#Southern Harad

[savage-kult-of-gorthaur]

STRAIGHT OUTTA SOUTHERN HARAD -- LIVING, BREATHING, RAMPAGING SIEGE ENGINES.

PIC(S) INFO: Spotlight on the War Mûmamkil and their Haradrim riders, scenes from the War of the Ring and the Battle of the Pelennor Fields as depicted in "The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King" (2003), directed by Peter Jackson.

"New forces of the enemy were hastening up the road from the River; and from under the walls came the legions of Morgul; and from the southward fields came footmen of Harad with horsemen before them, and behind them rose the huge backs of the mûmakil with war-towers upon them. But northward the white crest of eomer led the great front of the Rohirrim which he had again gathered and marshalled; and out of the City came all the strength of men that was in it, and the silver swan of Dol Amroth was borne in the van, driving the enemy from the Gate."

-- "THE LORD OF THE RINGS," "The Return of the King," Book V, Chapter VI, written by J.R.R. Tolkien

Source: www.novelforfree.com/the-return-of-the-king_chapter_book-v-chapter-6_1735_199.html.

[tobylix-blog]

Southern winds - Legolas x f!Reader

Content & Warnings: slight angst, memory loss Word count: 3.5k Summary: Legolas joins king Elessar during his travel through recently reclaimed lands of Harondor. He is met with the views of the vast steppe, poverty and some old Harad magic. A/n: This turned out quite differently from how I initially envisioned, so I am pretty much desperate for feedback in comments, asks or dms. P.S. Requests are open

Even though Hísimë [1] is considered to be the fading season, usually accompanied by first significantly colder days throughout the Middle-earth, South from Poros river it seems to be yet another month of autumn when days and nights differ in lighting less than in weather. The Harad road goes south taking smooth turns around rocky hills, never showing one's eyes more than necessary. But a traveler equipped with a fine cloak and a good flask of water feels welcomed by the vast steppe slowly turning to desert.

Riders left Minas Tirith over a fortnight ago. Their cloaks were black, making them similar to some crisp-edged shadows casted by a weird flock of birds. Elessar had made it clear that he wished to remain in the front of the whole group, leading the way rather than following the fame of his name. And all the more so he wished since he had learned that Legolas wanted to join him for this mission.

«These lands are pleased to witness new people,» Legolas mentioned gesturing at some small rodent that had been running along the road with them for a minute.

Aragorn smirked in response. «Your eyes are only getting sharper over the years.»

He reached into one of the bags and pulled out a hardtack. Riding closer to the edge of the road he crumbled it and scattered along the path. He slowed down the horse to watch as the animal reached the breadcrumbs and began feasting upon them.

«These lands need a helping hand. It has always been difficult for people here, but living under the constant threat from both Corsairs of Umbar and Haradrim is beyond hard,» Aragorn sighed, catching up with Legolas.

«The chance will present itself soon. Before long we will reach Forambar. I can hear the voices in the distance,» the elf replied.

«Shall we take a turn here then? Merchants were not so clear about the path.»

«Not yet, we might need to ride some more.»

Aragorn trusted Legolas' hearing more than any advice or guidance and it paid off grandly. The elf led the riders through an almost invisible path twisting between the stony hills. As they reached the highest point they could see Forambar before them. Just a village like many other in Harondor. A bunch of rickety huts and tents scattered across a narrow valley. The only notable thing about Forambar was that it was the closest settlement to Ithilien, and thus Gondor.

As the king and his entourage approached the settlement, many of its inhabitants came out to see. Some were wary of people in fine armor with the White tree on their chests. Others seemed rather curious about the unexpected guests. No matter the expressions of tanned faces, their eyes glimmered with one and the same question 'What do you bring here?'

Aragorn halted the horse halfway through the village and waited. The sparse crowd filled with whispers, swayed like a wave, and a man emerged from within it. He wasn't particularly tall or strong, but his clothes appeared finer than those of others and suggested his higher status.

«What brings us the honor to welcome guests from Gondor?» the man inquired cautiously.

«It is my will to pay visit to all settlements South from Poros and bring whatever help people of Harondor might need for I am the King, Elessar Telcontar, and these lands are once more part of my kingdom according to peace treaty with Haradrim,» Aragorn spoke, his voice clear and loud above the quiet valley. In the golden rays of the sunset behind his back he seemed a regal monument of himself.

For a moment everyone remained silent and motionless. Then the man in front, chief of Forambar, who couldn't tear his eyes away from Aragorn, got down on one knee bowing his head lowly to the king. The crowd behind him swayed once more and followed the example. Elders bowed with respect, young ones knelt.

Legolas observed the scene of recognition with mild curiosity and understanding. He knew well enough what kind of a king his friend was, that Aragorn deserved every bit of this esteem. Among all gathered people the elf noticed only one figure that remained unbent. A young woman standing in a narrow passage between tents – you. Your dark skin glowed like antique bronze in sunlight. Your hair cut unusually short was mostly covered by a scarf, its long ends hanging over your shoulder. But what caught his eyes more than a faint hint of a bow that you portrayed were your ears with undoubtedly pointy ends.

______________________________________________________________

Though Forambar had little to no resources to provide for the king and his entourage, two tents were momentarily set up on height above the village. There was something positively romantic in the way one could leave the comforting warmth of a tent and be so completely enveloped in cool night air and bright glow of stars above.

Before the dusk gave in to the darkness completely, Damon, chief of Forambar, visited Aragorn. He asked you to come along as well. When you entered the tent together he bowed deeply to the king once more, however you only bowed your head respectfully. Damon spoke quietly and verbosely, doubts and uncertainty clear in his tone as he asked for what service he could accomplish for the Great King.

You stopped him at once, as you put your hand on the chief's shoulder. «My king, let this man go back to his family. His heart is pained at the thought of not fulfilling your wish, but he can hardly do any more than he has already done,» you suggested.

Aragorn nodded in agreement. «Which is enough. Go home, friend, and let your heart be at peace.»

The chief bowed respectfully and departed hastily, leaving you behind in a company of the king and-

«Legolas of the Woodland realm,» you nodded to the elf who stood further from the entrance, almost completely covered by the shadows. «Our lands cannot remember the times when elves set their feet upon it. Truly has the new age come.»

Legolas spared you a long observant glance. He took in your gestures, unhurried and firm, your clothes, hanging loosely around your body, your piercing gaze and yet again those pointy ears. «If it were not for your words, I would have sworn you were one of Edhil. Who are you?»

«My name here is Morentir. I am the watchman in the north,» you replied and noticed a silent question arising. «North of Harad, that is. My ancestors came from beyond Harnen and brought their knowledge long ago. We have stayed in these lands ever since, grateful to them and to people, who accepted us.»

«There are more watchmen? What exactly is it that you keep your eyes on?» Aragorn inquired, stepping to the side.

«Harondor. From the shores to the mountains, we see everything. Every merchant taking the road, every nomad crossing the steppe, every shadow forming under the sun. We search for dangers and fortunes. We guide people away from ones and towards the others. A dozen and a half watchmen by the number of settlements across the land. That is who we are,» you said. «And that is why I have to be here tonight. If you wish to visit all of the villages in Harondor, you will need our guidance, my king.»

As you spoke to Aragorn, elaborating on the ways of the steppe, Legolas observed you silently. He watched how you unwrapped your scarf and laid it out on the floor showcasing the map embroidered on delicate fabric. He listened intently to your voice, savoring a thick layer of accent and arrhythmic pace, as you explained their further travel. He found something calming in the way candlelight casted shadows across your hands as they were gliding over the surface of the map.

When you got up and left the tent a good hour later, it was as if he woke up from a dream. Warmth and serenity of comfortable silence suddenly felt suffocating to Legolas. He followed the gust of fresh wind from the entrance and found himself under a vast carpet of stars. Piercing cold wind greeted him outside and a piercing gaze of your eyes. «Was there something amiss?»

Legolas considered your words for a long second before letting a faint smile touch his lips. Your question landed a precise strike to the feeling that bothered him. «Like a moon from the sky on a cloudy night.»

«I didn't know whom I had made this for, until tonight. But it seems you have come in time to relieve me of the doubts,» you murmured, passing him a folded garb from your bosom. Under close inspection it turned out to be a thin chemise, soft to the touch and intricately embroidered. Legolas' fingers followed the pattern on the front making out unfamiliar ornaments. «Wear it when your heart feels right.»

______________________________________________________________

Southern spring turned out to be even worse than the winter. By the end of Súlìmë [2] nights remained almost as cold, but during the day sun shone relentlessly, heating up Gondorians in their dark cloaks and armor like stones on the road. Many riders chose to take off their helmets and some piled their armor in the wagons following them. Since the time when they entered Harondor during late autumn the lands proved to be relatively clear of dangers that needed to be met with steel. Following the routes shown by watchmen, they wouldn't have met any of those, had Aragorn not chosen to teach a lesson to some runaway Haradrim bandits.

At the thought of that encounter Legolas involuntarily raised a hand to his chest. One of the throwing knives had come right below his hand as he was drawing the bow. That would make one unsightly scar if it wasn't for the shirt. He thought it was but a chance at first. Though the longer he spent observing the embroidery the more convinced he became that there was more to this thing than just beautiful craft.

«It is a woven shield. Harad magic,» Luintir, watchman from Urgon, confirmed when Legolas showed her the garb. «Well-worn one would cost one a good flock of sheep South from Harnen.»

The elf didn't care for sheep or gold, but knowing just how valuable the gift was took him by surprise. You who hadn't known him before gave him a thing of such power and worth. The knowledge only made his thoughts circle back to you more often.

In the beginning it was only natural to occasionally reflect on a sudden encounter and a gift. But since the middle of winter Legolas could barely name a few nights when his mind wouldn't be filled with thoughts of a woman that he only met once. It only got worse since they left Urgon and turned back North on Yestarë [3]. Weather changes didn't do enough to get his mind off you as the elf didn't suffer nearly as much as other riders.

And now as they finally were approaching Forambar Legolas felt a stinging wish to rush forward, get you away from the prying eyes and ask dozens of questions swarming in his head.

______________________________________________________________

Damon greeted the king and his men ceremoniously. Clearly the first wagons with goods from central Gondor had already reached the village in winter and the people were grateful for the help.

The stay wasn't supposed to be long this time either, so Legolas took the chance to roam along the path to the North of the village, where your hut stood just a little distanced from the rest. Small and sturdy it seemed in the dry last year's grass. He heard you before you showed from behind the building. Your steps rustled against the ground like water whispers against river banks.

«What brings you here, noble guest?» you asked him. The question rang clear through the cool air, but remained unanswered. Legolas appeared completely taken aback, his eyes wide, eyebrows drawn together, lips parted. There were changes in you, such that should not occur nor within a year, neither after a longer time. He clenched the shirt he held on his hands. You noticed it and reached out. «Was it your wish to ask about it?»

Legolas looked down at your hand, then back up at your face. «Your eyes are black.»

«As they should be. It would be a waste to be called Morentir and bear eyes of a different shade,» you replied amused by his direct statement. He only shook his head. That couldn't be true. In the name of Valar it couldn't be, he remembered clearly that your eyes were not black when you looked at him standing just outside of the king's tent.

«You Sindar are truly a mystery,» you noted, turning to the side. You could sense that this elf meant no harm, but his actions were rather strange. The turmoil in his heart was obvious to your eyes yet the reasons remained unclear. When you felt his fingers tracing the edge of your ear, you recoiled unconsciously. «By what custom would you do that?!»

Legolas' expression filled with painful confusion. «My eyes betray me... I could swear... I mistook you for one of our kind when I've seen your ears. Shaped as beech leaves were they.»

«People don't tend to have such ears,» you objected, slightly annoyed. For some reason the graceful creature before your eyes irritated you like an insect.

«I remember it clearly as day. This chemise reminded me with every touch, I wouldn't forget even if I wished to... So different you were that night. Same voice, same woman, yet so much changed.» The more he looked at you the more distinctions he could see, some subtle, others obvious. «How could that be?»

You sighed, feeling his words weighing heavily on your mind. «Go back, guest.»

Your voice struck him as a slap across the face. «Does your gift have no meaning? I learned of its value, I thought of it daily, but it holds no importance to you?»

«I do not recognize you and neither do I care,» you retorted and repeated firmly. «Go back.»

Legolas stood frozen as if a blade and not your words pierced through him. You watched something crumble inside him so loudly that it was visible in his striking blue eyes. It was so clear that you had to turn away for it to not consume you as well. For the first time in many years you cursed your role as a watchman when sensations of elf's struggle washed over you. Being able to see and hear all that happened many miles away from Forambar had never been as painful. «Go back,» you repeated once more before hiding away from him behind the door.

______________________________________________________________

By the middle of Víressë [4] Legolas crossed the Old Forest Road and entered the gentle shade of the Great Greenwood. Before long he took notice of a squirrel following in the same direction as him and fished out a few nuts for it from a bag. As his fingers grazed the inner side of the bag he noticed a different sort of texture. Upon further inspection that turned out to be sheets of paper folded multiple times.

Legolas pulled out the whole pile and looked at the outermost page first. It was filled with messy writing, black ink letters scattered across the surface. It took him a few whole moments before he managed to make sense of the words.

«Skies be good your mind will find peace by the time this reaches you for I must confess,» then followed a blot size of a fat bug and more erratic writing, «the truth. Let it be just the truth.»

«I am Morentir, one of the watchmen in the north. That means more than standing on guard somewhere high as people do in other lands. We watch over the entire Harondor with three dozen eyes. That is more than a living man can do. But when our ancestors came from the South, they brought knowledge with them. Spells that allow us to see and hear more than the best hunters can. Magic that makes us see whatever the others witness as clearly as if their eyes belong to us.»

There was a wide gap before the next paragraph just like a heavy sigh.

«This power has... a price. A cost that must be paid. Our hair is short, but even shorter is our memory. We live to guard and guide our people, but we don't live the lives of people. We forget easily and willingly, each day starting anew. We remember the lands and names, spells and runes, but none of us can say for sure what they look like. Sometimes we wake up with a different face, but we're unable to notice the difference.

That must have been what scared you then. Forgive me for that.

And truly did I not recognize you, Legolas. For that I do not seek your forgiveness. I only ask you to read the other page if your soul stirs from the memory or burn it if your heart is at peace.»

Legolas switched his attention to the other sheet without giving it a second thought. His eyes got used to the handwriting already and he easily picked out the words this time. The page seemed to be torn from a journal.

«The day was calm. The north wind brought good omens and guests. The king, Elessar of house Telcontar, who claimed our lands back from Harad and Umbar. He came with only a few of his men. And brought along a friend from afar. An elf. Long has it been, since we heard of elves, even longer since any of us had seen one of them. Legolas is his name. Son of the high king from the Woodland realm. He found the path to Forambar that our people use, that is worthy of respect. And the land liked him more than even some of our children. Truly do elves have their way with nature.

He stands tall and proud, he walks weightlessly and swiftly, he speaks eloquently but rarely. Everything in him is hardly a creation of the ground, but rather that of night air or flourishing forests. I take it that others notice but a half of what my eyes catch though. Therefore I should say more...

Long is his hair and light like the rising sun. The wind plays with it like with the most expensive of silks. His skin is fair, so unlike our people here. But he doesn't seem pale, rather the opposite – life and will is strong in him, so much is evident. His eyes are so blue that the sky seemed embarrassed for the rest of the evening, blushing with sunset... And I blushed with it when his eyes left mine.

The woven shield is asking to be gifted. I can feel the stirring of its power beneath the fabrics. Out of all possible outcomes that one is hardly predictable. But the omens are good. The elf deserves the Gift, and my soul would be free to roam the land further this way.»

There was another gap, wide like a whole paragraph. Next line began with a blot, then a few words were crossed out, another blot and finally something decipherable.

«Good be the skies. What did they send him here for? The Gift is his. I gave it away, the one I made. So easily like it was but the first of many promises.» Something crossed out again. «The omens were good. So said all of us. But it pains me to think that the path may not take him back to Forambar. He took the Gift, nothing more. He doesn't know of our customs, he doesn't seek for our ways, he doesn't belong despite the way grass catches on his boots.» More crossed out. «I will read the spell before the new moon comes. I can hardly find peace of mind if his shadow overtakes mine so easily. He may take the Gift, but not me. My watch is not over yet.»

The words by the edge were crossed out poorly, and Legolas could read them through the thin strokes of ink. «Why would his eyes be so blue? Good be the winds I forget them soon.»

______________________________________________________________ 1 – quenyan equivalent to November. Here and further I refer to months from the King's Reckoning 2 – March 3 – first day of the year, approximately spring equinox 4 – April

[helenvader]

As a contribution for Week 6 of the ROP Summer Celebration 2024 I offer "everything you never wanted to know about my OCs" from Tale of a King, which takes plays both in the Second and Fourth Age.

The 2nd Age characters:

Enwyn fiên Wendall (daughter of Wendall)*

*I came up with a fake Old Western Southron as the language of the Southerners in the 2nd Age, it's not very extensive, but I needed to know what names of characters and places mean, and also, I couldn't resist having a linguistic Appendix for a Tolkien story).

My fancast for Enwyn is Jane Eyre as played by Mia Wasikowska

Family: One sister (Erriân fiên Wendall). One daughter (Neni, full name Neniêth fiên Halbrand). And an overbearing mother. Three nephews and one niece.

Character: Quiet and gentle (not submissive, though). Witty. Very patient. You have to be if you're Halbrand's/Sauron's wife. I've given some thought to what kind of partner Halbrand would need, and I came to the conclusion she'd have to have a sense of humour and not take him 100% seriously. And not to be as impulsive as he is, so as to ground him in reality.

Her struggles: Infertility. And coming to terms with her mortality, since her and her husband may never meet in the afterlife (which is why I chose a mortal woman as his wife for this story). 

Interests: Growing apples. :-) She has an orchard in my fictional village of Ramborn and later in Tir-Harad (the Queen’s orchard).

Later: Brewing cider (which is a Harfoot invention in my AU; her original orchard becomes their “collective” later on.)

She also likes to write, and the story includes excerpts from her journal.

The story also includes their daughter Neniêth, who resembles Halbrand in most respects: looks, stubbornness, talent for smithing. Becomes a well-known jeweller. Not a queen though, the Southlands are an elective monarchy in my AU.

The 4th Age characters:

Tany Perriwinkle

26 years old. Ancient languages expert, works in an archive. She is also an editor for her friend Bran who is a playwright (the whole story is framed by the play he is writing about King Halbrand). Pretty, lively, very social. Changes boyfriends a lot. :-)

Bran Tarry

In his 30s. Playwright. A reclusive bachelor. Creative (obviously), with a sense of humour. Tendency to tease Tany about her love conquests. Pragmatic. His apartment is a mess. :-)

They basically look like the characters in the play's poster. The era they live in is fake 1920s.

An excerpt from the story:

Act V, scene 3 Excerpt from Enwyn's diary Year 1337 of the Second Age

The funniest thing happened this week. Halbrand's wedding ring mysteriously disappeared, and all attempts to locate it proved fruitless. Unlike mine, his is just a simple one with no enchantment, and thus untraceable even for him.

It turned out the culprit was our Neni. The impudent little thing marched up to her father and confessed, immensely pleased with her accomplishment. Young as she is, she instinctively knew to take his ring and not mine, and was fully confident that he would not punish her. And, indeed, instead of scolding her, he laughed so hard that couldn't help but join him. It was apparent that he was proud of her for having tricked us so. His sense of humour has always been marked by a streak of mischievousness; and who am I to deny that it's a huge part of his charm? And, of course, he is no stranger to thieving. I might have teased him that her skills are far superior to his.

His love for Neni is beautiful to witness; it burns fiercer and brighter than the fires of the forge, but then, is he not a being of living flame? Nevertheless, he needs to learn to set boundaries when it comes to her shenanigans, or else she'll be spoiled rotten. He played the penitent, promising he would try, but I shall only believe him when I see it with my own eyes!

[mithrilandvilya]

12th – language/culture/beauty 

Beauty in Harad 

She was Hastalteth, healer.  It was a title, assigned to a slave whose duty was to scour the battlefield for the fallen but not-yet-dead, and make them fit for further duty.  Aside from this, she had no name that she could remember, and recalled no life other than as Hastalteth. 

She was claimed by Qol Kai Chek, a large beast of the men of Harad.  Technically, he was Khandish, but his trade was war, and Harad had been his place for most of his career.  A fearless and commanding general, he led his troops with brutal efficiency and cunning, crafting his path to higher stations with ruthless ambition.   

This particular hastalteth was uniquely gifted at her craft, and this had become well-known amongst all the Southland battalions.  In a sea of clashing bodies bent on destruction, those who recognized her stepped aside and wielded their axes and maces in other directions, for the chance that should they fall, she would make them rise again. 

Nevertheless, her body was tainted with myriad scars and bruises, with  unnatural slight bends and bumpsi n bones here and there from ill-healed breaks.  There was no life without pain in Harad, especially for a slave.  There were no healers for the hastalteths, forbidden to aid one another and left to the help of only what they could do for themselves.��  

She helped herself little, because when she saw a fallen soul on the hot, blood-stained dirt at her feet, she gave no heed to who he was or who he served.  All broken souls called to her equally, and it pained her more to hear the cries in her head and heart and do nothing than it did to face the lashes, violations, and beatings of her master for aiding an enemy. At the end of a battle, her exhausted body would be carried off to his tent by some servant or other, and she would face his wrath.  There was no expression of gratitude for saving his strongest, fastest, or best archer – another day of life was all she could expect in exchange for a successful rescue.  Although he would never speak it, despite her willful disobedience at every battle, her unparalleled healing ability made her too valuable to dispatch.  Because she was his, his reputation was all the better; she served his ambitions. 

Thus she lived on a narrow precipice of survival, mourning little for her own fate.  The lowness of her station was drilled into her self-perception, inextricable. She could not imagine a world where she was treated differently or deserved a different kind of life – the very language of Harad which gave her no name ensured it. 

At least, that was almost so.  The Southlands were bleak and razed, baked by hot sun, repeatedly coated in suffocating black ash, and strewn with anger and death.  But her eyes and soul were drawn to the rare flashes of beauty that persisted, and she could almost envision the power of the beauty encompassing all, scouring clean the filth of evil, freeing minds and hearts. 

Her mind’s eye held onto the memory of a loyal friend carrying his comrade to her through the greatest peril.  She had seen the friends later, arm in arm, laughing away pain and darkness for one more day.   

She had seen rare, dainty white sand-lilies springing from cracks in the dried, hard earth, and intrepid bees packing their legs with pollen steadily with no mind to the bloodshed all around them.   

She watched magnificent sunrises and sunsets, and moonrises and moonsets, enhanced by the persistent smoke over Harad. 

She had once gone as far north as the southern edge of the Dead Marshes, witnessing the ghastly fallen spirits in its murky waters, while over them a family of beavers busily built their lodge, old swords, bows and staffs picked out of the choked bottom made part of its construction, so that the lodge was an entrancing work of art. 

She routinely noted bird nests tucked into layered cliffs, parents feeding their young amid soft, sharp chirps of excitement exuding from the nestlings. 

And she had twice knelt over and healed exquisite forms of the most beautiful elves, deemed merely mythical creatures this far south, and saw their shining eyes delight as the Halls of Mandos slammed shut before their spirits entered.  These had laid their hands on her in otherwise unknown gentleness and gratitude, inviting her to go with them, which she had refused because she desired not to make them a focus of her master’s worst intentions.  But ever since, she dreamed of them and the beauty that must fill the lands of such stunningly elegant people. 

She held on to these flashes of beauty, secreting them away in her mind, using them to keep from breaking entirely. Qol Kai Chek had complete control over her body, but he never knew what was in her mind.  That was hers and hers alone.  She had trained herself so that when he bore down on her with whips, chains, straps, and fists to leave her body and instead be with the bees, beavers or birds, or even with the elves.  He would grow frustrated that his punishments never changed her behavior, but when he ran out of breath at his exertions against her, he knew nothing else to do short of killing her, which he did not want.  He was clever enough to spin all in his favor in the eyes of charges and superiors, so it mattered not.  

Hastalteth steadfastly healed hundreds or maybe even thousands before Qol Kai Chek finally fell.  In the chaotic aftermath of his ultimate defeat, his remaining soldiers scattered confusedly in all directions, all thinking only of themselves, and none thinking of her.  She trudged wearily amongst the fallen, seeking any near enough to life to revive, until she happened upon the corpse of the general, not knowing he had fallen until then. She heard a far-off call from his soul to hers, pleading for life, but when she went to touch him, she felt his spirit violently jerked back away from her, and there was no more of him in this world.   

She stood, turned, and looked all around her and found herself utterly alone in the desolation. Above her, the sky was fiery red at the brink of night, and a single dark form cut across it from South to North.  A great eagle slowly soared, coming low as it passed over her, and she could see the beautiful fine detail of its powerful yet graceful feathers. It uttered a sharp, plaintive peal, seemingly calling her to follow.  

Hastalteth was apparently no more, but what she now was, she didn’t know.  The eagle was already far ahead of her and disappearing beyond a ridge as she set out after it. Her path was slow and treacherous over rocky, broken, and battle-shredded terrain, but by dawn, as she pulled herself up the final ledge of a cliff, she saw a trail of daisies before her, heading down into a very narrow green valley surrounded by bare black and red mesas in all directions.  The green winding canyon bottom was strikingly solitary and the only way forward.  Her eyes followed it as far as possible, and where it disappeared at a bend miles in the distance, she believed she could see a stand of lush trees, something she had never before seen but instantly recognized. 

There was a word for these trees, rarely used because they were rarely seen, nearly archaic in the Haradrim tongue. Santi, it was.  As she thrilled at the possibilities before her, she carefully made her way toward the stand of Santis, though it would take her nearly the full day to get to them. Looking on them as she drew near, and felt transformed by the sudden change in her fate.  She felt inspired to give herself a name.   

“Santi I now am,” she said out loud to herself, “and I will follow the path of beauty before me to see where it leads.”   

That night she laid under the boughs of her namesakes and dreamed of elves in splendid lands somewhere in the north and west, for the first time thinking perhaps she would actually see them someday.  The gently swaying Santis saw her beneath them, and having heard her say her name, reckoned her as one of them, and kept her safe in their embrace through the long night.  They sent out whispers through the earth and on the winds to all the places they knew, telling about her, and thus enchanted her journey. Creatures small and large welcomed and protected her wherever she went for the next several months.  Whenever she felt uncertain which way to turn, some creature would inevitably appear on her path, leading her around obstacles gradually north, and now and then west.  The enchantment continued until she first stepped into the realm of elves, where it ceased, no longer needed. 

Santi had no idea she had made it to the lands she dreamed of seeing, but she knew she was surrounded by overwhelming beauty.  Perhaps those from these lands took it for granted, but she herself was continually surprised and amazed at all she saw.  She sat down to rest, but fought against closing her eyes for more than a few moments, slightly fearful that when she re-opened them she would find this all a fantasy and awake with the brutish form of the general hovering over her, freshly laid welts and bruises marring her body, as she cowered in the corner of the tent of her master.  Eventually her eyes did close, and she slept without knowing. 

Night fell, starless due to low, wet clouds, when a soft touch on her shoulder stirred her and she was greeted by a voice she had heard once before.   

“Santi, I am relieved that you have found and followed the path we laid for you to come to us.  You are welcome here as long as you wish to remain.” 

Before she could ask, the elf continued, “We know your name from the trees, for we hear their voices as well as yours.  Come now to the halls of healing where you may rest and eventually work if you so desire.” 

Only then did she understand the solitary green line pointing her north, through the Santis to here, had been laid for her by the elves.  The two she met had both invited her to go with them, but had not forced her when she refused.  However, they did not forget the beautiful heart of the Haradrima healer that had tended them, and with a gentle touch at their departure had inserted themselves into her dreams to comfort her while they prepared her way out of the lands of darkness.  

Never before had Santi felt loved.  But once she knew it, she recognized love as the source of all beauty.  She understood that what Harad suffered was from its lack, and she pitied those she had left behind. 

 After a long respite with the elves, she followed the now-decaying green line back to her homeland.  As she passed the Santis, she thanked them for their name and protection but set them both aside and again became Hastalteth.  She spent the rest of her life healing as many as she could with loving care, with no master other than her own heart.   

On a particularly bleak, smoke-filled winter day less than a half-decade after her respite, two elves collected her shattered body from beneath a sullen rocky precipice deep inside the realm of Harad and carried her away to lay her to rest under the Santi trees, who again embraced her as their own.   

Those who saw her die mourned for themselves over it, but continued on their way to another battle they would soon face. However, among those she had healed were a few who were touched by her compassion and inspired to carry some of it themselves.   Nameless, she was before long forgotten in Harad except by the Santis, the only evidence of her life a small light in the hearts of some she healed and a few more that they themselves touched with compassion.  It went on and did not extinguish, helping to keep the full domination of darkness ever so slightly at bay. 

[anghraine]

I'm sleepy and bored, so I went back to thinning out my drafts folder. The furthest back is a longer scrap of fic, which apparently I was working on back on July 22nd, 2013:

-

When Éomer was a small boy and Éowyn still toddling about Aldburg, a stranger came through the Eastfold. At first, Éomer thought him a woman, for his long tunic could almost have been a gown, and then thought that he must be one of the Men of Gondor, for he was taller than Éomund and his unbraided hair was black and thick and very long. But it was not so. He was a merchant out of Harad.

To Éomer's bewilderment, his mother and father welcomed the merchant as warmly as if he had been the finest Rider in the Mark, and offered him provisions for the next leg of his journey. It was Éomund who explained to Éomer that the Southerner must have been a great warrior, and with his permission, showed Éomer the signs of it: the faded scars, the swordsman's calluses, the economical grace of his movements, the horseman's stride. The warrior-merchant explained that he had grown weary of war without end, and the strange demands and cults of Sauron, and as he knew something of metalsmithing, hoped to make a life for himself in the northern reaches of Eriador.

Years later, looking at the Steward of Gondor, Éomer was reminded forcibly of the man he had watched disappear into Fangorn all those years ago.

Lord Faramir was certainly every inch a man of Gondor—not, as his brother Boromir had been, one who might have been a Rider but for size and colouring. Faramir wore the robes of a pampered lord, his hair long and loose, and no beard had ever sprouted from his chin. Nor did he carry a weapon, unless one were to consider the white rod of his office as one.

Éomer did not. But in a single glance, he saw absent weapons in the other man's hands: the marks, unmistakable to a true warrior, of many years wielding sword or spear or bow. When the Steward rose and walked over to greet him, expression guarded, Éomer could see also that he must have spent a good deal of his life on horseback. He had few scars, which spoke well of his prowess. And yet—

And yet.

"My lord of Rohan," said Lord Faramir, bowing politely, but no more: not as king's servant to another king, but as one great lord to another. Éomer considered this and decided it pleased him.

It did not please him to be called lord of Rohan, true though it was. Even after so many days, he could not hear the title without expecting to find Théoden behind him, tall and hale as he had been in his last days. Éomer-King was a little better: but only a little.

"Lord Steward," he replied. Less shrewd sight would not have caught Faramir's start, less a wince than a hint of one.

Two pairs of keen grey eyes studied each other. As with Aragorn, Éomer met Faramir's eyes by looking straight ahead, not tilting his head down as he usually had to do.

"My sister tells me she intends to wed you," said Éomer.

Faramir, with a suspicious twitch of his lips, replied, "She has said much the same to me."

Despite himself, Éomer chuckled. "I do not doubt it."

"The day has been long. Would you care to sit down?" Faramir gestured at a cushioned bench not far away. By happy chance it was considerably higher than his chair, to which he returned. Éomer preferred standing to sitting, but nevertheless sat down.

"While I am no longer the Lord of Gondor's heir," Faramir began directly, "you may be assured that—"

Éomer waved this aside. "I know your lineage, lord. And I know well that Éowyn will receive more honour in Gondor, should you be wed, than she ever did in all her faithful service to Théoden-King."

"Lady Éowyn slew the king of the Nazgûl before the gates of our city," said Faramir. "For that alone she will always be accounted among the great in Gondor."

Éomer smiled. It would have been a fine death, but it was better still to live in renown and glory. And that would be the greater here, for though all in Edoras loved her and would sing of her deeds, it was to Mundburg that she had ridden, and the enemy of Gondor that she had slain. And were she also the Steward's lady, and princess over the second greatest fief in Gondor: yes, she would have fame enough.

"That is well," he said. "I know Éowyn my sister. I do not believe she would be content with less."

"Nor do I," said Faramir amicably. Though he seemed more like to Aragorn than Boromir in all things, he was clearly very much meeker. It was difficult to believe that Aragorn's place in her heart could be taken by this pleasant, tame shadow of him.

Éomer sprang to his feet. 

"Understand that this marriage is welcome and more to the Riddermark." He strode back and forth, Faramir's mild expression unwavering. "I know well that the Lord Denethor would not have chosen it. I speak now not as lord of Éowyn's house and people but as her elder brother."

Faramir inclined his head. "As would I speak, if you wished for the hand of a lady of my own kin." Suddenly, he smiled. "Speak freely, Éomer son of Éomund! For whether I gain my heart's desire or no, I foresee that we shall often have reason to counsel together. It will be Lord Aragorn who renews Cirion's gift upon Amon Anwar, but we are the heirs of Cirion and Eorl, you and I, and there should be unhindered speech between us."

"So we are," said Éomer, approving despite himself. He had not thought of it that way: not, in particular, thought of it at all. He looked on the Steward with a more kindly gaze. Mayhap, he thought, Eorl himself had not quite known what to think of Cirion. "Very well. Éowyn my sister was named, joy-in-horses, but little joy has been hers: less even than I feared. I wish for her happiness."

Faramir, rather to his surprise, did not hasten to assure him that he, or his land, would be that happiness. He only listened, expression attentive.

"What can she know of you, or you of her? I have seen many a marriage formed under the anxieties of war, and afterwards they are as strangers. I do not desire such a life for my sister, far from her home. I would not have her plight herself in"—despair and spite, Éomer thought, but could not quite bring himself to say—"in a strange mood. And I do not know you."

"You do not," Faramir agreed. "But your sister does. And your great friend, the Prince of Dol Amroth, will vouch for my character, if he has not done so already."

The Prince had, in fact, only spoken of the new Steward in the most glowing terms. The two men were, as Éomer recalled, kin of some kind.

[morgulscribe]

The Topography of Second Age Arda (Before the World Was Made Round)

Map of Second Age Arda from the Atlas of Middle-earth by Karen Wynn Fonstad.

I believe that Karen Wynn Fonstad was using older illustrations by Tolkien when creating some of the maps of unexplored lands, so I'm not sure if this map is completely accurate to Tolkien's concepts of Arda as a whole at the time of Lord of the Rings. Unfortunately, I doubt that we will never know for certain, so this map is probably as "canon" as it gets.

Since Arda is an alternative universe version of our own world, the face of Arda must change multiple times in order to appear as it does today, in the Seventh Age. I consider the landforms of Middle-earth to be somewhat compressed versions of the real world, with analogous landforms that have not yet evolved to their current appearance.

Eriador is analogous to Western Europe; Rhovanion is analogous to Eastern Europe and part of Asia. Middle-earth does not have a Mediterranean Sea, although the Bay of Belfalas does have a similar shape. Near Harad seems to encompass part of the region that the Mediterranean Sea would take up if it was dry land instead of water, as well as part of northern Africa and the Saudi Arabian peninsula. The continent of Far Harad appears to be a narrower prototype of Africa. (The First Age version of Far Harad looked more like modern day Africa, but part of the western region went beneath the waves after the War of Wrath.)

It is interesting to note that Middle-earth does not appear to have a corresponding river to the Nile. Far Harad does have a major river which starts in the Grey Mountains and runs southeast to the eastern coast. The only real world counterpart I could find that looks vaguely similar would be the Niger River.

The Girdle of Arda is the Equator, naturally.

I think that the bay between the words "Hinter" and "Lands" appears to be a proto-version of the Red Sea. The little peninsula which sticks up on the southern mouth of the bay resembles a tiny Horn of Africa.

The two eastern rivers which drain into the Inner Seas bear a slight resemblance to the Tigris and Euphrates.

The Orocarni, the Mountains of the East, might be ancient versions of the Ural Mountains.

I always thought that there should be more land to the east of the Orocarni Mountains, to accommodate the continent of Asia. Perhaps when the world was made round, Eru added more land to Middle-earth, making Rhun much larger than it was in the Second Age.

Possibly the separate continent called Dark Land (South Land) is later broken up, becoming the Indian Subcontient and Australia. A poster on this Reddit post claims that the Dark Land/South Land continent and the Walls of the Sun ceased to exist when the world was made round. Maybe Eru turned Dark Land/South Land into proto-versions of India and Australia, and the Walls of the Sun was added to Rhun, becoming the central and eastern parts of the continent of Asia.

It is my own personal theory that at some point during the Fourth Age, the face of Arda is changed once again, becoming what it looks like in modern days. As for why this great apocalypse occurs?

It's all SAURON'S fault, of course.

[the-journey-was-the-point]

Taran's Prologue (Part 2)

@tolkienocweek Day 1: World Building

Sharing Part 2 of my fic about my OC Taran Ashvaen! I was thinking about the Men allied with Sauron (Haradrim, Easterlings, etc) and how their alliance came to be. Taran is basically the Dark Prince of Mordor who Sauron sends out to establish rapport with Men, so here's him doing just that!

Summary: A troop of Haradrim soldiers are captured and only have a mythical figure to turn to for help. Fortunately, he was listening. Part 1 here

It was nighttime in the desert between Southern Gondor and Harad. A troop of Gondorian soldiers made camp after capturing a company of Haradrim they encountered. It was alarming, the Gondorians thought, that their old enemies would be wandering so far out. More so since Gondor recently received word from the White Council that Sauron returned. They decided it was best to capture this suspicious band and bring them back for questioning. 

The Haradrim sat in silence, bound in sturdy rope. Their kingdom was slowly expanding into unclaimed territory northwest, and they'd been sent to fortify a small settlement as its people were in need of more defenses. On their way, they were ambushed by the Men of Gondor. It was dark inside the tent where they were being held, but by the dim light from the campfires outside, they could still make out each others’ figures. 

The Captain of the group spoke in a low murmur, his jaw set and his expression grim. He was a gruff, older man who had seen many battles. “It seems we won’t be returning after all,” he said to his men. There were about eight of them in total, all of them experienced, but mostly still quite young, definitely younger than their Captain. “Through battle and hardship, you have all followed me. I can only thank you for your loyalty. Should you wish to escape, I won’t fault you– most of you have families to return to– my only hope is you don’t betray our home to the enemy.”

“We haven’t lost hope yet, Captain!” said one of the men. There was an optimistic, almost cheery, tone to his voice.  

“How?” demanded the Captain after a pause.  “We are held captive, leagues away from our stronghold.”

“There’s always the Ashvaen.”

“The Ashvaen?”

“Yes!” Piped another young one. “There have been stories from Easterling merchants. They talk of a spirit that helps in your time of need.“

“It’s true,” said another. “Caravans from neighboring kingdoms have spoken of a benevolent flame that safeguards their travels and keeps watch at night.”

The Captain silenced his men with an annoyed grunt. “You lot have been spending too much time around the nursemaids. Ashvaen, bah! Simply a children’s story! See if there’s an Ashvaen when they take us to their fortress.”

“None of you will be taken anywhere. And if you ask me, those Men of Gondor should have stayed on their side of the Harnen.”

The Haradrim startled and searched for the unfamiliar voice that suddenly spoke. In the darkness, they saw a figure rise and take the appearance of a young man clothed in black. He was regal in his movements, and the air around him rippled with power. Somehow, they knew it was an ancient power. 

“The Ashvaen!” Breathed one of the men. “See, Captain! He’s real!” 

“Yes well, don’t tell the Gondorians that.” The Ashvaen replied, bending down to cut the ropes with a small, black knife. 

The Haradrim soldiers, Captain included, watched in awed silence, though the Captain eyed the young god with suspicion.

“I have an army of beasts with me,” said the Ashvaen after a while. “Your weapons are in a tent to the west. When you hear a warg howl, we will attack. Reclaim your swords and help us drive these Gondorians out.”

“What interest does a being like yourself have with us?” the Captain scrutinized. 

The Ashvaen simply replied, “Mordor has always been allies with the Haradrim.”

—

The attack happened just as the Ashvaen described. He slipped out of the tent –an action which appeared as if he vanished into thin air– and after a moment of anticipation, there was a great howl.

The Haradrim charged out of their tent and true enough, were met with the sight of fearsome beasts. There were wargs, razor-taloned birds, and deadly desert cats upon the ambushed Gondorians. At their helm was a great black warg, and they instinctively knew it was the Ashvaen.

They quickly reclaimed their weapons as instructed and joined in the fight, slaughtering some Gondorians while giving chase to others that tried to flee. Alongside their newfound allies, the Haradrim pursued their captors until the River Harnen that divided Southern Gondor and the regions near Harad. They did not cross, however, seeing that the Ashvaen stopped short at the banks. 

“Let them flee like cowardly dogs!” the Ashvaen proclaimed. “Let them spread the word to not cross into Haradrim territory again!”

The Haradrim let out a cheer as the Ashvaen transformed into a great black bird and led them home. 

—

“My forebears passed down stories of powerful gods. I did not think I would ever meet one in my lifetime.” 

The Ashvaen now sat with a Haradrim Lord, the one who oversaw the northwestern settlement the troop was headed to. The Lord was older even than the Captain, with gray streaks in his beard. In the distance, they could hear music and laughter from the feast the people were holding to celebrate their soldiers’ miraculous rescue.

“There was a time of secrecy,” the Ashvaen replied, “but it’s over now.” He took the chalice that was being offered and sipped from it. He fixed the Lord with a meaningful gaze. “The Great Power of old has returned, mighty and admirable.”

The Haradrim Lord leaned back in his seat. He stroked his beard, thinking over what he knew about his people’s past dealings with the Dark Lord. “And what does he seek that he sends his own to aid my men?”

Taran bowed his head respectfully. “Only that your Lordship will remember old alliances. He means for a great battle to occur, one where he hopes to quash our common enemies.” 

The Lord was silent for a long moment, his eyes gazing over the festivities. He had a look of wisdom in his eyes, but also weariness; he spent a good portion of his life keeping his people safe from the never-ending hardships that shaped their lives.

The people danced and sang, mothers fussed over their children, and young lovers whispered of hopeful futures. 

“We have been living in relative peace for some generations now,” the Lord said at last. “Unsteady, but a peace nonetheless. Good food, good cheer, and the comforts of home are all Men need in our short lives.”

He turned to the Ashvaen with a troubled and beseeching expression. “And yet I remember stories from my forefathers. Glory in battle, riches in gold, brilliant devices that bring the elements to heel. A power like that could rid us of our enemies forever, protect our kingdom for generations– bring us peace, real peace.”

“Gifts given by my master in friendship,”  the Ashvaen said reassuringly. “He treats his allies well.”

Outside, a half-drunk soldier recounted the story of their capture and rescue to his young relatives. 

“Then it is good that we are friends.”

[iamnotshazam]

part 2 of Minas Tirith society trying and failing to understand that Aragorn and Arwen are just. waiting. to have a kid and the royal couple spreading wild rumors about elf reproduction:

Faramir and Imrahil, southern Dúnadain and both scions of Mithrellas, are totally in on it.

Year 15 of Heir Watch™️. Faramir and Imrahil practically skip into court in Minas Tirith, interrupting a luncheon of the Eastern Lebennin Pickled Fishmonger's Guild. They loudly proclaim how happy they are to help Arwen with her ~royal duties~ and bring her various random implements, presented grandly on a silk pillow. A bamboo whisk from the far East, three (3) mûmakil-ivory nipple rings, jarred frog spawn from Harad and, of course, of course, (fishmongers and their family members from rural Lebennin in Minas Tirith on holiday watching spellbound, leaning in) the absolutely necessary carved cylinder made from the heart of a naturally fallen mallorn-tree, enchanted for fer-ahem-ABUNDANCE, and suspiciously. . . "mushroom" shaped.

Faramir and Imrahil both bow and scrupulously apologize to Queen Arwen for being too excited to wait to show these treasures in private later as she requested. Arwen nods sagely and accepts them with grace. Faramir and Imrahil race back out the door to meet Eowyn, who stayed outside for being unable to meet the exacting Gondorian courtly manners expected in this instance without using obvious horse dong puns and metaphors, and is ready to explode.

Aragorn, who Arwen and her loyal delivery lords got the jump on, has to duck into a private chamber because he's bright red and about to melt into giggles. In his study next door he overhears two pageboys listening through a cracked door (their regular duty at court, in case the king needs something) having a quiet but scandalized meltdown:

"What's the frog spawn for? Why - why a whisk? Why does it have to be bamboo?"

"My mom was saying something about the Queen the other day and my dad yelled at her to stop before my little sisters heard. Oh, Elbereth, is this why?"

"Why are there three nipple rings? Not two, not four! Does - do they have three nipples? Do Elves have three nipples?"

"Dad said his cousin's friend's gardener worked under visiting Elves in the eastern orchards last season and she swears up and down the Elves were at first confused about what everyone was talking about, and then they all started laughing-"

"No, no, the Queen - what am I thinking? She pretty clearly has two - oh, don't look at me like I've peeked in her dressing room, you know what I mean - so does the King have three nipples? Is this a Northern Dúnadain thing?"

"That was not a mushroom!"

[sotwk]

Not to contribute to the endless pile of asks in your askbox but I suddenly remembered you saying something about a Haradrim oc and I'd live to hear about them! Of course if you don't want to share at this point that's grand, just thought I'd ask :)

@hobbitwrangler You are SUCH the investigative journalist, always digging through Writer's brains for their secrets! <3 It's devious yet thoughtful and fun in a way that I appreciate so much! XD

I really should not overshare ahead of time regarding the Haradrim OCs and headcanon lore I am cooking up, but I can say that there will be some brief hints of them in Part 3 of "Taken", which I am still writing at the moment!

Huh? Why that fic?

The Haradrim, especially as they canonically appear during the War of the Ring and in the Fourth Age, will feature heavily in "Change the Stars", my spin-off sequel to Taken. This multi-chapter Éomer x OC Shieldmaiden fic is in the active plotting stage and although the story picks up immediately where "Taken" ends, it will feature tons of flashbacks that sheds light on the years of history shared by the "Reader" in Taken and Éomer. I mean, he has to love her so deeply for a good reason, right? (I don't really favor insta-love.)

And what do the Haradrim have to do with all that drama? Well, Haradrim OCs will directly affect the fate of our (seemingly) doomed lovers.

My goal is to promote the truth that not all Haradrim were evil men, and some were actually GOOD men striving to do the right thing. I'm happily taking notes and inspiration from other artists and writers who have created works along this same theme, such as @mirra-kan (see their whole blog!), @jane0error (Songstress of the Southern Realms), and @mithrilandvilya (Beauty in Harad). I still have a long way to go with research and development for it, though!

Nonetheless, there are also still bad Haradrim running around post-RotK, so you might be glad to know there will still be some of this type of Éomer energy going on:

Thank you as always for the great ask, Ace Reporter! ;)

[minubell]

How many Children did each Nazgul Have?

From greatest to least:

Khamul was the most accomplished of the Nine when it came to having kids. While he had no children prior to accepting a ring of power, between accepting a ring and the downfall of Numenor he would go on to have hundreds of children (Honestly, he lost count of the exact number). By the time the Fourth Age would come, more than half of the population of Rhun could trace back lineage to him. In fact, it was more common to be able to claim a relationship to him in the East than it was to not.

Dwar had four children prior to accepting a ring of power, and six dogs. He has several descendant by the Fourth Age, one of whom still reigns over the southern-most region of Harad. More importantly, he now has at least thirty dogs.

Akhorahil had three children during her life time, two before accepting a ring of power and one after, each with different men. She has at least one descendant by the Fourth Age who would follow in her footsteps and become a pirate. There are probably more, but Akhorahil never has been big on 'family'.

Ren had two children prior to accepting a ring of power, and both would killed prior to his acceptance of a ring as well. He would have no more children, and none of his grandchildren would survive either, giving him no direct descendants by the Fourth Age, though his family line does live on in distant relatives

Indur had two children (twins) prior to accepting a ring of power, though was only aware of one which he killed. He has several living descendants by the Fourth Age that he is currently unaware of.

Adunaphel had one child prior to accepting a ring of power, entirely for political reasons. She would have none after this. By the Fourth Age, she has several living descendants, and two-ish unliving descendants (Angmar and Isildur).

Hoarmurath had one child prior to accepting a ring of power. No one can be certain if she has any living descendants by the Fourth Age.

Uvatha had one child during his life before accepting a ring of power. By the Fourth Age, Uvatha would have no living descendants or living relatives at all for that matter.

Angmar has no biological children.

[x-authorship-x]

Authorshipp i love shisui sm but i kinda have trouble following your series cos idk where they start and where they end and which ones connected to each other? 😭 do you have a directory or smth sksksk or are they different settings where the same thing was that shisui never died? Thaankss btw

Hey! ✨

I totally understand the confusion, I only have one proper multi-fic series but there's a lot of topical and thematic overlap, so let's see if I can't clear this up a bit~

I'll colour code what fics in my series are directly connected, what fics are crossovers, when a fic is a (collection of) one-shots, and note when my headcanons (like teammates, Mangekyou shenanigans etc) are particularly important.

This list is predominantly Shisui-centric but I have included a few of my general Narutoverse ones (few though they may be)

Eyes SERIES: Shisui doesn't die, whether that's by AU, Time Travel, or Reincarnation

No Tomorrow: Shisui wakes up two months before he dies. Inoichi-Shisui platonic. Squad Two (Kakashi, Shisui, Genma, Raidou, Tenzo). Mangekyou shenanigans.

In The Eye of the Beholder: Shisui and Tobi time travel to the Warring Clans Era. Squad Two mention. Mangekyou shenanigans.

WARD: Konohan Orphans are raised by the State. Shisui, Gai, Kakashi, Anko etc found family.

Messenger: Shisui interrupts Minato's fight with the masked attacker on the night the Kyuubi is released. Shisui-Inoichi platonic. Mangekyou shenanigans.

The Red Ally: Naruto/LotR. Shisui is the Tenth Walker in the Fellowship.

A Concept of Loyalty: Shisui kills Danzo when he steals his eye. Mangekyou shenanigans.

And All The Stars Seemed Closer: One-shot collection. Shisui pairings. Mangekyou shenanigans. Squad Two mention.

THE 'A' IN ANBU STANDS FOR SURPRISE ADOPTION: Shisui and his ANBU Squadmates (Kakashi, Genma, Raidou, Tenzo) accidentally gain a reputation for child-rearing. Squad Two mention.

New Leaf: Shisui is reincarnated to the Warring Clans Era. Mangekyou shenanigans.

HOPE AU: I hope you'll reach those places SERIES

Part One (WATER): No Tomorrow: Shisui wakes up two months before he dies. Inoichi-Shisui platonic. Squad Two (Kakashi, Shisui, Genma, Raidou, Tenzo). Mangekyou shenanigans.

Part Two (AIR): Until Dawn Breaks: post-NoT, Shisui battles trauma on a special mission, facing new enemies and a few unfortunately familiar ones too. Inoichi-Shisui platonic. Squad Two (Kakashi, Shisui, Genma, Raidou, Tenzo). Mangekyou shenanigans.

Tomorrowland: One-shot collection in the HOPE AU-verse, some Alternative Universe, some what-ifs, some directly from the series-canon.

☆ෆ°*｡☆Authorship Ficlet Fest '22-23!☆｡*ﾟෆ☆ SERIES

Collection of One-shot prompts (see my submission post in the #Torship tag) for 2022-23. So far, all ficlets include Inoichi-Shisui platonic and/or Squad Two mention.

Arda Adventures SERIES

The Red Ally: Naruto/LotR. Shisui is Tenth Walker in the Lord of the Rings Fellowship.

He Bled Red As Dawn: Naruto/LotR/Atlantis crossover. Uzushio is the Lost City that sank beneath the surface millennia ago. When Gandalf falls whilst battling the Balrog of Moria, Shisui, accompanied by Crystal-Heart-Kushina, finds him.

The Red Istari: Naruto/LotR. Shisui wakes in the Southern Harad Desert after dying in canon. Becoming known as 'The Red Demon', he sets off in search of answers and his own kind... namely, 'The Grey Istari'. Culture, World-building, Mangekyou shenanigans.

Yamanaka Shisui SERIES

Some of my fics that centre on my headcanon-ed Shisui-Inoichi platonic bond.

Never Trust A Blonde (Especially If You Don't Know They're One): Naruto/HP crossover. After finishing his mysterious summer internship at the Department of Mysteries, Shisui is in for a surprise when the time comes for himself and his fellow sixth-years to be assigned their Mentees. Shisui-Inoichi platonic.

Tomorrowland: One-shot collection in the HOPE AU-verse, some Alternative Universe, some what-ifs, some directly from the series-canon. Shisui-Inoichi platonic. Mangekyou shenanigans.

Messenger: Shisui interrupts Minato's fight with the masked attacker on the night the Kyuubi is released. Shisui-Inoichi platonic. Mangekyou shenanigans.

Tumblr Drabbles:

Fics directly crossposted from asks I've answered here. Some are connected to the HOPE AU, some are not. Ask games are linked in the endnotes.

KAGE SERIES

Wherein I make an argument for Hokage candidates

MIGHTY: Kakashi refuses to become Godaime. His favourite quip for shirking duty is 'make Gai do it'. At the end of his patience, the Sandaime decides to do just that. The future significantly improves, when you think about it.

SUKEBAN: Kakashi and Tenzo accidentally circulate the news that the Senju Clan has a male Heir. Tsunade absolutely isn't going to let a rumour like that go untouched. The village falls apart and is mended in very short order.

Timeline:

(excluding oneshot collections as timings may vary)

Starts when Shisui is a child:

WARD

Messenger

Yeah Kunai are cool... But have you had dessert?

Starts before Shisui's Canon Death/Age:

THE 'A' IN ANBU STANDS FOR SURPRISE ADOPTION

He Bled Red As Dawn

SUKEBAN

Starts at/after Shisui's Canon Death/Age:

HOPE AU (No Tomorrow, Until Dawn Breaks)

In The Eye of The Beholder

The Red Ally

A Concept Of Loyalty

New Leaf

The Red Istari

MIGHTY

Hope this helps!

[ao3feed-tolkien]

Without You

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/Fvf8cWX

by SyltherSara

Nihara is the twin sister of Katara and she really should have never gone on this whole saving the world adventure.

Zuko tried to hold on to her in the explosion that his thrice-cursed sister Auzla caused.

Nihara didn't regret the way she vanished from her world when she fell into flames that grasped her and pulled her into their depths. She just hated that whatever spirit she accidentally pissed off cursed her water-bending hands.

What kind of water bender can bend fire?

Nihara of Southern Water Tribe dreams of a man with a weird hairdo didn't make any sense upon arriving smack dab in of Harad desert but after 30 years of not aging, she stopped questioning it.

Turns out he was a dwarf and a thief.

And he was just as surprised to see her as she was to him.

"Ai! What'da ya do that for!" Nori cried, covering the whelp across his face, water dripped from his braids.

"Dip your fingers into my purse again, and I'll rip your beard off." Nihara glared.

Nori put a hand over his chest. "Mahal, lass. You sure know a way to a dwarf's heart. Now, I think I deserve a kiss for my injury."

Nihara leaned in. "Careful, thief... If you play with fire, you're bound to get burned."

Words: 2494, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: The Hobbit - All Media Types, Avatar: The Last Airbender

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: F/M

Characters: Original Female Character(s), Original Dwarf Character(s), Nori (Tolkien), Dori (Tolkien), Ori (Tolkien), Thorin's Company, Bofur (Tolkien), Dwarves of the Iron Hills, Dwarves of Erebor, The Blue Spirit (Avatar), Southern Water Tribe Characters (Avatar), Song: Without you breaking Benjamin

Relationships: Dori & Nori & Ori (Tolkien), Nori (Tolkien)/Original Female Character(s), Dwarf | Dwarves/Original Female Character(s), Bofur & Nori (Tolkien), Zuko (Avatar)/Original Female Character(s)

Additional Tags: Crossover, Spymaster Nori (Tolkien), Waterbending & Waterbenders, Soul Bond, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Blue Mountains | Ered Luin, Pre-The Hobbit, Quest of Erebor, Post-Battle of Five Armies, Feels, Romance, Nori is a Little Shit, Song without you breaking b

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/Fvf8cWX

[ao3feed-thehobbit]

Without You

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/m5uwrM1

by SyltherSara

Nihara is the twin sister of Katara and she really should have never gone on this whole saving the world adventure.

Zuko tried to hold on to her in the explosion that his thrice-cursed sister Auzla caused.

Nihara didn't regret the way she vanished from her world when she fell into flames that grasped her and pulled her into their depths. She just hated that whatever spirit she accidentally pissed off cursed her water-bending hands.

What kind of water bender can bend fire?

Nihara of Southern Water Tribe dreams of a man with a weird hairdo didn't make any sense upon arriving smack dab in of Harad desert but after 30 years of not aging, she stopped questioning it.

Turns out he was a dwarf and a thief.

And he was just as surprised to see her as she was to him.

"Ai! What'da ya do that for!" Nori cried, covering the whelp across his face, water dripped from his braids.

"Dip your fingers into my purse again, and I'll rip your beard off." Nihara glared.

Nori put a hand over his chest. "Mahal, lass. You sure know a way to a dwarf's heart. Now, I think I deserve a kiss for my injury."

Nihara leaned in. "Careful, thief... If you play with fire, you're bound to get burned."

Words: 2494, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: The Hobbit - All Media Types, Avatar: The Last Airbender

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: F/M

Characters: Original Female Character(s), Original Dwarf Character(s), Nori (Tolkien), Dori (Tolkien), Ori (Tolkien), Thorin's Company, Bofur (Tolkien), Dwarves of the Iron Hills, Dwarves of Erebor, The Blue Spirit (Avatar), Southern Water Tribe Characters (Avatar), Song: Without you breaking Benjamin

Relationships: Dori & Nori & Ori (Tolkien), Nori (Tolkien)/Original Female Character(s), Dwarf | Dwarves/Original Female Character(s), Bofur & Nori (Tolkien), Zuko (Avatar)/Original Female Character(s)

Additional Tags: Crossover, Spymaster Nori (Tolkien), Waterbending & Waterbenders, Soul Bond, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Blue Mountains | Ered Luin, Pre-The Hobbit, Quest of Erebor, Post-Battle of Five Armies, Feels, Romance, Nori is a Little Shit, Song without you breaking b

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/m5uwrM1

[wolverina2002]

Alea´s life

I finally did a cohesive timeline of Alea´s life and thought I´d share.

October 5th 2933: Alea is born, after the death of her father, Arathorn II

2951: Aragorn leaves for the wilderness after learning of his heritage. Alea remains in Rivendell

2953: Alea follows her brother into the wild and finds Gawad

2956: Alea recieves Silmaril

2957: Alea, Elladan and Elrohir go to search for Maglor

2959: Alea means Haleth and his tribe and he volunteers to be their guide

2959-2967: Alea, the Twins ride along the west coast of Harad

2967: Alea seperates from the Twins to go north again. She and Maglor meet. Maglor teaches her.

2968: After spending the winter in the Gray Havens, Alea and Maglor return to Rivendell

2978: Alea follows rumors of witchcraft and finds the six year old Geralt. She takes him in.

2980: Alea in present in Lórien when Arwen promises her hand to Aragorn. She convinces Maglor to play one of his songs.

3001: Gandalf asks her for aid in locating Gollum. Alea agrees.

3007:

April 23th: Alea meets Faramir for the first time

Midwinter: Alea and Faramir meet again on the winter ball in Dol Amroth and dance all night

3008:

January 4th: Alea takes leave from Gondor to follow rumors of Gollum in Rohan

February 16th: Alea meets Éomer and they spend two months chasing rumors of Gollum. Éomer teaches her games and songs of the Rohirrim

May: Alea and Geralt meet by the Swanfleet and Alea is introduced to Jaskier. They follow a trail they hope to be Gollum´s and fight a swamp troll.

October 1th: Alea returns to Rivendell

3009:

March 18th: Alea returns to Ithilien and gifts Faramir the horse Gwaemeril.

April 30th: Aragorn joins her and requests help in tracking Gollum. The rangers spread out to hunt.

June 20th: Aragorn goes to search the Morgul Vale and Alea and Faramir turn to search along the edge of the Nindalf.

July 1th: Damrod´s bloodhound finds Gollum´s trail

July: Alea and the Rangers track Gollum into and through the Dead Marshes

August 1th: Aragorn rejoins them and they close in on Gollum

August 10th: Gollum is captured and Alea and Aragorn take him north. Alea and Faramir kiss openly

August 25th: Geralt, Gyltor, Hastur and Ferris find the siblings at the southern border of the Brown Lands and join them in bringing Gollum to Mirkwood

3010-3018: Alea continued to visit Faramir. They work to kindle hope in Gondor

The War Of The Ring

3018:

20th September: Alea, Gyltor, Hastur and Ferris are chased by warges and fight them off

22th September: Alea and her companions find the horse Graystorm in Tharbad and pick up Boromir´s trail

25th September: they safe Boromir from a pack of wolves and agree to take him to Rivendell.

20th October: They witness the flood down the Bruinen

25th October: Council of Elrond, Alea vows to aid Gondor

27th October: Alea, Maglor, Boromir and others ride for Fornost

1th November: The muster of the North begins

15th December: Alea, Aragorn and Boromir leave Fornost

17th December: they seperate by Bree. Alea rides south

25th December: Alea reaches Caradhras

25th-28th December: Alea crosses the Redhorn Gate

29th December: Alea reaches Caras Galadhon

3019:

5th January: Galadriel gifts Alea the Whist Flower clasp

6th January: Alea departs from Lórien

20th January: Alea crosses the Anduin and reunites with Faramir

16th February: A falcon brings the news of Gandalf´s death and the Followship leaving Lórien. Alea and Faramir plan for her to meet the Fellowship at Parth Galen

24th February: Fion brings the news of the boats passing Sarn Gebir. Alea sets out

26th February: Alea reaches Amon Hen and safes Boromir. The Three Hunters set out. Fion carries news of Sam and Frodo to Faramir.

28th February: Boromir is well enough to ride and they set out after the Three Hunters

30th February: Alea and Boromir come upon the Three Hunters and Éomer. Éomer warns Alea of snakes

From there, it´s pretty much identical to the timeline in canon.

[violetnatelley]

Changing of the Song: Chapter on 'Welcome to Far Harad' Citations

Hello, because one of my chapters on Changing of the Song has too many citations, I decided putting this here. I first put it on a google docs page but realised that's just annoying.

NOTE: Map of Middle Earth is at the bottom

Here ya go:

Chapter 35: Welcome to Far Harad

[1] - Vincent van Gogh: A Dutch Post-Impressionist painter famous for his pieces such as Sunflowers, Cafe Terrace at Night and the Starry Night.

[2] - Bollywood: Is Hindi cinema and was formerly known as Bombay cinema. Illyria mentions it as she was exposed to them as a young kid when she used to live in Kamar-Taj.

[3] - Raj: Means ‘paradise’ in New Apysaic. The fertile region of Far Harad, located in the north part and includes The Dar, and the forests surrounding them.

[4] - The Dune Sea: What the North of Middle Earth technically call as Far Harad but is in fact called the Dune Sea to the Southerners. It is famous for its constant moving sand dunes due to the winds and is known to have a lot of nomadic tribes within them.

[5] - Far Harad: Known as Bozisha-Miraz in New Apysaic. This includes the Region of Raj, Ciryatandor, Tulwang, Bur Esmer and the Coastal cities and the Fireplains.

[6] - Bur Esmer: A city west of Bozisha-Dar and the next most populous city. Bus Esmer is the last known city before going north and the road becomes dangerous.

[7] - Deal or No Deal: A British Game Show that aired between 2005 and 2016.

[8] - Endor (Star Wars): A moon in Star Wars, known in Episode VI Return of the Jedi.

[9] - Endor: The term for Middle Earth in Quenya. The proper name is Endórë. Ennor is the Sindarin version.

[10] - Oliphaunt: Known as Mûmakil (in Haradaic) are large creatures resembling elephants used in battle by the Haradrim.

[11] - Rijesha: Means ‘River’ in New Apysaic. Runs through Raj and into the Bay of Tulwang.

[12] - Suza Rij: A lake at the source of the Rijesha, also the name of a village next to the lake.

[13] - Bozisha-Dar: Known commonly as 'The Dar', is the the capital city of Raj meaning ‘Gift of the Goddess’ in New Apysaic

[14] - Vuki: Or Vuk for singular, are wolf/jackal-like dogs that are common in Far Harad. Used as guard dogs.

[15] - The Katedrala: The Name of the Dome-like hill in Bozisha-Dar. It comprises the seven mansions of The Dar.

[16] - Aladdin: A Disney Movie about a guy going into the desert to find a genie in a lamp. Set in the Arabian peninsula, which sets a similar culture/vibe.

[17] - Qarth: A city in the world of Game of Thrones, and just like Aladdin has that desert city vibes and is one of my inspirations on how The Dar looks like.

[18] - The Apysani: The ethnic name of the people of Far Harad, they are related to the Haradrim of the North.

[19] - The Council of Dar: A group of leaders represented by the seven most influential families of Raj. Positions are tended to pass on by their families and as always - a little corruptible.

[20] - Baklava: A layered pastry dessert made of filo pastry filled with nuts and syrup or honey.

[21] - Apysaic: (Short for New Apysaic) is the dominant language of Far Harad. It has Haradaic influences mixed with Andunaic from Numenor. I based Apysaic from Swahili.

[22] - Ube: Purple Yam, Taro, it's a lovely delicacy that's used in multiple foods. I personally love it in Bubble Tea, Halo-Halo (Filipino dessert) and Ube cakes.

[23] - Bozishanarod: Collective name for the People of The Dar.

[24] - Tar-Ciryatan: The 12th King of Numenor.

[25] - Ciryatandor: Once a Numenorean colony but now a crumbling kingdom that now comprises only a few towns and villages.

[26] - Tresti: A Town south of Raj, bordering the great arid plains. It is on the Great Harad Road that connects Raj and Sîrayn.

[27] - Sîrayn: The Region called Greater Harad located in the far west of Far Harad. It comprises seven cities all lying on a river.

[28] - Vatra: Sauron's lovely name in Apysaic. It's funny that it sounds like Varda lol.

[29] - “Asante, Bibi wa jua.”: 'Thank You, Sun Lady.' in Swahili/New Apysaic

[30] - "Salamu": 'Greetings' in Swahili/New Apysaic

[31] - Nandor:

[32] - "Wachawi Wa Bluu": 'The Blue Wizards' in Swahili/New Apysaic

[33] - "machafuko": 'Chaos' in Swahili/New Apysaic

[34] - Star Wars Reference: “I don’t like sand. It’s coarse, and rough and irritating and it gets everywhere.” - Anakin Skywalker.

[35] - The Corsairs of Umbar: A group of men descended from Gondor’s once proud navy. Pirates in a nutshell. They are involved during the War of the Ring.

[36] - Map of Endor/Middle Earth 

[morgulscribe]

Sauron as the God King of Middle-earth

I don't think many people consider exactly HOW Sauron came to have such sway over the people of the South and East in the Second and Third Ages. So many people think of him as an evil overlord, who is either ruling over nations of wicked people who have sold their souls to him (both figuratively and literally speaking), or oppressed peoples forced into slavery to a tyrannical master.

However, Sauron is not ruling any of these countries. It is not a case of a nation with superior manpower and/or technology taking over weaker nations and subjugating them. Sauron is one maia who resides in a country slightly larger than Turkey, the northern half of which becomes an inhospitable wasteland whenever Mount Doom erupts for an extended duration of time. The fertile land of Nurn can support a sizable human population, but I do not think that a large enough force could be rallied from the populace to create armies powerful enough to subjugate the peoples of Harad, Khand, and Rhun, while simultaneously assailing the West and protecting Mordor from counter-attacks from all directions.

No, Sauron is not using brute force to intimidate the peoples of the South and East into following him.

He is using religion.

The people of Harad, Khand, and Rhun ally themselves with Mordor because they worship Sauron as a god, not because they are intimidated by his military might. Yes, they fear him, but it is the fear and awestruck reverence with which one regards a deity.

The nations and tribes of the South and East send wagon trains of goods and slaves to Mordor, not as tribute, but as grim tithes to the dark deity whom they worship.

Without his Southern and Eastern allies, Sauron only has orcs and trolls to command, and while they are certainly intimidating, there are not enough of them to subjugate the entirety of the South and East. Plus, orcs and trolls are sensitive to sunlight, which puts them at a disadvantage to humans.

So Sauron's true power comes from the worship of his followers, and not from military might.

I think many times fans regard Sauron as a human dictator. However, human dictators usually come to power by becoming the leaders of countries that already have significant political influence and military strength.

Sauron literally has nothing but himself.

And that is enough, since he is a god, and by nature people want to worship him.

This is why truly defeating Sauron would be so difficult.

Because while individual humans may have a change of ideology and turn away from their original faiths, as a whole humanity prefers to continue worshiping the same deities that their ancestors worshiped.

Kings and warlords may rule for a time, but gods are eternal.