Idrils Scribe

A capable warrior

The Valar not choosing the strongest warrior does not mean they did not need someone capable. In the end, the job they tasked Glorfindel with was to aid Middle-earth in its battle against Sauron, and ultimately the legacy Morgoth left behind. This could not have been done by anyone who couldn’t hold their own against the forces of the enemy.

Glorfindel was one of Turgon’s most trusted, rivaled only by Ecthelion, who I would argue was in fact the greatest warrior among the lords of Gondolin, just by mentioned achievements alone. When Aredhel wanted to leave Gondolin, in early versions of the story, Turgon entrusted her to three captains: Ecthelion, Egalmoth, and Glorfindel. And when Gondolin came to aid in what later would be known as the Battle of Unnumbered Tears, Turgon was flanked by two captains: once again, Ecthelion and Glorfindel.

There are many reasons why a king would favour certain lords or knights, but in the case of these captains, it does seem as if skill plays a factor. During the Battle of Unnumbered Tears, for example, it was said:

Then Turgon took the counsel of Húrin and Huor, and summoning all that remained of the host of Gondolin and such of Fingon’s people as could be gathered he retreated towards the Pass of Sirion; and his captains Ecthelion and Glorfindel guarded the flanks to right and left, so that none of the enemy should pass them by. (The Silmarillion)

“None of the enemy should pass them by” speaks of the prowess of these two captains, and how skilled they were in the face of the forces of the enemy. Remember that by this point, they were already overwhelmed and losing; they were seeking to flee. Turgon had just become the High King of the Ñoldor, and so instantly had a target on his back. It was crucial he be brought to safety.

Further, in texts describing Glorfindel and the House of the Golden Flower, it is also mentioned that Glorfindel’s house made up a great number of warriors. Their prowess can also be gleaned from the fact that during the attack on Gondolin:

Glorfindel and his men guarded the Great Market, which was a prominent place in the city and would have been one of the larger common areas. Here, they were overwhelmed and Glorfindel called urgently for aid, but they were betrayed by Salgant so that help came very late. Despite this, they were able to salvage their numbers enough to rejoin Tuor and the others later on, strengthening their odds during the escape from the city. Glorfindel himself, with Tuor, cleared the square that let all their men withdraw from battle, and allowed people to escape the burning city.

Despite their losses in the Great Market, during the march through Cristhorn, the House of the Golden Flower remained among the great houses “the largest band of men battle-whole”, and so took up the rearmost end of the refugees, and protected them from the enemies pursuing them.

So Glorfindel himself is the lord of a great house of warriors. We also know from all the battles where he was mentioned, including his most famous one with the Balrog, that he himself is a strong warrior even before he was reincarnated in Aman.

Glorfindel as someone noble, humble, gentle and beloved

We have established that Glorfindel is a capable warrior, but there are many capable warriors throughout the history of Middle-earth. The Silmarillion, in fact, is an entire book of strong Elves. So why single him out?

What is best established about Glorfindel is how he is well beloved. Proof of this is scattered in the text:

[The Balrog] shrieked, and fell backward from the rock, and falling clutched Glorfindel’s yellow locks beneath his cap, and those twain fell into the abyss. Now this was a very grievous thing, for Glorfindel was most dearly beloved – and lo! the dint of their fall echoed about the hills, and the abyss of Thorn Sir rang. (The Fall of Gondolin)

Because of their love, despite the haste and their fear of the advent of new foes, Tuor let raise a great stone-cairn over Glorfindel just there beyond the perilous way by the precipice of Eagle-stream and Thorondor has let not yet any harm come thereto, but yellow flowers have fared thither and blow ever now about that mound in those unkindly places; but the folk of the Golden Flower wept at its building and might not dry their tears. (The Fall of Gondolin)

Not only was Glorfindel deeply mourned by his own house, who knew him best, but the entire people of Gondolin loved him and mourned him. He was even mourned up until the refugees reached the Vale of Sirion, already many miles away from Gondolin:

There they rested a while, and were healed of their hurts and weariness; but their sorrow could not be healed. And they made a feast in memory of Gondolin and of the Elves that had perished there, the maidens, and the wives, and the warriors of the King; and for Glorfindel the beloved many were the songs they sang, under the willows of Nan-tathren in the waning of the year. (The Silmarillion)

The mourning of Glorfindel is singled out from all the losses they incurred in Gondolin. One can argue that this can be because his battle and death was one that had many witnesses, and what saved them on that last stretch, as opposed to the other lords, but the text repeatedly qualifies Glorfindel as beloved even before these deeds. Such things can speak for the kind of person he was while still alive.

Another striking thing when it comes to the texts around Glorfindel is that his deeds in battle are always described matter of fact; these are things he does, but these are not what define him. Instead, it is in lines that describe how he is beloved, how he is mourned, the things he himself regrets and what he chooses to protect that are what define his character.

The Peoples of Middle-earth is the most definitive text that describes the nature of Glorfindel. Here, it is said:

Now Glorfindel of Gondolin was one of the exiled Ñoldor, rebels against the authority of Manwë, and they were all under a ban imposed by him: they could not return in bodily form to the Blessed Realm. Manwë, however, was not bound by his own ordinances, and being still the supreme ruler of the Kingdom of Arda could set them aside, when he saw fit. From what is said of Glorfindel in The Silmarillion and The Lord of the Rings it is evident that he was an Elda of high and noble spirit: and it can be assumed that, though he left Valinor in the host of Turgon, and so incurred the ban, he did so reluctantly because of kinship with Turgon and allegiance to him, and had no part in the kinslaying of Alqualondë. (The Peoples of Middle-earth)

Kinslaying is the gravest of sins committed by the Ñoldor in Middle-earth, and which also most goes against their case in returning to Valinor. Tolkien, therefore, was particular about who among his characters did not take part in the kinslaying. Galadriel was one, and many from the host of Finarfin. Among the host of Fingolfin, only Glorfindel was mentioned to have not taken part in the kinslaying. Given Glorfindel’s closeness to Turgon and his loyalty to him, and knowing that Turgon did certainly participate in the kinslaying and was "one of the most determined and unrepentant supporters of Fëanor’s rebellion" (The Peoples of Middle-earth), that Glorfindel stayed his hand, perhaps even likely tried to stop them, was no easy feat.

Glorfindel had sacrificed his life in defending the fugitives from the wreck of Gondolin against a Demon out of Thangorodrim, and so enabling Tuor and Idril daughter of Turgon and their child Eärendil to escape, and seek refuge at the Mouths of Sirion. Though he cannot have known the importance of this (and would have defended them even had they been fugitives of any rank), this deed was of vital importance to the designs of the Valar. (The Peoples of Middle-earth)

I very much appreciate the line “and would have defended them even had they been fugitives of any rank”. We don’t often get lines like this in the text, and putting it there is a deliberate choice by Tolkien to drive home the kind of person Glorfindel is. Glorfindel is a lord of Gondolin, “an Elf-lord of a house of princes”, as Gandalf would later describe him, but he does not look at such things and would put his life on the line for anyone of any standing.

He even proves this still later on, two ages later, when Frodo and company meet him on the road. Fellowship of the Ring actually has some of my favourite quotes around Glorfindel; there is a reason why he became my favourite character very early on, even without having yet read The Silmarillion and the other histories at the time.

This part, hands down, is my favourite, and it came from Glorfindel himself when he was describing events of the past days before he found Frodo and the others:

‘They said that the Nine were abroad, and that you were astray bearing a great burden without guidance... There are few even in Rivendell that can ride openly against the Nine; but such as there were, Elrond sent out north, west, and south… It was my lot to take the Road, and I came to the Bridge of Mitheithel, and left a token there, nigh on seven days ago. Three of the servants of Sauron were upon the Bridge, but they withdrew and I pursued them westward. I came also upon two others, but they turned away southward. Since then I have searched for your trail.' (The Fellowship of the Ring)

Glorfindel said it so simply, but actually on hindsight, especially after learning everything that we know of the context of this world and its histories, there is so much to unpack! Let’s go through them one by one:

“There are few even in Rivendell that can ride openly against the Nine…” – The reason for this, as Gandalf later explains, is because the only ones who can ride openly against the Nazgûl would have only been Elves from Valinor, who “live at once in both worlds, and against both the Seen and Unseen they have great power”. We know there are very few of them remaining in Middle-earth by the Third Age, and even among these, likely they can only send warriors. This early, we get a clue that Frodo and company have met someone extraordinary.

“It was my lot to take the Road…” – By “Road”, Glorfindel meant the East Road, the great and ancient road that cuts across Eriador, from Rivendell to the Grey Havens. This would have been the most perilous of the roads because it would have been the most obvious path away from the Shire, and so would have been most guarded by the Enemy. Again, once one knows his history and achievements, it is no surprise that Glorfindel was assigned this road. But Glorfindel himself only says it in passing—as if taking the most perilous road is just a walk in the park and only to be expected.

“Three of the servants of Sauron were upon the Bridge, but they withdrew and I pursued them westward. I came also upon two others, but they turned away southward.” – Here already is the proof of what I said above: just by taking the East Road, Glorfindel encountered five of the Nazgûl. But here’s the funny thing: the enemy was running from him! Here was the terrible evil Frodo and his friends were afraid of and running from, but they turn away from Glorfindel. Glorfindel “pursued” them, and they escaped him; when he encountered more, they “turned southward”.

The Nazgûl have long had a history of trying to avoid Glorfindel. The Witch-king himself flees from him, as we have seen in the Battle of Fornost, where the Witch-king showed he was unafraid of Men, and even laughed at and mocked Prince Eärnur, but ran away when Glorfindel arrived. But you barely catch these things when Glorfindel describes them. He simply encounters them on the road like it’s nothing. This is once again one of those times when the text downplays Glorfindel’s prowess as a warrior—because again, this is not what is most striking about him. Instead, we get more of these:

‘My master is sick and wounded,’ said Sam angrily. ‘He can’t go on riding after nightfall. He needs rest.’ Glorfindel caught Frodo as he sank to the ground, and taking him gently in his arms he looked in his face with grave anxiety. [...] He searched the wound on Frodo’s shoulder with his fingers, and his face grew graver, as if what he learned disquieted him. But Frodo felt the chill lessen in his side and arm; a little warmth crept down from his shoulder to his hand, and the pain grew easier… (The Fellowship of the Ring)

From the beginning, Glorfindel was friendly and kind to the Hobbits and established himself as a friend to them. He grew concerned hearing about their story and showed visible anxiety over their plight. At the same time, his presence was a comfort to them, no doubt also influenced by Strider’s obvious relief that Glorfindel was now with them, but I daresay Glorfindel himself just naturally brings this feeling along with him wherever he goes, explaining why he is beloved wherever time he lands.

‘You shall ride my horse,’ said Glorfindel. ‘I will shorten the stirrups up to the saddle-skirts, and you must sit as tight as you can. But you need not fear: my horse will not let any rider fall that I command him to bear. His pace is light and smooth; and if danger presses too near, he will bear you away with a speed that even the black steeds of the enemy cannot rival.’ (The Fellowship of the Ring)

Even in the face of danger, Glorfindel is kind and thoughtful. He not only offers Frodo his horse, but he thinks about what a Hobbit would need to be comfortable on said horse. He also has thought about what worries Frodo might have, what he would be afraid of, and sought to allay them even before Frodo spoke about them.

An emissary of the Valar

One important thing in answering the question of “Why Glorfindel?” is to go back to the task at hand. What the Valar looked for was an emissary for them, someone who represented them and brought with them their good intentions.

Manwë, for all his faults and his inability to understand the nature of evil, and so actually was very poor adversary for it, still sought to help Middle-earth when he could. Glorfindel, in fact, was returned as an answer to prayers, from the very people of Middle-earth themselves:

[Glorfindel’s] return must have been for the purpose of strengthening Gil-galad and Elrond, when the growing evil of the intentions of Sauron were at last perceived by them… In 1600 it became clear to all the leaders of Elves and Men (and Dwarves) that war was inevitable against Sauron, now unmasked as a new Dark Lord. They therefore began to prepare for his assault; and no doubt urgent messages and prayers asking for help were received in Númenor (and in Valinor). (The Peoples of Middle-earth)

Prior to his return in 1600 S.A., Glorfindel has already been living in Valinor for many years, from near the end of the First Age (shortly after his death) and well into the Second Age. Within that time, he has grown to be an even better version of his old self, learning from the Ainur, and growing in strength and wisdom:

For long years [Glorfindel] remained in Valinor, in reunion with the Eldar who had not rebelled, and in the companionship of the Maiar. To these he had now become almost an equal, for though he was an incarnate (to whom a bodily form not made or chosen by himself was necessary) his spiritual power had been greatly enhanced by his self-sacrifice. At some time, probably early in his sojourn in Valinor, he became a follower, and a friend, of Olórin (Gandalf), who as is said in The Silmarillion had an especial love and concern for the Children of Eru. (The Peoples of Middle-earth)

This connection with Olórin is also a critical aspect of the case we’re making about Glorfindel here. Olórin is one the Ainur most sympathetic to the Children of Eru, and was even said to have learned mercy and patience from Nienna herself. Glorfindel already started out as somebody who would protect people. It is therefore not surprising that he would gravitate towards those who have similar sympathies. Likely, he was already known to Manwë before his being chosen as emissary.

One indulgent concept I often think about is how, given all of these, one can even argue for Glorfindel being in the same category as the Istari. The Istari, as we know, were Maiar who were tasked to come to Middle-earth’s aid. Glorfindel returned to Middle-earth around the same time that Morinehtar and Rómestámo came; they would have been the first wave, after which Gandalf, Saruman, and Radagast followed in the Third Age. Glorfindel was already compared to the Maiar in terms of strength; the only difference they have at this point is Glorfindel’s nature as someone incarnate. The timing also works, the similarities in mission striking. Likely, Glorfindel was returned within the same context that the Istari were formed in the first place.

Could anyone else have returned?

As far as the text is concerned, it is very likely that Glorfindel is the only Elf to have returned to Middle-earth. The circumstances surrounding his return is extraordinary. Tolkien was also seen to have considered others who shared the same names with people in the First Age (e.g., Galdor, Legolas), but these were scrapped and only Glorfindel remains. In fact, out of all the exiled Elves who fell in Middle-earth, only Glorfindel and Finrod are specifically mentioned to have been brought out of Mandos and reimbodied and returned to Valinor.

Certainly there is room for others in fanon. I am fond of ideas where other lords of Gondolin also return at the very least in Valinor, but this likely happened much later, well after the First Age. It was written:

Glorfindel remained in the Blessed Realm, no doubt at first by his own choice: Gondolin was destroyed, and all his kin had perished, and were still in the Halls of Waiting unapproachable by the living. But his long sojourn during the last years of the First Age, and at least far into the Second Age, no doubt was also in accord with the wishes and designs of Manwë. (The Peoples of Middle-earth)

“Kin” or "kindred" here can be understood to be the people of Gondolin, primarily. Glorfindel reads as somebody who identifies with people with whom he belongs; “kindred” therefore would have been “his people”, such as a clan or a large group. In fact, he used the same word in The Fellowship of the Ring, this time to refer to the people of Gildor whom Frodo met on the road, since Glorfindel’s people now are, of course, those Elves from Rivendell:

‘Elrond received news that troubled him. Some of my kindred, journeying in your land beyond the Baranduin, learned that things were amiss, and sent messages as swiftly as they could.’ (The Fellowship of the Ring)

None of the people of Gondolin were reimbodied, at least not as early as Glorfindel. Glorfindel is someone truly extraordinary. While it is true that this grand story of him was a product of Tolkien using his name twice in two important stories, I love that he elected to have them be the same person, and weave a story as to how this can be. We therefore now have a Glorfindel who is larger than life, but most importantly, someone immensely good and kind and enduring, someone who feels keenly his place in the world, and his nature, before his death but especially after it, is naturally inclined to service.

Even after so many years in Middle-earth, the way he associated with Frodo and company still shows someone who is deeply concerned with the worries of the world and its people, who is pushed to haste when someone is in danger, and this vitality he brings with him even at the end of the Age of Elves.

The Silmarillion Writers' Guild's Everyman challenge sought to elevate ordinary people, who are often obscured in the text. As the moderator who developed the prompt list for that challenge, I reread The Silmarillion, looking for the "small, ungreat, and forgotten" amid the bold speechification and sweeping swords of Tolkien's pre-Ring War heroes. (Perhaps the high mortality rate of those heroes—even the immortal ones—hint at the later ascendency of those whom we would assume are easily quashed.) The prompt collection didn't include every mention—and one particular quandary arose again and again that I will discuss below—but it included a lot and meant that, in the space of a few days, my brain was peppered with all of the different ways that "everyman" characters move, barely seen, through the text.

All the same, this is a very preliminary analysis of the topic. When I study "instances of x in The Silmarillion" for a more finished presentation or publication, I read one or two chapters per day, closely and carefully. In compiling the challenge prompts, I breezed through the entire book in a few days, skipping sections where I knew the story didn't even allude to the lowly. This essay is based on my work on the challenge, using the prompt collection I generated as the raw materials for my conclusions, so there are going to be gaps and omissions that a closer read will find.

Textual Ghosts, Revisited

Dwimordene's 2008 term "textual ghost"—actualized by Elleth into the Textual Ghosts Project—has become a well-known term in the Silmarillion fandom. It refers to "the women who litter the Tolkien histories as textual ghosts, artifacts deduced by the presence of offspring or perhaps a name." Elleth notes that "the lives and presences of the 'common people' are not often recorded or explored in detail," accounting for a lack of women outside of the noble ranks, an observation I recently corroborated in a paper currently in-press, which found that women permitted to speak in The Silmarillion are not only generally noble but divine.

The same concept underlying textual ghosts can be applied to common folk in The Silmarillion. There are many points in the text where people must have existed but go unnamed at best, left entirely to inference, or as I will discuss below in the "Taking Credit" section, their labor and skill subsumed by the whim of a named noble.

The word servant(s) is used sixty times in the pages of The Silmarillion. Only once is it used singularly to refer to a specific person (the "old servant" who tells Túrin that Morwen has fled), and only once does it refer to a named person (Sauron relative to Melkor). Aredhel once refers to herself not as a servant of her brother Turgon. Servant is a fitting example because it implies a hierarchy, but ordinary folk populate the text, gathered within nouns that can evade our notice:

130 times: host(s)

60 times: servant(s)

45 times: folk

40 times: messenger(s)

26 times: company/companies

24 times: mariner(s)

22 times: spy/spies

14 times: smith(s)

2 times: masons

1 time: workers

Nor are these unnamed folks always ordinary. In some cases, they are people who play pivotal roles in the history before the Ring War and likely should be named in a historical text: the messengers who delivered word of Finwë's death; the companions of Finrod and Beren, eaten alive by wolves; the mariners from Gondolin who perished, sent by their king to reach Valinor.

In fact, as I was collecting quotes to use as prompts for the Everyman challenge, I encountered a conundrum on multiple occasions that led, in part, to me wanting to write about this topic. I have probably read The Silmarillion two hundred times by now: not two hundred deep, immersive readings-for-enjoyment but gone through the text that many times for various research purposes. Point being, I know the book well, and when I started collecting prompts for the challenge, I knew places where "everymen" would be located and anticipated adding those whom I thought might provide particularly interesting perspectives.

Except that I found that, when I reached of those passages, the common people were often so ancillary to a named, noble character that the sentence or passage became hard to justify as a prompt because it seemed that the prompt was inviting fanworks about the named character. While we don't "check work" on the SWG challenges and keep things loose and would not have disbarred such a work, it still felt like it didn't set creators up for success—or did set them up for confusion.

Take this sentence, which was one that I was eager to include—until I read it, that is: "Maedhros was ambushed, and all his company were slain; but he himself was taken alive by the command of Morgoth, and brought to Angband" ("Of the Return of the Noldor"). "All his company," who did not return home to their loved ones that night, are buried in a sentence that is about Maedhros. Syntactically, they are rendered as an aside. Even the ambush is directed toward Maedhros alone, even though everyone present bore the brunt of it.

Taking Credit

Along similar lines is a common structure in The Silmarillion, where a named, noble character "causes" something to be built that in fact would have required the skill and labor of hundreds if not thousands of engineers, craftspeople, and laborers (and probably resulted in the injury and death of at least some of them). Yet credit for the achievement is located entirely upon the noble character whose primary contribution seems to have been thinking a thought and then giving an order. An example:

But Sauron caused to be built upon the hill in the midst of the city of the Númenóreans, Armenelos the Golden, a mighty temple; and it was in the form of a circle at the base, and there the walls were fifty feet in thickness, and the width of the base was five hundred feet across the centre, and the walls rose from the ground five hundred feet, and they were crowned with a mighty dome. (Akallabêth)

This passage is particularly apt because it negates the possible counterargument that those dozens/hundreds/thousands of workers would take up too many words, given the lush description of Armenolos that follow. The gold appointments matter more than the minds and hands that devised them.

And lest one claim that we should expect nothing less of Sauron, who of course doesn't see his workers as contributors to his glory, even saintly Finrod Felagund is credited similarly: "And after three days’ journeying they came to Amon Ethir, the Hill of Spies, that long ago Felagund had caused to be raised with great labour, a league before the doors of Nargothrond" ("Of Túrin Turambar"). Thingol, Turgon, and the kings of Gondor also claim credit for, respectively, the house of Lúthien, the sealing of Gondolin, and Minas Anor using the "caused to" construction.

Subject-Object

Common people in The Silmarillion are frequently identified in the genitive case: the watchers of Morgoth, the people of Celegorm, the mariners of Círdan (among many, many others). Like the word servant, this construction emphasizes a hierarchy where a single person is permitted at the top, with a vast, unnamed rabble of subjects underneath.

In other instances, the unnamed people belonging to a leader are discussed using language that portrays them as … well, belongings or objects that can be used and manipulated as needed. "[Thingol] gave [Finrod] guides to lead him to that place of which few yet knew," we are told, as Finrod seeks to establish his own Menegrothesque realm ("Of the Return of the Noldor"). In the Akallabêth, "[Amandil] took with him three servants, dear to his heart, and never again were they heard of by word or sign in this world, nor is there any tale or guess of their fate."

It is possible that the people in these passages being "given" and "taken" had some choice as to their fates, but the use of verbs that serve equally well when describing the handling of objects reinforces the power differential between he who uproots and the one who is uprooted.

A Murmuration of Servants

In my presentation for Oxonmoot 2024, Death, Grief, and the Other in the Quenta Silmarillion, I noticed a tendency in The Silmarillion for Orcs to be described as moving in herd-like, driven masses:

In scenes involving Orcs or other enemies, they are often driven to their deaths, again evoking a brutish mob incapable of individual action or resistance. This also positions the driver as superior to the driven: a person effortlessly shepherding a horde of the enemy unto death. Note also that these scenes often involve the enemy being driven into an environment that is hostile to life, such as a desert or a river. This negates even the drama of battle, implied in other scenes where characters aligned with the forces of good are driven forth from their homes, and simply sends these Orcs en masse, in a terrified clamor before a superior foe, to be quietly gulped up by the landscape.

Everyday people in groups in The Silmarillion aren't as blatantly dehumanized—nor would we expect them to be—but they do have a singularness, a herd-like aspect, moving in concert with each other like birds in murmuration. Decisions seem to be arrived at unanimously and without dispute. The verb debate is used only once where it might imply disagreement among a group of ordinary people: "Therefore Fëanor halted and the Noldor debated what course they should now take" ("Of the Flight of the Noldor"). Debate and argu* are otherwise used only for disagreements among named characters; discuss does not occur in the text at all.

Perhaps no passage illustrates this better than the scene where the people of Nargothrond banish Celegorm and Curufin: "Therefore the hearts of the people of Nargothrond were released from their dominion, and turned again to the house of Finarfin; and they obeyed Orodreth" ("Of Beren and Luthien"). As one, they were swayed by the brothers to abandon their king. Now, like a wheeling flock of starlings, they are "released" en masse and "turned again" to their previous overlords. There is a lot of motion in this sentence, which does indeed wheel and flow like a murmuration; there is no (in the entire arc of this episode) discussion or debate among these people who seemingly move as a single entity.

Views contrary to those of the named authority are represented in the text almost always as murmurs or whispers. The words cried out never refer to groups of characters, and the words protest, outcr*, and complain do not appear. Again, we have a monolithic group of people who muster, at most, a murmur or whisper conveying forbidden information that rarely ends to their glory. These murmurs and whispers, we understand, show the folly of the common person compared to the wise authority. It hints at their power—these murmurs and whispers have the power to overthrow the wisest of kings—but that power is understood to be undermining, conniving, and often foolish.

We know that the systems of government in The Silmarillion are authoritarian with varying degrees of benevolence. The actions permitted to ordinary people underscores the deep lack of democratization, not just in governance but in the history of pre-Ring War peoples. Democracy is loud, messy, and contentious. In not allowing the voices of the peoples of Arda to rise above a whisper, the text indicates that they don't have much that's worth saying.

Conclusion

None of this is a critique of Tolkien. I can hear the critics now—who have attacked other "woke" scholars for writing about gender and race and disability and sexuality—using words like "man of his times" and "21st century ideals" and clutching their pearls that I think Tolkien has done something wrong and that I will somehow rewrite the texts to banish his Christian white guy sentiments. (I don't and I won't.)

In reality, I do this work because I think it shows a few important things. First, whenever I do textual analysis and close reading, I am blown away by the subtlety in Tolkien's work: grand ideas communicated at the word level or syntactically. This makes sense given his profession, but it still never ceases to amaze me to watch the layers of meaning emerge. He clearly had the larger arc in mind: a microcosm of the movement of our own history through monarchy and into democracy—the doomed king Fingolfin through to the democratically elected gardener-mayor Samwise Gamgee. Yet that overarching idea, traversing three books, is fractalized, the "immeasurable vastness" of that three-book arc distilled to "more bitter than a needle," to borrow from the Ainulindalë, into single phrases and words.

As a fanworks creator, of course, it is this sense of the missing or unspoken that makes The Silmarillion such a rich text to create transformative works about. This was the entire point of the Everyman challenge: to draw attention to those unnamed characters subsumed in the tales of noble and famed.

Most importantly is the meaning of the whole arc, which as a Silmarillion fan and scholar, I rarely consider in its entirety. The Silmarillion has its nobility and beauty, but it is the Northern aesthetic, the same beauty found in autumn leaves that pour forth their full splendor in order to die. I could speak of our ability to admire such stories—with their glorification of leaders whose only qualification was being born to the right father in the right order—and the fact that most of us barely notice the everymen of The Silmarillion as our own weaknesses, but that misses the point of the full arc. The Silmarillion is so spectacularly disastrous that it is hard to read it as anything but a critique of its underlying system—where full authority is narrowly bestowed—especially when it is held up alongside the story of Samwise Gamgee.