The Unofficial Hobbit Handbook

by Peter Archer

  THE PALANTIR OF MINAS TIRITH. One of the seeing stones had been kept in the Tower of the Guard from time immemorial. Denethor, son of Ecthelion, began increasingly to use it during the period prior to the War of the Ring. Sauron, unable to break his will, was nonetheless able to control what he saw, sufficient to drive the steward of Gondor to madness and eventual suicide.

  It’s possible that Aragorn, at the end of the War of the Ring, was able to use the palantir to keep track of his friends as they returned to their separate homes in the West. It’s more likely that it is of little use to him. Possibly he and Arwen can use it as a sort of Middle-earth-style big screen television. After all, he can’t look into the palantir of Minas Tirith (it only shows two hands withering in fire); and he can’t look at the palantir of Barad-dûr (it was destroyed during the collapse of the Dark Tower). What’s he going to watch? ESPN?

  Wizards’ Staves

  Well, it’s not quite like Harry Potter (in which the wand chooses the wizard), but there does seem to be something similar going on in Middle-earth. After all, when Gandalf confronts Saruman in the ruins of Isengard, he tells him that he wants his staff and the Key of Orthanc. “They shall be pledges of your conduct, to be returned later, if you merit them.” Also, apparently footwear is involved, since Saruman sneers, “Later, yes, when you have the keys of Barad-dûr itself, I suppose, and the crowns of seven kings and the rods of the Five Wizards and have purchased yourself a pair of boots many sizes larger than those you wear now!” Aside from what wizards wear for walking, what’s the deal with their staves?

  Gandalf himself relies on his staff during his confrontation with Wormtongue at Meduseld. Despite the best efforts of Théoden’s counselor to keep it outside, Gandalf takes his staff into the Golden Hall and there works magic upon the enspelled king. During his confrontation with the balrog on the Bridge of Khazad-dûm, his staff is broken; presumably it’s restored to him by the Lady Galadriel during his long healing in Lothlórien. (This point is never explained; I suppose Tolkien expected readers to work it out on our own.)

  Wizards’ staves are clearly key to their magic, and an enterprising hobbit (or anyone else) would be well advised to pay close attention to what these wise beings do with them.

  Offensive Magic

  Considering the number of fights that they get into, hobbits setting out on adventures would be smart to find someone or something capable of launching magical attacks on dangerous creatures such as goblins and wargs. In The Hobbit, the only person capable of doing so is Gandalf; the dwarves in the party are no help as far as magic is concerned. (Indeed, the dwarves of The Hobbit spend most of their time running away from danger rather than confronting it, and their ability to do so is usually the result of Bilbo or Gandalf’s timely intervention.)

  Fireballs

  Common though these may be in other magical adventures, the use of fireballs in a hobbit’s world is strictly limited. Perhaps it’s because fireballs tend to kill everything and everyone around them when they explode, including enemies, friends, and innocent bystanders. If you have the capacity to unleash a fireball (and you probably don’t unless you’re a wizard), be sparing of them and use them only for emergencies. If, for instance, your dwarven companions are being interrogated by the Great Goblin while their ponies are being prepared for the goblin knackers, it’s acceptable to launch a fireball that creates a diversion sounding like “several hundred dogs and cats being roasted alive.”

  Blasts

  When Gandalf, the dwarves, and the hobbit are trapped in fifteen fir trees by a combined force of goblins and wolves, the wizard, in a last desperate blast of magic, prepares to come crashing down amid the goblins and wargs, taking as many of them as he can. He’s providentially saved from going this course by the king of the eagles, who swoops down and grabs him. This is a good course for those bent on suicide. If you want to live a bit longer, you might want to think of a different plan.

  Sheets of Fire

  In moments of extreme tension, wizards can pull off some pretty spectacular special effects—George Lucas has nothing on Gandalf. Take, for instance, the moment when the balrog challenges the wizard on the Bridge of Khazad-dúm. Gandalf, crying aloud (presumably shouting out the words to a spell), hits the bridge in front of him with his staff, cracking and breaking both of them: the staff and the bridge. A “sheet of flame” flares up. That’s bad news for the balrog, who realizes he’s met his match.

  Balrog Fighting Tip

  The best kinds of spells to use when fighting a balrog are those that can be launched from a distance. Trying to have a sword fight on a narrow bridge over a bottomless chasm with a creature that’s about ten times taller than you while trying to protect your friends who just want to get the hell out of there… well, that probably won’t end well, will it?

  Fiery Trees

  When the Fellowship is trapped on the top of a small hill by an attacking force of wolves, Gandalf solves the problem by setting the trees surrounding the hill on fire. It’s hard to see how doing so is going to do any good—the wolves are quite equal to jumping between the tree trunks, and aside from giving the defenders better light to see, it doesn’t really do anything to help—except it does. The wargs are frightened off by the spectacular display, the last arrow of Legolas ignites in the air before plunging into the heart of the wolf chieftain, and the rest of the night passes without incident. So the lesson here is, if you’re threatened with an attack, set the wallpaper on fire. At the very least, it’ll scare the hell out of your opponent.

  A Light in the Dark

  Gandalf, when push comes to shove, can produce light out of pretty much nothing. When the Fellowship enters the Mines of Moria, he produces a light at the end of his staff. As a wizard, you’d think he’d be able to do a bit more, but any light’s a comfort as the party proceeds. For one thing, it stops them from falling into abandoned wells—as Pippin and Merry almost do at one point. Gandalf’s light, while not technically offensive, offers a guide to others.

  Defensive Magic

  The most obvious absence in the Fellowship, as any good role player will tell you, is a healer. That is to say, the group needs someone who can take care of battle-earned injuries quickly and efficiently, and without fainting at the sight of blood. Sam is probably the best naturally equipped to deal with this, but it’s Aragorn who falls into the role, because he’s king. This seems logical—a king heals the land as well as his subjects, and he relates to individuals as well as to the whole. Aragorn knows herb lore as well as battle smarts, and thus he’s indicated as the true king of Gondor. The lesson? Anyone who’s as well rounded as Aragorn and as good-looking as Viggo Mortensen is probably good at healing as well as hurting. At any rate, there are an awful lot of women who’d like to let him try.

  Healing Magic

  Some magic works to heal wounds, whether physical or psychic. In any circumstance in which you might be groping for a band-aid, consider instead trying a healing spell. Of course, it helps if you’re an elf (their race excels in such magic) or a Númenórean king (since the hands of the king are the hands of a healer, as Ioreth of Minas Tirith never ceases to say). In any case, if you’re attempting to heal someone of wounds taken in battle, here are some guidelines.

  Athelas Is Pretty Much Good for Anything

  It’s also called kingsfoil, asea aronian, and probably some other names. It grows widely and in different climates. Aragorn finds it first in the north to treat Frodo and then in the south to heal Faramir. Whatever the case, it is remarkably simple in its preparation:

  Cut some fresh athelas—a bunchful should do the trick in the case of most wounds.

  Crush several leaves and rub them together.

  Breathe deeply to impress those around you.

  Throw the leaves into bowls of steaming (but not boiling) water and let the steam waft through the room.

  Tell everyone how much better they feel. Repeat as necessary.

  Athelas is considered a common herb and
is handy for use with many wounds and ailments: orc spear stab wounds, Morgul knife wounds, exposure to the Black Breath, and just general depression brought on by the Dark Lord and his powers.

  Don’t be Afraid to Use Splints

  Just because you’re living in a fantasy world doesn’t mean old-fashioned medical methods aren’t going to work. If someone breaks an arm, tie it up tightly in a rigid position and fasten it with a branch or stick so it doesn’t move. Slings are useful to support injured limbs. So are miscellaneous bandages, especially for those who’ve been wounded in the head while slaying forty-two orcs.

  Magical Therapy 101

  In the case of those who may have succumbed to evil magic (and there’s a lot of that floating around), restorative is indicated. Wizards can perform spells to break evil spirit possession, and the elves are always available to heal the tortured soul, if not through magic directly, then through the long healing arts of the Undying Lands.

  Magical Artifacts

  We’ve already touched on the palantiri, wrought by Feanor in the depths of the Second Age. Hobbits and their kin are well advised to stay away from objects so powerful. Likewise, there’s no good reason to mess around with the Rings of Power, wizards’ staves, or any of the most ominous magical artifacts that are strewn through Middle-earth.

  Galadriel’s Mirror

  Sam, naively, asks to see some elf magic, and Galadriel obliges with the mirror. Who wouldn’t want to see a magical mirror that tells the future? It’s a very old fantasy trope: the magical mirror from Snow White, the mirror that tells Beauty that her father is dying and she must leave the Beast to save him. The list goes on and on.

  Galadriel’s mirror differs in two ways:

  She creates the mirror from water, which means its surface is highly changeable and transient.

  She warns both Sam and Frodo that the mirror is unreliable. Most other mirror users don’t acknowledge this fact. Snow White’s wicked queen completely believes the mirror on the wall when it says she’s not the fairest one of all.

  The mirror of Galadriel seems to be an artifact that’s bound to her own magical powers; that is to say, it can’t appear without her. Presumably we’d be able to see and use the mirror from Snow White, if we could get the wicked queen away from it for five minutes.

  The Mere of Khazad-Dûm

  After the Fellowship of the Ring’s horrible experience’s in Moria, including the loss of their leader, a centuries-old wizard who was the only one with a clear idea of how to accomplish the quest of Mount Doom, Gimli’s idea is naturally to take Frodo to look at the Mirrormere. I mean, what else would you do after a disaster of such epic proportions? As it turns out, it’s a spiritual experience for both Frodo and for Sam, who tags along, as usual, uninvited. All Frodo and Sam see when they look in the Mere is a circle of stars, like a crown, encircling the mountains, and no sign of their own reflections. On the whole, the Mirrormere is pretty disappointing, making Galadriel’s mirror appear even more impressive.

  The Phial of Galadriel

  For someone with the perception of a five thousand-year-old elf princess/queen, you’d think she’d be better at giving momentous gifts. She gives Frodo Baggins an incredibly important, valuable gift at the crucial stage of his quest (“it stands upon a knife blade”) and doesn’t explain how to use it. Fortunately for him, he has some instincts in the matter, realizing that when you wield magical elf objects, the best thing is to accompany them with magical elf words such as Elbereth Githoniel. This works in the lair of Shelob, again in the tower of Cirith Ungol, but not so much in the depths of Mount Doom. Later in the story, Frodo gives Sting to Sam, as well as his suit of elf mail, which he got from Bilbo. But he never explains what he did with the Phial of Galadriel, which Sam faithfully carried for him in Mordor. Could it be that Frodo takes it with him to the Undying Lands? (Where, one would think, it would be sort of pointless.)

  The Rings of Power

  We know, in the end, that Elrond held Vilya, the most important of the three elven rings; Gandalf held Narya the Great; and Galadriel held Nenya, a ring created of mithril which Frodo and Sam saw for the first time in Lothlórien (Sam actually thought it was a star seen through Galadriel’s fingers). With the three elven rings, we approach the essence of magical power in Middle-earth. With these rings, the three mightiest magical figures of the age created and maintained the world. The lesson for those of hobbit persuasion setting off on adventure seems clear: Make friends with Ringbearers. Good things come to those who are loyal and see adventures through to the end. In fact, in the case of Samwise Gamgee, bearing a ring for a while guarantees the possibility of leaving the Grey Havens and traveling over the Sundering Seas to the Undying Lands. And that’s not a bad reward for a life well lived.

  The Cracks of Doom

  Well, okay. The Cracks of Doom, in the middle of Mount Doom, are a really evil, crappy place to wind up, especially after weeks of traveling on limited rations and practically no water. We get that. But the Cracks are also the ancient forges of Sauron. Really? Seriously? How does he do it? How does he create the most powerful magical artifacts in the history of Middle-earth out of a couple of chasms in a mountain tunnel? In point of fact, Sauron has magical powers that are centered on the Cracks of Doom and the Ring, and it doesn’t do anyone any good to mess with them.

  Magical Beings

  If you’re setting off on an adventure, you can certainly expect to encounter magical creatures of varying powers and attitudes. These range from the ordinary (elves) to the surprising (trolls) to the epic (Ringwraiths). The average adventurer, in order to live a comfortable life, should be prepared to deal with each of these.

  Elves

  By the time certain hobbits start having adventures, elves have become relatively rare—almost as rare as dwarves and hobbits. Most of them are leaving Middle-earth, on their way to the West, and they aren’t interested in being bothered. Elves are a bit like the French: They once had a great empire, are still unreasonably proud of it, and don’t care to talk about what happened to it. They enjoy a lot of magic, more than most other races of Middle-earth, but it’s not very helpful in the day-to-day.

  Dwarves

  Dwarves possess very little magic, partly it would seem from living so physically close to the earth. Still, no one is better at getting a fire started, even in rainy weather, and that’s pretty magical. Dwarves are also good at finding their way about underground and at fixing broken stonework. These are some excellent talents that others should emulate.

  Men

  The men of Númenor are about the only magical figures left among men. Besides being long-lived, they remember ancient magic from the days of Númenor and Gondolin. Aragorn, however, throughout The Lord of the Rings, comes across as singularly unmagical. Bard of Lake-town, on the other hand, understands the languages of thrushes, a language that gives him a considerable advantage in the battle with Smaug.

  Hobbits

  Hobbits are about the least magical race one can imagine. Though in The Hobbit it’s said that they boast “ordinary magic” that allows them to vanish when the “Big People” come blundering along, we’re also told that their abilities to vanish are actually just a highly developed hiding capacity “so that to humans it may look magical.” As a rule, hobbits don’t like magic very much, unless it’s the kind used at a child’s birthday party.

  Ask yourself the following questions to determine which of Middle-earth’s races you most resemble:

  When confronted by a dangerous situation do you: roll up your sleeves and prepare for battle

  think back on the long line of your ancestors who fought evil and compose an epic poem about it

  take a deep draft of mead, sharpen your axe, and smile

  lock the door, turn up the light, and go to bed with some extra covers.

  If you could obtain a chest of gold, you’d: say, “Great!” and start spending your newfound money

  reject gold, since you’re above money


  bury the gold safely, with many spells and enchantments, so you can come back and retrieve it at a future date

  ignore it. It’s probably Evil Enchanted Gold anyway.

  In talking to a dragon, you’d probably: be constantly thinking about soft points, as well as how to get away so I can relay that information to others

  wouldn’t say anything; why would I be talking to anything like a dragon anyway?

  be very clever, ferreting out as much information about the beast’s hoard as possible, or

  Dragon? What dragon? I see no dragon. After all, if I can’t see it, it can’t see me.

  If you answered mostly:

  You’re human.

  You’re an elf. An annoying elf.

  You’re a dwarf.

  You’re a hobbit. If there’s an adventure, you’d prefer to be left out of it.

  Good Wizard or Bad Wizard

  There are five wizards in Middle-earth (Gandalf the Grey; Saruman the White; Radagast the Brown; and two others unnamed, whom Tolkien mentioned in later correspondence as “Blue”). Saruman is evil in the latter part of his life, and Gandalf is “the enemy of Sauron”—in other words, the epitome of good. However, it’s not always easy to tell a good wizard from a bad wizard.