Loki playing outside. (Source: http://ift.tt/2gxRPbJ)
Tag: wargs
Flat color version of Ako and Jik, the two wargs who are the parents of my favorite litter of crazy little wargs who take over everything.
Ako is very done with this portrait shit, and Jik is contemplating what the artist tastes like, but he’ll be good and not eat the artist unless Razul tells him to.
lynati – Wargs!
Random AU headcanons
Because I can, because I hurt, and because last night, I spent a couple hours making a list of potential names for wargs in the AU where Frerin survives Azanulbizar, and later brings home a warg puppy (he thought it was a regular puppy) for Thorin.
1. Wargs from the north have a roughly human lifespan, barring injury or illness or genetic defects. Most of them don’t actually live that long because orcs and raiding and an environment that really doesn’t lend itself to living that long. (Wargs like those in the southern Misty Mountains have an entirely different physiology, just going from the movies, and thus may well have a different life-expectancy, and I’m not dealing with them right now.)
2. The first warg is Little Thief, usually called Rab because that’s an easily shouted syllable from the khuzdul for that same name.
Rab sneaks off three separate times and comes home pregnant because clearly her people need more wargs to keep them safe, because they do not have enough. And bringing home adult wargs is probably Not Safe.
In total, 13 live pups over three litters (4, 7, 2), with three that are important enough to have names** (Lucky, called Salu; Queen, called Melin; and Little Warrior, called Miza). Rab dies in 2875.
3. Salu dies in the same orc-raid that Víli does, when Kíli is a year old. They find Víli’s body half-under Salu, as if the warg was standing over him when killed. (They’re not wrong thinking that.)
4. Melin has 7 live pups over two litters (3, 4), with one that bears a name (Rabbit, called Ginush). Melin was very protective of Fíli and Kíli when they were little, and was often regarded warily by any adult dwarf because she was not above attempting to use those she thought were a danger to her tiny dwarves as furniture. (She’s well aware that actually chewing on them would get her killed, and then who would look after the little ones?)
5. Miza has 16 live pups over three litters (5, 6, 5), of which four did not survive to adulthood, and two are named (Storm, called Lâk; Iron-Tooth, called Zirakh). She preferred to spend most of her time patrolling the edges of the settlement, and tends to think of intruders as chew toys. Orcs killed her in 2898 while she was further out than usual.
6. Ginush was named Rabbit by a very tiny Fíli, and grew up with the boys. She dies in 2935, six years before Thorin goes to take back Erebor. She has at least two offspring, but I haven’t figured out more than that about her yet.
7. Lâk wanders off and brings home a mate, to the consternation of pretty much everyone, his mate included. She thinks dwarves are dangerous enemies, they think she’s going to eat them, Lâk is a very confused warg. He and his mostly stay at the edges of the settlement, because it is safer for everyone that way. Of the 9 live pups (4, 5), one has a name – Ember, called Liwiz.
8. Zirakh is Thorin’s companion warg at the time of the Quest, and has taken Liwiz under her wing, so to speak, and is training him up to be Thorin’s companion when she dies, like Miza did her, and Rab did Miza. Thorin still finds this whole thing disconcerting, because the pup Frerin dumped on him a century and more ago was supposed to be just a hound, not a blasted orc-bred warg.
9. Yes, I’m treating the wargs like actual characters with thoughts and plans and intelligence and sentience. Because I can. Because I like that headcanon. Because I’m pretty sure there’s stuff in canon that supports it if I have the energy to go hunting it down again.
10. There are only going to be two wargs on the quest to take back Erebor, because Thorin is not going to take the whole damned pack, they’d be too obvious. As well as making him – and everyone else – nervous, despite knowing these wargs are theirs and not enemies.
11. This is going to make life interesting on the quest.
12. I have not at all figured out what it means for them in the settlement, and if it means that Thorin and others end up living a bit away from the others, because wargs.
**Granted, all of the wargs are actually named in the AU, they just don’t all need names for the story, only the important ones right now. I’ll name the others later, if I need to.
It is memory, precious and pure.
Kili/Tauriel modverse aesthetic for @daughteroferynlasgalen!! Happy birthday bby!!
Tammy’s birthday hour part 1/5.
@morgynleri WARGLES!!
EEEE! *wiggles happily*
Picture by Vincent Munier
Arctic wolf (Canis lupus arctos). Look at the size of those paws!
Tolkien: Time and Valar: Warrior Son, Part 10/?
It’s been nine months since I posted anything on this because I was stuck on the trolls. Or rather, the aftermath of trolls. Today was a good day for this, though, and I have another bit. And a very cranky Lindir muse who does not like dwarves and hopes that Boromir will be a saner, more civilized guest.
@deadcatwithaflamethrower @norcumi
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He finds Ori and Óin trying to pack as much of the camp as possible on two of the ponies, neither of which seem to be inclined to move far enough from Celeg to be saddled, much less have packs arranged on those saddles.
“Collect personal belongings, leave the rest.” Boromir approaches the nearer pony carefully as Ori gives him a grateful look for the instruction. “Where trolls are willing to live, other foul things will be as well, and I’d rather be already moving if any make their presence known.”
Óin harumphs, but doesn’t say anything, just keeps working at what he had been packing. Boromir doesn’t remember much about him from the stories he was told as a child, and hopes Óin isn’t terribly upset about having to abandon the camp gear.
The first howl sends a chill down Boromir’s spine, and he has to tighten his grip on the harness of the pony he’d grabbed, though it does nothing to stop the other one bolting. He’s glad Celeg is steady, if wide-eyed with fear.
“Let her go, laddie!” Óin slings a pack on his back, as Ori grabs the other one Óin had packed. “Best to keep that horse of yours, if he doesn’t bolt at the sound of wargs.”
Boromir grimaces, but nods, jumping back as he lets go of the pony, letting her bolt after her herd-mate before he reaches for Celeg. The horse rolls his eyes at Boromir, but doesn’t bolt as he swings up onto Celeg’s back. He wishes for a moment that he had one of the lances the Rohirrim carry, to better hunt the wargs that are howling again.
“I’ll draw the attention of the wargs, you join the others.” Boromir gives Óin and Ori a grim smile, the familiar feel of a battle rising in him. Fighting is what he knows best, and though this may be as much running as fighting, it is close enough to remind him of the feel of such.
“Meet us at the pass, if you can.” Óin gives him a long look, before turning away, hurrying after Ori in the direction Boromir had come, while Boromir listens for more howls of wargs, following them away from the patch of woodland the trolls had called home.
His hand drops to his horn a moment, thinking of the attention such would draw, for good and ill. But he cannot risk Gandalf recognizing it for what it is when he sounds it, not here and now. It is far too soon to reveal so much to the wizard when he hasn’t spoken of his past to the dwarves. Has not told Thorin the truth of what he knows of the quest, especially not when he does not know what might change with him riding with the dwarves.
And cannot tell them now, when he does not know how merely this encounter will play out.
Boromir turns his head toward the distant howls of the wargs, nudging Celeg with his knees when the horse hesitates, feeling the reluctance to ride into danger rather than away.
“We cannot risk the others simply for our own sakes, Celeg.” Boromir rubs Celeg’s shoulder gently before he nudges him into a canter. They will gallop soon enough, and Boromir will need all his attention to stay ahorse. “When they have caught our scent, you may run to keep ahead of them as you will. But we must keep them from the rest of the Company.”
Celeg snorts, but does as he’s asked, drawing closer and closer to the wargs, who appear to already have a target in their sights – a rabbit-drawn conveyance with a whooping man in ragged robes clinging to the back.
Boromir doesn’t know what to make of them, but the presence of another will make this easier. Two to split the attention of the warg pack, and Thorin and the Company can escape to safety, wherever they may find it.
He reins Celeg in, waiting for the wargs to get closer before he lets out a whoop of his own, wheeling Celeg to take a diverging route from that of the madman with the giant rabbits, drawing several wargs to follow him instead.
“As fast as you may on this ground, Celeg.” Boromir lets the reins fall slack, gripping tight to Celeg’s barrel with his knees. The horse springs to follow his command and the pressing of his own instincts, galloping across the rolling moors with wargs baying at their heels.
They can’t have gone more than a mile before Boromir hears horns, clear and bright, announcing the arrival of others to the chase. Elves, by their armor, a company which splits around Boromir to ride down the wargs and orcs turning to flee. He draws Celeg down to a canter, though he cannot convince the horse to turn, even with others between them and the wargs, nor to slow further to a walk.
Instead, he is taken where the horse will, down into a river valley that it takes a long moment for Boromir to recognize as the way he had come only months before, and years yet to come. Only when they’ve splashed across the Bruinen can he slow Celeg to a walk, though he lets the horse pick their way to one of the courtyards of Imladris, glad to dismount as a trio of elves come toward him.
“I have ridden far, and been parted from my companions by wargs.” Boromir falls into familiar Sindarin, keeping a grip on Celeg’s reins for a moment. “I do not know if they might have come here, or if they have skirted Imladris in favor of the High Pass, but I would ask if there might be aid to be asked that I might rejoin them soon.”
“You should rest.” One of the elves, who seems to have charge of the other two, comes forward first. “We may see to Celeg, and Eirwyn will take you to speak with Lindir, who is Lord Elrond’s seneschal. He may be able to provide you with aid to locate your companions.”
“My thanks.” Boromir smiles slightly, tilting his head before he lets the one elf take Celeg’s reins from him. The other beckons him to follow, leading him through halls both familiar and not, until they reach a small office, where a dark-haired elf is standing staring almost blankly at the desk inside.
“Master Lindir?” Eirwyn bows their head when the other turns, gesturing slightly toward Boromir. “He came through the gate from the Ford, and I was commanded to bring him to you.”
Lindir looks at Boromir, frowning slightly. “Might I ask your name?”
“I am Boromir of Gondor.” Boromir pauses, giving Lindir as polite a smile as he can muster. “I was parted from my traveling companions by wargs. I drew them off after the ponies the others rode bolted, since I had the better chance to avoid a swift death.”
“You’re the rider Lord Elrond spoke of!” Lindir smiles, the expression more harried than cheerful, and waves Eirwyn away, reaching out to grab Boromir by the arm a moment, turning him down a hall before snatching his hand back as if he’d suddenly remembered how rude it might be taken as. “Please. Lord Elrond wished to speak with you, and dinner shall be soon. We should have clean clothing suited to fit you, if you wish to change.”
It would be rude to turn down such an offer, and Boromir lets Lindir hurry him toward guest rooms, other elves summoned and sent darting on errands as they go.
There's a Mirror on the Wall 