#haradrim oc

[annabawritersdream]

Elenna "Enna" & Elerion

He's not really well developed as a character yet...but I love them together and plan to write many scenes about them in LOI. He's her brother, her biological brother, all that is left of her family. He's two years her senior and lived in Gondor for a whole twenty-five years without even knowing what had happened to his sister. He probably thought she was dead. And then Faramir and Aragorn summon him to court to meet her once Enna is told the truth about her family. Enna lashes out at them both (and rightly so, I think) and cuts Faramir off. She'll keep visiting her stepmama Finduilas, Elboron, Fae and Eradan, but Faramir will be cut off from her life completely. She'll keep loving him, but she certainly won't be around him. She feels utterly betrayed by both Éowyn AND Faramir and she doesn't handle betrayal very well. Contrarily to yours truly, she can let go of people very easily. Yes, she feels like crap about it, she suffers and cries about it, but she's VERY stubborn and once you lose her trust... well, there's not much you can do about it.

She will bestow several titles upon her brother but he rejects them all because he only wants her affection and his only wish is to be in her life in any way she wants. He was protective of his baby sister when he was barely a toddler and he's protective of her once he's adult as well. He'll marry Nîlubên, a cousin to Nûlbahar.

Faceclaim for Nîlubên: Leyla Feray (Ayşe Sultan in Magnificent Century: Kösem.

Yes, Elerion marries a Sultana.

A bit of info on their family tree.

Nûlbahar is Şehzade Orhan's half-sister as they share the same father (the current ruling Sultan) but they have different mothers.

For reference, this is Orhan (faceclaim: Cem Yiğit Üzümoğlu). He's one of the many princes of Harad—I think there's more than one—and he'll marry Fae, Enna's younger sister.

Orhan's mother is the Sultan's Haseki and legal wife, while Nûlbahar's is an ordinary concubine.

Faceclaim for Nûlbahar in case you have not seen my previous post about her: Nur Fettahoğlu

Nîlubên is the daughter of the Sultan's younger sister and technically is not entitled to the rank of Sultana since it's normally bestowed upon daughters of the Sultan only. Nîlubên is basically an exception. Her uncle loves her very much and gave her the title even though she shouldn't have it. She'll probably lose it when she marries Elerion, but I'd pick a quiet life in Annúminas as well. Plus, the girl is in love so she doesn't think about titles.

Sorry for the info dump, but I think I need it too as it is one of my ways of getting to know my characters. Stay tuned for more!

[annatars-nine-rings]

Fisrah, Haradrim Princess: *flirting*

Aratacáno: *flirts back*

Manó: *glares at Fisrah* He’s taken, thanks.

[mirra-kan]

Haha, yeah, this one is so dear to me coz he was the very first embodiment of the rebellion and the whole Faithful Haradrim idea. I didn’t want to render him much coz he had to stay closer to the idea, than to the actual person. Hope it makes sense and I’m so glad you noticed it! ❤️

Not many were ready to accept such ideas as a part of Professor’s lore. Seems like it’s shifting a bit today. And I’m so happy I can add my pinch of art to it to support it visually 🙌

"...evil labours with vast power and perpetual success – in vain: preparing always only the soil for unexpected good to sprout in." - J.R.R. Tolkien, letters.

Tolkien OC Week Day 1: Khisar: Faithful Haradrim OC @tolkienocweek 

You can find my art via #artmirka #servia_art hashtags on any platform <3

[larkaloke]

Nadharja, Haradrim warrior (she/her)

Nadharja is my oldest MERP PC (in terms of playing time, not age). She formed the White Wolf mercenary company along with the other original members after they successfuly slew the great white wolf that was terrorizing a community, along with the other eerie wolves. She hasn't felt incredibly comfortable in a position of leadership - she is the daughter of the chief of her clan, but ran away due to conflicts when she was a teenager, and she isn't much for communicating or dealing with people. She does understand tactics better than most of the group, and has tried to be a good mentor to the younger, newer members of the company as well.

Nadharja much prefers it when the Company is operating in Ithilien or below, as it gets too cold for much further up than that. She was glad to reconcile with her family during their recent mission to defeat the Storm King.

Despite her gruff exterior, Nadharja is fond of most of the members of the Company, especially some she sees almost as younger sisters.

And since this is part of my yearly Pride Month queue where I post art of my various LGBTQ+ characters, it's worth mentioning that Nadharja is aromantic and asexual.

[forthelulzy]

WIP WEDNESDAY

I think I can safely announce what it is I'm working on right now while Empty Shrines percolates.

The working title is and the sun will rise (yes, a line from Les Mis), the fandom is Lord of the Rings (surprise! new venture!) and while I have utterly no idea how long it will be in wordcount when done it's currently at almost 12k.

I have no summary yet, but the setup is an excuse to worldbuild Harad and the south in general Gondor, Fall 3018. Probably will end up being Faramir/OC (or +Eowyn? OT3? hmm). Very culture clash, not a 10th Walker if you're into that, but lots of outsider perspective, stranger navigating strange lands in strange times kind of thing.

And religion, since that has apparently become my thing *grumble* but dear Tolkien did not write his world for me to not gently push back on the "everybody worshiped the Valar OR Sauron" thing. (Since Sauron was a Maia, part of the same bloody pantheon as everyone else, it was all the same religion, just putting emphasis of different parts.) Anyway.

This excerpt is a dialogue between Faramir and Zihra, my OC from Harad (though she hates that as a category and tbh, so do I. It's like calling everybody from anywhere on the IRL continent "Asian". Technically, yes, but also no, bad writer. Harad just means "south", anyway.) on the subject of dead gods:

"[...][T]hey died without those to remember; few remain. The war goddess is one, Maiden of Death. Another has a cult deep in the dunes south of my home: the god called the Friend of Men, He who Comes in Comfort. He is the god who finds those Death has looked over, they say, and whispers in their ears words of love when nothing and no one else will." "Madness." "Yes. I suppose it is fitting that He is one of the few to still live." "It is strange, to think of gods dying." "Is it? I suppose we think of such things differently. [...] In any case, to my people, if a god is forgotten by all, they are no longer a god, but join the nameless shadows." "Perhaps that is why there is so much darkness in the world now." "Perhaps. Or they are out there, somewhere, waiting to rejoin the world when their books are restored and their shrines are unburied. Or they are the space between stars — a darkness that makes light all the more radiant."

[baby-dragons-art]

Consequences

Short story.

{What happens when you openly defy the dark lord in his own home}

Sauron x OC

《 From the tale of Sauron and the Haradrim Rejha》

She knew it was only a matter of time before her luck had run out. Before the leash yanked back a new. She had gotten close, so close as to reach the platform to the lower levels.... to fresh air. The very thought of fresh air giving her confidence and strength to push onward, to find a way. She had been so close.

Read more below

It was only when she found the platform that she was caught. It must have been strange seeing her there, un accompanied and wide-eyed. Of course, she was caught. A skulking Uruk, rousing from its stupor, snorted aloud and emerged from the alcove overlooking the platform. She had been careless.

Any fight she had left in her was all but spent on her defense against the stinking thing. Not her whit or blade spared her. Though she was not starved, she was little match against the creature and earned a sporting cut on her jaw as a reward. A favorable price to pay compared to what was to come.

She had been caught. This time, there would be no excuses. No forgiveness. If only she had been more careful.

With in little time, Rejha was standing in a familiar, circular parlor, a single man like guard not far behind. Jagged rock of cut, black caged around the room, framing lamp lit walls of deeper black. Only some flash of color graced her eyes. Red. A flicker of gold. She stared downward harshly. Her face reflected in the polished black, offering little comfort in the soft red hues of the oil lamps hanging above.

She could hear her heart racing in her ears, her knuckles white as they gripped her sleeves, persperarion glittered across her forehead despite the bitting cold.

At last, the sound of the adjacent doors opening stabbed her ears, flinching, she bit the inside of her cheek.

Soft foot fall and the gentle hiss of heavy fabrics slithered toward her at a steady pace, not a word spoken. She need not look up to know the individual. In the cold, the heat that enveloped from his presence was enough. He was a forges fire even from a distance. As the footsteps came before her, Rejha pursed her lips and lowered her head all the more.

Black folds of void like fabric pooled before her muddied boots like a tar pit. Though the sight made her knees tremble, she dare not close her eyes. She dare not raise her head.

Finally, the dreaded words were uttered. Her stomach dropping like a stone.

"You disobeyed." Came the voice. Like fingers over silk and blades to flesh. Rejha cringed at the sound. The silence following his words a relief.

She breathed out cautiously and uttered as firmly as she could.

"I did not leave the tower." She spoke bravely. "I did not go beyond your sight. I remained in Barad-dur as-."

She was cut off by a hiss of air above her. A sound that silenced her immediately.

"You think me so plain that your words would hide your true intent?" Under her jaw, Rejha felt a leathered hand take her chin and raise her gaze. The heat from his touch, nearly scalding. Now, looking upward, Rajha faced the full breadth and horror of her host. Black was all she could see, save for two piercing eyes that shone down brightly beneath a low hanging veil. The eyes of Sauron. Even veiled the sight wearied her to the bone.

"After my generosity, I had hoped you would show some respect as gratitude."

His thumb stroked over the cut she had received from the Uruk, the folds of the veil tilting ever so.

"I swear..." Rejha breathed carefully, her lungs feeling shallow. "I was not trying to leave... I just wanted to see the sky. Breath real air again. I am owed that."

The dark lords stature adjusted to full height and released her face. His hand disappeared under the veil, a soft suckling heard, and soon, the blood was gone from his thumb.

"You have shifted along the edge of my patience, Harad. You are owed what I see fit to give you."

The heat of his gaze was suffocating as she held eye contact with him. It was not out of feilty or foolishness that she did so. But the fear that if she looked away, he would strike her down, like a wild animal cornered.

"Yet as it stands, you have done little to earn such favor."

Rejha clenched her jaw, trying to compose herself despite his words. She must tread carefully. His voice was as honey, but his viperous words were meant to rile. To push her on to do something foolish.

Her hand ghosted the blade at her side. Her arm aching to seize the hilt and cut through her way to freedom. But such were foolish fantasies. How long would she stand against him in a fight? A second? A few seconds, if he were gracious. She would not last long. Nevertheless, her desire to draw her blade ever present.

"You can't keep me prisoner here when I have done no crime." She spoke evenly, slowly, as best she could. "My people expect me to return, I am needed home. What more could I serve to you if I am kept here, purposeless?"

Sauron's head perked. Whether he was taken aback, insulted, or intrigued by her was unknown. Though the heat of his gaze did not relent in the slightest. It intensified.

"Who is to say what your purpose is to me?" He lulled, now leisurely walking about her as though admiring something she did not see. "Is that for you to determine?" His hand gestured toward her in strict fashion. Displaying, slender, leather clad fingers, only his ring finger was missing from his hand. Rehja's stomach turned, averting her eyes she would rather stare into his gaze than look at his hand.

The hand that was cut....

"If it is my will, if my word commanded you, who are you to question it? Is it not my wisdom and power that leads your people to victory? Am I not your sire?"

Gritting her teeth, Rejha flinched as his hand retracted into the void of his garments. She felt as though she were tettering on the edge of a cliff, desperate to stand upright.

"A thousand times you are, my lord. I can not comprehend your grand designs, but nor can I serve you cut from my purpose. I am dust with out my garrison. Let me return to my people. Let me serve you as I am born to, with your armies. I can be of greater use as a scout, archer or emissary. Please, lord. See that I am perishing, be merciful."

At this, a huff of amusement rattled her ears as a sickening chuckle wandered from his chest. From the moment she had first opened her mouth infront of him there had been little hesitation or fear. True the woman had been terrified in his presence but spoke her mind regardless. He could see the expressions in the eyes of her garrison. Horrified at her imputence. But how refreshing it was.

"Your tongue does you credit in only that it amuses me." He hummed. "Your betters would grovel at my word, yet you quarell with me." His slender, towering form circled about her till he stood behind her, leaning down over her shoulder. "Were I in a less savory mood-." He cooed, his fingers stroking the intricate bangles of her head piece resting on her temple. "I would have you on your knees, humble you till you begged for my pardon."

Rehja's face took on heat and redness. She turned her head from his touch, scowling to repress the intent of his words.

A gesite that did not go unknoticed. Sauron removed his touch and spoke further.

"As you amuse me, I shall be merciful, aleviate you of your woes by putting them to rest. Your garrison is not coming back for you, Rejha. They have been commanded out of Mordor to continue their orders. Therefore, any attempt to leave Barad-dur would be as pointless as it would be deadly to you. Your people have gone."

A shallow gasp escaped Rejha's lips as the silken words of Sauron hissed into her ear. The very idea of such a betrayal cutting into her very chest. It could not be true. They would never leave her behind, they were family. Her brothers and sisters in battle.

And yet there she was. Still in with in the dark lord's tower, standing alone with in the very center of his evil. Alone.

Her garrison had gone.... she had been left behind. The devastation of reality gripped her as though her heart had been squeezed till it burst.

"Given this." Sauron continued. "It is pleasing to me that you are to remain in Barad-dur as long as I require it. To serve me as I deem you should."

Tears welled in Rejha's eyes, her vision blurred from fatigue and grief. She could not help it. After waiting so long, desperate to see her garrison again, to finally go home, the news of their departure was more than she could bare.

A pained breath escaped her lips as she turned back and stared into the blackened void behind her. His two eyes watching intently.

"You ordered this...?!" She gaped, tears falling from her grey eyes. Sauron's head tilted downward, eyes fixed on hers. He did not hide his hand in this.

Rehja turned her gaze from his, lowering her eyes to harshly wipe her tears away. Her greif was crushing, nit only has she lost her freedom but any hopes of seeing Harad again. What could she do against what has been done? How was she to overcome the walls that had been closed in on her?

No answers were given. Only frantic panic and greif as she held her face.

With her face oscured, darkness enveloped her. She felt his hands on her shoulders.... the left one missing the ring finger. A heavyness like waves of thick fabric settled about her.

His breath was at her ear. His grip held her steady yet seemed dire in some way as she tried to console herself.

"Harad is your past." Came his voice, a lull that was sickeningly sweet to her ears. She almost fell into him from their honied tone. "You belong here now. With me."

Gasping, her heart racing, the cage she was trapped in shrinking, Rejha cried out. She could see only darkness. Feel only the heat closing around her. The dessert, her people, her home vanishing before her eyes into the jaws of fire.

Rehja pushed her arms outward, casting Sauron back in desperation. It was only far enough for her to reach her for blade and draw it. "No!" She yelled, tears streaming down her face as she raised her arm to strike him. If she was left behind, never to see her homeland again, then death was her only solace. Her only honor left.

Cursing in her own language, she made a swipe to create some distance between them. She managed one cut to his garment that was utterly harmless and swiftly found her wrist caught in his grasp.

Firmly, her arm was pulled to the side as she fought against him. A brave but fruitless endeavor. For no sooner had she cursed his name than he uttered one word that seased her movements entirely.

The word was harsh. In a language she did not know. Evil. Poison. It turned her stomach and left her without breath. She felt the vibrations of the word tremble about her, ringing in her ears and flushing her mind of all thought.

Rehja felt all strength with in her vanish, her mind became a haze and her will failed her at last.

The blade in her hand fell from her grasp and clattered to the floor loudly. A hand was secured about her lower back keeping her upright as she hung limp.

Staring upward into the veil, she was able to see the shadowed chin of the dark lord beneath. The skin was cold, pale, scarred and unpleasant to behold. Some devistation had befallen him, so much so that his body had been mangled, a horror to behold.

Despite her state and beholding a glimlse of the evil before her, her heart rate slowed. Her breath evened. Her eyes watched him calmly but intently as tears slid down her face. All care had left her.

His gloved hand returned to the cut on her cheek, apprasing it attentively. She felt her body being lifted and pressed against his as her face was brought to the hem of the veil. The the sensation of warmth suckled the cut of all blood.

When that well had run dry, his lips pulled back, a soft sigh following. The gaze under the veil lowered to her exposed neck, finding it unguarded.

Even as his lips were pressed upon her throat, Rejha did not cry out. She found peace, even contentment, despite the horror of reality.

Was she perhapse, even so bold, to find the warmth pleasant? The sensation of lips on her skin welcoming? Was it beyond her to enjoy what was happening? Was this not her purpose to serve the Lord of Mordor?

In a moment, piercing pain like a dagger punctured her throat and sent a jolt through her body that caused her to yelp aloud. Rejha held her mouth agape as an explosion of burning heat blossomed at her neck, spilling down her throat.

Fangs buried into her, lips drinking deeply as though her host were dying of thirst.

Sauron was wholly occupied in her blood as his nostrils flared. A low toned growl purred in his throat and his grip, held tight about her waist. His indulgence into this precious desert spring was a long desired thirst he would not now deny.

She could hear each gulp as blood was stolen from her body. Every suckle loud in her ear. Yet not a care could be had. Her vision blurred. Her breath weakened as each drop of crimson was hoarded, she faded more away into dimness.

"Don't kill me...." Her thoughts begged, while in her minds eye, she wandered from dimness to visions of Harad. Vast dessert of swooping, golden dunes that stretched across a pale blue horizon. She could see it even with her eyes open. Could almost feel it. Smell the air.

"Death is not for you." A voice spoke in her mind. And there in the dunes stood a man in stark white, she was nearly blinded by the sight. Even from a distance, she could see him, a fair elf like being that struck her with his beauty.

But the eyes... they were that of Sauron.... he smiled cockily at her as sandied winds kicked up his garments and disturbed the red, strawberry gold hair.

"I would not be so foolish to deprive myself of my only oasis."

In the cold reality, Rejha's eyes closed fully, a labored breath escaping her lips. She hung limp in darkness, defenseless against the moster at her throat and left alone in a strange land far from her people. Yet despite this, she remained at peace and dreamed of fresh air, dessert sands, and a of a fair stranger with blazing eyes.

[raointean]

Tolkien OC Week - Day 1: Worldbuilding

In this story, I'm world building the area surrounding khazad-dum a little, and explaining some of the day to day life of the peredhel nomads with my beloved OC Daniel! Feat. Disa because she's amazing and everyone loves her.

Daniel is from my Broken Souls series, and you can find chapter one of this particular story here.

After they had eaten together, Daniel gathered provisions and a guard for the journey to meet King Durin III. Her guard consisted of the chiefs of two of the other major tribes west of the Misty Mountains, Cuind of the Kinn-Lai tribe, and Izray of the Saphad tribe. Cuind was wise and level headed, almost as old as Daniel herself. Izray was younger, stronger, fiercer, and could come in handy if negotiations… did not go as planned.

They joined up with Disa and her guard of two sturdy dwarves and began on their way. As the party ducked through the passage the dwarves had carved in their cavern wall, the miners gave them a wide berth, staring at them as they passed. Daniel paid them no mind and walked on passed.

Once they were out of earshot, Disa began asking them questions; tentatively, careful not to step on any toes. “Chief Daniel, I’d like to learn about you and your people, seeing as we are neighbors and all. How are your clans organized? Where do your people come from? What sorts of trades do you do?”

Daniel was hesitant about the first two questions. If negotiations went awry, she had a feeling she’d regret telling the princess about their organization. As for where they came from, there was no clear answer for that. 

They had started out as a group of orphaned, bastard, half-elvish, half-mannish slaves during The War of Wrath. They had been freed when King Gil-Galad had inspected their camp and discovered the many abuses heaped upon them, but some scars ran too deep.

After the war, they had begun to wander, herding livestock and trading goods. Over time, they began to pick up other people like them; half-elves, half-men, half-dwarves, and even a few full-blooded runaways. Soon enough, the word “Peredhel” had ceased to mean “half-elven” and just meant… them. They came from everywhere, but only belonged with each other. They spread from the Sea to the Misty Mountains, but never lingered anywhere for long.

Hoping Princess Disa would not be offended by her only answering a single question, Daniel responded. “Our trade is livestock herding and trading foreign wares. Our sheep eat a sort of glowing moss here in the winter and it makes their fleece glow, even after they are sheared! The children and the elderly spend the days we travel spinning their wool into yarn.”

“In the waning days of spring,” she continued, proudly telling Disa of their lucrative business deals, “we go to the bay near Eryn Vorn and trade with the Haradrim of Umbar for spices, jewelry, crops, and books; which we then travel around western Middle Earth with, selling and trading for as we go.”

“I see.” Disa said, fascinated. “What do you give the Haradrim in return for their wares?”

Daniel offered her a smile; this woman was really beginning to grow on her! Polite, sensible, so far not easily offended… this negotiation really might go well if the king was anything like her. “We offer them some crops of our own; potatoes sugarbeets, sunflower seeds, and the like. We also trade elven crafts we pick up in Lindon and Ost-in-Edhil.”

“Perhaps you’ll have some Dwarvish crafts to add to that list this spring,” Disa laughed good-naturedly.

“Perhaps we will.”

They fell into an amicable silence for the next half-mile or so, alone with their thoughts, before Disa could no longer resist asking the question that had weighed on her mind ever since she had noted their neighbors’ crooked ears.

“I do not mean to generalize,” she began, “but I have only ever met one half-elf before and I am curious if you know him. His name is Elrond?”

Daniel stopped dead in her tracks. She had not heard that name in many, many years. Carefully, she kneeled down in front of Princess Disa, who now looked terribly worried, and grasped her by the shoulders. “You have really met Elrond? You are not lying to me?”

Disa shook her head. “No, I would not lie to you, Chief. Elrond is a dear friend of my husband and a treasured acquaintance of mine.”

Daniel was overcome by emotion. Shock that he was still alive and on these shores, and that she had heard his name from a dwarf of all people. Long forgotten grief for the boy she had once regarded as a little brother. Bittersweet pain at the thought of all the memories they shared.

Gently, Disa reached up to touch her face. “Are you alright, dearie? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong,” Daniel said thickly. “It is just- We were friends as children, but were separated by The War of Wrath, during its later part, and… I have neither seen nor heard of him in centuries.”

Disa gave her a look of deep sympathy and patted her face kindly. It was too much. Daniel stood up, collected herself and continued walking. “Yes, well, it is my own fault. I and my people avoid outsiders whenever we can, but still… I do worry about him.”

Disa took the change of tone in stride and walked beside her. “I’d be more than happy to tell you what he’s been up to, busy though he is. Oh, and in return, you could tell me some stories of what he was like as a little one!”

Daniel’s stride stuttered but, luckily, Disa seemed not to notice. She shared a glance with Cuind who, although he had never been a thrall himself, was the son of one who had been. They both knew those stories would require a lot of revision before they could be told to outsiders.

Nevertheless, she agreed. She had to, to keep herself in good standing with the princess.

@tolkienocweek

[ent-maiden]

Two magical dudes

the blue wizards

in watercolor and pencil.

Tolkien OC Week: Day 4 Forgotten Characters. Not exactly forgotten, but Tolkien ignored these dudes enough in LOTR they might as well be. I suspect they were already killed by the events of LOTR since being missionaries and revolutionaries can be a dangerous job. RIP blue wizards.

I think Pallando is the guy on the left and Alatar is the guy on the right because the guy on the left has a very friendly expression while the guy on the right is more solemn. The guy on the left just seems like the friendly friend you need for a mission. But interpret it how you want. I don't really care who's who. Their appearances were inspired by how I imagine Easterlings and Haradrim would look. So central Asian (with a Vietnamese hat because I saw it on fan art and I liked it) and Persian.

Because I waited so long between drying layers I barely got this in before midnight.

[kanawolf]

Okay so, War of the Rohirrim Fic Ideas! I'm going to start writing one of them tonight and will use a wheel / random number generator to pick, unless anyone has strong feelings about one they want to see more.

A) A series of small fics exploring the relationships between Helm, Haleth, Hama, Hera, Hild, and Frealaf! I'll focus on the family primarily, but there will also be moments showing Olwyn and her relationships with the above (especially because I want to write the battle she fought in where Helm said her shield had been broken in).

I might also make up an OC to take the place of Frealaf's father since he doesn't appear to have a name or any information really.

B) A (relatively) short fic or fic series that explores the lives of my OCs before the Fell Winter, as a way to potentially help people get to know them (especially if I go on to write option C fully, where they will be important to the changes that happen)

C) This is the biggest / most ambitious of the ideas so far (save for my truly unhinged one) - It will very likely be canon divergent (with Haleth and Hama), but it'll feature a more in depth look at: - the political unrest that led to Freca insulting Helm and Hera, - the changes that were happening within the Dunland tribes that allowed Wulf to take over), - the other events that could have been surrounding Rohan while Wulf was taking control of the Dunland tribes, - the roles of women within Rohan's society (possibly, hopefully) - the management of Helm's Deep before and during the Fell Winter - (possibly also going more into the Haradrim who aided Wulf, how he got in contact with them and who they were, but that's a maybe) - What would have happened if Haleth and Hama had survived the attack on Meduseld, not without serious / near fatal injuries that could also put Helm in his coma-like state due to grief? Frealaf is still going to be crowned king, but what would Haleth and Hama do afterwards? Would they join their sister in her ventures, or would they perhaps become lords loyal to Frealadf, like how he was loyal to Helm even when Helm banished him? - There will be romance for the men and the OCs, and it will be very self indulgent

D) a short fic / series of fics that explore the shieldmaidens, their origins (what occurred in Rohan that would have led to there being no fighting men), and ideally a way to merge that with the more book!canon knowledge that there were many women in Rohan who committed great deeds, including those who fought in battle.

E) a short fic that / poem that focuses on the importance of music and song within Rohirric culture?? Big maybe on this one

[annabawritersdream]

I finally included these two in my character profiles! It took me way too long...

Also, he has a name now!

Let me introduce you to...*drum roll*

ELEMIR!

Ahmir + Eledhwen

Both of them are OCs. She's Halbarad's eldest daughter and he's a Haradrim lord. He was originally supposed to die in some sort of tragic, horrific way, but I think I'll spare him? They're so cute, I really don't want to tear them apart.

Alas, I am a sucker for angst and drama so...who knows what will happen. She was supposed to fall in love with a major canon character after Ahmir's death.

Decisions, decisions, decisions...

I guess I'll just stare at them for a while.

[annabawritersdream]

My OC definitely needs a sarcastic Haradrim friend...actually, she just needs friends, whether they be elves, hobbits or plants. I have, like, two friends, she has none. I need to be kind to her. Be kind to your OCs, people. Please. They deserve happiness. Be more compassionate than I am. Be better.

— Naomi Scott | Aladdin gif pack.

By clicking the source link or [ this link ], you’ll find #249 gifs of Naomi Scott (1993) as Jasmine in the movie Aladdin [2019]. Naomi was born in England, U.K. and is of English and Indian [Gujarati] descent. All made by me from scratch, so please, don’t repost or claim them as your own! You can use them in editions, or crackships, but please credit me (@youngfcs).  If using, like or reblog ❗

[ ! ] Contains: animal (tiger), crying, kissing, hostage situation

[ Don’t include them in any gif hunt, don’t crop these into gif icons without my permission, don’t use them in any smut threads/rps or for taboo roleplays and don’t use to rp the celebrity itself ]

[mirra-kan]

Haradrim Mystic: work in progress.

Hope you like it <3

[ao3feed-tolkien]

The Hunting of the Spider

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/a7CjPuA

by Anna_Wing

The return of Shelob and how Gondor deals with it.

Words: 1112, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 3 of Idylls of the Queen

Fandoms: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien, Grandmother of the East - OC - Fandom

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Gen

Characters: Arwen Undómiel, Faramir (Son of Denethor II), Mablung of Gondor, Éowyn (Tolkien), Maglor | Makalaurë, OCs, Haradrim, Gondorian(s), Shelob (Tolkien), Rangers of Ithilien (Tolkien), Sam Gamgee, Glorfindel

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/a7CjPuA

[lamemaster]

Does the Flame Envy the Moth?

Finrod & Easterling OMC

Platonic Pairing

“And here I thought that the Elven folk were monogamous.” The King of Nargothrond sat with a perfect posture.

While to most he may seem unfazed, his thoughts were in turmoil. One may come to ask why the eldest son of Finarfin was sharing the same space with a prostitute. A male prostitute of Haradrim at that. How had the two most unlikely people on Arda ended up in the same room?

“You had the correct assumption. My people marry only once in our long life.” The lazy reclining figure of Raza shifted, resting lightly on his side. The elf ignored what could be seen as an alluring gaze as he continued speaking “I came here for the sake of my curiosity.”

Stretching his limbs like a cat in the warm winter sun Raza snorted at the royal “Aaah yes, my lord” he shifted his weight to his dangling leg pushing himself to sit straight once more “I have quite an experience in such matters ask what you like. This lowly one will try his best to please you.” He winked at the flustered elf.

For a moment both of them sat in silence as Raza idly twirled a wayward loose strand from his braid. 

Finrod awkwardly cleared his throat. A distant part of him regretted coming to the brothel. It was no place for the likes of him. However, the questions burned too bright in his fea he needed answers desperately.

“Why sell your body when you’re perfectly capable of surviving with other means?” Felagund’s gaze was transfixed on inked tattoos that lingered on several visible spots on the Easterling’s body.

Adjusting several rings that sat on his fingers Raza thought about the answer. “Oh my King, the East does not follow the ways of the West.” He crossed his arms, drumming the prominent muscles of his bicep. “It is not kind to anyone. There are soldiers who fight the dark forces only to lose to them at the end of the day”

Raza pulled at the flimsy clothing that barely held on his shoulder. “There are farmers who mourn the loss of their crops to Morgoth’s sorcery. Their lives matter little to anyone.” Finrod flinched at the direct mention of the dark lord’s name.

Uncaring of his reaction the human continued. “And lastly King Felagund, are men like me” he stepped up from his seat. The knee-length black hair of the color of the night followed his back like a second shadow. He faced the seated elf directly while looking directly into bright gray eyes.

He smiled at the light blush that adorned the face of the elf in his room. “Men like me who are born slaves to either the dark lords of Angband or our very own people.”

Effortlessly lifting the sleeve of his gown Raza pointed at the decorative markings on his arm. “This is my inheritance from my ancestors, my King.”

Without a second thought, Finrod’s hand landed on the obscure drawings. He felt the warmth of blood that ran deep in the veins below the man’s skin. “Did it … was it done at birth?”

Raza didn’t move. He still faced the elf “I don’t remember anymore.” He cursed himself in his mind but he couldn’t stop the words forming on his tongue. “The Mistress told me that I had been dropped off by a merchant. My parents, probably busy tending to barren lands that bore nothing but more debt.” 

“How old are you?” Finrod felt a foreign sadness in his heart. His people were guided by the Valar themselves, the Men of the West had been found by him but the East … the East had been forgotten. Left in the dark of evil to fend for itself. 

The pity in Finrod’s eyes didn’t go unnoticed by Raza. It irked him. Yet he maintained the mask of nonchalance. He would not give even the King of faraway Elves the satisfaction of knowing his mind. “Exact age is unknown but I am somewhere close to my Twentieth summer.”

The man who spoke so casually of his enslavement would be a mere child to his people. How had they left their own distant kin in such a state? Finrod’s heart mourned for the hardships endured by the youth who now unblinkingly stared back at him in a challenge.

Moving away from the seated King Raza headed towards his dresser. “I reckon my appearance matters little to you, my King. I hope you don’t mind me taking off some of these embellishments, as some would say.”

Finrod shook his head and the Easterling lifted his feet to the dresser. With the ease of daily practice, he took off delicate anklets that rested on the ends of his legs. 

Putting away the tinkling anklets Raza stared at the elf from his mirror as he worked on taking off hairpins. The Elven king fiddled with his fingers as he asked his next question, “Do you not wish for love? Does this not hurt you? Would you not like to be loved for more than just your body?”

Fearing judgment in the eyes of the other man in the room Finrod refused to make any eye contact. If the Eldar could sweat the room would be flooded right now.

Brushing his hair Raza pondered about the question. Did love matter to him? Appreciation for his body seemed sufficient on most days. At least this way he was of some value to someone. But what should he tell the elf who sat knocked like an arrow in the most uncomfortable chair in the room?

None had cared enough about East. It wasn’t difficult to discern guilt in the eyes of the elf. Somehow he had managed to blame himself for the entire East.

As if making a choice Raza slammed his comb on the dresser. He carefully pushed his hair to the side and he faced the startled elf. “Love to Men and Elves is a different thing, my lord. While your kind spends decades nurturing these feelings. We men come to this with barely enough time to know ourselves completely.” He paused to let the elven king speak.

He continued when Finrod remained silent “ It is like mining for a diamond in a mine of coal. While someone lucky might find their soulmate, truest of love, on the first try. The rest of us stumble in the dark, and heat. Some might die with a piece of coal clutched and others die cut by their mined diamond.”

The Elven king had long forgotten his notebook. Noticing the engrossed expression Raza continued “The coal might dirty hands and face but a diamond can’t burn itself to warm others.” 

Finrod’s eyebrows were scrunched in confusion. He had forgotten all about his confusion. “Pfft.”Raza chuckled at his expression. Maybe the Westerners did not have a talent for metaphors after all.

“What I want to say is that even though I might never find that one truest of love I am still pretty content.” He motioned at the lavish room and pilling jewelry. “These are good enough for me my king. I do not think that love can feed stomachs or provide comfort. In fact, love stories of my people never end with a happy ending.”

Finrod hmmed deep in thought. 

“Here you can take the bed, my king.” Setting up the sheets Raza gestured to the king. Standing up instantly Finrod shook his head “Quendi, my people don’t need sleep.” He frantically gestured at Raza.

Shaking his head the Easterling sat down on the chaise right next to the bed. “Fear not my lord I’ll lay here. The laws of my hospitality do not allow any discomfort to my guest.” With this, he plopped himself down on the chaise.

Staring helplessly at the empty bed Finrod sighed and started taking off his shoes. What would Amarie think of him? This bed probably-

“Worry not I do not use my personal rooms for work,” Raza said as he supported his head on his arm.

The Easterling saw the poised elven king panic and turn to explain his intentions back to him. 

“Come on my lord! It’s my turn to ask questions. Hurry up.” Interrupting the Elven king’s thoughts Raza felt a sense of accomplishment when Finrod made himself comfortable on the bed.

That night Varda’s stars whispered the tale of the king of Nargothrond and a Haradrim. Maybe they sang a lament of lost kin or just a lullaby to soothe the anxious souls of the children of Illuvatar.

[baby-dragons-art]

The halls of Barad-Bur

{Encountering the very last person she wanted to see in the last place she wanted to be.}

Sauron X OC

《Short story from the tale of Sauron and the Haradrim Rejha》

Read more below

"We have waited too long." Nedir said as he stood rigidly, the weight of his burden heavy. The members of the garrison shifted in silent agreement. It had been too long...

An hour or so had passed since the envoy of Haradrim were ordered in this corridor to await further instruction. Each carried a precious load of iron clad chests, bundles, and sacs, all filled to the brim with offerings. Harad was a loyal subject of Mordor. But loyalty was not always enough to secure the protection and graces of their benefactor. Harad had other resources besides fighting men and Oliphaunts.

Kashmir, insence, rare spices, ancient Harad text and lore all this and more were given as tribute for the favor of Mordor. It was a great honor for this garrison of 15 to ensure the safety of Harad in this way. But it was a heavy burden and not without danger.

Rehja readjusted the sac over her shoulder. The load she bore was an assortment of rare spices from various regions of Harad. The scent of which was so pungent that it wafted about the corridor. It was not an unplesant smell. Earthy tones that hid a sharp sting on the tongue were highly sought after with her people and clearly with Mordor. Were she anywhere else, the scent would have been pleasant.

However, the corridor the garrison stood in was anything but comfortable. The hall was long. Too long. It stretched to the left and right into darkness where no light could reach. The obsidian walls carved masterfully, stretched upwards and over like a cage. Their height seemed immeasurable, arching high above.... adorned with watchful horrors.

Beasts of some unknown dread prowled down the walls, perminelty snarling. The detail was prestine. The effect, horrifying. Rehja refused to look up into the black skulls or glanced above to whatever hellish scene were carved to torment them.

Nedir paced uneasily. They should have been seen by now, delivered their load, and be gone. Though this garrison was an ally and servant to mordor, that did not guarantee their safety in every situation.

This was Barad-dur and not just the lower levels but the palace wings. They were scum of the earth in this place. Inconsequential. He shuddered a thought at tales of the servants that stalked these halls. Men... changed by magic. Different. Wrong.

Sighing, he carefully placed the chest in his hands down and looked back on his people. "Not long now." He reassured. "Not long. When we have delivered our offering, we shall make camp in Odûn and celebrate properly." He said, nodding as a small hum of encouragement emminated from the group.

"Yes. The skins of wine will do, I think. Then tomorrow we will make the-..."

Nedir was interrupted when a stark waft of air and the sliding of rock against rock broke the silence. From the side wall, adjacent them, doors of immense height opened unto darkness. None had noticed the doors until they opened, astonished how doors of such size had been so close but obscured.

Nedir looked back, startled but cooed for his people to remain calm. They were an example of Harad, regardless of who they met, it was imperative all be at their best.

From the doors walked a tall cut of darkness that seemed to guide across the floor. This individual was unlike the palace stuards Nedir had seen before. They were not lavishly dressed or absurdly decorated in finery. No. Not a guard, not a nazgûl, not a uruk.

Simply black. Black upon black robes covering the entirety of the person. Only small glints of gold hinted at embroidery within the fabric and upon a crown that rested atop the dark veiled head. This pillar of shadow walked toward them yet did not pay them mind, almost walking past the group completley.

No one in the party spoke or made a move. However, perhaps at the strong, allurings cent of their burdens, the individual slowed to a stop and raisded their head.

Now Nedir could see. An encounter far more dangerous than any he had anticipated was before them. The moment the individual turned and looked back on his people, a soft but clear glow eminated from the veil. It cast two lamp like hues of red that beamed down on them, almost casting a halo like glimer about the head and crown.

Nedir only needed to witness those lamps behind the veil to fall on his hands and knees in an instant. He uttered one word in their own language that caused his people to reverently put down their burdens and bow to the floor as well.

"Anattar." Nedir dared not speak the given name, not here, not here, not before /him/. Sauron.

The robed figure stood still in the corridor, the fiery eyes looking individually at the group, appraising them and their many gifts. Rehja kept stone still on the floor, her heart in her ears as she dared to open her eyes and watch from under her brow. She could see nothing but the floor, it's reflection and the warm casting of light that shifted over them. When the light fixed on her, she closed her eyes immediately, not moving an inch.

An eternity seemed to pass in mere seconds. She could hear heavy footsteps and the hiss of fabric slithering toward her. An oppressive heat grew to her left side, growing like a wild fire. Something brushed against her, shuffled with in her sac, then drew back.

The heat and foot steps slowly moved away down the corridor until, at last, they were well away from their hearing. Nedir was the first to raise his head. Then, slowly, the rest of his people lifted their gaze. Rehja sighed anxiously, rubbing sweat from her brow as she looked at her garrison. None were harmed.

At her side, she saw her sac had been opened, and smaller sacs from with in littered the floor. Gasping, she reached in and took inventory of what was there. After a moment, she announced with shock, anxiety, and slight distaine.

"...He took the saffron."

[arofili]

men of middle-earth ∿ misc. númenóreans ∿ headcanon disclaimer

          Fuinur and Herumor were descendants of the King’s Men of Númenor who had come to conquer Middle-earth in the name of the King. They rose to power in the late Second Age, becoming mighty lords among the Haradrim, and served Sauron in the War of the Last Alliance. Fuinur was slain in the Siege of Barad-dûr, but his brother Herumor fled back to Harad and continued to rule.           One of Herumor’s descendants was King Karasalêth, ruler of a city-state in northern Harad that was conquered by Gondor in the early Third Age. His people, conquered first by the Black Númenóreans and then by the Dúnedain, began to rebel against them both, and to appease them Karasalêth arranged to give his half-Haradrim daughter’s hand in marriage to King Tarannon Falastur of Gondor. This daughter, Zâinazimril, was betrothed against her will but powerless to stop her marriage to Falastur and his subsequent removal of her to his house by the mouths of the Anduin. But Zâinazimril hated the sea, especially the smells of salt and fish and gulls, and insisted on dwelling in the King’s House in Osgiliath instead.           The people of Gondor feared and hated their new queen, naming her Berúthiel for her bitter temper. As Falastur was often away at sea, she had the King’s House to herself, decorating the courtyard with sculptures from her homeland that disturbed her Gondorian servants.           Though she loathed cats, as Karasalêth’s house had been full of them, many cats of Osgiliath became fixated upon her and followed her around. Eventually, Berúthiel accepted her entourage, setting them as spies upon the suspicious Gondorians who stalked her every path. In this way she discovered many dark secrets of the realm, for she followed the tradition of sorcery taught to her ancestors by the Lord Zigûr and could speak with animals and read their memories. The people of Gondor feared and hated Berúthiel and her cats, nine black and one white, cursing whenever they walked by.           Eventually, Falastur heard of his wife’s intimidation of his counselors and returned to Osgiliath to see the truth for himself. He declared the union unsuccessful, as no children had been born between them and Harad continued to simmer with resentment against Gondor, and exiled Berúthiel from Gondor, erasing her name from the Book of the Kings.           Zâinazimril was set on a ship with only her cats for company and cast out into the sea she despised. She attempted to sail to Umbar, a haven of her people, and travel home from there, but she was no mariner and was last seen flying past the city with a cat at the masthead and another as a figurehead on the prow. Thus she passed into legend as the Stolen Princess of Harad and the Black Queen of Gondor, her final fate unknown.           Near the end of the Third Age, another Black Númenórean lord would sell his child for the favor of a King, though this time to Sauron himself. This boy was stripped of his name and status and made to serve the Dark Tower, eventually being granted the name Mordu as he grew in his master’s favor.            Mordu was cunning and cruel, manipulative of his fellow servants and clever in the fashioning of words, and as he came of age, Sauron gave him the title Dulgabêth, “the Black Word,” and sent him out as the Lieutenant of Barad-dûr, an ambassador to the lands conquered by Mordor. He became known to the Dúnedain as the Mouth of Sauron, and came before Aragorn before the Battle of the Morannon in an attempt to goad him into surrender, but the Men of the West stood firm, and he was slain in the ensuing conflict.