...Peter Jackson and Company have a strange notion of what traits are admirable in a Lady, or any gender for that matter. Indeed, I must say I am rather concerned by them holding the entirely fictional Tauriel up as a standard for what females ought to aspire to. Professing her to be some manner of ideal woman, when in reality she is a selfish, selfcentered traitor who betrayed King, Country, and every duty which had been set upon her as Captain of the Guard, simply to persue some Dwarves, one of whom she had not fallen in love with, because while I do not deny that there may be such a thing as love at first sight, it certainly did not happen between her and Kili.
She is a vicious rogue, more fit to be hung for treason than awarded any medals, and I must say I applaud Thranduil's and Bolg's cooperation in the thurough ruination of all she held dear. I am certain that had Beorn not eaten Bolg in wroth for the Chieftans slaying of Thorin, Kili, and Fili, that they might well have put an end to her for good. If she is to be made a begger and outcast for all the rest of her days, it is more than this craven corruptor deserves.
Regardless, I feel I must address certain issues which remain unsolved at the conclusion of this absurd state of affairs that have been innacurately Titled as a Movie Adaptation of the Hobbit. An extrordinarily brazen declaration, since Bilbo Baggins is scarcely focused upon, and most of his greater successes are entirely absent. Even more perplexing is how Peter Jackson has apparently decided that replacing classic lines of dialogue, such as Bard's Black Arrow Speech, with hijinks and original characters comparable to Jar Jar Binks in personality and relevance. Oh, I'm sorry, Jar Jar Binks was a rather important villain in Attack of the Clones and led Qui Gon Jinn and Obi Wan to the City of the Gungans, thereby setting in motion a series of events which proved essential in both the liberation of Naboo and the utter ruin of the Old Republic and all its houses.
The simple fact is that the only way one is able to enjoy Battle of Five Armies is by going into the mindset of an Orc. You are watching the movie not because you are expecting to be satisfied with the end result, but rather because you are hoping against hope to make those smug bastards suffer by your presence. And overall it is a partial success, you didn't get to murder all the people you wanted to, but Thorin, Kili, and Fili all died so you may at the least be satisfied that events have proceeded roughly as they should have. In a very general sense.
Which brings me back to the reason why you are sitting here reading this:
Your not reading this because you were satisfied with the deaths of Thorin, Fili and Kili. Your here because you weren't satisfied with their deaths. There is no escaping the hunger for blood which has beset the Tolkiens, no denying the wroth of those who have born witness to the utter ruin of their childhood memories in the form of a Three Part Motion Picture that should have been one four hour film. At most.
Lets review the ending of the Hobbit.
Bilbo Baggins is scarcely thanked, by Elven King or anyone else for his invaluable service that much of was removed from the scripts, and yet still he halted the war singlehanded. Surely some parting thanks by Thranduil might have been in order. Much like happened in the book. Tauriel does not die. That stupid sidekick to the Master does not die, even after taking the Master's canon place. That miserable cretin Radagast, who assailed the audiance with drug referances and bird feces in his hair is not crucified.
And I am aware that he appears in the Books of Lord of the Rings, but he scarcely warranted a place in those movies, so I am unsure as to why Peter Jackson felt he should be within a Book he never once appeared. Ever.
The situation is clear, but now I suppose I should clarify my presence.
I am the Witch King. And I am about to do all the fans a huge favor, and murder the three most annoying scrappies to have ever blighted this pathetic universe with their presence.
...
The Witch King was in a bad mood that day as he moved like a phantom through the Forests of Mirkwood. By chance, or simple bad luck, both he and the Mouth of Sauron had chosen the same moment to make a trip to Mirkwood Forest, and Dol Guldor. The two warleaders worked opposite shifts, and had rarely seen eachother and preferred it that way. Moreover, they never shared information or their plans for fear that the other might seek to assassinate or trap their comrade by spell.
The situation was intolerable. Roughly speaking the Witch King outranked the Mouth of Sauron, for he was certainly more accomplished, but he could not now assert that authority without risking a Civil War. For the Mouth of Sauron could easily say that an attempt to command him was an attempt to usurp Sauron. The Witch King wasn't interested in the overthrow of Sauron, for if he was he would have tried his hand at it long ago.
However Orcs hardly needed a good reason to start a full on battle. The Witch King would win, of course, they were both fully aware of that. However the Mouth of Sauron would not be able to deny the challenge before the face of his Captains without losing face with them, and risking a dozen other rebellions elsewhere, once word that he had gone soft got out.
The Witch King could leave on his own terms, but for the same reasons and his own professional pride he would do no such thing.
So they were locked in a not so epic stalemate. And all the while there were hundreds of different smaller areas in need of command who were going unattended because both the Mouth of Sauron and the Witch King of the Late Angmar were tied up in Dol Guldur. It was an excercise in absurdity.
What the Witch King needed was a mission. Something he could send the Mouth of Sauron on which they could both shrug off as simple good natured sadism, for lack of a better term. But how to go about such a situation.
And at that moment, who should appear but an Elf. With a bow and many an overthetop backflip. She fired many arrows, and many Orcs fell dead in surprise as her comrades lined the wood above them. The Witch King motioned for the Archers to fired from the hilltop. Orc Archers may not have been quite as good as Elvish Archers, but they had a good skill after their own fashion and unlike Elves they were many in number and always increasing. The arrows blotted out the sun in that fel clearing, and many an Elf who otherwise may have lived long enough to see the Witch King burn down their pathetic forest for kicks died mercifully early.
By this time you have probably realized that the Witch King had a rather creative method of sleeping at night which involved no sadism whatsoever. Not that he slept. In fact he did his best work in the dark.
The point was that the Elves were mediocre Soldiers at the best of times when it came to mass battles, while Orcs were very, very, good at killing people when they had them outnumbered. Of course amidst all the chaos of the assault on the Hill, the Elvish Captain of the Guard had switched to sword and knifework, hacking, slashing and generally making a nuiscance of herself.
The Witch King approached, drawing his sword and she stiffened a chill colder than the mountains of Carn Dum overtook her. What precisely had been the plan here? Attack Dol Guldur with little more than a token force, and hope the Orcs died of laughter?
'Prepare to die.' He said and he brought round his blade. Her sword shattered, her bow was skinned and splintered and she fell back, gasping and screaming for breath as he loomed over her and the last of her comrades were killed, or escaped into the Forests.
'Finish me then Wraith!' Oh she wasn't really going for the defiant to the end thing? If it didn't work out for Hurin, he didn't think much of her chances.
She annoyed the Witch King. An exceedingly foolish venture. An annoyance that was only deepened when he saw that the blood of a number of Orcs had washed into the freshly paved mortar, ruining the entire days work on the new Fortifications at Dol Guldur. The entire lower half of the
'After all you've put the base through woman, do you honestly think that we'd allow you a clean death?' He turned to the Mouth of Sauron, standing some ways away. 'Take her to Barad-dur.'
The Mouth of Sauron smiled unpleasantly, and Tauriel screamed and struggled as she was dragged away by Orcs, who bound her and under the Mouth of Sauron's command dragged her far from mirkwood, through Ithilien and finally into Mordor where she was dragged behind the Black Gates and into the Dark Tower and never seen again by any mortal creature. But it is said her screams echo for days afterward.
She died, and cursed in vain.
The Witch King was in an exceedingly good mood for the rest of the day, thank you very much.
...
Okay, asking the Witch King what he was going in the vicinity of Lonely Mountain was so foolish that he would probably have torn the flesh from your bones for suggesting it. But if you still wanted to know, he was trying to rally survivors from the recent disaster of Five Armies. It hadn't been a particularly successful venture, since the scattered and defeated Orcs were few in number and virtually leaderless. The best he'd been able to do for most was direct them roughly back to the nearest cave systems he remembered.
The Witch King always made a point of finding out where the caves were, because those were the places you found Goblins and Orcs. Though Uruks preferred to build under the open sky, and had a command structure for him to go through.
'So... Grishnakh is it? All of the Goblin Chieftans were killed. All of them.'
'A few fell to Elvish Arrows. Thorin Oakenshield hewed down two with his axes as he sought our Warleader Bolg. The Eagles and Beorn slew many.' Grishnakh explained. At first glance Grishnakh looked and acted like the absolute stereotype of his peoples sort, with no other original characteristics. However he possessed keen eyes, and had seen a great many things that others had missed.
'But how is it that so few of you have returned to your homes?' asked the Witch King, unusually sombered by the news. It was not hard to see that they had suffered one of the great military defeats of the age, and if the numbers were anything to guess by the time the Goblins would take to recover would be far in excess of Sauron's schedule.
The West, it would seem, would be won through the East Alone. Unless of course they found some other ally, unlooked for.
Grishnakh realized that the Witch King was still waiting for his answer. However before he could speak, a Human in a Dark Cloak stumbled up to the mouth of the cave they had been hiding out in, fell forward and landed amongst them. He had been carrying a black lockbox, which fell open and spilled forth Gold. Probably dwarvish gold, stolen from the Mountain which could be glimpsed from here.
He looked up fearfully, and then composing himself somewhat gave what was probably supposed to be a winning, or nervous smile and shoved some of the Gold at the Witch King. Grisnakh drew his sword.
'Should I kill him?' It was only common courtesy, really.
The Witch King was in a bad mood. He meant, a really bad mood. His horse had died in the rain, forcing him to take to his feet through the muck and rivers. His cloak was tattered, his armor was rusted and from the looks of things he would be walking the rest of the way back to Mordor or Minas Morgul or wherever the hell he would go after this. And now this craven buffoon, whose name was apparently Alfrid Lickspittle, this diaseased hyena of a man was fawning at his feet and shoving the worthless Gold at him, the very substance whose maddening influence had convinced Bolg to mount the extremely well prepared and well executed attack on lonely mountain that could have worked, should and worked and didn't.
And here was the resident sychophant of the previous Master of Laketown, a living breathing reminder of why it didn't work. Death was too good for him, he could barely be called human. 'No!' Snarled the Witch King in fury. 'Break both his legs, and leave him here to die. If he's lucky, the Wargs will have come out far enough to devour him before the pangs of hunger do.'
Then drawing out a mace he passed it to Grisnakh. 'I expect this back. Make it fast.' Then he walked past the Goblin, who moved forward with a snarl, and raised the mace.
Alfrid's unanswered cried for mercy were sharply cut off by two impacts, and followed by screams of pain and howls of anguish as Grisnakh walked out of the cave and passed the Mace back to the Witch King. 'Its done. Its a nice mace.'
'Made from the best materials by the best smiths.' The howls of anguish had now turned to blubbing.
'Shame about the gold.' Tried Grisnakh 'Just to leave it lying there and all.'
'Can you eat it?' The Witch King poised the question.
'No.'
'Then its scarcely a replacement for Five Goblin Armies is it?!' Asked the Witch King finally. 'If more Orcs and Goblins valued attending to their tasks at hand above Hoarded gold it would be... not very different from what the world is like now.
At any rate, Grisnakh, I do have orders for you.'
'I'm listening.'
'I want you to integrate yourself with a great leader of Orcs, if you must make it clear that you are an agent of the Nazgul. Arrange for word to be sent to Minas Morgul if you can, though even if it fails to arrive I expect I shall know by other means. When the time comes that I have need of your service, I shall ask it of you.'
'And I shall give it. Anything for the Great Eye.'
'I think perhaps we now understand eachother a bit better Grisnakh, now here I must leave you. I have a great deal of business in other regions, and a horse to steal.'
'Those make good eating.'
'Silence.'