Her ghost came in with the tide And the trails of her wedding shawl Were weeds and a wet white winding sheet Of a bride more fair than them all.
The great grey wave scored the heavens And pulled down a star in its curl; The lords of the land ought tremble When the sea gives up its pearl.
The water wed many such wives; Great queens who when sunken, bore wings; Judgment lies in the bright silver knives Of their eyes fixed accusing at kings.
The highest of hands drowned the mighty When Man sought out what was banned; But the lords of the land ought tremble When she walks on the quicksilver strand.
Of course I would welcome the chance for parley between our two equally legitimate sovereign kingdoms, as one monarch to another. I’m sure we would both benefit from improved relations between the east and west lands of Men.
Indeed, why do we not meet in person? My summer palace at Umbar is lovely this time of year.
~Ar-Anaškad, King of Kings, Lord of Mordor and Greater Harad”
So here’s something
weird: why did Míriel and Pharazôn marry so late? They were 138 and
137 (respectively) at their marriage, however Palantír was 82 when
Míriel was born and Gimilkhâd 74 when Pharazôn was born, which
meant they would have been married when they were no later than 81 or
73 (again respectively).
Looking at
the line of kings from when they changed to having names in Adûnaic,
none of those kings’ first children were born to a king over 100:
Adûnakhôr was 89 when his eldest son was born, Zimrathôn 78,
Sakalthôr 84, and Gimilzôr 75. They all certainly would have been
married by then, so their age at marriage would probably be in their
late 60s to late 70s.
And yet both Míriel
and Pharazôn went unmarried for twice as long. This is particularly
strange considering their expected lifespan: Sakalthôr, Gimilzôr,
and Palantír all died in their early 200s, and Gimilkhâd was 199 at
his death, so Míriel and Pharazôn probably only had another 80
years of life at most when they finally married/were forced to marry.
Míriel’s case in
particular is strange. You could posit that Pharazôn wanted to
postpone his marriage because he planned to marry Míriel and take
over the kingship, as did happen (though it would probably would have
been Gimilkhâd’s idea originally). But Míriel should have married
earlier, for both political and dynastic reasons. Even if she and
Palantír (and Inzilbêth) were worried about a Vanimelde
situation, it’s hard to believe that particular risk would outweigh the benefits. It’s possible that Palantír’s father Gimilzôr
forbade Míriel’s marriage to a suitable candidate during his lifetime, but that shouldn’t
have affected what Míriel did once her father took the throne. And
frankly, Pharazôn not marrying made Míriel’s political future even
more at risk. Perhaps Míriel had a childless first marriage and
was a widow when Pharazôn forced her to marry, but I rather think
that would be mentioned?
Anyways, there was
probably some really interesting politicking going on in Gimilzôr
and Palantír’s courts, and that’s the only conclusion I feel able to draw from this.
Why thank you kindly! THERE IS STILL TIME TO CHANGE YOUR MIND
I actually don’t think of Barad-dûr so much as the various Temples of Freedom for ziggurat architecture?
Barad-dûr in its first incarnation I want to be an imposing, well-defended palace (later reconstructions becoming more and more fortress-like) where the god-king/Zîgur of the greater kingdom of Mordor and its satrapies might admit supplicants and hold court.
The Temples of Freedom would have the stair structures leading up to an altar room containing a gold idol of Melkor and a brazier for making burnt and blood offerings. There, a high-priestess would officiate and communicate whatever message was supposedly sent to her from the Giver of Freedom (who dwells in the Void but could be persuaded to inhabit his statues), predicting good or ill fortunes depending on whether the sacrifice was well received.
–In actuality, High-Priestesses in each major temple share a direct connection with the Zîgur (much like the ringwraiths), and report to him what sorts of offerings are made, what confessions are given, what prayers are made and what miracles people are in the market for; that sort of thing. In return they can tailor their “prophecies” and gifts of insight from “Melkor” to suit the daily political needs of the empire.
The lower floors would house other sects of priestesses, whose duties include both Cult of Melkor activities and the inherited functions absorbed from the resident religions of Harad, Khan, and Nurn; these might include planning the calendar year, astronomy, astrology, harvest and weather prediction, population management, marriages, funerals, birth ceremonies, communing with the dead, ghost and demon management, moderate-to-severe exorcisms, as well as organizing religious festivals and public sacrifices. Priestesses are powerful and respected officials who work in close accord with the Zîgur and are effectively a branch of government.
Typically in the regions of Mordor and Harad, the “blood sacrifice” is little more than a ritual prick of the finger for most things, or a slaughtered animal, or sometimes dedicating the execution of a criminal to the Temple if you’re REALLY trying to make a good impression– However, after Sauron’s removal to Numenor, the Temples of Freedom in Numenorian-held cities began to adopt the huge, excessive sanguinary displays of the capital (Sauron aggressively upped the blood-orgy game in Numenor with the intent to destabilize and terrify the populace in a way that he would never do on his home turf). This led to a schism between Numenorian Melkor-worship and Haradrim Melkor-worship, where Numenorian temples changed to accommodate mass public worship and ceremonies led by a high-priest rather than a priestess, who addressed a large congregation and led them in unified prayer and increasing numbers of ritual executions throughout the year. Numenorian style Temples of Freedom therefore abandoned the ziggurat format and adopted buildings closer in style to cathedrals or theaters, while traditional Haradrim Temples retained the step-structure and monastic orders of priestesses, even in the absence of the Zîgur in Mordor.
Thank you for coming to my presentation; if you have any que–OOH OOH WAIT I GOT ONE:
Okay so, a Numenorian supplicant walks into Mordor and he asks a priestess “Where’s the ziggurat?” and she says: “I dunno, I haven’t seen him since Year of the Sun 3261 S.A.!”
I think I found the best website of all time *__* it’s exactly what it says on the tin, and there are so, so, so many reference photos I’m in heaven bless this whole archive
I’m going to reblog this here too because I KNOW this is relevant to y’all’s interests
“I’m not blind. And one does notice the indulgences of others when his own bed is cold.”
Hm yes, my condolences as to the loveless state of your marriage…
If it were not for the tenuous legitimacy of his majesty’s claim to the throne, one might be so bold as to suggest a divorce, on the grounds of wanting an heir– Alas, the laws of succession were firmly in favor of your wife.
Have you considered exile? Exile is a wonderfully expedient option for inconvenient spouses, so I’m told. Think how calm the waters of the capital would become if her ladyship were to be sent abroad…. and I mean far abroad, where she could not become more of a rallying point for the Faithful than she already is.
Ooh! And what if you could pin Amandil with an adjacent crime (say, one of infidelity and treason) and dispose of him similarly? Two irritating, Valar-praising birds felled with one stone–
*clears throat*
…Forgive me, I let myself be carried away by speculations unfit for my station.
There are more immediate remedies for a cold bed, if his majesty wishes to consult me privately… for medical and astrological advice, of course.
*rubs hands together* I actually have A LOT of ideas about Eonwë!
starting with the fact that he’s a total hardass with a bone to pick
AND WHAT BETTER BONE-PICKING BIRD COULD THERE BE TO MODEL HIM ON THAN OUR FRIEND, the Bearded Vulture. ❤
My headcanons for Eonwë:
He takes his job VERY seriously.
Eonwë is ready to throw down any time, anywhere, with anyone– and is constantly disappointed by the lack of violence in his job description.
What is he supposed to do when haughty Elf Criminals mock his Master and laugh at his infinite clemency?? Just sit there and take it??!? JUST LET THEM SAY WHATEVER THEY WANT AND NOT SCOOP OUT THEIR EYEBALLS???
Manwë doesn’t order NEARLY enough smiting, so how is a lawful-good fanatic to cope? Sometimes one just has to take matters into one’s own hands if one wants to ensure that one’s master does not go around pardoning every traitorous backstabber and villain in Arda.
My theory is that there is a lot that can go on between when a message is given and when it is delivered, and there’s a reason why negotiations between the Valar and the Exiles, Sauron, and the Numenorians, seem to go so poorly. History does not spend nearly as much time considering the impart of scribes, translators, and heralds as it does kings and generals, but just think about how much power is given to a messenger.
For example, a message saying “come home and submit to a trial by your peers” can sound an awful lot like “go on punk make my day” if you say it juuuuust right.
__
No one is more loyal or uncompromising in their duties to the Valar. He is more than a herald of the Elder King, he his paladin, his standard-bearer, the word and the sword of Manwë. He has no doubt that those who stray from the path of light and the justice of the Valar will get what is coming to them, and he would love nothing more than to deliver that justice, swiftly and without mercy. But his master is too kind, too benevolent to deal out the punishment his enemies so richly deserve.
If Manwë has one flaw—and Ah! the flaw of a true king!, it is that he too noble to see the evil in men’s hearts; being so elevated in nature, the Elder King fails to see that his enemies are beyond redemption, and cannot imagine that Justice need be meted out with the sword and not only the open hand. All have seen what becomes of goodness and light when evil is given second chances…
But it is not Eonwë’s duty to judge. His master, infallible in wisdom and insight, has counseled him against violence, forbidden him to raise his hand against the unrighteous without leave from Valinor. So he finds other ways of enforcing justice. He would sooner be unmade than disobey his lord, but he might, within the margins of the law, find ways to accomplish what he knows to be in his lord’s best interests. He knows wicked men are filled with pride and fear; they need only the gentlest push to be convinced that a message of peace holds in store the promise of utter humiliation, imprisonment without end, the banishment of freedom, erasure of selfhood… It is what they would promise, afterall.
It might grieve Manwë that so few lost souls return to him— that the rebellious High King does not repent, Umaiar who strayed into his brother’s service do not seek redemption, do not fly home to await trial and forgiveness. But this grief is the lesser evil. Valinor is a holy refuge, no place for the wicked who turned their backs on Eru’s appointed powers.
When Eonwë is given leave to smite the enemies of Aman, he falls like lightning from the heavens, wearing lightning and storm as his raiment, the great clap of unseen wings driving a tempest before him. Kings are crushed beneath hills of salt, temples are split asunder, and devils fall before his wrath like withered leaves. He revels in the delivery of justice.
But more often he is sent to deliver messages concerning Fate and the will of the Valar, and this he does to the very letter, with utmost pride and not a whisper of doubt in his heart. It is a privilege to serve the lords of the West; he would have all remember it.
___
Some notes: My headcanon is that all things relating to Manwë are covered in bells, fluttering pennants, flags, things that catch the wind and glitter or sing, chimes and wind flutes and aeolian harps and so forth. Eonwë’s armor has tassels and small brass bells attached, bringing with it the holy sounds of Valmar. It bears the symbols of the stars and rays of light, as well as the stylized blossoms of Laurelin.
–I see him as being the unnamed messenger that delivers the ban to Numenor. (In my mind, the ban has a physical manifestation, a sort of glowing handprint that hovers in the air in the court as a reminder. The looming hand fades over the years, and by the time Sauron arrives it is barely visible, long forgotten. He waves away whatever is left of it with great amusement).
—Eonwë does not eat or drink. He does not want to taint himself with the matter of the world, or in doing so, become bound to it. He finds Maiar who partake of fleshly indulgences to be distasteful and borderline heretical.
—Favorite pastimes include: perching somewhere high in the Pelóri mountains to observe the flight of birds and the passage of clouds for days on end, listening to the wind, playing a simple bone flute which he is surprisingly good at, smiting the wicked, keeping a tally of Sauron’s ever growing list of Treason And Gross Indecencies so he can read the full list to him when he’s standing trial at the end of the world, keeping a separate itemized list for everything he’d like to do to Fëanor in order of most to least poetic, Thinking About Justice, meditating upon the Theme and the Harmony of Eru’s designs, whistling, singing.
Here must be told of the custom that when a ship departed from
Númenor over the Great Sea to Middle-earth a woman, most often of the
captain’s kin, should set upon the vessel’s prow the Green Bough of
Return; and that was cut from the tree oiolairë, that signifies
‘Ever-summer’, which the Eldar gave to the Númenóreans, saying that they
set it upon their own ships in token of friendship with Ossë and Uinen.
The leaves of that tree were evergreen, glossy and fragrant; and it
throve upon sea-air.
I love this Númenórean
custom. I love the sea and old-fashioned wooden ships. I love Tolkien’s
Númenórean carpet ornaments. I felt like doing something simple and
bright and summery. And that’s the whole story behind this, really.
“Good evening to you as well, ~Calion~. Is it Talk Like A Sinda Day? Oh I love these little court games…”
@imindhowwelayinjune and @heckofabecca both tagged me for the last-thing-you-wrote meme HECKNO I’m not going to follow the rules of the meme, are you kidding?
Unfortunately the last thing I wrote was a single paragraph of dead-end fic that isn’t going to be used for anything because it was a hairbrained and completely contextless idea that came to me at three in the morning as though my subconscious specifically wanted to torment Juliana and probably shouldn’t see the light of day, BUT–
you know what i’ll just put it here and set it free:
“Do you like it?” he asked; “from your histories I gather that the tree was never so much as clipped since it was planted. I wonder then if any of you knew that its heartwood was quite crimson beneath the white?” His hands framed the gift as though he were clasping the shoulders of a child. “…Far too beautiful and unique a material to simply burn.”
The throne’s back formed a gentle wave that swept from red to white at its crest, scrolling and fluted like a seashell, the bicolored woodgrain brought to a flaming chatoyant luster. If he had hewn it with a crude ax it could not have been more ugly to her. It felt as though he’d presented her with the corpse of an old friend, exquisitely dressed.
“I hope you will forgive my inexperience; I am no woodworker. Though it is my first attempt, I have striven to ensure there is no flaw in its joining. It should serve you as a throne for many centuries.”
“How generous”, the queen smiled thinly, the delicate wrinkles around her mouth deepening.
MisbehavingMaiar: Tumblr Archive 