and VICTORY!

#57: Three Idiots, One Day

Jan
9

Date: October 19, 510 F.A. (Years of the Sun)
My Mood Is: pondering

Had three very strange encounters today.

I’ve been living in out in Eriador in the East. I said “living,” not “hiding.” It would only be “hiding” if I cared if Melkor knew where I am, which I don’t.

Anyway, Eriador is almost entirely forested. There are a few Elves living out here, the so-called Avari, who were too smart to follow the summons to Valinor; some Dwarves; and a good number of Men. So, there’s plenty of food. I’m still in the form of a great werewolf, most days, so it’s easy to hunt.

The nice thing about Eriador is, all of Melkor’s crap is over in Beleriand by the sea, where Ulmo can interfere. Eriador is far, far from the sea, and always will be.

I like living in the forest. The trees shelter me during the day from the heat and light of the accursed Sun; and at night I don’t have to look at the useless Moon or at Varda’s filthy stars, which mar the perfection of the Celestial Firmament that Melkor and I built with our own hands. You know, back when Melkor wasn’t an incompetent boob more concerned with shiny gems and the affairs of mortals than with achieving our revenge against Manwë the Dickless Prick and his Valar Traitors.

Anyway.

So I’ve been living out here, taking it easy, bossing around the local wolves and trolls, and snacking on a wide buffet of  mortal creatures — even Dwarves, when I’m hungry for something stringy and gristly that tastes like ass. It’s worth it to hear them scream.

This morning I was sleeping under a huge willow tree down by the river — a nasty, mean-spirited tree with a heart of pure blackness, so we get along fine — when I was awakened by singing. Why is it that every bad thing in my life starts with singing?

At least it wasn’t the thin, reedy, fingernails-on-a-chalkboard-whatever-a-chalkboard-is singing of an Elf, nor the gruff atonal caterwauling of a Man, nor the deep, flatulent intonations of a Dwarf. No, this was proper singing. Ainu singing.

I immediately threw on a pleasing anthropomorphic form, the kind of thing I used to wear when sneaking around Taniquetil or the borders of Doriath. I hid in the bushes, and saw a woman approaching — clearly a Maia, but one who had taken on the form of a Mannish princess, for some unfathomable reason. She was fair-skinned and blonde-haired, like the accursed Edain of north-eastern Endor; and she wore a green dress shot with silver, and a gold belt.

I needed to know why she was there — was she a spy for Manwë, or worse yet, for Tulkas? Was she somehow related to Melian? I stepped out into the open and greeted her.

Here’s what I learned. Her name was Golodhbereth, and she was one of the lesser of the minor nature spirits, a Naiad; and a servant of Yavanna, the slut wife of my former boss Aulë. She had wandered out of Aman and into Middle-earth because she was “collecting flowers.”

And you know what? This chick was so mind-bendingly stupid, I could believe it. Seriously. I’ve had more enlightening conversations with piles of Orc dung.

So, I had options. I could have seduced her, or better yet raped her; but I’m not really interested in that sort of thing, and I’m saving up all my raping and killing energy for when I encounter Melian again. I could have destroyed her, damning her spirit to wander formless and cold across the face of Arda until the Final Battle — but someone might miss her (unlikely, but a possibility), so I decided to spare her. In the end, I just sent her on her way, down to the river, to collect “water lilies,” whatever the hell those are. I wasn’t terribly worried about her reporting my position to her friends in Valinor, because (a) she didn’t know who I was and (b) she probably forgot me five minutes after leaving me.

I changed back into Dire Wolf form and laid back down, and was just settling into a wonderful dream about ripping apart and consuming Manwë’s twisted hröa, when I heard more goddam singing. Yes, Ainu singing, although the worst I had ever heard.

In fact, I recognized it — don’t you?

“Hey dol! merry dol! ring a dong dadar!
Iar Wain, jolly wain, Iarwain Ben-adar!”

It was him.

Since Melkor and I had arrived on this shitty little disk of rock so many geological eras ago, we had not seen hide nor hair of Iarwain Ben-adar, the mysterious and unidentified spirit who alone had preceded us into this universe. We had decided it was some poor joke by the typically hilarious Eru Ilúvatar, and forgotten all about it.

But here he was, tra-la-la-ing along the forest path like some ruddy Mannish homosexual, mincing and prancing like he owned the forest. MY forest.

So I attacked, leaping into the air with slavering fangs three feet long, claws of blood-stained Adamant, eyes like twin wheels of fire. I fell upon him like a mountain of black, overpowering death.

Something went wrong, and the world twisted, and a moment later I was on my back, dazed, while Iarwain Ben-fucking-adar continued on his flouncing way like nothing had happened.

I leapt to my feet, summoned a storm of lighting and smothering darkness in the sky overhead; covered the forest floor for miles in all directions with a greenish miasma that sucked the life from all things; howled a terrible howl that chilled the Sun, froze the blood, and was remembered in the whispered mid-winter tales of every mortal tribe living within a thousand miles for centuries to come; and leapt again, ready to rend the limbs from the poncy little poltroon, consume his soul and crap it back out down his throat.

Twist, blank, and I’m on my ass again — and he’s hopping down the bunny trail. WTF?

Fine. Whatever. Who cares? Big deal. Let him go down to the river. I hope he finds that Golodhbereth chick, they deserve each other.

Unhappily, I found my spot under Young Man Willow and laid back down. I was just settling into a wonderful dream where Melian was begging me to take her back, but I didn’t care and was ripping her intestines out through her nostril anyway, when I smelt something burning.

At least no one was singing.

I looked up and saw that the forest was on fire. Well, that was cool, burning was what trees were best at. I decided to head over, because I was still pretty bummed out by my run-in with that asshole in the feathered cap, and living things dying agonizingly in flames always cheers me up.

So imagine my surprise when I saw that the flames were being left in the wake of the passing of a Balrog. I recognized him — a fellow named Lungorthin, one of Gothmog’s crew.

Now see, if I were hiding in Eriador, I would certainly have avoided letting Lungorthin see me. Also, I did not reveal myself to Lungorthin because I was desperate for the company of one of my own kind after years in exile. That would be pathetic.

No, I approached Lungorthin to be polite.

He was surprised to see me. Apparently, the belief around the Angband water cooler (whatever a water cooler is) was that I had been destroyed along with my tower at Tol-in-Gaurhoth — as if! Sauron Gorthaur the Deceiver, Lord of Werewolves, Chief of the Maiar, destroyed by that half-breed whelp Lúthien Tinúviel? Puh-lease. She’s lucky I let her live.

Strangely, I guess those Balrogs I ran into in Taur-nu-Fuin never reported to Melkor that they had seen me. Let me tell you , it’s all phone calls and telegrams with those people in Angband — rumors spread like wildfire, but genuine information is hoarded like Silmarils. (Whatever a phone — oh, you get the picture.)

Lungorthin filled me in on what’s been going on in the four decades or so since Melkor let Melian’s little brat steal one of his shiny rocks from right off his noggin. The big news, as far as Lungorthin was concerned, was that Gothmog was destroyed, slain while killing an Elf-lord of Gondolin. Yes, Melkor finally found Gondolin, and Nargothrond, and destroyed them both. Carcharoth, that traitorous little dumbass, was dead too, killed by Huan, of all people.

But the big news was this — that little bitch Elu Thingol was killed by a bunch of Dwarves (fighting over that damned Silmaril), and Melian bailed on all the Elves and went back to Aman!

What!?

At this point, I stopped Lungorthin. For one thing, it was a lot to absorb. For another, it was beginning to look like the tide had turned for Melkor, and through sheer luck the old moron was actually achieving his goal of ridding Beleriand of the accursed Noldor and Edain.

Which made me look like a complete and total dumbass for quitting and going to Eriador. And what was I going to tell Melkor? That I got lost? I didn’t keep track of the time? I had something important to pick up in the Hithaeglir, and I forgot to mention I would be gone so long?

I realized the only thing I could do, while I mulled all this new information and formulated a plan, was kill Lungorthin. I couldn’t have him heading back to Angband and concocting some lie about me hiding out under a willow tree in Eriador getting fat on Elf-flesh.

So I leapt to my feet, summoned a storm of lighting and smothering darkness in the sky overhead — you know, the works. Now let me assure you, I could easily have killed Lungorthin. He’s quite subordinate to me, and doesn’t carry any weapon but a big flaming whip. Unfortunately, he’s fast. Balrogs may not have wings, but they can run like they’re flying. I chased Lungorthin for hundreds of miles, until he wormed his way down a hole under the Misty Mountains and I couldn’t find him again. Asshole.

Well, he’s not getting out of there. I’m going to keep an eye on Eregion, and if Lungorthin so much as sticks his ugly flammable nose out for some fresh air I’ll have his head.

So. Melkor is consolidating his hold over Beleriand. Melian fled back to her Valar friends in Aman, taking all her power with her. Things are beginning to look up.

How the hell am I going to get back into Melkor’s good graces?

#14: Who the Hell is “Iarwain?”

Sep
12

Date: Before the Sun and Moon
My Mood Is: disgusted

So, like I said, Melkor, He Who Arises In Might, was the first of the Ainur to descend into Eä and take shape within Arda (followed closely by me). Arda is a small, dark space. And it should be empty.

But there was already somebody there.

As we Ainur all floated incorporeal and naked in the dark, freezing our metaphorical asses off in the zero-degree-Kelvin temperature, the sound of singing came out of the dark.

There was no air, of course, so the singing had to be metaphysical in nature. That would imply another Ainu, right?

And what singing. Even the most banal and insipid ditty that talentless hack Manwë could devise, would seem as the deep and lofty music of Melkor compared to this drivel.

“Hey dol! merry dol! ring a dong dadar!
Iar Wain, jolly wain, Iarwain Ben-adar!”

And more stupidity like that.

We were all pretty surprised at first. Melkor got into an argument with Manwë over who the singer was. Melkor kept demanding to know why someone was in Arda before us. That sniveling toady Manwë replied that it didn’t matter, it was up to Eru, and we shouldn’t worry about it.

Screw Eru. We live here in Arda now. Let Eru look after the Timeless Halls — this is OUR world, mine and Melkor’s.

And all the other Ainur too, of course.