
—Gollum, from JRR Tolkien’s The Hobbit
Hobbits are very skilled at riddles—much more so than, say, men or dwarves (or even elves). Being close to the earth, they understand its humor, and riddles are born of the earth.
Mr. Baggins, a pretty average hobbit (perhaps a little smarter and a little more courageous than most, though he doesn’t yet know it), is ready to take on the mysterious Gollum at riddling games. In fact, he even dares to think that he might beat the slimy creature. After all, hobbits spend a great deal of time sitting by the fire in the winter months making up and guessing at riddles. They’ve even come up with some questions that are remarkably difficult for other inhabitants of Middle-earth to guess.
If you’re confronted by riddles, here are some hints about how to approach them.
It’s quite possible you may come into situations in which riddles are the most reasonable response to a given challenge. If so, you might ask what kind of people (or creatures) are riddling you. Their reaction to riddles will probably reveal something about their personalities, too.
Elves and Riddles
Elves, on the whole, like riddles. Which is to say, they like random, nonresponsive, confusing answers to questions. Frodo comments to Gildor, “It is said, Go not to the Elves for counsel, for they will say both no and yes.” The elf admits the justice of this remark. Elrond also has a habit of making cryptic comments that don’t make much sense—unless you’re a half-elf or a wizard. And Galadriel is positively Delphic in most of her utterances while the Fellowship is vacationing in Lothlórien. All in all, the elves like a style of communication that is confusing, cryptic, and only understandable by other elves. This makes them highly susceptible to riddles and other guessing games.
The only problem with starting a riddling contest with an elf is that it’s likely to go on for days, as the riddles get more and more obscure, bound up in lore that’s thousands of years old and remembered only by the elves, and even then not many of them. So don’t start riddling with elves unless you have plenty of time on your hands and nothing urgent in the offing (such as saving Middle-earth from the Dark Lord by dropping his ring in a volcano).
Dwarves are plain, down-to-Middle-earth folk with no time for nonsense—riddling or anything else. Dwarf lore is largely a matter of transmitting plain, ordinary fact, although every now and then there’s a bit of mysticism wrapped up in it, such as the Mirrormere and the myths surrounding Khazad-dûm. But who wants to spend his time speculating on the answers to obscure questions when there’s ale to be drunk, beards to be grown, and orcs to be slain?
If you want to start a riddling contest with a dwarf, be sure to make the stakes worth his while: a pile of gold coins, perhaps, or a trinket or two made of mithril; possibly a couple of barrels of well-brewed ale to go along with a nice stash of Longbottom Leaf (since dwarves are notorious connoisseurs of pipeweed).
Let’s face it: Compared to most other races of Middle-earth, men are a bit simpleminded. (The exception is Númenóreans, but there aren’t many of them around. We’re talking about normal, average, everyday men.) They aren’t nearly as mystic and complex as the elves, and they don’t have strong connections to the earth like dwarves do. However, they generally like riddling speech, as witness the strange dream that Faramir and then, once, Boromir have:
Seek for the Sword That Was Broken
In Imladris It Dwells
There shall be counsels taken
Stronger than Morgul Spells
And so on.
In point of fact, men rather like riddles, since riddles are mysterious and allow for days—months, sometimes—of endless debate, thus shutting off any need to take action.
From this point of view, the best time to start a riddling contest with a man is when he’s contemplating some disastrous course of action and you want to delay him as long as possible from making an ass of himself and possibly bringing ruin on everyone else. Gods sometimes come down from the heavens to challenge mortal men to riddling contests as a way of testing man’s wisdom and deciding if they’re truly worthy of ruling.
Orcs don’t like riddles. They don’t like anything confusing. All they want is to get a plain answer to plain questions, preferably with a little torture to go with it, and then get on with slaughtering and rampaging. If you’re stuck in a dungeon with a couple of grumpy orcs, don’t try to riddle them. Spend your mental energy thinking of a way to escape with most of your skin intact.
Dragons like riddles. They’re fascinated by riddling speech, as witness Smaug’s reaction when Bilbo tells riddles during their conversation. There’s a lot of riddling talk, and Smaug loves it—which is why he doesn’t end the conversation right then and there by blowing Bilbo to ashes with his fiery breath. The rules here, if you’re talking to dragons, are:
Hobbits love riddles and have a rich store of them. Except for one or two instances, Bilbo really isn’t at a loss for a riddle when Gollum presses him—except for the very end of the game when he rather unfairly demands to know, “What have I got in my pockets?” Experts and authorities have quite reasonably pointed out that this isn’t a riddle and therefore, by the strict rules of the game, Bilbo has lost. However, when he accepts the challenge to guess the answer to the hobbit’s question, Gollum implicitly also accepts the new rules and obligates himself to abide by the result. Of course he’s not going to. It’s just that from a strictly moral standpoint, he ought to.
If you challenge a hobbit to a riddle game, and the hobbit is stuck for a riddle (by which right, he ought to surrender the game), don’t give in if he starts asking irrelevant questions like “What have I got in my pockets?” or “What was the first name of my aunt’s mother’s grandmother’s second cousin?” If he can’t think of a true riddle, inform the hobbit that he’s lost; it’s as simple as that.
Some riddles are based on word play; others are about what you don’t know. Bilbo is skilled at both. Others prove themselves somewhat less adept. Tolkien’s stories are filled with riddles, and it would make things easier for many of the characters if they could answer them earlier and more correctly.
When he comes to the Council of Elrond, Boromir of Gondor tells the assembled elves, dwarves, hobbits, and men of a riddle that his brother, Faramir, heard in a dream:
See for the sword that was broken
In Imladris it dwells.
There shall be counsels taken
Stronger than Morgul spells.
There shall be shown a token
That doom is near at hand.
For Isildur’s Bane shall waken
And the Halfling forth shall stand.
On the surface, this is pretty clear, especially when it’s all explained to Boromir at the council. Yet he persists in misunderstanding bits of it, even when Tolkien practically hits him over the head with it. The same thing is true of Faramir when, later in the story, he actually meets Frodo and Samwise and learns of the Ring. We can only see Boromir’s failure to understand his riddle as a sign of the degeneration of the races of men and the evil that gnaws at the heart of Gondor. The lesson: When a bunch of elves, dwarves, hobbits, and men tell you something’s true—believe it.
When Bilbo first meets Aragon and the Ranger tells him his story, the hobbit is kind enough to make up a poem for the future king of Gondor in the form of riddling verse:
All that is gold does not glitter.
Not all those who wander are lost.
The old that is strong does not wither.
Deep roots are not touched by the frost.
From the ashes a fire shall be woken.
A light from the shadows shall spring.
Renewed shall be blade that was broken.
The crownless again shall be king.
You can’t help feel that this is yet another example of hobbits and elves making things more difficult than they need to. If everyone knows Aragorn is the rightful king of Gondor, why not just say so? Surely it would make his claim to the throne stronger and make it harder for people such as Denethor to dispute the claim. Well, that’s elves and hobbits for you. Always mixing things up in riddle-speak.
At a key moment in the War of the Ring, Aragorn and the Grey Company make a fateful decision: They will ride to the Stone of Erech and pass through the kingdom of the dead. At this point, the sons of Elrond bring a message from their father: “Bid Aragorn remember the words of the seer, and remember the paths of the dead.”
Not terribly encouraging words, on the whole, but the Ranger remembers (because he’s wise in the lore of Middle-earth) the words spoken by Malbeth the Seer:
Over the land there lies a long shadow,
Westward reaching wings of darkness
The Tower trembles; to the tombs of kings
Doom approaches. The Dead awaken
For the hour is come for the oathbreakers:
At the Stone of Erech they shall stand again.
“Dark ways, doubtless,” Gimli the dwarf remarks sourly, “but not darker than these staves are to me.” We can sympathize with the dwarf. After all, remember, dwarves like plain speech better than riddling talk, and these comments of the Seer are confusing at best. However, Aragorn, true heir of kings, understands them and takes them as an indication that at this dark hour he should ride the paths of the dead.
The lesson here is when you don’t have any better road, follow the riddle. Because, awful as its advice may be, it’s probably better than the alternative.
The most famous riddling contest in history is unquestionably when Bilbo meets Gollum deep in the bowels of the Misty Mountains. Neither is entirely sure of the other; each has something to gain from the other. And Bilbo has little choice but to play the game out to the end. We can all learn something from his selection of riddles.
Gollum’s first riddle describes something
Taller than trees
Up, up it goes
And yet never grows.
A logical choice, since that’s where he lives. What’s more surprising is that Bilbo gets it right so quickly. “Easy, ” he says. “Mountain, I suppose.” In fact, there’s nothing easy about it, since Bilbo comes from the gently rolling lands of the Shire, has never seen a mountain, and mistakes his first sight of the Misty Mountains for the Lonely Mountain, home of Smaug.
Next Bilbo presents Gollum with his first riddle:
Thirty white horses on a red hill,
First they champ,
Then they stamp,
Then they stand still.
Well, if Gollum (as he tells Bilbo) “only has six,” how does he know this chestnut’s answer is “teeth”? Perhaps he’s heard of other creatures who have more teeth than he does. Good advice for us, to be aware that riddles are meant to stir our minds and make us think outside our usual confines.
The next two riddles in the contest are about elemental forces, neither of which is especially liked by the contestant at whom it’s directed. Gollum asks Bilbo about something that
Wingless flutters,
Toothless bites,
Mouthless mutters
And it takes Bilbo a few minutes to think of the answer: “Wind. Wind, of course.” He answers with a riddle that calls up images Gollum finds distasteful—making the point that if you’re ever stuck in a tight place, find something that your opponent likes much worse.
Gollum is used to living underground, so Bilbo naturally thinks something along these lines will fool him:
An eye in a blue face
Saw an eye in a green face.
“That eye is like to this eye”
Said the first eye.
The answer—sun on daisies—upsets Gollum not so much for what it is than for the memories it evokes. It recalls distant days by the River when he used to go fishing with his cousin, Deagol. And, naturally, it causes him to make a mistake with his next riddle:
It cannot be seen, cannot be felt,
Cannot be heard, cannot be smelt.
Well, the answer’s obvious, isn’t it? Dark.
There’s nothing so obvious as that which you see every day. Bilbo thinks his riddle is dreadfully easy:
A box without hinges, key, or lid,
Yet golden treasure inside is hid
However, it puzzles Gollum for a good long time. He finally hisses the answer: eggs. The creature’s reply is equally simple:
Alive without breath, as cold as death,
Never thirsty, ever drinking,
All in mail, never clinking
But the hobbit is stumped, and he frantically turns over in his mind all the awful creatures who could be “cold as death.” At the last second the answer—fish—comes to him. The lesson: It’s the obvious things that are the most difficult.
What could be more puzzling than something that conquers everything. Gollum asks,
This thing all things devours;
Birds, beast, trees, flowers;
Gnaws iron, bites steel;
Grinds hard stones to meal.
Of course, there’s only one answer: Time. So when you’re out of luck and out of everything else—you’re never out of time.
At the beginning of The Lord of the Rings, the author (in this case, presumably Frodo) observes, “The Authorities, it is true differ whether this last question [What have I got in my pockets] was a mere ‘question’ and not a ‘riddle’ according to the strict rule of the Game,” but everyone agrees that Gollum, having agreed to the rules, was bound to answer. The biggest question, of course, was who the “authorities” were. After all, who really decides what’s a riddle and what isn’t? It turns out that riddling has some pretty specific rules.
Both Bilbo and Gollum know the answers to all the riddles they ask. That’s better than the folks of Gondor, for example. Aragorn recites the words of Malbeth the Seer:
Over the land there lies a long shadow
Westward reaching wings of darkness.
The Tower trembles to the tomb of kings
Doom approaches; the Dead awaken.
He really has no idea what it means. Still, he knows, the best thing a king can do sometimes is to ride forward without question. So if you encounter a riddle to which you don’t know the answer, trust in fate and ride forward blindly. Maybe things will work out all right after all.
Doubtless you’ve listened to riddles, puzzled over them, and when the answer was given, thought, Well, of course! Why didn’t I think of that?
Some people, though, when riddling, keep the answers obscure or provide the answers in another language—Norwegian, or something.
What’s the name of the horse I saw you with last night?
Svensk!
This goes beyond cheating; it’s just irritating, and if you do this sort of thing to a dragon or a goblin, it’ll probably be the last riddle you tell.
Asking riddles when you’re cold, lost, and sitting on the edge of a dark lake, far underground, next to a slimy creature who has expressed a desire to eat you may not seem like the best time for a guessing game, but at least such a game would gain you some time to come up with a plan. The same is true when talking to a dragon. Dragons are fascinated by riddling talk, and you can keep them guessing as long as you keep your whereabouts concealed. However, when running down a narrow tunnel with an annoyed fire-breathing dragon behind you, it’s not the best time to throw riddles, insults, or anything else. Just concentrate on running fast. Really, really fast.
It’s notable that both Bilbo and Gollum ask short questions (in Bilbo’s case, the egg riddle, and for Gollum the fish riddle) that turn out to be dreadfully hard to figure out. That’s because short riddles give the guesser less to work with and more scope for confusion. Also remember that what’s obvious to you is usually not so clear for someone else. So the clue in constructing a successful riddle may lie in focusing on your everyday experiences rather than the strange or exotic.
If you’re stuck for a riddle, you might consider borrowing from riddles made famous by other great figures of history and legend. One of these is King Oedipus (better known, of course, for killing his father, marrying his mother, and giving us the Oedipus complex). As a young man, Oedipus confronted the Sphinx, the monster with the body of a lion and the head of a beautiful maiden. The Sphinx was accustomed to ask travelers a riddle; those who couldn’t answer correctly (which up to that point, had been everybody) she killed and devoured. In its traditional form, the riddle of the Sphinx goes:
It goes first on four legs in the morning
Then on two legs in the afternoon
Last on three legs in the evening
The answer, of course, is man, who crawls when a baby, walks on two legs in the prime of his life, and when he’s old has to make use of a stick. Oedipus guessed the answer correctly, whereupon the Sphinx, taking defeat very hard, killed itself, and Oedipus became king of Thebes.
Another version of the Riddle of the Sphinx (and one that pays a greater tribute to Oedipus’s ingenuity in coming up with the correct answer) runs like this:
Two legs sat upon three legs
With one leg in his lap;
In comes four legs
And runs away with one leg;
Up jumps two legs,
Catches up three legs,
Throws it after four legs,
And makes him bring one leg back.
The answer is a man sits on a stool, his stick on his lap. A dog comes in and steals the stick, whereupon the man grabs the stool and throws it at the dog, forcing the animal to return the stick.
Still another version of the Sphinx’s riddle is:
Two sisters
One gives birth to the other
She gives birth to the first
The answer is night and day.
In the Norse saga of King Heidrek the Wise, the god Odin, disguised as usual, shows up at Heidrek’s court to challenge the king to a riddling contest. Finally Odin asks:
What lives on high fells?
What falls in deep dales?
What lives without breath?
What is never silent?
This riddle ponder,
O prince Heidrek
Heidrek, living up to his name, answers that “The raven lives ever on the high fells, the dew falls ever in the deep dells, the fish lives without breath, and the rushing waterfall is never silent.” After this bit of wordplay, Odin has to concede that Heidrek is, indeed, wise.