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As soon as Ji Indur started mentionin names, names that Ren knew, names of those he missed dearly, the Easterling closed his eyes. By the time the pirate uttered Uvatha’s name out loud, the cartographer winced. How he missed him. Whereas Ji Indur had been the love of Ren’s life, Uvatha had been his closest friend. Not knowing where he was, was plain torture. Ren could only hope all was well with the dog-like wraith.

As Ji Indur’s eyes drifted towards Sivya, Ren instinctively touched his own ring. His gesture was a remnant of the past that still had not left him, no matter all the years that had gone by since the fall of their former slave master.

“Change? No, nothing changed. Except perhaps that Sivya has been my one and only lover for the time you were gone. I most humbly beg of your forgiveness if I do not appear to be myself. I do not know how much she controls me, my words and my actions.”

"You were gone for quite some time — and now that you are finally back, you do not even bother to come visit me?"

Ji Indur whirled around as he heard the voice. For a moment he seemed stunned then he closed the small distance between them just to almost end up tackling poor Ren to the ground as his arms wrapped tightly around the other man, pulling him against his chest, firm enough to steal Ren’s breath if he still needed it. “Ren. My dearest, most beloved Ren. It was not that I did not want to see you- it was rather something I was craving the most- but after having been gone for so long…I feared you’d reject me out of anger and loneliness. I am but a terrible friend and even worse as a lover. I should not have left without you. My quarters were so lonely without you.” 

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Ren froze. For a moment he was unsure whether he wanted such affection from the pirate or not. The other had clearly missed the cartographer, but did Ji Indur truly realize what it had been like for Ren to be separated from the captain for so long? Especially with Sivya constantly whispering into the wraith’s ear how Ji Indur had left Ren because he had stopped loving him or that perhaps the pirate had met his demise at some point and now Ren was all alone...

You can not forgive him this time. Hit him. Tell him to go away. He’s using you. Oh, the never-ending voice of the accursed ring. Ren was used to ignoring Sivya’s ill advice, yet for the past months - or had it been a year already? - it had been all Ren had heard. His sole companion. Nevertheless Ren ended up giving a gentle kiss on Ji Indur’s cheek, before turning quite grim again.

“They are all gone. Our brothers.”

"You were gone for quite some time — and now that you are finally back, you do not even bother to come visit me?"

Ji Indur whirled around as he heard the voice. For a moment he seemed stunned then he closed the small distance between them just to almost end up tackling poor Ren to the ground as his arms wrapped tightly around the other man, pulling him against his chest, firm enough to steal Ren’s breath if he still needed it. “Ren. My dearest, most beloved Ren. It was not that I did not want to see you- it was rather something I was craving the most- but after having been gone for so long…I feared you’d reject me out of anger and loneliness. I am but a terrible friend and even worse as a lover. I should not have left without you. My quarters were so lonely without you.” 

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If only the wraith could somehow wipe the smirk off the woman’s face. In all its condescension it felt highly insulting - and definitely something Ren would not have allowed had he still been the she-elf’s commander. True, the wraith’s hopes were set quite high and perhaps in his naivety he was blind to the fact that his task was impossible and maybe even utterly insignificant. Why did it matter so much to him how history saw the tale of the Nine Ringwraiths? The nine mortal men doomed to die, who, despite all the efforts the world and their enemies, had not yet actually ceased to exist.

As she continued, Ren heard the words that made his heart sink: a kingdom that no longer exists and a people long extinct. Were there no Rhûnrainni left? No more nomads of the vast plains who rode and bred small yet sturdy horses, hunted with the eagles and moved from one place to another all year round? No. Impossible. Clearly the other was mistaken. His people would never take part in such a war - a war that had nothing to do with them. They had stayed out of it and therefore they had not been crushed by it either. Ren would see that for himself when he traveled back home. His people lived on. His legacy lived on.

”Because non-existence means that I am to avoid all contact with mortals. We - me and my brethren - would be forced to hide in wretched caves, old ruins, dark graves or damp forests. Eventually someone would find us and after deeming us too dangerous to have around, they’d try and hunt us down. None of us wants to live-...to exist and be on the run for the rest of eternity.

Two Dogs Without Their Master | Ren & Vezely

At the stream’s edge, Vezely silently tended to her horse’s needs of thirst before detaching and rummaging through her rucksack for her smoking pipe and tobacco pouch. She would take a seat — at a considered distance — from the former wraith, all the while listening to him speak glibly about his past predicament and future mission.

Rather than interrupt, she proceeded to fill the small silver bowl of the straight, thin pipe with the Easterling kretek; a mixture of cloves, nutmeg, and tobacco. It was more sinewy in texture than Western varieties of pipeweed and as most Easterlings, she preferred it for its aromatic scent. But there was a slight tremor in her right hand as she did this routine action. Minuscule as it was, those close enough would notice it and suspect it was some adverse residual effect from the war. Though Vezely’s trauma was less inflicted from a blow outside the head — not from the White City’s walls that crashed down upon her — but inside where returned memories choked her into a bleak realization that her life needed not be as it was. But she adamantly ignored her hand’s involuntary vibrations as she kept ignoring the nagging of these demons. Smoking could always calm her nerves and now it coincidentally stopped her hand from shaking. Alcohol could produce the same effect, though she doubted her uncanny companion had anything stronger than tea with him.

On the second exhale, she propped up a knee and rested her arm upon it, already finding herself less jittery and able to find amusement in what she perceived as folly in his professed mission — though jealousy that she was not in a similar predicament would go unsaid. “And how do you plan to do that? To make them understand?” She smirked before inhaling again and blowing the smoke irreverently to the side. “Perhaps you were a decent king, a good ruler who put his people first, but it was to a kingdom that no longer exists and a people long extinct. And what is a king without subjects? I would say no better than a warlord without an army. No one cares about your victimization. No one would listen. Besides, the victors decide what is remembered. We will remain but nameless loyal servants to a madman’s cause all because it suits their history better. But you have it easy, rhân. Not only are you not alone in your predicament, but as you said, none would believe me if I mentioned your existence, so why not remain non-existent? Why seek vindication?”

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Let's Talk Kohl, as in Easterlings and their Kohl-Lined Eyes

Peter Jackson’s films most noticeably bestows this specific aesthetic to the Easterlings of Rhun (and the Haradrim). In particular,we notice that the Easterling (presumably male) soldiers that march through the Black Gates in The Two Towers have both upper and lower eyelids lined in black kohl.

                What is kohl? “Kohl,” the oldest form of makeup, literally                 means to brighten the eyes. The practice dates back to                 4000 B.C.E. when Egyptian men and women lined their                 eyes with a paste made out of heavy metals containing                 concentrations of lead sulfide (i.e. galena and antimony).                 The mixture would be burnt to release the lead oxide, thus                 making the resulting powder black. The powder would be                 kept in small jars and applied with small rounded or flattened                 instruments. Oil would be applied to the instrument before                 dipping it into the mixture and swiping it across the eyelids.                 Many other cultures throughout history, such as Indians                 and peoples in North Africa, used kohl made from lead,                 plant extracts, resins, and soot (such as from sunflower                 seeds and almond shells). Kohl would sometimes even                 be perfumed with frankincense. For Egyptians, the                 application of kohl had varied purposes such as warding                 off diseases and evil spirits, and protecting one’s eyes                 from the desert sun. The eyes were important to Egyptian                 culture and kohl emphasized their intensity and depth.

Now back to the Easterlings and kohl. “Culture” is diverse, non-fixed, and dynamic. We cannot assume all Easterling tribes practiced lining their eyes in kohl, nor did they do so for the same reasons, and those reasons could have changed during its long history of practice. What may have started as a superstition of warding off evil spirits could have transformed into a common cultural aesthetic. However, there are valid reasons to assume its practice was similar to that of the ancient Egyptian’s, especially in terms of sun protection. The sun had a blaring presence on the semi-arid steppes that the Easterlings called home. And for soldiers decked in golden scaled armor, kohl-lined eyes could offer some form of protection from the glint of the sun’s rays.

                Sidenote for my OC, Vezely. Lining her eyes in kohl was a                 practice she adopted from the Pultai (Blachoth) Tribes who                 raised her. As an emissary of Mordor, there was little practical                 reason to continue lining her eyes since the sun over Mordor                 would often be occluded for its orc denizens. Instead, it was                 a habit she continued and one that further marks her as one                 of Easterling culture.

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//I want to get in tune with Ren's wraithly self. And for that I need a Sauron or someone from the army during that time. I mean, imagine Ren during the time he had just willingly succumbed to Sauron...and then slowly the ring starts to corrupt his mind and turn him into a wraith. Also I still need a Sauron to try and lure Ren back in case there are those around willing to play post!War of the Ring stuff. Because that is the first time Ren actually resists his former master. Or tries to resist him...

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Galadriel banishing Sauron from Dol Guldur

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Easterlings, commonly known as the Men of Darkness, were a race of Men who lived in the vast and uncharted lands of Rhûn, east of Mordor and the Sea of Rhun. Easterlings were enemies of the Free Peoples and were allies of Sauron. There were many different nations and kingdoms of Easterlings living in the vast lands of Rhûn.

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-The Nazgul Concept Art-

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It did not take long for one of the servants to come out to greet their foreign guest - though before walking over to Margöz, he made sure the guards knew what was to become of the stranger.

"He thaî ne-burein. Rhân othi."

Both guards nodded at the very same time as if both were of same body and spirit before they took their place at the sides of the large door and pushed it open, thus allowing entrance for the one forbidden to do so before. It was only then the servant stepped forward and - though he clearly had an accent - spoke to Margöz in his native dialect, in the dialect of the Taletherim or Khukhennarain, as they were called in Rhûnrin.

"The King will see you know. Please, allow me to escort you." As per the king's orders, the servant was to keep a close eye on the messenger. He could not help but notice the wonder on the other's face and it brought a proud smile on his face. The servant himself was young enough to have been born in the life of luxury, but his older brothers, who now served the king as his guards, still remembered the time the Rhûnrainni had wandered the plains, finding shelter where they could and living off the land. True, some of them had maintained their lifestyle through the strong winds of change but some - like the servant's family - had moved to live inside the protective walls of the citadel.

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As the messenger entered the grand throne hall, Ren barely moved. It almost looked as if the king, with his stern face void of all emotion, was made of stone. He had often found that making a strong, slightly intimidating first impression usually revealed valid information of those who came to negotiate with him. As the king listened to the words the other spoke, woven carefully to convince the king, he paid as much attention to the messenger's body language. Even after the other had finished speaking, Ren took his time to open his own mouth. The silence in the grand hall was meant to make the other sweat and worry - for a short while at least.

"One should think King Khamûl to be wise enough to tell his messenger - and his first hand negotiator - that all proper diplomatic relations start with respecting the other party and their culture as I have demonstrated." A gentle, controlled movement of his hand pointed to the direction of the servant who had been sent to greet Margöz. "I certainly hope he did offer you a greeting in your King's dialect. I offer my apologies, but we could not be certain whether you shared his native language, so I took the liberty to choose the one's whose message you carry." There was no denying Ren disliked it when his people were called the Chailûza. True, that was how the rest of the world knew them, but most of them, Ren included, still preferred to be called what they had been called since their birth: Rhûnrainni.

"But," he then continued, standing up and walking down from his throne to meet his guest eye-to-eye, "we shall not let that disturb us now. Please..." His hand showed them the way to a smaller room beside the throne hall. The servant from earlier had already opened the door, behind which was a room with nothing but a low table, some pillows and tea set made out of fine ceramic laid out on the table. The room was scented with relaxing incense, decorated with live plants and florae, but the most intoxicating of the sweet scents was a pot of freshly brewed green tea. "I've always found that discussions flow better when accompanied by a fine cup of tea."

The wars of the East

Margöz was sitting on a stone at the gates of the citadel. The guards looked at him with suspicious eyes. It was logical. What kind of people likes the Easterlings? Even when we descended from the same roots. The Chailûza always were, since ancient times, a very private tribe, with much more love for the Haradrim tribes of the deserts, than to the Talatherim of the central steppes, and much less for the Wômaw the eastern coasts, beyond the Orocarni. Their dialect was incomprehensible to Margöz, so he did not bother to try to understand what the guards were talking and turned to look at the scenery around him.

No doubt the king Ren had an eye for mapping. The citadel was located in a strategic point to withstand any siege. Situated in a gap, with strong double walls, and giving back to impassable hills with just small paths, ideal for the archers do their job. It would take how many? Ten thousand? Maybe more? If Khamûl and his people had had the cunning of the King Ren when building their fortresses, Margöz probably would never have had to travel so far, to the true heart of Endor. Finally, one of the guards came up to him and allowed him to enter the Citadel, guiding him through crowded streets. Ornaments of gold and other precious metals shone everywhere, and the garments of pure silk and multiple colors that people were wearing, gave a magical and dreamy tone to that paradise in the middle of the steppes. Margöz was amazed, but was even more amazed when he stopped at the gates of the palace of the King. The domed roof seemed endless, and tapestries adorned the walls with multiple stories, woven with great craftsmanship. Before him now, the King’s throne stood, and Margöz could not do anything but bow, bending the knee. "Hail King Ren, Lord of the Chailûza. From far east I’ve came bringing this message from King Khamûl of Wômaw-Drûs, the Lands of the Dawn. I appeal to your advice in this dark hour. The West, the Númenórean ships of King Tar-Ciryatan, attack our shores and threaten the stability of the Empire. This is not just a problem that concerns the East, but the entire Central Endor as trade routes could be affected to such a threat."

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Cirque du Soleil - KÀ - Love Dance

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//You know you empathize with your muse a little too much when you almost scream "UVATHA!" at the TV screen when Tristan (played by Mads Mikkelsen) dies in King Arthur.

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Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky... Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone...

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//For those of you who don't follow me on Elrond: I'm still around and I will get to my drafts as soon as the finals are over. University is being a pain in my ass right now. You can check my current drafts list here.

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"None of the nine were what you'd expect. We were only His images, His shadows cast upon this land. They talked of kings who fell under the shadow yet no one really seemed to understand that we used to be mortal men. People. Persons. We led our own lives. He took it all away from us. He took away our ability to think and to feel. In fact, he took everything away from us." Ren moved in to fill a small kettle, still listening as the other spoke.

It amused him to no end when she threatened to tell the world just who resided in these woods. It actually amused him enough to make him laugh. "Oh, there's only one to two possibilities such an act would lead so spare your threats. They'd either think you mad or come looking for us and then think you mad. Do you think we stay put? Each of us has our own agenda and though our paths may entwine, all of us are on some sort of a mission: some seek to accept what they did, some to remember who they were, some wish to make amends and some are just trying to move on. Also know that we do not sleep so should anyone come after us, we'd disappear once more thanks to their mortal needs."

At her next accusation, for that is how Ren saw it, instead of anger it was guilt that washed over the wraith. He fell silent for a moment, taking a while to think of his response. “You misunderstand me. Though I may have been under the control of my master, I still did it all. And even if I can not be blamed, given that he took away my ability to choose for my own, I still accepted the gift that was given to me. Yet it was not the ring’s fault, but my own. And now I am the one who suffers the consequences. The one who has suffered them since the day I was called to serve him. My personal predicament is far from over. To some, I have already tried making amends, yet I feel I can never fully do so."

"Besides, as selfish as it is, what I want more than to make amends is to make them understand the choices that led me to this point. History often fails to mention these things. Did you know that most of us were actually decent kings? We put the needs of our people first and that is why some of us accepted the ring. We were told they would help us rule. Little did we know what that truly meant."

Two Dogs Without Their Master | Ren & Vezely

The Commander just offered me tea? Vezely’s brow contorted in disbelief, but beyond the uncanny invitation it was the former wraith’s mixed signals, wavering from overly polite to terrible and menacing, that disturbed her more. “You are not what one would expect,” she admitted, but her tone was characteristically harsh, “If not for your threats and that ring.” Her eyes darted to the silver band gracing his finger. But her brief glance, uninterested as it was in the small trinket, caused the ring wearer’s hand to clench into a fist. She stopped her mockery right there, acknowledging the ring was not something that needed to be pointed out.

“Forgive my hesitation to this offer,” she corrected herself and her callousness, knowing her flipped temperament slightly mirrored his just prior. “But you do realize you have provided me enough information that if I were to divulge to the world that the Nine yet existed in these exact woods.” Her eyes wavered on his a moment, knowing this open-ended threat, if it even was one, was worthy enough to strike her down. But in reality her pending query related more to her own predicament than his. Concern was bedded with disdain in her voice as she revealed her own demons.

“Do you not fear prosecution? Not from those still loyal to Sauron, but from those he wronged? You think I travel this route for the scenery? That I have spent weeks in the shadows to now stand before you wondering if I should just let you destroy me, and put an end to it? It is hard for me to hear you declare yourself free from all wrongdoing, even if that appears the case, but if all of Rhûn could just absolve itself and blame it on a ring.”

She halted her bitter words, and turned to her horse, whispering softly to it in an attempt to urge it forward to the stream. She was not afraid of him, or where this outburst would lead; she had wavered back to not caring. “You can keep your tea,” she added indifferently, “But I am resting a bit to have a smoke.”