#númenórë

[anghraine]

cressida-jayoungr replied to this post:

Wait, what's this about squirrels? That's one I haven't run across!

It's one of the many factoids from Tolkien's essay on Númenor in The Nature of Middle-earth! He talks about gender and relationships with animals there:

they [Númenórean women] were generally nearer to men than is the case with most races in stature and strength, and were agile and fleet of foot in youth. Their great delight was in dancing (in which many men also took part) at feasts or in leisure time ... But nearly all women could ride horses, treating them honourably, and housing them more nobly than any other of their domestic animals. The stables of a great man were often as large and as fair to look upon as his own house. Both men and women rode horses for pleasure ... and in ceremony of state both men and women of rank, even queens, would ride, on horseback amid their escorts or retinues ... The Númenóreans trained their horses to hear and understand calls (by voice or whistling) from great distances; and also, where there was great love between men or women and their favorite steeds, they could (or so it is said in ancient tales) summon them at need by their thought alone. So it was also with their dogs. For the Númenóreans kept dogs, especially in the country, partly by ancestral tradition, since they had few useful purposes any longer ... It was men rather than women who had a liking to keep dogs as "friends". Women loved more the wild (or "unowned") birds and beasts, and they were especially fond of squirrels, of which there were great numbers in the wooded country. ...The woods of Númenor abounded in squirrels, mostly red, but some dark brown or black. These were all unafraid, and readily tamed. The women of Númenor were specially fond of them. Often they would live in trees near a homestead, and would come when invited into the house. (NOME 325-326, 335-6)

Conclusion: a) Númenóreans were, as a people, significantly larger than other humans, b) Númenórean women were more similar in size and strength to the men of their people than is usual among humans, and c) these gigantic women liked to befriend normal squirrels.

#just envisioning 6'9" númenórean women setting eyes on random squirrels: FRIEND!!!!! #cressida jayoungr #respuestas #nature of middle earth #legendarium blogging #númenórë #team dúnedain #long post

[cilil]

rare pair bingo

AN: For @sauron-kraut, my beloved🖤

⸙ Prompt: Naked sub/clothed dom | Ar-Pharazôn x Mairon ⸙ Synopsis: Ar-Pharazôn is fascinated by his Maiarin prisoner. ⸙ Warnings: Captor/captive, nudity, non-consensual bondage & touching ⸙ Quadruple drabble

"Prisoners don't deserve clothes." 

Mairon lowered his head as if to accept the king's words, though in truth it was to hide his anger before his soft, pink lips could accidentally twist into an ugly, feral snarl. Conveniently, this also meant he no longer had to see Ar-Pharazôn's revolting face, sneering at him with disdain and lust in equal measure darkening his mien. 

Of course he had known where this was going the second he had been stripped of what had remained of his robes. The King of Númenórë wished to see his prize, the true glory of the Maia he presumed to have conquered, and limited as all Incarnates were, he thought that bare flesh was as intimate as it could get. 

He would not even survive being in the presence of his ëala, Mairon thought, the splendid and terrible naked flame that it was without its pretty skin. What a fool he was.

Ar-Pharazôn couldn't keep his hands to himself, but that too he had expected. Like a moth mindlessly fluttering around a deadly flame, he buried his right hand in the Maia's hair, enjoying the deceptive softness before grasping and tugging on it, forcing him to face him. The left then seized his chin, and his thumb brushed over his lips. 

"You wear a lovely face," Ar-Pharazôn said, though his arrogance banished any semblance of admiration and reverence from his tone. "Is it yours or are you wearing someone else's skin?" 

"You think any Incarnate could have ever possessed a body like mine?" Mairon retorted, his voice perfectly smooth and silky even as the mere thought of flirting made him nauseous. 

"You think highly of yourself for one being born into a servant race, Maia," Ar-Pharazôn hissed. His grip tightened. 

Any dread Mairon might have felt was eclipsed by blinding rage. How dare this mortal, a creature barely above the kelvar of Yavanna in his eyes, reduce the Maiar to mere servants; and not just any Maia, but him, the Admirable, Melkor's most powerful and favourite — 

"Come." His thoughts were interrupted by Ar-Pharazôn taking hold of the chains binding his hands; or so he thought at least. Mairon could easily break them if needed. 

"You shall decorate my chambers tonight," the king declared, "for I wish to look upon you a little longer." 

Mairon could only hope that ogling him was all he was going to do.

Thanks for reading! ♡

taglist: @angbangbaby @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @blauerregen @edensrose @elanna-elrondiel @i-did-not-mean-to @melkors-defense-attorney @saintstars @sauron-kraut @singleteapot @urwendii

#tpcrarepairbingo #mairon #sauron #ar pharazon #ar pharazôn #ar pharazon x mairon #mairazon #silm fanfic #silmarillion fanfiction #minors dni #cílil writes #my writing

[vorbarrsultana]

middle-earth meme: [1/5] anything → númenor

And setting their course towards it the Edain came at last over leagues of sea and saw afar the land that was prepared for them, Andor, the Land of Gift, shimmering in a golden haze. Then they went up out of the sea and found a country fair and fruitful, and they were glad. And they called that land Elenna, which is Starwards; but also Anadûnë, which is Westernesse, Númenórë in the High Eldarin tongue.

#tolkien #tolkienedit #the silmarillion #silmedit #numenor #dunedain #* #*mem #*gif #oneringnet #tolkiensource #i really wanted to do this edit before t\rop comes out #with their ridiculous decision to give roman aesthetic to elves instead of numenor #also a confession: i do like dunedain more than elves

[leaves-of-laurelin]

And setting their course towards it the Edain came at last over leagues of sea and saw afar the land that was prepared for them, Andor, the Land of Gift, shimmering in a golden haze. Then they went up out of the sea and found a country fair and fruitful, and they were glad. And they called that land Elenna, which is Starwards; but also Anadûnê, which is Westernesse, Númenórë in the High Eldarin tongue.

Akallabêth

#numenor #the silmarillion #the rings of power #lotr on prime #rings of power #lotr trop #lotr rop #trop #rop #lotr #the lord of the rings #tolkien #lord of the rings

[maglor-my-beloved]

read on Ao3

my entry for @silmsmutweek day 7

Rating: E

Warnings: None

Relationship: Míriel/Tar-Míriel

Additional tags: Implied/Referenced Character Death (it's Pharazôn), Femslash, Throne Sex, Nipple Play, Oral Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Light Dom/sub

Míriel and Tar-Míriel both deserve better - why not with each other?

---

Long has Míriel watched the Silver Queen of Númenórë.

Through her tapestries she has watched the proud young Princess, who shares more than her name, watched her grow bold and fair, watched over her hopes and dreams of a kingdom her own, watched them shattered by her cruel cousin.

She knows what will come. She has seen the wave that will swallow the woman she has grown to love from afar, and she will not permit it to come to pass.

Míriel has learned much of fate in her years of service to Vairë, and she knows that a tapestry is a fragile thing, so easily unraveled and woven anew.

When Ar-Pharazôn sails out to challenge the Valar, the great wave takes him and his fleet long before they reach Valinor.

The Silver Queen of Númenórë sits on her rightful throne, and at her side sits her lovely Elven consort, she who has come from the undying lands and exposed Sauron’s lies.

They work hard to undo the damage Ar-Pharazôn has done and restore Númenor to its former glory, but for today, the sun already shining low through the stained glass windows of the throne room, all audiences are over, all work done, and they are at last alone.

“Sweet Queen,” Míriel purrs as she rises from her seat and comes to join her lover on the high throne, straddling her. “Will you permit your consort to bring you pleasure?”

Tar-Míriel leans forward to kiss her softly. “I am as always your willing plaything, my Lady.”

Míriel’s smile grows wicked, and her hands tangle in her lover’s braids, silver like hers and impossibly bright against Tar-Míriel’s dark skin, as she returns the kiss, hungry and demanding, nipping at her lower lip until her lover is moaning into her mouth. Without breaking the kiss, her hands wander downwards, her weaver’s fingers deftly undoing the laces of Tar-Míriel’s dress until her chest is bared, her breasts exposed to Míriel’s attentions.

She caresses them softly at first, massaging the tender flesh, only lightly brushing over the sensitive nipples until her lover arches her chest, wordlessly pleading for more. Míriel releases her mouth, now, trailing a row of kisses down her throat and along her collarbone until she reaches her breasts, kissing them gently before taking one dark nipple into her mouth and sucking, swirling her tongue around it until Tar-Míriel can no longer hold back her moans.

A sharp pinch to her other nipple has her cry out in pleasure-pain, and Míriel smiles and does it again, pinching and nipping and squeezing until her lover is bucking her hips helplessly beneath her, pleading for more.

“Patience,” Míriel whispers into her rounded ear, of which only the slightest curl at the tip betrays her Elvish ancestry, and goes back to kissing her while her hands play with her breasts, occasionally raking her fingernails down her sides, relishing in her lover’s sweet whines and moans, but at last she finds herself growing impatient.

She slides off her lover’s lap and onto the floor, kneeling before the throne. 

“Spread your legs for me, my Queen,” she orders, and Tar-Míriel obeys, parting her legs and raising them to lay over the armrests. She is bare beneath her dress, already glistening with wetness, and the thought of her going out in public all day like this makes Míriel smile as she leans forward and swipes her tongue over the dripping folds.

Tar-Míriel cries out and thrusts her hips forward, and Míriel lets her, drinking of her lover’s sweet nectar as Tar-Míriel thrusts against her mouth with abandon, seeking her release and finding it at last with a scream of pleasure, her wetness dripping down Míriel’s chin.

Trembling and oversensitive in the wake of her orgasm she attempts to close her legs, but Míriel gently holds them open, whispering, “You are so lovely in your pleasure, my Queen. I would enjoy you a little longer.”

She yields, leaning back in her throne, for she knows that Míriel will not be satisfied until she has wrung at least one more orgasm from her, and soon she feels that hot mouth return to her folds, the dextrous tongue dipping inside her, and she abandons herself to the pleasure her lover so eagerly gives.

#miriel #tar miriel #míriel/tar-míriel #maglor writes #silmsmutweek

[tenth-sentence]

And even the name of that land perished, and Men spoke thereafter not of Elenna, nor of Andor the Gift that was taken away, nor of Númenórë on the confines of the world; but the exiles on the shores of the sea, if they turned towards the West in the desire of their hearts, spoke of Mar-nu-Falmar that was whelmed in the waves, Akallabêth the Downfallen, Atalantë in the Eldarin tongue.

"The Silmarillion" - J.R.R. Tolkien

#book quote #the silmarillion #jrr tolkien #tower of babel myth #atlantis myth #natural disasters #supernatural disasters #coastal living #tsunami #tidal wave #destruction #downfall #dunedain #exiles #numenoreans #elenna #andor #numenore #mar nu falmar #akallabeth #atalante #drowning of numenor

[ao3feed-tolkien]

[Video] Númenórë Atalantë

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/PXaB38K

by fandom Tolkien 2023 (fandom_Tolkien)

Рассказывая историю Нуменора, неизбежно приходишь к его гибели. Но для тех немногих, кто ее переживет, история пойдет и дальше — как ни трудно им в это поначалу поверить…

Words: 0, Chapters: 1/1, Language: Русский

Series: Part 7 of Выкладка fandom Tolkien 2023 — визуал низкорейтинга

Fandoms: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien, TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power (TV 2022)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: Gen

Characters: Númenoreans

Additional Tags: Númenor, Second Age, Downfall of Númenor, Embedded Video, Don’t copy to another site, Fandom Kombat 2023, fandom Tolkien 2023

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/PXaB38K

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #Tolkien #JRR Tolkien #Tolkien works #ao3 #fan fiction

[legendarium-enthusiast]

Númenórë

#Tolkien #The Silmarillion #Unfinished Tales #Númenor #Atalantë #Elenna-Nórë #Númenórë

[avatarvyakara]

Something a little different...what say you?

THE NINE RACES OF MEN

At the beginning of the Second Age, says the story of the Akallabêth, the Edain were the only ones who had fought tirelessly and truly against the power of Morgoth. Even at the beginning, the Eldar say, while the rest fell under his spell, the ancestors of the Edain sought in the uttermost West for a light that the Darkness could not dim. For this, they were rewarded not only with a land untouched by the dark of their very own—Andor, upon which was built the Kingdom of Númenórë—but also with "wisdom and power and life more enduring than any others of mortal race have possessed."

And yet no-one among the Valar could have believed that this was sufficient, to keep a small spark of "pure" Men close to them while the rest of the world suffered. Even with the great ships of Númenor travelling to all corners of the world, this would not be enough Light at all times to bring them peace.

The story of the Akallabêth, and the Quenta Silmarillion itself—they are told with an eye to the world the West knew, a world that the West wished to ignore.

True, none besides the Edain had made any real progress when it came to traipsing West to find the Untouched Light. Some had indeed fallen under Morgoth's spell, following him under fear as much any other reason, and fighting fervently that they might not meet his wrath, and spreading discomfort and evil to other Men. But after Morgoth's fall those Men went back to their old tribes, those who remained uncorrupted by Morgoth and yet did not think it wise or safe to seek light or dark and expose themselves to the Great War that took so many of their own. For this the Akallabêth calls them "wild and lawless"; but perhaps it is truer to say that what laws they had, good or bad, they made for themselves; their wildness was in their adherence to and rejection of light and dark alike, equally and at once.

There is another book from Númenorean lands, translated by the 11th Century Andalusian scholar Hamid Al-Baseera (Alvocera in European texts, and apparently given the name Satar by the elves of Tol Eressëa, as he came after Ælfwine of England), called the Natannawî or "The Nine Races of Man". It tells a tale that must, I fear, be truncated somewhat, for it is prefixed with attempts to reassure the reader that he had not, in fact, gone mad, but that "the djinn of the West, beings created afore us and of fire instead of earth, saved me and spake unto me, telling me tales of their battles against afārīt and shayāt'īn—that they called orcor and valaraucar—of the angels they followed, and the One God, whom they call First and Fatherless, and whom they follow still." For more on Al-Baseera's journey, see any copy of the Kitāb al-Jinn al-Gharb.

The rough translation (my Arabic's not very good) proceeds thus:

After the Council of the Valar had blessed the Atani with their Gifts, there came a protest from Oromë. For it was in his nature to seek out and destroy the Dark, and preserve the light wherever it could be found. The race of Men had been secured, he said, in but a small part; the rest of Arda was still shrouded in darkness. Not only this, but there were still those who were untouched by the Light of the West, for they had not sought it, but did not deserve the Dark left behind by Melkor through his servants. "Thou hast given them thy blessing, Manwë, through Eönwë's deeds," he said. "But I beg thee to let me send messengers of my own to some people in the Far East, that the Darkness may yet be hunted down and destroyed in all places through their doing." In this his sister Nessa joined him, and her husband Tulkas. Nienna spoke next; she saw much grief in Middle-Earth, grief of Elves and Men and Maiar and Dwarves, families torn apart by conflicts bigger than themselves. Time to heal, she said, would be best; perhaps there were those who could yet learn her craft. Aulë and Yavanna, protectors of the earth's riches and its inhabitants, hoped to seek to enlighten their own humans; for Aulë was closest in mind to Melkor, and believed his protection would sway them away from the tendencies that oft befell his own, while Yavanna dreamed of finding a race of Men who would see as her Children saw, and protect her works. On this Vána agreed. Irmo and Estë were of one mind in this also; there was so much potential in their minds for more, they said, that it would be foolish to deny them true dreams and healing hands, for these are the best remedies against oppression and evil thought. Ulmo gave no reason. "They are the Children of Eru, and we their guardians," spake he. "And we have lost too many children." Only Námo and Varda did not seek champions of their own; Námo knew not of their Doom and could not impose himself upon them, while Varda felt her work to be complete (for she had given them stars and sun and moon). Manwë, too, had sent a messenger unto the Númenoreans; he did not wish to send Eönwë forth a second time.

And so there was a gathering of the Maiar, and eight messengers were sent forth. They would come to watch over their people, and as Uinen and Eönwë were beloved of the Númenoreans so too would they become holy in the eyes of those they visited.

These are the Nine Races, called in Adûnaic the Natannawî and in Quenya i Cailë Atani "the Chosen Men", as distinct from the Atani or "Edain":

Eönwë, herald of Manwë, came to the Isle of Númenor and found there the Edain, and gave them wise heads and tall shapes, and a span of years five times the length of mortals elsewhere; and to their kings were given four hundred years instead of three, that they might live and govern the longer. For a long time their capital was in Númenor, and they were closest to the Valar; later, they founded the kingdoms of Gondor and Árnor, among their lesser brethren.

Salmar, he who makes the Horns for Ulmo, sought at the behest of his Vala to the east, and there found the Rathrim or Shore-Dwellers, and to them he gave compassion and the strong, long bodies needed to swim, and an unerring sense of direction when in contact with rivers or the sea.

Angano, the spirit of iron-working and a servant of Aulë, looked to the South of Middle-Earth, where no Dwarves had awoken, and there he found the Dáin or Smiths. And to them he gave diligence for their work and strong bodies that could endure most hardships; and to their chiefs he gave immunity to fire and heat, that they might be protected against the darkness wrought by Melkor beneath the earth or the dragons that still roamed free.

Coirië, maiden of spring, went forth for Yavanna and Vána to the heart of the North, where the cold was greatest and the nights darkest; and though the heat of summer would never truly fall upon the people there she blessed the Forodwaith all the same. And to the strange, stocky people she gave the patience they would need until the sun drew nearer to them again, and a love of community both among Men and among the kelvar and olvar. But the best gift of all she gave to the shamans, who could draw to themselves the skins of animals and walk within them; and though this was a gift found elsewhere in the world, as a power of good and evil alike, here alone were they given also the ability to speak with the animals, and for this reason did not harm them, and bade them thrive in their lands.

Irmo's messenger was Enellenyo, who draws memory of many places past and future to aid in dreaming; he went East to the lands of Hildórien, and found there the Coer or Shelterers, those who hid from the darkness of Melkor and did not trust the light in the west. And he gave to them peace, and endurance through many things; but to a chosen few he granted sight beyond the walls of Arda, as they would see once they had passed, and the scope of the wide world, and in this way they do not yet fear death, for dreams of other worlds yet to be explored sing them to easy slumber when the time comes.

Estë's chosen was Malië, who loves best healing through rebirth; and she was of both Estë and Yavanna, and was sent forth with the blessing of the two. To the north of Harad she came, along the Harnen river that runs from Mordor to the Bay of Umbar, for if any land was most in need of healing it was that dry desert. And so she met the Sentair, the Gardeners, along the River. Their strength was in building, and yet compassion enough was there within that she could strengthen; a love for the land and its creatures, and joy at their resurrection after a flood. To their terraced gardens she gave joy and beauty, and taught them to cultivate it; but to their priests she gave healing hands, that could close any wound and break any ill, until the last breath. And this they were said to use not only on themselves—that they might complete their span at a time of their own choosing, free from ailments that might stay their passing—but on the great spirits, the oliphaunts and ents and even lions and crocodiles, who visited their rivers.

Nienna sent forth Fellë, her most patient spirit, to the West. Furthest from the Great Sea she found Men who travelled along the rivers leading to the Sea of Rhûn, and who felt not evil (for theirs had been a race that fell under Morgoth's sway early, and chased the Edain to the west) but guilt, seeing about them the wreckage of the world. For their suffering and grief she gave the Rynainn or Redeemers quiet fortitude, the bravery to believe that they could yet be forgiven in the eyes of the world. And to those who felt most deeply she gave the power not to heal, but to wash away grief and darkness in others by their presence and comfort, that they may learn to live again. Many were killed, when Sauron came; but the line remains, and many more have been born.

Ombor, the servant of Oromë who knows all tongues of living beings, found himself on the Great Steppe south of the Sea of Rhûn, where Sauron would later turn to farmland for his armies. And he saw that the hunting of darkness had not yet ended; for though many races of Men had turned in fear to the Servants of Melkor who fled to the east, yet there were those who had banded together, seeking out horses and riding down the worst of the new chiefs—and orcs besides. Ombor gave the Rechyn or Riders strength of body and stubbornness of mind, that they may seek out their enemies more thoroughly. To them also he gave greater and stronger senses, that they might know what and who surrounded them, with some individuals for miles on end. Thus they knew and could sense dark things coming even when they made as though to hide, and could hear the whispers of their enemies. The strongest of these are truly terrifying to behold; and it is from this stock that the Variags come, and the Nazgûl known as Khamûl.

Hófarano, loved and taught by Tulkas and Nessa both, sought out not the strongest people but the happiest, those who despite never finding the light were unburdened by cares. These he found: the Gladhrim, in the far south of the world, a race of men to whom laughter came easily and dancing even more so. Hófarano gave them courage, and strengthened their joy at the light in the south of the world; but the greatest gift he gave unto them was the speed of Tulkas and Nessa. The Gladhrim are the Running Men, faster than any horse can go, and for longer; they chase down their prey, be it food or enemy, with barely a glimmer of sweat. Dark as night they are, open of face and strong of fist; and their sworn enemies are the Slave-Makers, who sit in halls of gold and capture people from tribes across the continent as servants—or as sacrifices to the forces of darkness.

All the Nine were blessed; and to all the Nine did Sauron give rings that would amplify their powers, and so enthralled them to become his Nazgûl.

#avi’s ramblings #fanfic #lotr #silmarillion #tolkien #numenor #valar #maiar #akallabeth #arabic #djinn #elves #lotr elves #worldbuilding #I have languages too #so #is it any good? #nazgul #sauron #look guys #if you want a diverse world #you have to *make* one

[arofili]

I know you said you didn't want Silm prompts, but this one isn't strictly Silm: 34, Elrond and Elros.

(I am happy to still take Silm prompts! I just don’t want to scare off any other fandoms, lol. Anyway: this is to make up for the angsty kidnap dads fic I just posted! Have some peredhil twin fluff!)

~

34. “I might never get another chance to say this,” Elros said, his eyes wide and full of mock sincerity, “but...I did eat your half of our birthday cake when we were twelve.”

Elrond smacked his brother lightly on the shoulder. “Stop being so melodramatic!” he exclaimed, rolling his eyes. “You act as if this is the last time we shall ever see each other!”

“But it may be,” Elros argued, a twinkle in his eye. “Every time you visit, it may be! Who knows when my youth will dry up? Not I! Here I am, king of Númenórë for two hundred years already—I feel young and hale, just like you, although I must say that my beard is quite handsomer than whatever that thing on your face is supposed to be—”

Elrond shoved him harder this time. “Don’t insult my elvish blood,” he teased. “I’m still not sure how our choices affect our facial hair growth, but truly if you think this wispy thing is anything more than something one of your mortal women could grow—”

“I’ll tell my wife you said that!” Elros hummed, wagging his finger.

“Please do!” Elrond smirked. “She’ll agree with me. You know she likes me better, she only married you because of the mortality business.”

“And because you’re the most boring man alive!”

“Elf, dear brother, and you’ll not forget it!” Elrond leaned over to kiss his kingly brother right on his bristly cheek. “I’ll miss you,” he said fondly.

“And I you.” Elros smiled. “Maybe next time I can take the children to visit you and Gil-galad?”

Elrond’s face lit up. “Yes! Lindon is splendid in the summertime, you’ll love the trees, and the beach reminds me of Sirion—”

“My lord Elrond!” someone called. “We are ready to depart!”

“I must go,” Elrond apologized. “Duty calls.”

Elros sighed, glancing back up the dock to where his own retinue waited. “I understand. Farewell, Elrond.”

“Oh, and Elros?” Elrond asked, just as he was turning to leave.

“What?”

“I might never get another chance to say this...Maedhros and Maglor never mentioned it, we were too young, and honestly I think you would’ve chosen differently if you’d known—”

“Spit it out,” Elros drawled.

“—it’s just, frankly, you’re missing out on all the orgies we elves have at Midsummer!”

“Elrond!” Elros shrieked after him, but his twin skipped away laughing, and Elros couldn’t help but grin.

#silmarillion #elrond #elros #silmfic #my writing #my fic #tefain nin #ask games #silm #thank you! :) #ilya boltagon #answers #love grew after between them

[alicebeckstrom]

And even the name of that land perished, and Men spoke thereafter not of Elenna, nor of Andor the Gift that was taken away, nor of Númenórë on the confines of the world; but the exiles on the shores of the sea, if they turned towards the West in the desire of their hearts, spoke of Mar-nu-Falmar that was whelmed in the waves, Akallabêth the Downfallen, Atalantë in the Eldarin tongue. ~ The Silmarillion, Akallabêth (Numenor under the waves by CosmicHawk, deviantART) #thedownfallofnumenor

[anghraine]

A very serious poll

According to Tolkien, Elros not only inherited Elvish beardlessness, he passed it on to his descendants, including very remote ones like Aragorn and Boromir and Faramir. The question of the hour is if Elrosian Númenóreans' beardlessness would extend to any other trait, like say, their ears. So:

Off the top of my head, potential rationales for "No":

There's no suggestion of anything unusual about the ears in descriptions of any Dúnedain.

Elves' ears are only subtly pointed, and the trait would soon die out.

Elves' ears are very noticeably pointed, but it's been way too many generations for the trait to pass on.

There's only weak evidence for Elves having pointed ears at all, much less for Elros's remote descendants.

Even Elrosian Dúnedain are still humans and therefore have round ears. The beardlessness is a unique exception.

Potential rationales for "Yes":

If they're able to inherit beardlessness after all that time, they could presumably inherit other Elvish traits, too.

It could be less pronounced in them but still noticeable.

They're supposed to be nearly indistinguishable from Elves. Maybe that's part of the reason why!

It'd be really cool.

Royal blood manifesting via ear pointiness is intrinsically hilarious.

#anghraine babbles #poll nonsense #legendarium blogging #legendarium fanwank #inherently! #i guess i could have asked about balrog wings :P #nature of middle earth #lord of the rings #the silmarillion #jrr tolkien #etc #team dúnedain #númenórë

[cilil]

Day 6 ~ Loss & Betrayal

𓂃🖋 Characters/pairings: Melkor x Mairon 𓂃🖋 Synopsis: With Melkor trapped in the Void, Mairon can no longer reach him and resorts to addressing him in letters to cope with his situation on Númenor. 𓂃🖋 Warnings: References to/discussion of sexual assault. Also Mairon is a hater 𓂃🖋 Oneshot (~1.2k) | AO3

Beloved, 

I made it out of dungeons at last — in body, that is. 

In spirit I have long since been wandering and dreaming to distract myself from the miserable existence that I was subjected to. And subjected myself to; you know as well as I do that at times the long, twisted road of deception is a safer path to tread than brute force. 

I had to let them take me. Though it means little either way. 

The mortal king has, as was to be expected, grown fond of me already. He wants the divine secrets that only our kind has to offer, and more important yet, power and immortality. I promised him all of these things, of course, and he might well get at least a taste of some before I seize victory from his greedy, filthy hands. 

There will be a price to pay, however, that much I know already. Not only the shameful matter of allowing mortals to take me prisoner like a lowly incarnate, but also the realm in itself. 

I despise Númenórë, precious. I hate it. 

It is full of foul, indecent Men, crawling all over the island like the vermin they are. They consume lots of slimy seafood, presumably another "gift" from Ulmo and his ilk, and they audaciously serve me these abominations as well, expecting not only that I should eat them, but also praise their odious cuisine. They love the sea and venture out often, thinking themselves great explorers as if anything they could ever find has not been known for ages untold to us, the makers of this world. They worship our father and the vain Valar who in their eyes are nothing but strange gods they have never seen but bow to nevertheless, while they call us hateful names. 

And yet I must smile and gracefully endure the company of the king and those he surrounds himself with. He has named me his advisor now — a decision he will undoubtedly come to regret, though not a second before my designs for him come to pass and he faces his inevitable doom. 

The queen, it is said, was married to the king against her will, and I can certainly see the utter lack of charm that necessitated a forceful course of action. She does not lie with him willingly, and unfortunately his lust has fallen upon me instead. 

He leers at me when he asks me about our secrets. He corners me when I tell him about power. He touches me when I speak of you. He attempts to hold me when I praise your name. 

He has even had the audacity to call me a servant. 

Precious, 

the king has laid hands on me again. In fact he has only just now exited my chambers, satisfied with his detestable deeds, leaving me to bear the shame and impurity of a mortal's touch. 

I try not to see and not to feel when he comes near me. I try not to recoil or weep or destroy him for the crime of despoiling what belongs only to you. I try not to mourn the loss of our intimacy, long ago though it has been: This form was made for you, made for our love and our pleasure. 

Not for a mortal king.

He grows bolder now, having realised that I will not defend myself, and takes what he wants. And I have to let him. I could, perhaps should destroy him, burn down these chambers, the castle, the entire city with him and flee, but alas, I cannot and will not. For such petty revenge is not enough; the entire realm must fall. 

He does not even have the decency to humbly accept the grace that I show him. He treats me like a common whore, demeans and degrades me, handles me roughly, always takes and takes and takes and never asks. He claims I am nothing but a slave and a prostitute, yet it is him whose mind falls prey to my whispers and whose body cannot resist my beauty. 

I hate it. I hate him. He disgusts me, and no amount of gold or ships or crowns could change that. I need not tell you that only you are King of Kings, and no other could even hope to come close to your glory. I need not tell you that I never wanted any other. 

And yet... no matter how desperately I wish to burn those grasping, grimy, greedy hands whenever it comes into his foolish mind that a mortal could possess a Maia and he reaches for me, I must instead endure. I do not want it. I do not want any of this. But the plan must be executed, so that your enemies will be brought to ruin and returned to the doom you designed for them. 

Worst of all is the knowledge that the king will be back soon. I must admit now that the potency of my charms has become a double-edged sword: So very effective, so very strong is the desire I inspire within the hearts of weak mortal Men, yet being the object of such desire is a most undignified position to be in. 

He is insatiable, thoroughly ensnared, and I am... afraid. 

My love, 

I am distraught, more than I have ever been. I know not what to say. I wanted to cry out to you, but could not allow your name to be sullied by being spoken while another takes what is yours.

Beloved, I have committed the most unforgivable blasphemy against you and our sacred union. I saw it coming, knew it would happen, prayed for your forgiveness in advance, yet it did nothing to dispel the horror of such acts. 

I had to let a mere mortal violate my beautiful fána. I had to let a false king take me. I had to betray both you and myself for the sake of our perfect revenge. 

I want to burn my fána. I will burn it once I no longer need it. 

Even so, I weep. This is the very same fána that you touched, the one that bears the marks of your love. I desperately want to shed a skin so defiled, but the thought of losing what little I have left of you is unbearable. 

Forgive me, my love. Forgive me for letting a filthy mortal have me. Forgive me for sacrificing what is yours as well as mine. I swear that I did it only for you, for only the thought of you can keep me in this world — the thought of how you will smile when you behold the ruin of our enemies, how you will laugh, how pleased you will be with me. 

I have been trying to cleanse myself with water instead, but it is insufficient. I heated it until it was boiling, but it was not enough. 

I still feel his touch upon me, and it disgusts me. 

And if I shall burn to be rid of this filth upon me, so too shall the king and his entire realm. My flames shall feast upon mortal flesh as tribute for my sacrifice, and death shall claim all who remain until there is no one and nothing left of accursed Númenórë and its king. 

Thanks for reading! ♡

taglist: @angbangbaby @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @blauerregen @bluezenzennie @edensrose @i-did-not-mean-to @melkors-big-tits @melkors-defense-attorney @sauron-kraut @singleteapot @urwendii

#mairon #sauron #melkor #morgoth #melkor x mairon #angbang #silm fanfic #silmarillion fanfiction #silmarillion #cílil writes #my writing #silmarillionepistolary #cw sa #tw assault #tw sa mention

[thelightofvalinor]

So, here it is! After few weeks of reading I finally finished my Silmarillion notes and I am sharing them here so anyone who is planning to read Silmarillion, or is reading it at the moment, or simply wants to find something quick, can use it as a guide.

It contains a lot of details, quotes + First Age Timeline (from Tolkien Gateway) and the map of Númenórë 

Enjoy the reading! P.S. If you notice some typo, please inform me! P.S.2. My native language is not English so, please don’t mind if there are some mistakes, I really tried to write it grammatically correct.

#JRR Tolkien #tolkien #Tolkien fandom #The Silmarillion #notes #guide #book guide #Iluvatar #valar #Maiar #Valinor #silmarils #noldor #fëanor #fingolfin #finarfin #sindar #thingol #elu thingol #melian #the children of hurin #numenor #beren and luthien #fall of gondolin #LOTR #the hobbit #High Elves #elves #history of middle earth #middle earth

[daywillcomeagain]

how do you think maedhros and berlin would get along?

I think they would get along very well but kind of strangely.

They’re both very old and very scarred and very sad. Neither of them have many peers, and they’re both isolating themselves from those they do have because, well, “I’m traumatized because, among other things, I killed a bunch of innocent people” isn’t exactly the kind of thing you complain about to your victims. I think that they get together and talk about war and walking into refugee camps to slaughter families and smelling the flesh of your siblings like cooked meat on the air. And sometimes when they are both very, very drunk, they talk about the men they love. About fighting with them, side by side, back when they were young and laughing and in love with bravery, with the idea of war. About what it was like, to lose them. About oaths and ships and what it is to burn. They both know war, and know it too well.

(Sometimes, Berlin will ask about Beleriand. Worse, sometimes he’ll ask about Númenórë. About Atalantë. He will quote the Lay of Leithian–forgotten harper, singer doomed,/who young when Laurelin yet bloomed/to endless lamentation passed/and in the tombless sea was cast–and ask where Maglor is, and Maedhros will have to restrain himself from throwing his glass at Berlin’s eye.)

(He is very far away, on a tiny island off the coast of a different island, when he makes an oath. Maedhros hears it anyway, and he remembers, and he is not quite too world-weary to be afraid)

#i love making content that only three people in the whole world will appreciate #i tried to write something for this like ten times but i had to just write a synopsis in the end #bc i couldn't do them justice enough to be happy with it #anyway! anyway. #consumptive-sphinx #the fair and mighty city #my writing

[ncfan-1]

The Walls That Hem You In

Under what conditions was testing the boundaries of your world considered admirable, rather than foolhardy, or being regarded as blasphemy against the powers that ruled unseen over this world? [Written for the April 23, 2018 picture prompt, ‘닿지 않았다고 합니다’ by _.zoo._.]

[Also on AO3 | Dreamwidth | Pillowfort]

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Under what conditions was testing the boundaries of your world considered admirable, rather than foolhardy, or being regarded as blasphemy against the powers that ruled unseen over this world? The mariners were regarded as admirable; oh, those brave men who explored the high seas at such great risk to themselves, those brave men who sought greater communion with sacred water than could be found on land.

This was what was admirable, and thus far, Lindissë had found no other way to press at the boundaries of her world that would be regarded any more kindly than folly. And her way, that which she held most dear to her heart, profane blasphemy.

One of Lindissë’s earliest memories involved one of the outer courtyard walls of her family’s estate, and a tree that grew beside it. She wanted so badly to see over that wall; her world felt so small and mean when she was forced to let it shrink to the confines of these high stone walls. But there was an orange tree that grew close to the wall, its trunk just a short distance away. It was an old, tall tree, with rambling branches that dipped low enough for a small child to climb on, especially when the tree was as heavy with oranges as it had been then. Lindissë was too small to even consider trying to climb the wall, but she had climbed up into the tree with aplomb.

The fragrance of oranges hung thick in the air as Lindissë climbed higher and higher. She managed to dislodge some of them; they fell to the ground with solid, slightly wet thumps. Finally, Lindissë had climbed as high as she could in the tree, and she drank in the sight of the surrounding countryside greedily.

It had rained the previous day, and the sky still swam with angry gray clouds shot through with shafts of white light that flickered and sparkled like spears of ice. The rolling hills were partitioned into square of gleaming gold and vivid green by dusty roads and low walls of white stone. A stream flowing crosswise through the hills glittered as a trail of liquid sapphire.

Lindissë had eyes for the countryside, of course, but her eyes were traveling further yet, to white mountains, and beyond that, if she strained, a strip of glittering blue—

And then, her father had come, and demanded she come down out of the tree. Little girls should not climb so high in trees. Little girls should not venture outside alone.

Lindissë was not an academic. She had tried to be, once. Cousin Meneldur had welcomed someone who showed the slightest sign of sharing his interests, and the soon-to-be-king Elendil was always happy to tell the children of his house stories of days gone by. But Lindissë was not an academic, and after a certain point, the stories that could be told of days gone by, of Elros and Beren and Lúthien and Bëor, served naught but to frustrate her.

It was difficult, even as an adult, to find ways to be alone. Her parents had washed their hands of her—couldn’t relate, couldn’t communicate, couldn’t be bothered to try any longer—and her brothers had long ago lost interest, but Lindissë was still a woman of the House of Elros, and she could not be allowed to live on her own, and go where she would at her own will. She must always have a household—must always live under supervision, was implied, if not stated. She was rarely alone, and thus rarely out from under scrutiny. Couldn’t be alone with her thoughts and her dreams and ideas, no matter what she did.

“The Powers made Númenórë for us,” Silmariën told her, as she adjusted the arrangement of the vase of cloth flowers before her. They had recently completed construction on her palace in the Andustar, and Silmariën was still occupied—preoccupied—with the best means of decorating her new home. Lindissë had spent the last several days watching her change her mind over and over again about the placement of tapestries, vases, pedestals and sculptures, paintings and rugs. “We were given this land to call our own. Why would we ever wish for anything more?”

How Silmariën could make that argument was beyond Lindissë, given the particulars of Silmariën’s life. “Númenórë is not the whole of the world,” she argued. “Just because it was made for us doesn’t mean that we should restrict ourselves to it forever.”

The cloth roses were positioned in the middle of the vase, with a cloth poppy off to the right, the two tulips off to the left, ivy trailing down the front, and a spray of bluebells out the back. Lindissë thought the arrangement was a little crowded, but then, she knew very little about flower arrangement. A distraction, while Silmariën formulated a reply; Silmariën was good at that.

“I believe in the will of the Valar,” Silmariën said at last, “and the will of the Valar was for us to be the stewards of this land.” She looked east darkly. “I believe it was a mistake for our mariners to go seeking Endóre. That is not our land to influence any longer; it’s time that those who were left to live there be allowed Endóre as truly their own. I believe our influence there would drive things from their natural course.”

A frown stole over Lindissë’s mouth. “That isn’t what I meant.”

“Then what do you—“ Silmariën’s hands abruptly stilled as comprehension dawned on her. “West.” And her voice was very faint. “You meant ‘west.’”

“And why shouldn’t I?” Lindissë resisted the urge to grind her teeth, set her jaw instead. “Why shouldn’t I wish to go west?”

Silmariën’s hands went to grip the pedestal on which the vase stood, very tightly. “Because the West is expressly forbidden to us, and if we ever decide otherwise, we will fall to ruin. It’s not complicated, Lindissë.”

“And why is it forbidden to us? Why should we accept that?”

“Because the Undying Lands were not made for us.” And now she was reciting by rote, words that were spoken in no great hall, no temple, but that they both knew, nonetheless. “Because we were never meant to know the bliss of the Elves, or look upon the faces of the Valar. Because we are rude flesh, and our presence on the soil of Aman would only pollute it. You know that, Lindissë.”

“Do I know that?” She had hoped she would be able to have this conversation without her hackles rising, but she was bristling, regardless of her wishes. “Do you? For we have not the Valar’s word to go on, there, just the Elves’. I do not believe it. And I don’t think you do, either.” Silmariën turned away from her, but Lindissë only leaned closer, her frown deepening. “Do you believe it, Silmariën? Or does your heart yearn for more than just what you were so graciously given?”

Silmariën jerked as if slapped, and Lindissë felt a spike of guilt pierce her stomach. She expected Silmariën to round on her and snap. She almost wanted to be snapped at. But when Silmariën turned to face her, it was with the same gracious smile she reserved for especially unruly courtiers. “I am perfectly content.” And where being snapped at would have almost felt good, this calm, smooth tone made bile rise in Lindissë’s throat. “I do not understand why anyone blessed with the chance to live on this isle would not be.”

Why, indeed.

It was somewhat easier to sneak past the guards who watched over Silmariën’s home at night than it was while the sun hung in the sky overhead. The full detachment had yet to arrive, and Lindissë, quiet and light of foot, could become as a shadow with relative ease. Silmariën had insisted on her palace being built close to Andúnië, the better to interact more closely with the Andustari. Lindissë had quickly divined the quickest path to the shore that did not involve walking through the city, and it had carried her to the water’s edge as surely tonight as it had every other night she had taken it.

The smell of brine rose up from the water that lapped at Lindissë’s feet. It clung to everything it touched, leaving what once was smooth rough, leaving the rough a little rougher. The water did not call to Lindissë as it did to certain others, but she made the trip down to the edge of the sea as often as she could.

The keen-eyed among the Númenóreans could spy the isle of Tol Eressëa from the furthest reaches of the Andustar. At night, Lindissë could come down to the beach and stare out across the water, and spy faint, twinkling lights on the distant horizon. A beacon that was not meant to signal anything to her, but had caught her eye nonetheless.

There was everything she was denied.

Lindissë glared at the white-capped black waters of the night-dark sea. Here was the wall that separated her from it, and no tree to aid her in climbing up and over. Yet.

#Tolkien #The Silmarillion #Fanfic #Legendarium Ladies April #LLA 2019 #Lindisse #Silmarien #Lindisse being one in a long proud tradition of people looking at the No Humans Allowed policy regarding Valinor #and asking... why?