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Nili o i Ardanole Newsletter:
for Lord of the Rings News, Updates, Poetry, Art, Parody and
Volume 3, February 18th, 2005.
Editors: Perian, Xara.
Primary Reporter: Ivy.
Chief Correspondent: Prongs.
Columnists: Lady Morrigan Shadow, Padfoot, Cerridwen.
Contributor(s): Eowyn Evenstar, Fan.
In this issue:
The Lord of the Rings
Exhibition by Xara.
Praise for the Mapless
LotR Style Rooms by Padfoot.
Professor Tolkien the Talker by Perian.
In every issue:
Fanfiction: This Fortnight: If the Light Should Ever Fade - Part
Five by Cerridwen.
Ivy's Newsletter Trivia.
Xara's Random Fandom.
Tolkienish, provided by Perian.
Find past archives,
subscribe or contribute at http://inili.iwarp.com/
of the Rings Exhibition
"We set out on our journey
at a quarter to eleven, and make our way through the wilderland to
Beecroft station. There we shall meet the rest of our company, and take
counsel together before catching the train for a forty minute journey
to Town Hall station. From there our path turns east to the Powerhouse
Museum." The number of our company was six. Our quest, to seek the
Powerhouse Museum. Our favourite colour, blue. Yes, it was just this
morning, when I and my fellow companions, found and experienced the
Lord of the Rings Exhibition!
We arrived to find, that it was actually quite smaller than we
had expected. This is not to say that it was small, our imaginations
had led us to believe it would be a colossal sky-scraper filled with
every single costume, miniature, prop, shoelace, etc., etc. ever
involved in the movies. But still, it was fairly sizeable. There was
Frodo's costume, Sam's backpack in both scales, two Arwen dresses,
Theoden's armour complete with sword, helmet and boots, Aragorn's
costume, Saruman's costume, Gandalf the Grey's costume, Galadriel's
dress, Treebeard, Lurtz, a mumakíl, a humongous cave-troll which
scared the willies out of me (my attention upon entering the room had
been claimed by the sheer bead embroidered whiteness of Galadriel's
dress, and, once this wore off, the fact that I was standing beneath a
cave troll whose mace was raised above my head began to impose itself
upon me), a huge miniature of the mill at Hobbiton from Frodo's vision
in the mirror, Isengard, Barad-dur, Sauron, the witch-king, and, most
freaky of all, Boromir in his funeral boat.
And of course, what Lord of the Rings Exhibition would be
complete without The Ring? It was situated alone in a large room,
disproportionate to it's size, dark except for the fiery red letters
white roved the circular walls (I tried to position myself in front of
these lights and mimic the famous scene in Fellowship of the Ring where
on Frodo's face appears the glow of the ring's inscription, but was
blinded and had to retreat), and filled with whispers of, "My
precious," and "The ring was entrusted to me," and "The ring must be
destroyed," and "I dare not take it," etc., etc.
We all had our pet favourite parts. Myself I was most fascinated
by Aragorn's costume (surprisingly, it had a strange pull on me),
Boromir's funeral boat, complete with life-sized and very, very
lifelike Boromir, and a collection of Rohan horns. Various fantasies
involving horns, the blowing of them over the neighbours fence at the
crack of dawn, and the possibilities involving horns and other people's
ears ensued. Unfortunately when we arrived at the gift shop, I found no
horn, but perhaps that is just as well.
It was generally agreed by all that we should have tried to
sneak a camera in. Or perhaps two. Or three. In the end, we decided,
the wisest course of action would have been to go dressed as Gandalf
the Grey, conceal a video camera beneath the hat, a normal camera in
the staff, a digital camera with a live video feed to the internet
strapped across the stomach and various infra-red cameras attached to
the soles of the shoes, which would be surreptitiously stuck to the
walls so as to provide continuous video feed after leaving.
Conversation then moved towards ways of stealing actual objects
on display, and we soon realized that it would simply be easier if we
stole the entire building. All that would be required was a convoy of
sturdy trucks and the world's largest chainsaw. Needless to say, we
stole nothing, though a Last Alliance Elven Spear which, unlike most of
the items displayed, was not behind glass did pose serious temptation.
Our perusal of the exhibition was then followed by the
infiltration of the children's Shire-themed play area, the entrance to
which was a hobbit-hole door, hobbit-sized. However, once we discovered
that if you rang the bell the door opened (our excitement about this
fact quelled when we discovered there was a girl crouched on the other
side opening it) we crawled in, took our hobbit-name tags (I became the
aptly named Adaldrida Worrywort) and found, to our disappointment, that
it really wasn't all that exciting.
Our visit over, we turned homeward with heavy hearts and many a
backward glance. The Lord of the Rings Exhibition. We saw it, and it
for the Mapless
At the time of writing I
am recovering from the Quest of the Ring, squished into a single day.
All right, no rings were involved. Nor elves, so don't get excited. No,
I sojourned across a single city, and a relatively small one at that;
namely, Wellington, New Zealand. After about half an hour I had no
sense of direction left, save a fan's instinct of in which the distant
WETA lay. Street signs in this city are not placed for pedestrian use -
unless, of course, they have a secret desire to see pedestrians swiftly
squished by public transportation vehicles as they wander out into the
road to discover which road it happens to be. People have that very
attitude toward cyclists where I last lived. Bipedal carrion. But I
While following my
directional instincts I had a profound revelation: if you're right
handed you tend to make random right turns. This leads to a phenomena
known in all quest-style stories as "going in circles". My inner
Samwise had to explain this to me, as I, being dyslexic, would never
have figured it out on my own. My inner Samwise then turned to my inner
Frodo and whispered "Let's face it, Mr. Frodo, we're lost. I don't
think Gandalf meant for us to come this way." This then provoked an
image of Gandalf striding determinedly down the pavement, past the Two
Dollar Store and the women's swimsuit shops, causing me to laugh aloud
and be given sidelong glances from my fellow walkers.
I pulled out my map and
found my way, made my purchases, and began to climb up the Emyn Mu- er,
the Wellington hills once more. As I lugged my portable oven and two
bags of groceries back, stopping about once per block to check my map,
my heart went out to Frodo and especially Sam. I had food enough
with me for two weeks at most. He had to carry supplies and cooking
gear enough for months. Moreover and most importantly, they did not
have a map. Yes, yes, I know, Gollum did lead them through the
trickiest bits; from the base of Emyn Muil to Cirith Ungol. But it's
not as though that were the only place where one (or two) could get
lost. The forests of Ithilien didn't have guideposts saying "trail
through, this way, 4.7 leagues". The roads through Gogoroth didn't
exactly declare "To the Cracks of Doom" or "Danger, sharp, pointy
needles below!"; and I'm sure that nowhere in Hollin was there a small
wooden placard nailed to a tree with the information "Species: Poison
Oak. Touching not recommended." It's things like this we take for
granted, though life would probably be much more interesting without
The hobbits were not
only lacking in friendly reminders to keep off the grass (though they
did run out of it soon enough) ... they were lacking in everything but
the vague idea that they must go East to Mordor (at a time in which the
Sun was quite thoroughly veiled), a glance at a map back in Rivendell,
their own wits, a few frying pans, and enough personality to fill the
Sundering Seas. Oh, and a small box of dirt. And a password protected
flashlight. And a few other things, but you get the basic point: They
didn't have a map. Even so, with the odds at about a multiverse's
quantity of gas fumes to one (and one with no map!) they made it.
The next time you lose
yourself in the massive labyrinth we call life, don't be discouraged.
You could be a lot worse off. Think of those two little hobbits,
without even the illustration at the front of the books to guide them.
Then head due East.
A Warped Weave of Magic: Terry Pratchett's Sorcery
Review by Perian.
All right, it isn't his best
selling book. It isn't his most critically acclaimed. Frankly, as I
read it over a month ago, I've probably forgotten nearly all of it. All
things considered, I personally loved this book. Once again Pratchett
has proven himself a master. Have I mentioned he does everything for
fantasy which Douglas Adams does for science fiction and crime fiction?
He does, in my opinion at least. This time he outdid himself, again.
Rincewind is a wizard. Don't question it - it's even on his hat.
Coin, on the other hand, is a sorcerer. The difference? Well, a
sorcerer is what comes of allowing wizards to procreate, and their
power is manifold their predecessors'... and contemporaries'. So, what
happens when a pre-teen is given power like this? Let's just say it is
not boring, much to Rincewind's dismay.
Once again, a laugh-out-loud fantasy with a ending which feels
as complete as those of most tales in the genre (excluding Tolkien's)
do not. Highly recommended, just like the rest of his books. Come on,
Have you read a
good book lately? Would you like to praise it without restriction?
E-mail your review to Perian@HotPOP.com!
This Fortnight: If the Light Should Ever Fade
"That is not the way to Talath's
city," Aragorn informed Meluiwen as she pointed out more tracks, "We
must have been following the wrong path," his shoulders slumped as he
said this. "I think you are mistaken," Elladan said, "There has been
nothing but rain and storms since before Neva was born, all the tracks
would have been eradicated in those storms. These are relatively new,
only slightly damaged by the storms, and there is nothing to say that
Talath took her to a different stronghold of his." Elrohir nodded as
his brother finished his thoughts. Meluiwen and Ciryawen looked to
Eiliandel and Legolas to give their opinions. Eiliandel had grown tried
of riding, apparently the strain of moving air to where she wished it
was not as great as they had thought, and she spoke up, "We should
follow the tracks Meluiwen found, Elladan is right, no tracks from
before the storms would have survived this long," she looked at
Aragorn, "We will find her. Do not let your love sway your knowledge."
Aragorn got a mildly flustered look as she gently chastised him,
letting him know that she understood all too well what he was dealing
with. Nodding his head, he acknowledged Eiliandel's decision,
"Meluiwen, Ciryawen, if you would please......" he indicated the
tracks. The two came forward and began leading again, their sharp
elvish eyes picking out the tracks. Aragorn fell back to walk beside
Legolas, " The fog is getting thicker and closer, does Eiliandel need a
rest?" he asked quietly.
Legolas shook his head, "She said earlier that it was getting
thicker and that there was nothing she could do about it. She suggested
we prepare to travel under full cover of the fog. We have the means to
defend ourselves from the wolves, and it would give her the opportunity
to recover enough strength to battle Talath should we meet him."
Aragorn took all this in, nodding as he saw her wisdom of the
situation, "Everyone, I suggest you get back on your horse - Eiliandel,
you may stop holding the fog back." Aragorn issued. Eiliandel waited
until everyone was on top of their horses and armed before she let the
fog come back. Instantly everything looked different.
Where there had been the shades of colour brought out by the sun
was now a dull grey colour, blurred and depressing. "Be on watch for
the wolves!" Legolas's warning rang out. Aragorn heard the familiar
wisp of metal on material as swords were drawn, the distinctive sound
of a bow being pulled to accommodate an arrow and the quiet murmuring
of the others as they began to watch the fog, waiting for any unknown
shapes to present themselves.
"Novrion? You daughter has something to tell you!" Eomer entered
the room with Nenwen dancing along behind him. Eowyn looked up from
rocking Neva to sleep and Novrion turned from looking at the frog that
Eladrion had brought in from the garden. "Nenwen? What have you to
say?" Novrion held his arms out to her. She held out a daisy, "Flower!"
she said happily. Novrion smiled at her and Eowyn looked up in shock,
"What did she.......?" Eowyn suddenly remembered talking to them in the
garden. She had left just as they'd sat on a bench. Eomer must have
been teaching her the language of men. "Good job!" Novrion praised
her as he gave her a hug. Nenwen handed him the flower and darted off
the play with Eladrion. Novrion looked to Eomer, "Thank you so much for
teaching her that! Eiliandel and I didn't see much of a reason to teach
her the language of men, but know I'm beginning to think we made a
mistake." Eomer smiled at the elf, "Don't worry! Learning another
language is not that hard at her age! She'll catch on fast! You didn't
make a mistake, you and Eiliandel don't speak the language of men
unless you have to, so you made the right decision!" Novrion seemed a
bit relieved as he turned back to watching Nenwen and Eladrion play.
Haradion looked distinctly angry as he left Arwen's room. Thurin
snapped to attention as the wizard passed. He had been in there yelling
at the elvish woman for the past several hours. Thurin had heard him
slap her across the face at least four times. Now Haradion was stalking
around the lower levels of the stronghold and there were sounds of
gentle sobs coming for the elf's room. Thruin couldn't take it anymore,
and grabbed his cloak and went into her room. The lovely queen was
lying on her bed, crying such mournful sobs that Thurin was close to
tears himself. She turned as he entered. "My lady?" Thurin asked
softly. She threw her arms in front of her face as defence and pulled
back, away from him. Thurin held up his hands, "I mean you no harm! I
am not here to hurt you!" he pleaded quietly, not wanting to attract
attention. Arwen looked at him. He held his cloak out, "Here. Take it.
It is supposed to be very cold tonight." Arwen reached out slowly and
took it. "Come on! Let's......." Thurin extended his hand to her, but
Haradion's voice rang out "THURIN! Come here!" Thurin looked to the sad
woman, "Sorry! I will be back with help!" he promised her as he ran
from her room, shutting the door softly behind him. Arwen curled up in
the cloak, stifling her sobs in the folds of Thurin's cloak.
"M'lord!" Thurin bowed before Haradion. "Thurin! My spell over
the White City is failing. Go and see if you can find that meddling
enchantress!" Haradion ordered.
"Yes, m'lord." Thurin hurried off to do his master's bidding,
pleased to have an excuse to leave Haradion's stronghold. Briefly he
worried about Arwen, but consoled himself with the knowledge that he
was being sent to the very city her husband ruled.
* * *
"Shh," Eowyn rocked Neva,
wishing that Arwen or Aragorn were there to take their daughter. Neva
had been upset all afternoon and it had only gotten worse as the night
"Eowyn?" Novrion appeared in the doorway, "The fog is thickening
around the city, but Eiliandel's defences are holding. I thought you
may wish to know."
Eowyn nodded, "Thank you." she turned back to rocking Neva. "Do
you need some help?" Novrion inquired.
"No, no, I just......." Eowyn looked at Neva.
"Here, let me take her. Go look at the fog and rest for a
while." Novrion took the baby, murmuring soothing elvish words. Neva
quieted down almost instantly.
"How did you.....?" Eowyn stared at him.
"Nenwen had trouble sleeping for a while too, Eiliandel used to
sing to her in elvish." Novrion explained. Eowyn nodded and left, going
to look at the fog and rest as Novrion had suggested.
"Behind you!" Legolas whipped
around, notching an arrow as he did so, heeding Meluiwen's warning. He
easily shot the lunging form of a wolf, picking him out of the fog.
"How much farther you think?" Elrohir asked. They had stopped
for a much needed rest, pulling close to the base of the trees.
Legolas, Meluiwen and Ciryawen were on watch, letting Aragorn,
Eiliandel and the twins rest.
"Behind you! To the left!" Ciryawen informed him. Legolas aimed
at the dark form lurking in the fog. Suddenly he stopped as he
recognized the form as that of a horse and rider. Meluiwen and Ciryawen
darted forward, hidden in the fog, and quickly overwhelmed the rider,
pulling him to the ground.
"Why will you not answer me?"
Haradion shook Arwen. She held her hands up in a gesture of defence,
offering him no answer. In frustration, he smacked her across her
delicate face as hard as he could. She fell to the floor, fast losing
consciousness and offering no defence for herself as he kicked her
aside to leave. Her world faded to black.
your long term memory... how's your short term? First, scroll down
until "Newsletter Trivia" is at the top of your page. Without scrolling
up, name five original (not Tolkien-created) characters from
Cerridwen's If the Light Should Ever Fade.
Last issue's answers: Rob, Issue 32; To chop up a LotR ban to
'itty bitty pieces', Issue 38.
are walking along, minding your business when suddenly you are molested
by a gang of hobbits wielding elven rope and saying that if you don't
give them all your fish they will tie it to your ankle and laugh! Oh
the cruelty of it! You must get away with your fish, but how?
noo! This cannot happen! This must not happen! I will use the only
good weapon I learned from Bilbo Baggins, the CONFUSING PHRASE! I will
tell them that I don't know half of them half as well as I should like
and I like less than half of them half as well as they deserve.
Provided they haven't figured this thing out already I will run away
with my fish as they are scratching their heads confusedly. Then I will
go wash my mouth out for using a dreaded Bilbo phrase.
Xara: You are
currently tied up in a sack which is hanging from a tree. How did you
Smeagol: Ah, the
art of escapology my friend! I was bored one day so I decided to see if
I could do a Houdini... I tied myself up in a sack and then got a
random hobbit to tie me to a tree and time 5 minutes to see if I
could get out of it. Unfortunately I've not quite mastered the art...
I've been stuck here about *checks watch* 20 days or so...
Xara: You've been
going out with a giant flesh-eating spider for about a month now, but
are finding it's legs rather off-putting. You decide to break it off,
but how are you going to tell him without being killed?
Smeagol: Listen, I
really hate myself for telling you this and I still want to be
friends... it's just been getting a bit awkward with you poking me in
the eye and stuff, I'm really sorry and I will feed you any
hobbits that you want in the future... anyway I have been seeing a
Vala called Námo for about a year, and there's no point in
killing me 'cause I'll only go to him and be brought back... bye! *runs
away* Yes, Shelob is a male spider, and that's how I REALLY promised
him to bring him any hobbits he wanted to eat!
How is it that you know so
much about carrots? Is there something you're not telling everyone?
Why, did you never here? We
Gamgees are an authority on roots! My old Gaffer invented carrots, and
that's a fact.They weren't natural before that, oh, no. And before that
it was one of my ancestors who brought over the first roots from
away off wherever it is we came from. The Gaffer says so.
What do you get for a wedding present for a brother? The wedding
is seven months away but I want to get him something expensive and
cool. Any ideas?
Having two brothers myself,
both married, I can tell you exactly what he'll like for a wedding
present: socks, and plenty of them. Now, I know what you're wondering,
"But hobbits don't wear shoes," and you'd be right, so I'll tell you
why they're needed. When a fellow gets married he has to make a few
changes, and sharing a bed with the new missus is one of them. Now,
these she-hobbits, though they are very lovely, tend to hog the quilt,
and so a hobbit, or man, finds himself waking in the middle of the
night with cold feet, as she's pulled the quilt over to her side of the
bed. That's when the socks come in handy.
But, if you want to go
for something a bit more expensive and homey, I'd suggest a nice camera
for them to take photos of each other, or a bread-maker. Or a chef's
hat. Good luck!
I can see you still haven't spoken to Merry. Just so you know I
have a torch and a pitchfork and I'm not afraid to sneak down to your
hobbit-hole in the middle of the night and use them! *Poke.* Now get
Yes, Lady! Straight away! *Runs.*
FOR SALE: Super-sonic jet-powered
extreme orc-killing skillet. It's taking up space in my cupboard.
Please contact email@example.com for details.
WANTED: Some inspiration for my story...if you happen to find something
please tell me.
NOTICE: Xara, co-editor of the
newsletter wishes it to be known that her email address has changed to firstname.lastname@example.org, and that anyone wishing to contact her will
find her most eager to reply from that address from now on. She further
wishes to add her feelings about Hotmail and their inconsiderate and
highly disruptive treatment of her, but thinks it is perhaps better not
to, and will say merely that they should all be eaten alive by a giant
haggis monster. Thank you.
FOUND: Someone's sanity. If it's
yours will you please tell me, I need to get rid of it fast so as to
get back to my insane life.
NEEDED: People to participate in a study... still.
Really, it's not so hard. Just document everything LotR-related you
say/do in a one week period, and send it to email@example.com
It's important, I promise.
WANTED: Cute little hobbit that looks a lot like Dominic Monaghan and
isn't afraid to run out on a dark and stormy night to get me chocolate.
If you have one, I'll pay good money.
Descriptive Elements, Part XIII.
(Key: q.= Quenya, s. = Sindarin, where known.)
ros: (noun) foam,
spindrift, spray. Celebros, Elros, Rauros, Cair Andros.
sereg: (s., noun.)
(verb) shine with silver or white light. Belthil, Galathilion, Silpion.
sul: (noun) wind.
Amon Sul, Sulimo, sulime.
Welcome back! Hope you're
settling back into the top job ok. Tell me, does your
computer stuff up every time you try to send the newsletter out?
Because mine did...
Thank you very much! I'm
most enjoying my return, but also enjoyed my time away. It
was quite interesting, not knowing what would turn up in the
newsletter! Do others experience the same eager anticipation and
trepidation I do while waiting for it? I wonder. Just a note
to subscribers who may not have noticed, I, like Xara, have a
new e-mail address (what are these e-mail servers going through
right now?): Perian@HotPOP.com.
I want to thank all of our
staff, who worked tirelessly on the past few issues, as they always do.
Your devotion to this newsletter awes me. I'll find a way to repay you
all someday. Come on, subscribers! These people take
hours and days out of their busy lives to bring this to you, with
no immediate reward. In fact, as you see, they more often get
criticism and computer problems for their efforts. What say we
give them a nice round of applause, eh? Thanks! And once
again, my deepest appreciation goes out to you, Xara, and to all
those who work both up front and behind the scenes (more work goes into
this newsletter than it looks like) ... THANK YOU.
May public appreciation
of Tolkien's work live on forever, and may we be here a good long
time to give it a nudge.
Get your story straight! One article your saying Pippin is
a pilferer and the next your saying he's a prince! For quite a
while I could not decide what to do; kill you, or say
thanks! So I found a median, both. *Kills Xarie and then brings
her back to life with ring* So, how was it?
[*Flushes with rage.* I would
reply to that one, but it's not addressed to me, so I'll leave it to
the more articulate Xara...
I first have to register my
extreme offense at the way in which you chose to draft your letter. I
thought this was incredibly rude, especially as I had to
go to great lengths to include your article in that issue at
all as it was submitted after the deadline. I'd appreciate it in
future if you did not greet me with hostile orders made under the
assumption that I am yours to command.
However, yours was
a fair observation, so let me explain my reasons for writing the
article which seemed to cause you such offense. I knew we would be
getting many articles praising the little hobbit, and there's nothing
wrong with that, but I thought one criticizing him would add some
variety. As for the article about him being a prince, did I change my
tune? Who is to say that I approved of him? To say that someone is a
prince isn't necessarily to say they are wonderful. After all, royalty
are often criticized by the public. I don't think that I was sending
mixed messages by writing that article.
I appreciate your
feedback, but not the manner in which you chose to express your
opinion. I might remind you that the article I wrote, for which you
seem to wish me dead, was also a matter of opinion which I, like
you, had every right to express. I'd appreciate it if you didn't
try to kill me in future, thank you.
I would like to say that this newsletter is another job well
done. I also want to say that I love the theme for it
too. Xara; I love your articles about Pippin's 'royal' blood
and about the differences between the Pip that we see in the book vs.
Pippin in the movies. Perian; I loved reading about Pip's
place in the fellowship and about him in Minas Tirith. EE; your article
was awesome and quite humourous I think. Paddy; even though I'm
against eating hobbits I loved you article, it's very true to your
style I think. Ivy; the way that you wrote those two sides of
Pippin was very interesting to read, I loved it.
Thanks so much for your
comments! Hehe, Pippin's royal blood was always a pet theory of mine,
so the Pippin issue was my chance to get it out to the world. It's
always good to hear from the subscribers so thank you for writing in!
Thankee Fan! Anything about hobbits wouldn't be my
style if it didn't involve eating them.
[*No, it is not self-aggrandizement. I'm simply