Finding Athelas: investigating perfumes in Tolkien's legendarium
In The Lord of the Rings, J.R.R. Tolkien confers remarkable symbolic significance upon modest elements, such as minor acts of care and botanical remedies, illuminating how understated phenomena can operate as central thematic pivots. Nowhere is this more evident than in the depiction of Athelas, or kingsfoil, whose delicate leaves and subtle fragrance belie its capacity to heal both physical wounds and emotional trauma. Although denizens of Middle-Earth dismiss Athelas as a mere “weed,” Aragorn and a few others recognise its true potency, foreshadowing the wider thematic concern with rightful kingship and the hidden power found in overlooked corners of nature.
Where many commentators have long attempted to determine a real-world equivalent of Athelas, they often overlooked its most striking feature: its distinctive aroma. This gap may arise from an emphasis on the herb’s symbolic and therapeutic qualities rather than its olfactory and psychological dimensions. However, by ignoring this essential component, scholars missed an opportunity to examine how Tolkien’s portrayal of scent intensifies the narrative, particularly through its influence on recollection and emotional resonance. Far from simply being a “magical” plant, Athelas is noteworthy for how different characters perceive its scent in ways that reflect their personal histories and emotional frameworks. By examining the various scent descriptors associated with Athelas and comparing its broader symbolic value, we will attempt to identify what might be the real-world scent of this fictional plant, thus connecting its sensory dimensions to the broader thematic arcs of memory and renewal in Tolkien’s narrative.
I. ATHELAS IN THE LORD OF THE RINGS
Athelas appears most prominently in two pivotal contexts. The first occurs in The Fellowship of the Ring when Aragorn uses the herb to mitigate the spreading Morgul wound afflicting Frodo. Most of the focus on Athelas lies on its fragrance, which Aragorn follows to find the plant in the dark and which, upon being crushed and brewed in hot water, left “those that were unhurt felt their minds calmed and cleared”.
The second and more climactic depiction then arises in The Return of the King where Aragorn again employs Athelas to rescue Faramir, Éowyn, and Merry from the spiritual suffocation of the Black Breath. Tolkien’s description elaborates on how each character experiences the herb’s fragrance differently: Faramir recalls “dewy mornings of unshadowed sun”, Merry is reminded of “orchards, and of heather in the sunshine full of bees” while Ioreth smells the roses from her childhood.
By demonstrating how the herb’s scent aligns with deeply personal and subjective experiences, Tolkien introduces a rich psychological and emotional layer to his narrative. Expanding on this sensory and mnemonic aspect provides a fuller understanding of how Tolkien’s mythopoetic techniques intricately weave individual memory into collective healing, enriching our grasp of the narrative’s thematic depth.
II. THE SUBJECTIVE OLFACTORY EXPERIENCE
This variation in olfactory perception reflects what Herz and Schooler term the “highly individualized nature of odor-evoked memories.” Different individuals pick up on distinct facets of the same smell because olfactory processing is influenced by their personal histories, cultural contexts, and emotional states. This is perhaps the most compelling and overlooked aspect of Athelas. In demonstrating how the herb’s scent aligns with deeply personal and subjective experiences, Tolkien introduces a rich psychological and emotional layer to his narrative. Research by Wilson and Stevenson supports this interpretation, showing that olfactory perception is shaped not only by biological mechanisms but also by learned cultural and emotional frameworks. Thus, Éowyn’s connection to Rohan and Merry’s attachment to the Shire colour their perception of Athelas’s aroma, reflecting their internal landscapes rather than an intrinsic property of the herb.
The individualised nature of Athelas’s scent perception resonates with Chu and Downes’s study on “odor-evoked autobiographical memories.” They found that smells, more than visual or auditory stimuli, evoke detailed personal recollections tied to specific times and places, as seen in Éowyn’s and Merry’s reactions to the scent of Athelas. These recollections emerge because olfactory cues bypass the neocortex, directly activating the limbic system, which governs memory and emotion.
Tolkien’s insistence that Athelas stirs vivid memories and personal yearnings finds an illuminating parallel in Proust’s famous account of involuntary memory in In Search of Lost Time. By invoking fragrance as a conduit for deeply personal memories, Tolkien reflects Proust’s insight into the transformative power of sensory experiences, while highlighting Athelas’ role as a narrative device that bridges the physical and emotional realms, thus demonstrating how fragrance can unlock deeply personal and transformative memories and restore characters’ sense of identity and hope.
This psychological dimension thus emerges as a foundational aspect of Athelas’s efficacy, as it mitigates the Nazgûl’s pervasive dread by reorienting characters toward a source of personal fortitude. In this convergence of literary craft and empirical psychology, Tolkien’s Middle-earth affirms that restoring one’s spirit often hinges upon intangible cues and cannot be fully reduced to pharmaceutical properties alone, a conception directly tied to his world’s cosmology. More than aught, Tolkien also highlights the subtle power of scent as the key to unlocking memory and identity.
In addition to its psychological nuance, Athelas stands at the intersection of physical, emotional, and spiritual restoration, particularly when wielded by Aragorn. This aligns with what Tom Shippey calls Tolkien’s “mythic mode”, whereby practical remedies simultaneously carry allegorical weight. Tolkien’s text portrays wounds inflicted by the Nazgûl as more than physiological injuries; they represent a moral and existential threat, a creeping despair described as the “Black Breath.” Athelas counters this corruption in multiple ways: first by therapeutically cleansing the physical traces of dark sorcery and calming the afflicted minds and bodies and second by the sheer power of its fragrance.
III. SCENT AS A TALISMAN: THE CELTIC AND NORSE PERSPECTIVES
Such an understanding, that simple weeds can purify an environment tainted by pestilence, echoes earlier mediaeval lore, particularly in Celtic and Nordic contexts, in which Tolkien was well-versed.
One of the most frequently cited sources for later Gaelic folk customs is the Carmina Gadelica, a multi-volume collection of hymns, prayers, and incantations compiled by Alexander Carmichael in the late nineteenth century. Although these materials were transcribed relatively recently, many of the prayers and rites contain motifs believed to date back centuries. Volume I includes several references to the ritual use of smoke or aromatic branches for “saining,” a term that denotes blessing or protective purification.
In one instance, the text describes the practice of burning juniper and carrying it through a household while reciting a prayer to ward off malign spirits or ill influences. Although the emphasis is on pungent smoke rather than a “sweet” fragrance, the incantation explicitly praises the “fresh breath” of juniper that “cleareth and cleanseth” the home. Another entry references the “pleasant virtue” of certain “green boughs” placed at thresholds to hinder fae mischief. These references, though late and not specifically tied to meadowsweet or other sweet-scented plants, reveal a cultural understanding that aromatic plants, when burnt or displayed, could protect against malevolent forces.
While early Irish sagas rarely dwell on herb aroma, scattered allusions in post-mediaeval Gaelic narratives imply that pleasant-smelling boughs played a protective role. The Leabhar Sgeulaigheachta, an eighteenth-century collection of Gaelic folktales, includes a brief anecdote about a household using “fraoch-bheatha (heather) and lus na grèine (possibly marigold or a local herb)” to create a fragrant smoke intended to repel sídhe (fairies) during a liminal festival night. While these texts do not contain lengthy botanical descriptions, they underscore that herbal aromas in Gaelic tradition were thought to mark out a purified zone inhospitable to supernatural harm. This folklore resonates, in thematic terms, with Tolkien’s depiction of a Athelas’ scent driving away the oppressive darkness of the Nazgûl’s Black Breath.
Elsewhere in Old Norse literature, explicit references to sweet-smelling herbs are likewise elusive. The major sagas, such as the Völsunga, the Prose Edda, and the Poetic Edda, emphasise heroic deeds, mythic cosmology, and encounters with gods and giants, rather than the specifics of herbal fragrance yet certain episodes hint at how smoke or aromatic fumigation might be employed to repel ghostly or malign forces.
The Eyrbyggja Saga details the account of an attempt to rid a haunted farmstead of draugr and restless spirits. The text describes how communal rites included both recitation of legal formulas and the burning of materials that produce “stinging fumes.” Although the saga does not identify a specific herb or reference sweetness, the passage clarifies that the resulting smoke was believed to “drive out” those ghostly presences. Later folklore from Iceland often interprets these or similar rites as employing juniper or birch branches, both of which can yield a pungent aroma when burnt. Though such references lack the gentle “hay-like” tone we see in Sweet Woodruff, they illustrate the principle that aromatic air, whether fragrant or sharp, could serve as a barrier against malevolent entities.
Beyond the saga corpus, Norwegian and Icelandic folktales compiled in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries occasionally recount the use of pleasantly scented herbs to keep elves (álfar) or trolls at bay. The Norske Folkeeventyr include segments where protagonists strew aromatic flowers on thresholds or burn a “greenwood branch” to ward off hostile beings. The mention of “fresh-smelling leaves” suggests that certain rural communities attributed protective virtues specifically to pleasant-smelling smoke, much as Gaelic saining traditions did.
It becomes evident that Tolkien’s extensive philological background, encompassing Old Norse, Old English, and broader medieval literatures, exposed him to recurring beliefs about the protective and restorative properties of aromatic substances, enabling him to integrate these themes seamlessly into Middle-earth. Although no surviving Celtic or Norse text describes a “sweet weed” exactly akin to Athelas, the sagas and folk customs nevertheless illustrate a broader Indo-European pattern: aromatic plants, whether mildly pleasant or pungent, can repel evil, fortify boundaries between the human and supernatural realms, and offer a renewed sense of safety or clarity for those who inhale or surround themselves with their fumes.
By transposing this idea into Middle-earth through Athelas, Tolkien appropriates a motif of protective fragrance that resonates with Gaelic saining, Norse smoke rites, and general folkloric belief in the power of herbs to banish malign forces. Athelas’s distinctively sweet scent continues the fundamental premise that aroma can carry psychosomatic and even spiritual potency. The Black Breath, in essence, functions as a concentrated threat akin to those malevolent forces Gaelic or Icelandic communities sought to repulse with juniper boughs or similarly potent herbs; the renewal granted by kingsfoil signifies both physical healing and a clearing of the intangible malaise that evil leaves in its wake.
This continuity between actual Celtic and Nordic sources and Tolkien’s fictional “simple weed” demonstrates the extent to which Middle-earth’s ecology is steeped in older European mythic frameworks. When Aragorn crushes kingsfoil leaves to produce a fragrance that drives away the Black Breath and revitalises the wounded, he enacts a ritual akin to those glimpsed in Gaelic and Norse sources: a fragrant intervention that realigns the threatened individual with life, memory, and divine grace, subtly echoing the cross-cultural tradition of banishing darkness through the medium of scent.
IV. SWEET WOODRUFF: THE LIKELY INSPIRATION
In Flora of Middle-earth, Walter and Graham Judd propose several potential primary-world inspirations for Athelas, focusing predominantly on its morphological and medicinal characteristics. Among these, comfrey (Symphytum officinale) is identified as the most plausible candidate, with Judd arguing that it "best matches the morphological characters of kingsfoil." He further speculates that Tolkien may have blended traits from other plants, such as "the persistently green leaves of wintergreen and the sweet fragrance of basil (or some other mint)." While their hypothesis provides a useful starting point for examining the botanical underpinnings of Athelas, it leans heavily on a taxonomic framework, leaving crucial elements of Tolkien’s portrayal unexamined. Indeed, by prioritising morphological resemblance and practical medicinal uses, they overlooked the plant’s olfactory and symbolic dimensions, which, as we saw, are central to its narrative function and thematic resonance in The Lord of the Rings.
As we wrote earlier, Tolkien’s descriptions of the herb’s fragrance evoke deeply personal and subjective responses from different characters, underscoring its mnemonic and emotional power. To address the shortcomings in Judd’s analysis, we must adopt a more comprehensive framework that integrates morphological, olfactory, therapeutic, and symbolic criteria. Athelas, as Tolkien describes it, is a plant with “hoary leaves” that grows in shaded thickets and emits a refreshing, uplifting fragrance when crushed and infused in water. Beyond its physical properties, the herb’s capacity to restore both physical health and emotional resilience is tied to its symbolic role in the narrative therefore, any real-world analogue for Athelas must fulfill not only its morphological requirements but also its olfactory complexity and therapeutic efficacy, as well as its resonance with mediaeval and folkloric traditions.
Comfrey, while it meets some of the morphological and therapeutic criteria, lacks the distinctive aromatic profile described by Tolkien. Similarly, plantain – another contender for Athelas – while historically significant as one of the “nine herbs” in the Anglo-Saxon charm against poison and infection, falls short in capturing Athelas’s olfactory and symbolic dimensions. Basil and wintergreen at last, fail to capture the complex aromatic range of Athelas and do not align with Tolkien’s description of a hoary, thicket-dwelling plant. These candidates, while illuminating certain aspects of Tolkien’s inspiration, do not fully encompass the multifaceted role of Athelas in Middle-earth.
In contrast, sweet woodruff (Galium odoratum), a low-growing herb native to European woodlands, presents a strong case as a real-world analogue for Tolkien’s Athelas. Its preference for shaded, damp environments corresponds to Tolkien’s description of Athelas as growing in “shaded thickets.” The plant’s hoary leaves and delicate, star-shaped flowers lend it an unassuming appearance, much like the humble yet powerful kingsfoil. When crushed or dried, it releases a distinctive sweet, hay-like aroma, attributed to the presence of coumarin, which intensifies as the plant dries, an aromatic profile that resonates strongly with Tolkien’s own descriptors.
Nicholas Culpeper’s The Complete Herbal provides a detailed account of sweet woodruff’s medicinal and symbolic properties, offering further parallels to Athelas. Culpeper writes: “Woodroof, or Woodrowell, is (…) a most excellent herb to comfort the heart, liver, and stomach, especially being used in wine. (…) The leaves, bruised and applied to green wounds, do heal them. (…) It is of a most gallant, sweet scent, and thereupon it is used to deck up houses in the summer-time, and especially at Midsummer; it is without doubt a strengthening herb to the brain, and thereby the senses are fortified; it helpeth to procure a merry and cheerful mind; it helpeth the weak memory, and the often smelling thereof is a remedy against heaviness and melancholy.”
Medicinally, Culpeper attributes it a tonic effect, stating that it “comfort[s] the heart, liver, and stomach.” Its healing properties extend to the treatment of “green wounds,” aligning with Athelas’s use in tending to Frodo’s Morgul wound and reviving the injured in the Houses of Healing, echoing Athelas’s ability to counteract the oppressive effects of the Black Breath and to fortify the weary in their time of need.
Notably, Culpeper extols its “most gallant, sweet scent,” which was traditionally used to “deck up houses in the summer-time, and especially at Midsummer”, a practice which directly echoes those outlined in Celtic and Norse literature. Culpeper also attributes to the herb a unique psychological benefit, asserting that it “helpeth to procure a merry and cheerful mind” and serves as a remedy for “heaviness and melancholy” which reflects the deeply personal and mnemonic effects of Athelas’s fragrance.
The therapeutic properties of sweet woodruff were well-documented in mediaeval and early modern herbals, with John Gerard’s Herball further corroborating its reputation as a plant with calming and restorative qualities. Gerard writes that “the dryed leaves of Woodruff are oftentimes brought into chambers, for that they doe make the aire fresh and pleasant.” One may note that the practice of infusing sweet woodruff in wine for medicinal purposes mirrors Aragorn’s preparation of Athelas.
While these qualities are not uniquely attributed to sweet woodruff, its distinct scent aligns strikingly with Tolkien’s narrative descriptions. Tolkien’s evocative descriptors of Athelas’s scent can be interpreted within the framework of modern olfactory classification, notably Michael Edwards’ fragrance taxonomy, which organises scents into families like green, floral, and aromatic-woody.
Faramir’s evocation of “dewy mornings” implies a presence of fresh and green molecules, such as the cis-3-hexen-1-ol – commonly associated with crushed leaves and the scent of freshly cut grass – or molecules of the same olfactory range – such as (Z)-3-hexen-1-yl acetate or (E)-2-hexenal etc. – which we identified in Galium odoratum, averaging 6% of the volatile profile.
Likewise, Ioreth’s childhood roses hint at the presence of “rosey” molecules in Athelas. Dual analysis of sweet woodruff’s essential oil and headspace revealed the presence of 2-phenylethanol, (Z)-rose oxide, geraniol, β-Damascenone and β-Damascone, all responsible for the scent of roses.
Merry’s imagery of “heather and sunshine full of bees”, while more closely linked to his own experience, would suppose molecules related to the perception of sweetness in the composition of Athelas/sweet woodruff as well as molecules present in heather (Calluna vulgaris). However, the conjunction "and" here functions as an amplifying link, emphasising the interconnectedness of "heather" and "sunshine full of bees" as two inseparable facets of a single pastoral image which suggests that the perfumer should instead investigate the molecular composition of heather honey and compare it to sweet woodruff.
Upon doing so, we noticed a common thread of gourmand molecules, such as benzaldehyde, furfural, 2-Pentylfuran, 2-Ethylfuran, γ-decalactone and δ-decalactone, all expressing facets of sweetness ranging from bitter almond to caramel and coconut. Finally, the most prominent molecule in sweet woodruff, from which it got its name, is coumarin, boasting a mild scent reminiscent of almonds, hay, tobacco, cherries and fern.
By so mapping Tolkien’s sensory language onto identifiable olfactory molecules, we bridge his literary imagination with the scientific understanding of fragrance chemistry, underscoring the plausibility of these notes in a real-world aromatic context.
Even if Tolkien did not deliberately model Athelas on Sweet Woodruff, it fulfills his morphological, olfactory, therapeutic, and symbolic criteria to a degree unmatched by the other candidates proposed by Judd. This synthesis of practical utility, sensory richness, and narrative significance exemplifies Tolkien’s ability to blend primary-world botanical knowledge with the mythic and spiritual ethos of Middle-earth.
V. THE SACRAMENTAL VIRTUE
Athelas achieves its full potency in The Houses of Healing where Aragorn employs it not merely as a medicinal herb but as a symbol of sacramental grace. In Tolkien’s legendarium, healing involves not only the restoration of the body but also the reinvigoration of the spirit, a theme deeply resonant with medieval European traditions surrounding the sacred power of kings.
Marc Bloch’s The Royal Touch: Sacred Monarchy and Scrofula in England and France examines the belief in medieval monarchs’ divine healing powers, epitomised by public rituals where scrofula was cured through the king’s touch. Bloch observes that “the laying on of hands by the sovereign was not simply a medical act; it was a gesture rich in symbolic value, affirming the mystical union between king and kingdom”. These ceremonies not only addressed physical ailments but also reinforced the theological underpinnings of kingship, presenting the monarch as a mediator of divine grace and a restorer of social harmony. The royal touch functioned as both a practical intervention and a sacramental act, underscoring the sacred nature of the sovereign’s role.
Tolkien explicitly draws on this motif in his depiction of Aragorn, particularly through the prophecy, “The hands of the king are the hands of a healer, and so shall the rightful king be known”. Aragorn’s healing touch, mediated through the herb Athelas, serves as a visible sign of his divine mandate. His actions transcend mere practicality, symbolising the restoration of both his subjects’ well-being and the spiritual order of Gondor. By dispelling the lingering effects of the Black Breath, Aragorn enacts a redemptive kingship, where his authority is not asserted through conquest but through acts of healing and renewal. This dual restoration, of individuals and the realm, reinforces the theological dimension of Tolkien’s narrative, where rightful kingship is inherently sacramental, manifesting through both tangible and spiritual renewal.
The liturgical parallels deepen when considering mediaeval coronation rituals, particularly the use of sacred oils. The Liber Regalis details how English kings were anointed with chrism; a transformative act marking the monarch’s elevation to a sacred office. Aragorn’s use of the Athelas plant bears witness to his royal lineage and to the favours granted to his forebears – one thinks here of Ëarendil – by the Valar, acting as a self-anointing.
It is worth noting that Tolkien’s portrayal of Aragorn invites a christological reading, reflecting his Catholic sensibilities and the deep theological roots of his legendarium. Aragorn’s role as a healer parallels the biblical accounts of Christ’s healing ministry, where physical cures often signify spiritual transformation: Christ’s cleansing of the leper in Matthew 8:2–4 is not merely an act of physical restoration but a reintegration of the outcast into the spiritual and social community. Similarly, Aragorn’s healing of Éowyn, Merry, and Faramir restores their bodily health, rekindles their hope, and reaffirms their connection to the fellowship of Middle-Earth. Through these acts, Tolkien positions Aragorn as a figure whose kingly authority is inseparable from his role as a healer, embodying the sacramental principle that grace operates through tangible signs.
Moreover, Tolkien’s depiction of Aragorn draws heavily on the Arthurian motif of the wounded Fisher King, whose plight illustrates the profound connection between the king’s physical health and the land’s fertility. In Chrétien de Troyes’s Perceval, the Fisher King is described as “lying in pain,” his injury rendering him incapable of governing his kingdom, which consequently falls into desolation. The Holy Grail, described as a luminous vessel of divine grace, holds the key to his recovery, symbolising the restoration of spiritual and earthly harmony. As Chrétien writes, “The land and the king are one; when the king suffers, the land withers, and only the Grail can bring healing”.
This mythic structure finds a clear parallel in Aragorn’s role as both healer and redeemer of Gondor. The desolation wrought by Sauron’s shadow mirrors the Fisher King’s barren lands, and just as the Grail restores vitality to the Fisher King, Aragorn’s application of Athelas asserts his identity as the rightful king, thus healing both the physical and spiritual health of Gondor.
By dispelling the Black Breath, Aragorn not only fulfils ancient prophecies but also enacts a redemptive kingship that counters Sauron’s pervasive darkness. His actions reaffirm the sacramental function of kingship, where the ruler’s authority is validated through acts of healing and renewal.
VI. A PRETERNATURAL GIFT?
In the War of the Ring, kingsfoil thus represents more than a local weed; it symbolizes the synergy between moral kingship and the innate fecundity of Middle-earth, understood within the larger theological and cosmological backdrop of Tolkien’s legendarium. Central to this background is the concept of the “Marring of Arda,” a foundational idea that emerges in The Silmarillion and related texts, where the primordial rebellion of the Vala Melkor, later Morgoth, disrupts the original harmony of creation. By sowing discord into the very substance of the world, Morgoth ensures that Arda bears a permanent scar: evil and decay permeate the physical realm, entangling the destinies of its peoples. This marring means that every aspect of Middle-earth, even its flora, soils, and climates, suffers a subtle distortion from what Eru Ilúvatar intended in the beginning.
Against this cosmic backdrop, the potency of kingsfoil stands out as a counterforce to the encroaching blight. Aragorn’s use of the herb exemplifies an antidote to the corrosive influence that Morgoth’s legacy continues to exert through Sauron. Although Athelas appears merely a “simple weed,” it operates as a vestige of the unspoilt creation that once might have flourished before Arda’s marring. The critical point is that the herb’s fullest virtue remains dormant unless wielded by a figure of rightful moral authority, Elendil’s heir, whose kingship itself participates in the effort to mend the disfigurement Morgoth inflicted upon the world.
Athelas, though conceived in a fictional context, resonates strongly with both historical notions of botanical cures and contemporary understandings of how scent can unlock personal wellsprings of strength. Its varying fragrance descriptors do not indicate an inherent shapeshifting magic so much as the deeply individual ways in which each character’s memories and cultural references modulate perception. By describing the herb in terms of “a breath of a spring morning” and attributing to it the power to unlock buried hope, Tolkien implies a synergy of physical, psychological, and moral healing that transcends straightforward botanical classification. The literary effect is heightened by interweaving Celtic and Norse customs of fragrant cleansing and the medieval concept of the king’s touch, thereby wedding a simple weed to the grand theme of rightful rule restoring an ailing land.
The parallels with sweet woodruff serve to demonstrate how the boundaries between fantasy and reality often blur in Tolkien’s craft, anchored by a scholarly grounding in European lore. Whether sweet woodruff provided a direct blueprint or merely echoes the traits Tolkien attributed to Athelas, their shared profile invites modern readers to consider how the unassuming corners of creation can harbour immense salvific potential. In keeping with Proust’s madeleine, Athelas sparks a Proustian chain of recollections in each afflicted character, guiding them back from the brink of despair. Where modern psychology might point to olfactory memory, Tolkien discerns a deeper spiritual significance in the capacity of fragrance to unshackle the will.
His grounding of Athelas’s curative fragrance in plausible botany, backed by historical herbal lore and a mediaeval sense of moral kingship, thus furthers the argument that sweet woodruff is kingsfoil’s most fitting counterpart.