tolkienocweek

[tolkienocweek]

Tolkien OC Week: Off the Map (Aug 30th)

@tolkienocweek

Ok this isn't properly Off the Map really but it was an abandoned sequal idea so its kinda Off the Map, metaphorically? 😅

Anyway, here's my take on Herumor, the villain of Tolkien's abandoned Lotr sequel, The New Shadow:

Herumor was born to the descendants of human slaves of Sauron, who were granted the lands by the Sea of Núrn by King Elessar. Raised by his maternal aunt, the village Wisewoman.

In his 20th year Herumor undertook a vision quest into the wastes of Mordor, and  came upon the ruins of Barad-Dur. There he found the broken palantir of Sauron, which overcame his mind with empty echoes of the fallen dark lord. Herumor came to believe that Sauron himself was communicating with him through the palantir, and that he was meant to be the prophet to herald Sauron's return.

Under such delusions he started the Cult of the Dark Tree, which became such a menace during the last years of King Eldarion's reign, under the Regency of his son Ethoril. 

Herumor always covers his face with a veil, so that all who hear his word may focus on his words, and not his mortal visage. Only when in solitude with the palantir does he remove it, to let his eyes gaze upon the messenger of his god.

[tolkienocweek]

Good morning, good morning! We're very, very nearly at the end of the week now but thankfully not quite - today's prompt is Off The Map!

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Hatice for @tolkienocweek

She is the OC daughter of Uldor, who have a rather complex relationship with the family of Hùrin:

As a very young child, Túrin accidently injuries Hatice which causes her to lose a eye, and due to the disability making her harder to marry off later according to the standards of Uldor's people, they ends up bethrothed against their will as a compensation, to avoid a feud between their families over this event (Not that Uldor intends to honor it, of course, as proved by his betrayal of the Elves during the Battle of Unnumbered Tears)

Due to the Easterlings serving Morgoth taking over Hithlum, Hatice grows up as a older neighbor and eventual friend to Nienor, which Morwen is not too happy over, partly because of who Hatice's father is

Túrin sees Hatice as a enemy, someone who needs to be driven away from his childhood home and the lands supposed to be his, while Nienor and Hatice enters a romantic lesbian relationship

While Hatice dies long before the War of Wrath, she is still part of the founders for a small group among the Easterlings who will betray Morgoth in that conflict, because as Morgoth will find out the hard way:

Poor "rewards" to their ancestors for their service to him does not ensure loyality among the descendants if they finds a much better alternative even if that means death or some form of punishment, by proving that they are not sharing a one-track mind! Like that the Feanorians found out early about Uldor's planned betrayal thanks to a very young Hatice accidently mentioning that her father was visited by a "Lord Mairon" to Caranthir

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Princess Mara of Kemet for @tolkienocweek

She hails from a realm called Kemet, once found between Rhun and Harad, which were ruled by a powerful dynasty in the Second Age, and her father is not any random ruler but no one else than Khamul back in his days as a mortal king

Born as the only daughter to Khamul's Great Royal Wife Nerfertari, Mara was pregnant with her first child, when the events leading to him becoming a future Nazgul by accepting a Ring of Power from Sauron in disguise, happened. Her mysterious disappearance during that time was part of why he accepted the promises of power which Sauron offered, as a way to find out what really happened to her

Mara and her younger half-sister Neith, born to one of Khamul's favorite consorts outside his Great Royal Wife, was both predicted to have a son each, who in turn would become the progenitors of two powerful families.

Guess what happens in the War of the Ring, when descendants of those two half-sisters shows up to become allies of the Free Peoples of Middle-earth against Sauron?

[tolkienocweek]

The first Half-Elf @tolkienocweek

Nénél is the daughter of Aegnor and Andreth in a Alternative Universe of the First Age, where they actually marries and manages to have a child together.

Her name is a memory of the starry night at Tarn Aeluin, the mountain lake where her parents had their first meeting

[tolkienocweek]

The royal twins of Rohan for @tolkienocweek

Aégnor and Andréth, the OC twins of Théodred from the same Alternative Universe as Elfhilda, the daughter of Eomer and Lothirel, where Théodred lives to suceed his father as the 18th King of Rohan after Théoden's canon death at the battle of the Pelennor Fields

They are named after their mother's favorite elf-human couple of the First Age, due to the Political Consequences of the Quest for the Silmaril for Luthien and Beren reminding their mother a little too strongly about how her first marriage ended (Théodred is her second husband) and the tale of Idril, Tuor and Eärendil with the fall of Gondolin also made her feel like a classic fairy tale from her homeland ("Fated to be the wife to one hero and mother of another one." - her words)

Aégnor succeds Théodred as the 19th King of Rohan in the Fourth Age, while Andréth marries a Dunlending chieftain to secure peace between the Dunlendings and the Rohirrim after the War of the Rings

[tolkienocweek]

Elfhilda, oldest child of Eomer and Lothiriel for @tolkienocweek

In a Alternative Universe where they married just before the War of the Ring as a way to ensure the old alliance between Gondor and Rohan, Elfhilda is born at the fateful dawn on March 4th T.A. 3019, which sees the Battle of the Hornburg end in the victory for the Rohirrim. (Denethor refuses to let Faramir marry before Boromir due to Boromir being his heir, so he and Eowyn waits with marriage until after the War)

In that AU, Lothiriel's maternal family have ancestors hailing from Harad, making Elfhilda take after that side of her family strongly with her black hair but the curls and grey eyes are from Eomer, who says that Elfhilda also reminds about his maternal grandmother Morwen Steelsheen, wife to Rohan's 16th King Thengel

Elfhilda was named after her great-uncle Théoden's late wife Elfhild

[tolkienocweek]

@tolkienocweek day 5: relationships

Two figures cloaked in grey travelled the planes and rolling hills side by side, talking and singing and chattering. They were known by many names, both of them indeed. It could spark a game between them one the most quiet of days, trying to find their most peculiar appellation, or the one with the most interesting story behind it. One under a hat, one under a hood. They were known by many names, by Men, Elves, Dwarves and other curious creatures. In the North, South, East and West, though sometimes one farther than the other. One young, one old. They were known by many names, but together they were called the Grey Wanderers.

Gandalf and Syl! Friends, sort of coworkers, travelling buddies. When you’re an immortal wanderer, it’s important to have a friend to ground you, even when that friend is going off exploring way out of your range because they don’t really have a job. Or inversely, even if that friend won’t follow you into your wild adventures because they have responsibilities

Bickering little guys :}

[tolkienocweek]

Scout of the Third House

@tolkienocweek For the theme of "Relationships" I wrote a frame story for an older poem of mine that features an original character of the House of Hador. The frame story features this character interacting with Hador Lorindol. (Other canon characters are referenced.)

Imrach was very old, his hair like ivory, but you could still see he had been strong once. His family loved him well and took care of his needs, but did not listen to the tales he had to tell. They set him to mind the small children, instead, who were too young to hear about the past. Imrach did not seem to object, but Hador could not understand—such a wealth of experience, but nobody else seemed to be as fascinated as he was.

Hador’s father would have preferred it if Hador had not been interested either. And, certainly, the disapproval of Hador’s father and his friends had something to do with the opinions of the rest of their people. Hador’s grandfather and his great-grandfather had not seen eye-to-eye about Elves, the War, and probably a number of other things. Imrach remembered the time when Great-grandfather Malach had served at the court of the High-King of the Elves, the last one alive among them to do so.

Hador went through his routine daily tasks quickly. Here, this wooden bucket needed repairing. That could be taken along so that Father would have no reason to reproach him with idleness. And he could help Imrach keep an eye on the toddlers, too. Although Imrach loved the children, Hador thought that the duty of watching over them was beginning to tire him.

‘Have you come to listen to more stories, Hador?’ Imrach asked with a smile.

‘You were beginning to tell me about your adventures as a scout,’ said Hador, settling on a stool at his feet.

‘Ah yes,’ said Imrach.

But for a while he said nothing, his eyes dreamy and far away.

Hador was a little disappointed, but far too polite to push. Meanwhile, he had to rescue the cat from the attention of Imrach’s great-niece before the cat could scratch her in self-defence. Then he went to work on his leaky bucket.

Suddenly, above Hador’s head, Imrach began to chant softly:

Those were tough times I had of it, up north, scouting out orc holes amid rock and ice, the fumes the Ered Engrin belched forth, constant danger, lack of rest—not nice, but what got to me was going it alone, for months never seeing a friendly face, until I shed tears, cold to the bone with more than wind chill—yes, a sorry case— but, oh, when I turned home south again, how warm a welcome, such praise and gifts, I received from my own Lord Malach then, that, remembering, my heart still lifts, and more—the Elven King himself, of high fame, poured mulled wine for me, spoke my name!

Hador sat there with his mouth open.

‘The High King Fingolfin himself served wine to you!’

‘Only the once. It was a great honour, Hador.’

Hador’s father was of the opinion that the Elves thought too highly of themselves, but Hador felt it was a great honour, too.

‘I wonder whether Fingolfin remembers me,’ said Imrach. ‘He might. Elves are like that, Hador. At least, some are.’

Imrach died the following year. But when Hador at last, against his father’s wishes, travelled to Barad Eithel to see the Elves for himself, he found that Fingolfin indeed remembered Imrach and had a store of tales about his great-grandfather, too.

[tolkienocweek]

@tolkienocweek Day 5: Relationships with Canon Characters - Amathorn & Gil-galad

I have talked about my Gil-galad rebirth in Valinor fic other days this week. Here is a fic snippet from that which focuses on Gil-galad's relationship with Amathorn, his former Captain of the Guard.

A minifigure I kitbashed for Amathorn as Gil-galad's Captain of the Guard

Also, as a note, Fingal is the name Gil-galad's rebirth parents gave him. I know it is not proper Quenya, but Fingal's Cave by Mendelssohn is one of my favorite classical pieces and the cave system itself is awesome! I'm just going with that enough Sindar speaking Elves have made it to Valinor at this point that naming traditions are getting a little melded, and they're running out of Fin- names in Finwë's line. From the description of rebirth in LaCE, he would have been born back into that family, and he is not born with all memories of his previous life. So things are a little spotty for him here, and he has not yet told his new parents who he was before. This snippet is from the POV of his new mother.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fingal darted out from behind his parents' legs, and threw himself into Amathorn's arms. Both were laughing and Amathorn shed a few happy tears as he spun their son around in the air.

"Oh little Star! You are so, SO little!"

Fingal giggled happily, and Amathorn settled the elfling on his hip and ruffled his hair. Amathorn took another moment just staring at her child. Something unspoken was passing between them, and Fingal grinned and threw his little arms around Amathorn's waist, snuggling his face against the fabric of his tunic.

This was very different from what his reaction had been to Aranye at the market. Fingal was clearly very familiar and comfortable with this elf.

It was more than a little strange, for her child to so clearly know and love someone she had never seen before. Prior to that day at the market, she had thought she knew every piece of Fingal, but it was becoming all the more clear that she knew very very little about her child. It was an uncomfortable thought.

Not to allow that thought to affect her decorum, she invited Amathorn into their conservatory. He complimented their lever harp, saying that his husband played one as well, but it was not his main instrument.

Fingal gasped dramatically at this.

"You got married?"

"Yes, Star," Amathorn laughed "I met someone here in Valinor. He would like to meet you, with your parents' permission." Amathorn looked up at her.

She nodded, but something else had suddenly struck her.

"Does he have a spouse somewhere? Children?"

Amathorn let out a snort-laugh that was an abrupt shift from his regal demeanor. His face shifted back to serious quickly though as Fingal pressed his little body up against him, fist curled into the fabric of his trousers. Amathorn put his arm protectively around him.

"Sorry," he said, and she wasn't sure which of them he was apologizing to. He looked her in the eye. "He does not. And he will not." His voice was unexpectedly firm. "I am telling you this now so you can manage your expectations. This was a difficult subject at one time, so just... Don't."

He put a finger under Fingal's chin, gently lifting his head so their eyes met. "I am still here for you. Always, little Star." Fingal crawled up into his lap, burying his face in Amathorn's tunic, who began rubbing his back soothingly. While Fingal's face was covered he met her eyes again and mouthed "heir pressure," started to mouth something else, but evidently decided against it and just grimaced and shook his head.

"Close friends then? Melohesë? Other kin?"

"For the most part, those he was closest to remain in Middle Earth. Círdan, who raised him from childhood will likely be one of the last to return as he is the master ship builder. And Elrond - "

Fingal abruptly bounced up, nearly toppling off of Amathorn's lap.

"Elrond?" His little face was so hopeful.

Amathorn chuckled. "I'm not surprised that you remember him, the two of you were very close." Fingal nodded enthusiastically. "I stayed with him until I was sure he did not have need of me. He remains Lord of Imladris, he did not, erm, inherit your job.

Fingal nodded happily, clearly understanding whatever that meant.

"He and Celebrían have three children now. Twins, that look just like he and Elros did, and are nearly as much trouble too. And a daughter, who inherited both her parents' intelligence and looks like Luthien herself."

While Fingal evidently did not want children of his own, he wiggled happily at this news, bouncing a little on Amathorn's lap.

"Where are they? When can I see them?" He asked so innocently and hopefully that her heart broke a little knowing what answer would come.

"Oh Star, they are not here with us in Aman. They're still in Middle Earth."

"Can they come visit?"

Amathorn sighed. "No little one, passage from Arda to Aman is not easy."

Fingal frowned. "Can we go see them?"

"Star, do you really want to go back to Middle Earth?" Fingal froze, and something unspoken again passed between them in eyes alone.

"No," he muttered, and fell bonelessly back onto Amathorn's chest. "Námo had me pick."

"I had guessed as much," Amathorn said, stroking his hair. "You deserve to grow up here in Valinor. Safe, and with a loving ammë and atya who are taking care of you."

"But I want to see Elrond" Fingal mumbled, muffled, having turned his face back against Amathorn's chest.

"And I'm sure Elrond would love to see you. He would pick you up and not set you down again until you were too tall to carry," Amathorn teased, tickling Fingal's belly. "It is only fair after you towered over him with your large frame all his life. And now you're small enough to scoop!"

And scoop Amathorn did, lifting her son into the air, turning in his seat to swing him around a little while Fingal dissolved into giggles.

"In a few decades you'll be big and strong again, I must do this while I can!"

Her son continued laughing, and Amathorn set him back on his lap and kissed the top of his head.

"I can't get over how tiny you are. You!" Fingal beamed up at him, and she was a little puzzled. Her son was rather tall for his age, but she was gathering from context that he was just going to keep growing into a large stature.

"I have something for you," Amathorn continued, bending to reach into his bag. He pulled forth a soft grey toy, that was almost as long as Fingal was tall.

"Aeglos!" her son cried, snatching it out of Amathorn's hands and pulling it into a hug. He rubbed his cheek against it and rocked back and forth. "Thank you! Thank you!"

"You are very welcome little Star. A soft version for now, but when you get older we will find a smith to forge you a new spear as close as they can make to what Aeglos was."

Her son nodded vigorously, still hugging the plush, a spear evidently. His spear named Aeglos. She knew the name of her son's spear now even if she did not know his original name. She was unsure what to make of that.

"Where is Aeglos? The real Aeglos?" Fingal peered back down at Amathorn's bag, as if it could be hiding what she assumed to be a full sized spear.

"Elrond has it in Imladris. I'm sorry Star, I should have thought to bring it with me when I sailed."

"That's okay," Fingal said kicking his feet a little. "I'm glad Elrond has it."

"He misses you dearly," Amathorn confirmed. "There is an alcove of your relics from the battle in a place of honor in his house, and he keeps your c-"Amathorn choked off the last word, and Fingal shot him an absolutely peeved look. "Sorry."

Whatever it was her son did not want her to know about, there was something to be gleaned from what was said. He had died in battle. How horrible! She wanted to gather him up in her own arms, but he was clearly enjoying himself on Amathorn's lap, so she would wait.

She was going to absolutely smother him with affection tonight. Even if it did sting that he clearly was still keeping quite a bit from her. She could search for information about this Elrond and probably be able to come up with a list of Elves who had died in battle who were close to him, but she quickly dismissed the notion as an invasion of privacy. She would wait until he felt comfortable sharing, whatever it was.

Fingal was very comfortable sharing with Amathorn. He showed him his artwork, his pressed leaf collection, the creek behind their home, and invited him to stay for dinner.

With a brief look for permission towards her and her husband, Amathorn agreed, and seemed very happy to be led around by her son. She liked him, she had decided, and he did seem trustworthy. It was very clear that Fingal adored him, and Amathorn adored Fingal in return.

Amathorn made his goodbyes after dinner, saying he needed to be back home by meridian sun the next day when Fingal asked him to stay overnight. Fingal was clearly disappointed, but Amathorn promised that he would return whenever Fingal asked for him. Satisfied with that compromise, and a lengthy hug and goodbye, Amathorn made to leave.

She grabbed him by the shoulder right outside of the door. He spun around sharply, shifting his weight and she suddenly remembered that his letter had implied that he had once been some sort of guard to Fingal in Arda. As quickly as the tension had found him however, it left his body as he saw it was only her. She smoothed her tunic down and tried to put her most burning question into words.

"The reason he won't tell us who he is, it is not - bad, is it? He's not... a kinslayer or anything?"

Something flashed in Amathorn's eyes.

"No," he said, "Nothing like that. He lived an honorable life and died an honorable death he just... I think he just wants to grow up safe, with a normal life this time."

While that was a better answer than her deepest anxieties had come up with, that was still rather concerning. He hadn't grown up safe before? Had he escaped one of the kinslayings?

Amathorn took her hands in his own. "His childhood was tumultuous, he was separated from his parents so young that he has no memory of his father at all. The city where he was supposed to be safely kept with his mother was destroyed. I pulled him out from under her cooling body after she had thrown herself over him in the way of falling stone. He became a refugee with his foster father, and then, before he reached the age of majority, he was pushed into an adult role that provided him with a great deal of stress. He knew nothing else for thousands of years until he was killed in a horrible, hopeless battle. He sacrificed himself, and I couldn't - " his voice shook.

"I'm sorry, I have known him since he was around a decade older than he is now, and I watched him die brutally across a battlefield, unable to help him. Even if I had been near him I would have been unable to do anything but die with him. Arda can be a cruel, dark place, and he was a light to many. It is not his nature to be deceitful, I think he is just desperate."

"Desperate? For what?"

Amathorn shook his head and let out a pained sort of sound.

"Right now? For a carefree childhood with parents he will actually remember and to not be sent away to strangers. To not be crushed under the weight of expectations and forced into adulthood before he reaches the age of majority." Amathorn took a deep breath. "Please just love him as hard as you can, and give him the happiest, most mundane childhood possible. He deserves that and more. He deserves peace. Please give him peace."

Her heart broke for her child again. He was such a sweet, gentle spirit, all of this sounded like something that would break him down into a shade of who he was now.

"We will, he knows only love with us." She paused. "I would like for him to continue to know you too. He clearly loves you."

"I swore myself to him in his first life," Amathorn said softly, "I consider that oath unbroken by his death. It would be my honor to help watch over him while he grows."

[tolkienocweek]

@tolkienocweek - Day 5 - My beloved depressed grandfather-granddaughter duo, yay!

The broken dagger

'Heeeey!'

'No'.

'You don't even know what did I want!'

'I apprehend that my answer will be 'no'. It is an attempt to save time for both of us'.

Almy plopped down on the couch, which creaked lamentably. Pine needles fell from the folds of her scarf onto the floor. Feanaro wanted to protest, but he looked around at the mess that already existed here and changed his mind. The excitement of walking on this earth again gradually faded away, and it became increasingly difficult to get out of bed and do anything.

'I brought you amme's apple pie...' said Almy, looked into her bag and corrected herself: 'Half of apple pie'.

He felt ashamed. This girl is trying her best to help him and she does not deserve to look at his sour face instead of gratitude.

Feanaro sighed and went to put the kettle on.

'So, what did you want to ask?'

'Mhm... nevermind'.

'Almiel Meterrive, if you said tinco, say parma'.

'I was just wondering if you could repair my dagger'.

'Your dagger?'

She set down cup, rummaged in her bag and laid a rag bundle on the table.

'Uncle Curvo made it back in Beleriand and ada gave it to me as winter solstice gift when I was a child. I broke it accidentally last week. They all said it's impossible to fix it - Tyelpe and uncle Curvo and grandpa Mahtan. I just thought... maybe you'll be able?'

He slammed the cup down on the table.

'No.'

'Just have a look...'

'No. Almy, I...'

He has not enough bravery to tell her that his hands are shaking when he just thinks about crafting anything again.

'...I do not even have a forge here! And if Mahtan, Curufin and Telperinquar said that it is impossible, they are most likely right', Almy looked really upset, so he added: 'Sorry. I am sure that neither your father, nor your uncle will be offended by this'.

'I know', sighed Almy. 'It's fine, I know that it's very old dagger. Probably it doesn't worth attempts of fixing'.

She held out to take bundle.

Probably it does not worth attempts of fixing...

'Wait', Feanaro stopped granddaughter's hand. 'Fine. Leave it here, maybe I will have a look'.

'Woo-hoo! Thank you! You're the coolest bestest grandpa ever!'

'I did not promise anything, I only said that I maybe will have a look'.

'I know', said Almy and hugged him.

What on earth was she doing with that dagger?! Inside of bundle he found a huddle of thin sharp fragments and hilt that was polished of centuries-long using. Mahtan, Curvo and his son were right when they refused to take this work - it is almost impossible and requires huge amount of skills, accuracy and time - and still without guaranteed result. In his youth he would be happy to get such a challenge.

On her next visit he told Almy it is unlikely that he could repair broken blade, but did not let her take it back. When he asked what exactly happend to the dagger she mumbled something and changed the topic.

Rag bundle stayed in Feanaro's house and he continued to come across it every day and put it in another place to find it there tomorrow and replace again.

'May I use forge in your gran's house in the woods?'

'Sure!' Almy jumped from the couch where she was working on her herbarium after her last trip to the south. Dried plants fanned out across the floor where pine needles were still scattered. 'It's not used by anyone, we can ride right now!'

It happend more than six month after her asking and during all this time Almy never mentioned broken dagger again. But now she looked as she was waiting for that exactly words of him.

Small forge happened to be cold and dusty. Nobody used it for decades and they spent two days only for a cleanup. Maybe they would have done it faster, but Feanaro was unconsciously delaying the moment when he would have to get to work. On the third morning he unwrapped the bundle of shards and spread them out on the work table.

'I will try my best to fix everything', he said. 'But I do not want to give you false hope'.

Almy nodded. She knew that he is talking not about dagger.

--------------------------------

If you're, just like Naro, curious what Almy did with her dagger: after about twenty attepts to break or at least bend it she came to Aule and ask him to crush it in his forge. She's everybody's favourite babygirl and that includes Valar.

[tolkienocweek]

@tolkienocweek: Relationships (August 29th)

I chose friendship for the prompt and decided to write something about one of my favourite dynamics Cassie/Lîneth has, namely her friendship with Boromir:

Rivendell was full of beauty, song, and laughter. And yet Boromir was restless. He would trade the comfort and the peace of it for any one of the harrowing hundred days on the road: he would endure anything, if only his heart was steady and his purpose clear.

He’d come to this place with a riddle, to which he now had an answer. A halfling, the blade of Elendil, and… a flash of gold. That was all he’d seen of the thing that was the harbinger of doom for the free people or Middle Earth. For his city. Even if against all hope the Quest should end with Isildur’s bane destroyed and Sauron’s spirit defeated, who should hold back his forces while the ringbearer made the long journey to Mordor?

Minas Tirith. As it always had. Yes, Rivendell was full of laughter, but laughter was easy when the horrors of Minas Morgul were not at your doorstep. The elves, perhaps, could afford to speak of wisdom and of caution when their strongholds were safe and strong, and when they could leave Middle Earth behind if all was lost.

With those bitter thoughts he wandered, aimless, and turned a corner on the garden path to find himself face to face with the woman he’d seen at the Council, the one Elrond had failed to introduce. She had listened without speaking, and her eyes had scanned each face with keen perception. She was dressed in the elvish fashion, yet clearly was a daughter of Men; though to guess from where she hailed, he would have to be far more travelled.

“Oh, hello,” she said, and her eyes crinkled with–concern, he thought, or maybe something like melancholy. “I’m Lîneth. You’re Boromir, right? Let’s be friends.”

Boromir bowed slightly in greeting, taken aback. “Well, I will not refuse friendship when among so many strangers. Have I interrupted your stroll?”

“Not at all,” Lîneth said. With exceeding forwardness she linked her arm with his. “I’ll just walk with you now.”

“Is that so?” Boromir said, amused. “I like to know a little more about my friends before I invite them on solitary walks.”

“Oh, I’m an open book,” she dismissed. “You can ask me anything. It’s just more likely than not that you’re not going to believe me.”

“Try me,” he challenged. “Many other messengers came forward at the council to state their purpose here, but you neither identified yourself nor who has sent you. Or do you live here in the house of Elrond?”

Perhaps she was one of the Rangers. She seemed close to the man who called himself Isildur’s heir; but whether he was all that he claimed to be still had to be tested.

“Well,” she started. “I come from a galaxy far, far away…”

“A what?”

“A land,” she said with a sigh. “You have not heard of it, so don’t bother asking. Through a series of shenanigans, I ended up here, and now I can predict the future.”

“You certainly predicted the difficulty of believing that claim,” said Boromir, once more stunned. “Can you prove it?”

“All in good time,” she said. “I like to know my friends a little better before I start giving out prophecies.”

Despite himself, Boromir laughed.

[tolkienocweek]

for @tolkienocweek day 5: relationships (ft. maglor's sort-of-not-really-ex-husband)

[tolkienocweek]

heru Arantëa, knight of the Jewels, Curufin's mad dog, who heeds neither glory nor pain

Curufin and Ancalimon during the Bragollach retreat, en route to stir up trouble in Nargothrond. (I intended this for @tolkienocweek but didn't finish in time)

[tolkienocweek]

@tolkienocweek Day 5: Relationships

Mentelossë, Glorfindel's wife

[tolkienocweek]

Are you still reblogging posts after the event deadline?

We will be keeping an eye closely over the next week or so, and then we will continue reblogging, but it might be a lot more irregular after that! We will continue reblogging over the next year if we're tagged however!

[tolkienocweek]

Tolkien OC Week: Relationships (Aug 29th)

@tolkienocweek

Had to do my fav “Forced Marriage Enemies to Lovers Power Couple” of Crown Prince Eldarion of Gondor and Arnor, and my OC Lomiziran, Witch-Princess of Umbar.

He was a prince caught up in the really dumb decision to try and retake a city without his father’s permission, who got himself and his strike team captured by the Queen-Regent of Umbar, who forces him to marry her witch daughter to save the lives of his men.

She was a princess-priestess trying to help rebuild a culture that had been suppressed by their tyrant god-king, who finds herself being married off to the half-elfdemon prince who just tried to invade her city cuz her mother says it'll help secure their chances of survival as Gondor's going to take them over one way or another anyway.

Eventually, they stop thinking the other is going to kill them long enough to talk and figure out that they might actually like each other...

Anyway here's the little bits of history I have for Lomiziran and her family:

Lomiziran: Witch-Princess of Umbar, wife of Eldarion and eventually Queen of Gondor-Arnor. Mother of Ethoril. Trained in the magic arts by her grandmother, a devotee of the ancient Umbarian version of Varda, who’s worship had gone underground during Sauron’s occupation but was kept alive in secret. (Born 1424 SR. Marries 1443 SR)

Lominzil: Wife of Castamir III, mother of Lomiziran. Becomes Queen-Regent after her husband and his brother’s death in battle (Umbar traditionally a duumvirate). Engineers Lomiziran’s marriage to Eldarion after capturing his strike force. She was a descendent of Sangahyando, kinsman of Angamaite, who married a princess of the Haradrim.

Castamir III: Father of Lomiziran, a descendant of Angamaite, one of the Gondorian Lords who fled to Umbar during the Kingstrife. Aragorn killed his grand-father, the Captain of the Haven during his time as Thorongil. Castamir himself was killed in the new forays between Gondor and Umbar over Harondor in the early years of Aragorn’s reign.

Nitirkali: Mother of Lominzil, grandmother of Lomiziran. Dedicated her life to renewing the ancient religions of Umbar in secret after meeting the Blue Wizards as a teenager and becoming convinced of the true evil nature of Sauron. Trained Lomiziran in magic as taught to her by the Blue Wizards.