Erebor - Blog Posts

They have a dad. Vili.

They are to my mind:

Princes Fili and kili of the line of Durin. Sons of Dis of the line of Durin. Heir and steward prince of Azsâlul'abad

Normally it would run to most peoples agreement that they would be sons of their father but because of Vilis commoner status (and don’t due to his death) it is seem as acceptable for them to take their mothers name in their titles as she is the member of the line of Durin.

Though I imagine in situations where they don’t want to be known they would be introduced as ‘sons of Vili’

it always catches me off guard when i see people use Durin as a stand-in last name for Fíli and Kíli. it’s not necessarily a pet peeve, but i’m still like ‘hmmm feels wrong’. so now im curious:

Hi, this is my son.

Kalaroth, son of Hemdoroth

He’s a second generation jeweler in Erebor (look I write what I know okay?) He moved to the lonely mountain shortly after the reclamation with his parents.

Info:

Dad- Hemdoroth (jeweler)

Ma- Tosi (Metal refiner)

Siblings- Hemi (Older sister- also a jeweler)

Friends - Hob Fairhill (hobbit- news runner/messager of the court + apprentice scribe)

Enjoys: Not being in Erebor 😰, hunting, archery, harassing Hob into wrestling with him, fruit bread.

Dislikes: Working early in the morning. The concept of being stuck inside the mountain his whole life not having one single adventure.

stranger things spoilers

imagine eddie, dying, being held in dustin’s arms. he’s joking around like he does. maybe he knows he’s dying and he’s trying to make dustin smile one more time. maybe he doesn’t know.

but somewhere in that goofy final monologue, the tone changes. he gets a bit more somber and drops his smile as he looks up at the red sky, just past dustin’s gaze. and he simply says, “i see fire”. (i know it’s cheesy but come on. lord of the rings.)

mostly because, as he said, he left the burning shire and went straight to the fires of mordor, but steve robin and nancy were also burning vecna.

that’s all. i hope it makes sense.

1st of October: Mountain / A' chiad latha dhen Dàmhair: A' bheinn

English Translation:

Since the day the dragon came, it seemed to Thorin he saw the mountain clearer with every step he took away from it, with each mile he and his family led the people of Erebor west, their backs to the mountain, its form in his mind grew firmer.

They toiled in strange lands, selling their skills like simple trades-folk instead of the masters they were. How low we are fallen, the young prince would seethe, still proud despite their loss.

Thorin's people had not been long in connecting Thror's hoard to the dragon's attack; the first to do so turned their backs on him, choosing to join their kin in the Iron Hills than suffer the Wilds under a leader they did not trust. Those who kept faith and remained, standing shoulder to shoulder with him, Thorin vowed to protect.

Even before the disappearance of Thrain, a shift came in Durin's Folk. They began to seek guidance from their prince, following his lead and rallying behind the dream he described for them: a new home in the west, far from hardship and strife where they may rebuild all that was lost.

But always in his mind lay the same thought, the mountain, the mountain, the mountain. In his dreams he looked on it from afar. Watching. Waiting. He would bring his people home, redeem his family for their grandfather's sickness that brought them all to ruin.

The birth of his sister's sons came in a time of peace. The older they grew, an ever-increasing choir that sung with the drums from the deep followed him....the mountain, the mountain, the mountain, they cried.

Oh the lonely mountain...

Scottish Gaelic translation:

Bhon dearbh là a thàinig an nathair-sgiathach, chunnaic Thorin a’ bheinn nas soilleire le gach ceum a thog e air falbh, leis a h-uile mìle a stiùiridh e is a theaghlach an t-sluagh Erebor gu Iar, an dromannan ris a’ bheinn, dh’fhàs a cumadh cruaidh anns na inntinn.

Dh’obraich iad ann an dùthchannan neònaiche, a’ reic na sgilean aca mar gun robhar luchd-malairt farasta seach na maighstirean a bhathar. Cho ìosal a tha sinn air tuiteam, smaoinich am prionnsa òg le fuath geur, fhathast moiteil a dh’aindeoin an calltachd.

Cha tug e fada gus an cur an t-sluaigh a h-uile rud ri chèile: sabaid an nathair-sgiathach agus tasgaidh Thror. Tionndaidh na ciad feadhainn an aghaidh an Rìgh agus thagh iad a bhith a’ dol gu na luchd-dàimh aca anns na Cnuic Iarainn, an àite a bhith a’ fulang san dùthaich fhiadhaich fo cheannard nach robh earb annta ann. Ghealladh Thòrin gun dìon e na feadhainn nach deach, a bha a dh’fhantainn agus a chumail creideas leotha.

Eadhon ron thuras Thràin nach tàinig e air ais bho fhathast, thàinig atharrachadh air na muinntir Durin. Thoiseach iad a’ sireadh stiùireadh bhon phrionnsa, a bhith ga leantainn agus a’ tighinn ri chèile air cùlaibh an aislinge a bha e ag iarraidh dhaibh: dachaigh ùr san Iar, fada air falbh bho dhorradas agus strì far am faodar a h-uile rud a bha air caill a thogail a-rithist.

Ach an-còmhnaidh anns na inntinn bha an aon smaoin, a’ bheinn, a’ bheinn, a’ bheinn. Anns na aislingean, choimhead e air fad às. A’ coimhead. A’ feitheamh. Thoireadh e an t-sluaigh aige dachaigh agus cuir ceart gach rud a rinn a sheanair a thoirt iad uile gu lom-sgrios.

Thàinig breith mhic a phiuthar ann an àm ciùin ach mar a dh’fhàs iad suas, dh’fhàs guth còisir anns na inntinn a bha a’ seinn leis na drumaichean às na h-uamhan. A’ bheinn, a’ bheinn, a’ bheinn, dh’èigh iad.

Ò a’ bheinn ònaranach...

Amon Rawya

(Tha mi fhathast ag ionnsachadh na Gàidhlig - bithibh snog XD)

We are the dwarves of Erebor...