#azruphel

[anghraine]

🌀 and ☔️?

🌀:

Post the fic summary for a fic you haven’t written/published yet. It can be hypothetical or something you really plan on releasing…

Hmm, let's see. Normally, I'm constitutionally incapable of keeping my plans to myself. Oh! I don't know if I'll post this one, and I've only written a little of it, but it has a simple summary:

Eugenides dreams of Irene.

☔️:

Is there a fic concept you have that you’d like to just explain and share because you’re not sure you’ll ever write it? If so, what is it?

Once, I had the idea of writing a really long Númenor fic following some influential female characters throughout its history, both canon characters and OCs or quasi-OCs (i.e. characters who must exist but we know nothing about).

IIRC, the sweeping narrative was going to include Ithíriel, Elros's loremaster wife (OC); their canon daughter, Princess Tindómiel, and her establishment of the noble house at Eldalondë (in my headcanon); Tar-Telperiën and specifically my headcanon about the rescue of the Elves canonically happening during her reign; Princess Belzîrân (OC), the iron-willed older sister of Ar-Gimilzôr who was prepared to fight him for the throne and died in mysterious circumstances; Anárien of Eldalondë (OC), a politically active descendant of Tindómiel and contemporary of Inzilbêth who is among those deported to Rómenna; and Azruphel (OC), a late, initially pro-King's Men scholar who is increasingly horrified by her faction and ultimately defects to the Faithful.

[plague-of-insomnia]

i loved this chapter of wdh so much!! it was an emotional ride to say the least and just aaAAHHH!!! your writing is amazing as per and i really enjoyed the twistedness of it all!! it felt myself gasping in shock every 15 seconds, sebastian is a real dick lol. keep up the good work, it’s amazing!!❤️❤️

First of all: thank you so much for taking the time to not only read our story, but message us/comment/send this ask!!

This chapter took a lot of work, and I couldn’t have done it without @luci-on-the-moon and her desire to make everyone in the story suffer as much as possible 😂.

It makes me so happy to hear that it kept you gasping as I was hoping to do just that...! It’s the chapter where all the wheels fall off the bus and everyone starts descending into Hell, one way or another.

I am so glad you liked the writing and its twisted nature, too... Sebastian is a very complex/messed up character so we really wanted to show a bit more of his “Luci” side, and have Ciel see it first hand.

Sebastian really is a dick here, no denying it!! He gets down right cruel at times... my heart breaks for Ciel by the end of the chapter, especially with @luci-on-the-moon’s incredible rendering of him in tears... I just wanna scoop him up and hug him tight. I’m so glad Finny was there!!

But is the worst over for the night...? What’s next for everyone...? Guess we’ll have to wait and see who Seb was meeting with, and how Ciel, Finny, and Bard will react going forward....

Ty again so much I was so excited to see this ask in my box!

[Read Where Demons Hide]

[arofili]

men of middle-earth ☀ misc. dúnedain ☀ headcanon disclaimer

          Castamir the Usurper was the bloodthirsty, devious despot who overthrew the government of King Eldacar amid the chaos of Gondor’s Kin-strife. Though after a decade of tyranny, he was ousted from his throne and killed in battle, his grim legacy would endure for many generations.           The wife of Castamir was Lady Núriel of Pelargir, who bore him two sons almost as vicious as himself. After their father’s death, Airesarno and Ninquo withdrew to their mother’s city, but Núriel had long since grown sick of the conflict her husband stirred up and surrendered her keep to Eldacar’s army. Her sons then fled to Umbar, where they were taken in by the Black Númenóreans and assimilated into their Council of Lords.           Airesarno and Ninquo married daughters of their fellow lords, solidifying their place in Umbar’s Council and integrating themselves into the culture of their new home. There they learned the truth of Eärnil I’s death, arranged by the rulers of Umbar after his conquest of their haven and not lost in a sea-storm as the records of Gondor said. Though they lived in exile for the rest of their lives, the sons of Castamir instilled a deep hatred of Gondor in the hearts of their own descendants.           Ninquo was killed before his time in a duel with a rival lord, leaving his wife Zôriphêl to raise their daughter Lômirôth. In this she was aided by Airesarno and his wife Azûlindil, growing intimately close with them to the point that Lômirôth and Airesarno’s son Dôlguzagar considered each other siblings rather than cousins.           Lômirôth married one of Dôlguzagar’s close friends Gimlân, a lord grown rich off his piracy, and their son Azgarzîr quickly became embroiled in his father’s corsair lifestyle. Much like his foster sister, Dôlguzagar’s heart was won by a sea-voyager: the pirate queen Azruphêl, scourge of Gondor’s coastlines. But Gimlân and Azruphêl had many quarrels between them that forced their spouses and children apart, and thus Dôlguzagar’s son Arnakhôr remained with his father in Umbar’s political sphere while Azgarzîr sailed the mighty seas.           Still, the cousins would not be separated forever, and not long after Gimlân’s death in a ship-battle, Azgarzîr returned to Umbar to comfort his grieving mother. Upon witnessing Arnakhôr’s impassioned speech at Gimlân’s funeral, Azgarzîr became enamoured of his long-lost cousin and struck up a friendship between them. Soon he established himself as Arnakhôr’s right-hand man and personal champion, learning to loathe Gondor’s kings as he never had before.           The cousins schemed together to fulfill the promises of their great-grandfather Castamir and destroy the line of kings entirely and place Arnakhôr as the Emperor of Umbar and Gondor. Azgarzîr rallied together the disunified pirates who operated out of the haven under his lord’s banner and led a great fleet against Pelargir; though they did not succeed in taking the city of Núriel the Faithless, as she had become known to her wicked descendants, they struck fear into the hearts of Gondor’s soldiers and earned the Quenya names Angamaitë and Sangahyando for their ruthlessness in battle.           Arnakhôr Angamaitë and Azgarzîr Sangahyando retreated back to Umbar to adjust their tactics, but before their plans were full-wrought, they heard that King Minardil of Gondor had taken his wife on a visit to Pelargir. Eager for slaughter, Azgarzîr stirred Arnakhôr to action and the cousins led their fleet back to the coastal city and led a devastating raid upon the port, demolishing the city and slaying Minardil. Amid his bloodlust, Sangahyando had left little to rule in Pelargir, and in disgust Angamaitë forsook the ruins of the city and returned victorious to Umbar.           The royalty of Gondor plotted revenge against the Corsairs of Umbar, but so also did the Corsairs connive to overthrow their enemies entirely. Yet neither had the chance to strike, for only two years after Minardil’s death the Great Plague descended upon the south of Middle-earth and ravaged its peoples, killing the first new King Telemnar and his heirs and then Arnakhôr and Azgarzîr themselves.           Though neither Angamaitë nor Sangahyando had children of their own, they had many remaining kin through the younger children of their parents and grandparents, who took up the mantle of vengeance against Gondor. These descendants of Castamir would hold Umbar for some generations as the region recovered from the Plague, but eventually the line of the Usurper was wiped out when King Telumehtar Umbardacil conquered the haven for Gondor once more. Yet the Corsairs of Umbar endured, though the line of their founding lords was lost, and would not cease to trouble Gondor until the ultimate defeat of Sauron in the War of the Ring.

[maplefox-memu09]

Another commission for @bumblebutts99 (Tumblr) of their OC, Azruphel🐉🐲 ... Never thought the lighting process would be much harder than the detailing process (scales & stuff like that so the character doesn't look plain or flat)😭👌 #commission #commissionart #commissionopen #dragon #reptile #reptiles #lizard #fantasy #dragonrider #inheritancecycle #eragon #cliff #clouds #sky #sunset #dawn #noticemyartt #digitalart (at Oop) https://www.instagram.com/p/CN-9kW_h9hb/?igshid=mqwhmdt4a8ft

[numenorean-lady-academics]

The Númenórean lady academics, c. the Downfall--I changed some things around to try and get appropriate expressions and whatnot. Everyone is dressed more simply.

Azruphel's hair went white. She can't stand to look and though Uilian's hair is blocking it, still clings to the dagger she started wearing when she turned spy. 

Uilian is grieved but holding together (originally, Azruphel stood in front of her; now Uilian's in front of her). Uilian and Azruphel were the last to flee and never had the chance to change clothes or tidy their hair. 

Raveccë left earlier, with enough time to grab her grandmother's cloak. She's on the point of crying.

Lossebeth and Catairë were the first to leave, since Catairë's days were clearly numbered. They had time enough to pack, and grabbed as many books as they could carry. Lossebeth is furious.

Catairë is shocked and horrified. 

Lômizôr is... Lômizôr. I originally imagined they snuck on the ships somehow, but lbr anyone decking themselves out in red and black and gold is probably not trying to hide and also I suspect Lômi would have just tried to sacrifice as many people as they could get their hands on. I figure they left shortly before and became a priest of Morgoth/Sauron in a colony somewhere, hence the slightly simpler gear. They're smiling because, hey, at least it devastated the Faithful and Sauron got what he wanted, sorta??? (a smile with lines bc they're aging more rapidly than the others).

Minalsaphîth just got the news :(

[anghraine]

After Glóredhel and Princess Telperiën, I got to thinking of another Númenórean headcanon involving OCs.

The basic underlying headcanon is that Númenor’s patriarchy becomes increasingly oppressive in its later years, and this pervades Númenórean academia, leading to some unlikely bonds between a group of female academics in Armenelos. @elwing, @kareenvorbarra, @houseofhaleth, @heckofabecca, a friend who left Tumblr, and I collaborated on it. One who wasn’t inspired by any of us, though, was Azruphel, a King’s Men partisan who becomes gradually disaffected with her party and in the end, secretly defects to the Faithful, covers for the others, and manages to escape with them.

I wrote several fics/ficlets involving her (the first is here), but my favourite is probably the last, about the interplay of language and trauma after the Downfall. It was written nearly eight years ago (!!), but I’m still fond of it.

[anghraine]

IDK how many in Tolkien fandom make OCs (not textual ghosts/characters we know little to nothing about, full OCs). But I’m ridiculously fond of mine, who are by wild coincidence all Númenóreans of some kind. My top five:

- Princess Belzîrân of Númenor: the proud, strong-willed firstborn of Ar-Sakalthôr. She refused to resign her claim to her brother Gimilzôr and was mysteriously found dead not long after. Gimilzôr was grieved in his way, but also deeply relieved.

- Anárien of Eldalondë: a descendant of the house established by Princess Tindómiel. In a reversal of the above, Anárien’s elder brother resigned his position of heir to her after the forced marriage of his beloved. Anárien was a stalwart Faithful partisan and marched across Númenor to Rómenna with the rest, but managed to smuggle priceless plants off the island.

- Azruphel: a scholar in the later days of Númenor and, for many years, a King’s Men partisan. As they escalated, she became disillusioned and secretly joined the Faithful, aiding them and eventually escaping with Faithful university friends and protégées to Middle-earth.

- Eärendur of Emyn Arnen: Anárien’s descendant and heir, though that meant little by his time. His family had passed themselves off as loyal King’s Men and Tar-Míriel managed to get him appointed to her service, under the Adûnaic version of his name. She ultimately sent him away to join the flight of the Faithful. He escaped with them, loyally served Isildur in the newfound Gondor and the Last Alliance, and was made Lord of Emyn Arnen by him.

- Glóredhel of Ithilien: the younger of Faramir and Éowyn’s daughters, a cheerful, good-natured woman who was married to Prince Eldarion. Their marriage, though arranged, was very happy, and they raised her scholarly nephew Barahir in their own household. She had a normal lifespan for the time in which she lived and died shortly before her father, well before Eldarion inherited the throne.

[anghraine]

A meme!

I was tagged by @incognitajones—thanks!

Favourite colour: red or deep blue. It’s really hard to choose.

Last song you listened to: I thiiink it was the instrumental version of “Descendant of the Sun” by Two Steps From Hell. Most of my playlists are some mix of TSFH/Audiomachine/Epic Score and that track is particularly suitable to my current project. :)

Favourite musicians: Queen!

[more under cut]

Last film you watched: The Rise of Skywalker, I think. Sure was a movie!

Last TV show you watched: in its entirety, The Mandalorian, which I loved. The last TV thing I watched was “The Venom of the Red Lotus” from Legend of Korra, which I also love (Korra and the airbenders taking down the most aggravating of her villains! and there’s actual focus on its impact and consequences!)

Favourite original character: My favourite of my original characters in fanfic is probably ... well, I have a bunch of technically-not-OCs whose personalities I completely made up, but for pure OCs, it might be Azruphel of Númenor, a King’s Men partisan whose loyalties are gradually chipped away until she becomes a stealth agent of the Faithful. I’m also fond of F-2VA/Tuvié and LX-3/Ellex from my f!Luke fics, who are two of Vader’s overhauled personal droids that get assigned to supervise Lucy. For original fiction, it has to be a bossy, self-absorbed, and short-tempered (and also just short :P) fire mage who nevertheless has a wide streak of kindness and good intentions.

Spicy, savoury, or sweet: Spicy! I do like a lot of sweet things, though.

Sparkling water, tea, or coffee: I hate both sparkling water and coffee, and drink a lot of tea (...if it has enough milk and sugar in it).

Pets: I have a grumpy and high-strung grey cat named Andromeda. 

tagging, if you want to do it: @steinbecks, @ladytharen, @crocordile, @kareenvorbarra, @heckofabecca, @arsonlupin, and anyone else who feels like it!

[anghraine]

incognitajones replied to your post “A meme!”

I like the sound of Azruphel! Is she in any of the Silm fic you've published?

Thanks! She’s in the first of my Númenórean lady academics fics here, in the sequel here, in a brief fic with @kareenvorbarra’s Catairë here, in Longing is upon us (an actual title appears!), and in a post-Downfall fic here. So it’s pretty scattered, but there’s a sort of arc.

[anghraine]

Arzruphel and Lossebeth, Azruphel gets caught spying

Azruphel had never thought she would be glad to see Lossebeth, but her heart nearly stopped when a hand landed on her shoulder. She twisted away, already reaching for the knife she kept strapped to her arm—

"What are you doing?" Lossebeth hissed.

[anghraine]

OOH - I want to know about Lossebeth's family, have you talked about that before? What do her parents think of her career? And what about Azruphel's? Do either of them have siblings?

Just a little! Lossebeth’s father died in the march; she has no siblings. Her mother and grandfather raised her in a little house in Rómenna. They sacrificed a great deal to raise her with a good education so she could go to the university and hopefully find a better way. They don’t leave Rómenna, but they’re very proud of her.

Azruphel has a brother and a sister, I think. Her sister is older and her brother younger, but they were always closer to each other than to her. They do love her, they just don’t have much in common with her, and find her a bit overpowering. Her family is aristocratic and wealthy, and though her parents intended for her to be more of a courtier, they don’t especially mind—they’re happy enough to indulge all their children’s whims. (Azruphel is perpetually annoyed that they regard her entire career, spanning decades, as a whim.)

[anghraine]

NLA fic--Azruphel struggles with language after the Downfall.

======

Zâira nênud. Longing is upon us. The words, her words, echoed in Azruphel's mind as the winds bore their ship away. Agannâlô burôda nênud. Zirân hikallaba. Êphal êphalak îdôn hi-Akallabêth! She firmly closed her mouth on them, ears filled with the sobbing murmurs of the Nimruzîrim about her.  Elvellyn, she told herself. Elendili. Never again Nimruzîrim. Her name, her mother's lullabies, the chatter of her brothers and sisters and cousins, the annotations scribbled into her books, they were all drowned in fire and blood now. She sat silent in their corner of the ship, Uilian's dark hair swinging in front of Azruphel's eyes, obscuring her vision. She grasped and ungrasped Lossebeth's smooth hands, then grasped them again.    It was countless hours later when she spoke again, reaching with her free hand towards the shivering figure on Lossebeth's other side.    "I'm glad you lived," she said in Sindarin, less to Catairë than to all of them. Another set of hands brushed theirs. Raveccë's? Lossebeth's arm slid around her waist.   "Thank you," she whispered. As if Azruphel had saved her.    Is that a light down there? Lômizôr had demanded, stalking about Azruphel's office like they owned it, or like the two of them were friends. Silly child.   Azruphel just caught the bright gleam of Catairë's hair before the lamp was extinguished. Her companion was a shadow, a little taller, a little darker. There was only one person it could be.    A moment later Lômizôr was turning to the window, pressing their face against it.   I saw nothing, said Azruphel, in her sternest professorial tones. But the moon is bright tonight.   They'd all done their part.   She wondered if Lômizôr had drowned with, with Númenor and their lord. It would be suitable enough, and yet she suspected not. They had not attended any sacrifices for months. Perhaps they had left for the colonies like Minalsaphîth; perhaps even now Lômizôr wept for Sauron. She rather hoped so.   Uilian's hair moved; she was resting her head against Azruphel's temple. Now Azruphel could dimly make out Catairë and Raveccë.   "The storm's gone," Raveccë murmured. "The wind must have blown us a long way from--"   "Which way?" said Lossebeth, alarm raising her low voice. She'd never had any sense of direction; to her, they could be sailing to the doom that lay west as easily as the lands where their kin dwelt along the shores, eastward.    Azûlada was on her tongue. Azruphel said, "Rhuven." Aftewards, she heard her mother tongue often enough. There were a few others who had fallen in with the Faithful in the later years. From the moment that they stepped on land again--Lossebeth stumbled and would have fallen if Uilian had not caught her, before Azruphel could--they caught the familiar chatter of the Númenórean language, from mariners, farmers, even some of the colonial lords. Months later, when they stumbled across Minalsaphîth, she greeted Azruphel in cheerful Adûnaic, and stared when Azruphel replied in Sindarin. In fact, though Adûnaic surrounded them still, and though Uilian and Veccë slipped back and forth easily enough, Azruphel had not breathed a word of her own language since the winds thrust them from Númenor. Not in her waking hours, at any rate. Even hearing it, often as that occurred, seemed to twist her gut; on the few occasions when she allowed her lips to silently shape the words, she had to rush away to throw up her breakfast.  Many times, she would find a hand pushing her hair away: sometimes Uilian, most often Lossebeth. She hated the pity in their eyes, but their cool hands soothed her, their soft Sindarin endearments, the strength of their arms helping her up.  She rested afterwards, and one day woke to Lossebeth still beside her, reading quietly.   "Lossebeth?" Azruphel struggled upright, legs swinging down. It was a hard thing, she thought, living on. She must do better than this.   "Shall I call you Aeriel?" said Lossebeth, gently mocking. "If you wish." Once, she would never have dreamed of taking a Sindarin name. But then, she would never have dreamed that she would count Elf-friends as her own, lie for them, spy for them, flee with them and watch as everything her people had built burned and drowned. Build a new land as one of them. Adûnaic was for the mariners, the builders, for Minalsaphîth's relief and Lômizôr's lamentations. Not her. Lossebeth took her hand, face grave. For a moment she looked Professor Inzilbêth of Arminalêth once more. "I think," she said, "that we've had enough of that."

[anghraine]

arrgh I've been struggling with this NLA fic for a few weeks

(admittedly mostly because I'm busy with grad school applications but)

anyway, an excerpt!

--------

It was countless hours later when she spoke again, reaching with her free hand towards the shivering figure on Lossebeth’s other side. 

 "I’m glad you lived," she said in Sindarin, less to Catairë than to all of them. Another set of hands brushed theirs. Raveccë’s? Lossebeth’s arm slid around her waist.

"Thank you," she whispered. As if Azruphel had saved her. 

Is that a light down there? Lômizôr had demanded, stalking about Azruphel’s office like they owned it, like the two of them were friends. Silly child.

Azruphel just caught the bright gleam of Catairë’s hair before the lamp was extinguished. Her companion was a shadow, a little taller, a little darker. There was only one person it could be. 

A moment later Lômizôr was turning to the window, pressing their face against it.

I saw nothing, said Azruphel, in her sternest professorial tones. But the moon is bright tonight.

They’d all done their part.

[numenorean-lady-academics]

The lantern was getting dim again. Useless thing, how does it burn through the oil so quickly...

  ...then again, what time is it?

  Lossebeth rubbed her eyes, and glanced around the dark room. But this is important, I don’t want to stop – she was reaching to open the next scroll case before she managed to check herself. Looking back at the ledger she was writing in, pulling the lantern close, she winced slightly. It began flawlessly, but as the records went on, blots increased at a steady rate. If she kept going, her tired eyes and hands would ruin the whole page.

  Very reluctantly, she screwed the lid onto the bottle of ink, and cleaned up her pen. For a few hours - well, more than a few, by the looks of things – she had been making meticulous records of all the texts preserved in what would be the central library of their new nation. Some they’d been given by the elves. Many they’d managed to bring over from Númenor. And for a few hours, Lossebeth and the others had discovered texts they thought were lost forever. To start with, it was magical, and there were more than a few tears from some of them.

  Azruphel left first.

  The more they discovered that was saved, the more they remembered that was lost. One by one – she couldn’t remember the order – Uilian, Catë and Veccë had gone quiet, made excuses, and drifted off. It was good that these writings were saved. But they were only a tiny drop, in comparison to everything – everyone - that was gone.

  Perhaps it was the insatiable desire to know, to find out, that kept Lossebeth going. She had to know for sure what was lost and what was saved. Once she knew, exactly – then she’d be able to feel it properly. Or perhaps she was using this task to stubbornly ward it off – to pretend, for a few hours, that she was back at the university, lost in history.

  She’d promised the others she’d just tidy up, and wouldn’t be long.

  Her eyes and back and shoulders ached. She really couldn’t ruin the ledger by writing any more, but...perhaps she could just look at the last two texts in this chest...

  Fumbling the scroll case open, she reverently drew it out, and unrolled it.

  Adding more oil to the lantern, she frowned closer at it. She had to study the whole thing to discover what should have been obvious at first glance. It was a calendar. It was the new Númenórean calendar, all in Adûnaic of course – an entirely King’s Men invention. She’d seen a calendar like this daily, but this was one of the first ever copies.

  The seasons were different in Middle Earth – it was unlikely they’d keep to it. They knew it anyway. Of all things – why would they choose to preserve this?

  She placed it back, carefully. It’s a piece of our history, and I’ll record it in the morning. It’s good that some things of the early King’s Men are preserved, so in the future people will know, and won’t have to guess. I just...didn’t think anyone on the ships would have taken this.

  The last thing was a folder of three sheets of parchment, in a fading leather cover. She wiped her hands clean before carefully peeling it open.

  And froze.

  How can these be here? These should not have survived.

******

  After the third bout of knocking, Azruphel finally appeared in a dressing gown, looking ready to punch whoever had disturbed her at...well, whatever time it was.

  ‘It was you, wasn’t it,’ said Lossebeth, before she had a chance.

  ‘What was me?’ Azruphel snapped.

  ‘The calendar. And...and the family trees.’

  Woken in the middle of the night, Azruphel wasn’t as sharp as usual, and simply blinked.

  ‘The three family trees of the houses of the Edain,’ said Lossebeth. ‘Dated from the founding of Númenor. They...they might have been scribed by Elros Tar-Minyatur...’ I touched them. I actually touched them with my bare hands.

  ‘I managed to carry a bit more than that,’ said Azruphel, coolly.

  ‘Yes but...those papers were in the bottom level of the library – I’ve never...you didn’t have a pass,’ she said.

  Azruphel rolled her eyes. ‘The armada was gone, the city was disintegrating. Lack of a pass hardly seemed important when the preservation of our culture was at stake. Those records were written about men, by men, and if we must live alongside elves here – there are some things we must not forget.’

  ‘How did you get past the guard?’ Lossebeth asked.

  ‘I might have drugged him,’ said Azruphel.

  It was Lossebeth’s turn to blink.

  ‘Am I a terrible person?’ Azruphel asked, with the ghost of a smile that Lossebeth hadn’t seen for a long time.

  ‘No,’ she said. She found she was holding Azruphel’s hand, and squeezing it hard. ‘No, you’re not.’

[numenorean-lady-academics]

Hey Elizabeth, could you tell us a little bit more about Sakalzôr? His name has come up in more than one of your fics, and all I can tell about him is that he's another scholar who has worked with Lossebeth, but he doesn't seem like a great guy. Do you have any more headcanons about him? Does he hold a position of authority at the university? I'm curious!

Sure!

Sakalzôr is a senior historian, very influential at the university (not the head of the department, though he intends to be someday!). He was Lossebeth’s mentor—the equivalent of her advisor, pretty much, when she was still a student. He took her under his wing and guided her in her early years, helped her with her research, etc. Bear in mind that this was all during Ar-Gimilzôr’s reign (back when she was just a poor student called Inzilbêth). And he helped her when she was a young professor and researcher too, ostensibly because he saw promise in her.

When Lossebeth’s namesake, the queen, died in suspicious circumstances, she was jarred out of a comfortable if obscure isolation in the university (where she was Faithful but it wasn’t terribly relevant to her daily life) and started her years and years of research into the suppression of elder princesses. Still naïve, she (rather proudly) showed it to Sakalzôr when she was done.

By then, this was in Tar-Palantir’s reign. Sakalzôr was appalled, condemned her methodology harshly, and convinced her that publishing it would mean the end of her career (in his defense, it probably would have). She put it away, not doubting her friend and mentor. They continued to work together now and then, on other projects, and she would consult him here and there. 

He’s not a man of firm convictions. Though he kept his name, he had little difficulty switching over after Tar-Palantir’s accession, and I imagine prepared the way for it even before, seeing the writing on the wall. Azruphel, not so much, and they’re the same age—they were never close though generally sharing opinions pre-Palantir, and in Palantir’s time she became convinced that he was a total snake with no real convictions beyond his own ambitions. So there wasn’t much of a revelation for her.

Anyway, Lossebeth was consulting him on her current paper, one that she hoped might change her career, and when he seemed interested, was thrilled to let him look over her research. He ended up publishing a paper that made virtually identical arguments as hers and referred to sources she had discovered, before she could publish hers. He didn’t credit her at all beyond thanking her in the acknowledgments—probably as “my former student”—for access to the documents.

Lossebeth was a very very minor figure at this point and a young woman, with no real hope of challenging a man as powerful as Sakalzôr. This sort of thing is not unknown, especially with influential man taking promising young female scholars under their wing, but Lossebeth was crushed. On the upside, his betrayal drives her to unearth her earlier research and re-evaluate it, and let Azruphel take a look at it.

(A significant gesture in the circumstances! Lossebeth is a more trusting soul than I am irl. :D)

I think he does become head of the department eventually.

[anghraine]

Hmmm, what about their first one-on-one interaction? Cataire would still be a student with less-than-perfect Adunaic, and she's probably been kind of tiptoeing around Azruphel until now. Or, for more drama, some confrontation between them when they hear about the very first burnings, and Cataire gets angry in front of Azruphel for the first time? Just pick whatever you want to do.

"First of all," said Professor Azruphel, then said something with too many Z’s and K’s for Catë to parse out. She’d always thought her Adûnaic was good, too—and she was fluent, these days, just missed some things when people talked quickly. The professor always talked quickly. “Well?”

Catë looked at her helplessly.

"Don’t stare like a fool," Azruphel snapped out. "If you can’t do more than hide behind Lossebeth’s skirts, the university will eat you alive."

"I am not—”

"Your thesis. Is it progressing?"

Catë nodded, biting her lip. Then, unable to quite hide the bite in her voice, she said, “It would progress more quickly, Professor, if I had full access to the archives—”

Azruphel’s eyebrows shot up. Then her jaw twitched, with outrage or amusement—Catë couldn’t be sure. It didn’t matter; her career was doomed either way. Lossebeth had been quite clear that if Azruphel didn’t consider her worth patronage, it wouldn’t happen. And Azruphel wasn’t just stern; she held to the old ways, from before Tar-Palantir made everything right again, and—

"Catairë, child," said Azruphel (her Quenya was perfect), "I don’t have full access.” Then she smiled. “But I quite agree. It’s a damned nuisance.”

Catë nodded, brown hair falling over her eyes. She pushed it away impatiently. “I cannot take … lower-take … er—”

"Undertake?" 

She blushed. “Yes. I cannot undertake a, um, a truly rigorous, um, study of wise-women in later years, such as, I was thinking, during the Dago—the War of Wrath—”

"Are you confining your research to the House of Bëor?"

Catë nodded.

"I may—may, mind you—be able to lend you some documentation of that period.” Even as Catë’s eyes rounded, Azruphel scowled at her. “For a brief period. And you will read and take your notes under my observation.”

"Yes, Professor—of course!" said Catë, flushing up to her ears. "Thank you so much! You won’t regret it!"

"I better not," Azruphel said, but she was still smiling.