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awesomevictoriau · 25 days

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The Mariner's Wife | Tolkien Fancast | Unfinished Tales of Numenor

#silmarillion #the silmarillion #tolkien #erendis #aldarion #ancalime #tar ancalime #unfinished tales #fancast

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aadmelioraa · 1 year

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Hello, my friend! How are you?

I'm reading the Aldarion & Erendis chapter of The Fall of Númenor and I have so. Many. Feels. GOD

I feel this in my soul? Erendis longing omg... Aldarion being so ughhhh he made me think of Isil a little, though Isil isn't in love with the sea but with, maybe, the idea of far away lands and the true Númenor etc, Idk...

Do you have comments on them?

Have a nice day!

Hi hello!! Thank you for the ask!!

The Mariner's Wife is my favorite, I genuinely find it so compelling even (maybe especially) in its unfinished state. However most of my thoughts boil down to FUCK ALDARION ALL MY HOMIES HATE ALDARION. Tbh I think half the reason I love the story so much is the rush of pure rage it gives me.

I do also find him interesting but at the end of the day he's the worst lol. He wore Erendis down, when she was rightly wary, and then he did exactly what she feared he would, wasting her significantly shorter lifespan :(( He was never around!! Too busy off sailing and colonizing!! Even when they had a kid!! After the birth of Ancalimë in her heart Erendis was glad, for she thought: "Surely now Aldarion will desire a son, to be his heir; and he will abide with me long yet." NAME A SADDER LINE!!!

I won't even get too deep into the narrative bias of it all (like…let's NOT blame Erendis for being "bitter" or pit her and Ancalimë against each other, etc) but every time I see a take from the fandom like "Aldarion was a better ruler than his wife would have been" (irrelevant?? and what's your metric there?? HMMM??) or "Aldarion is Eärendil 2.0" (just...no) I want to S C R E A M lol.

Anyway Ancalimë is fascinating too and the one good thing Aldarion did was change the laws to allow his daughter to be the first ruling queen. I stan a lesbian icon who neglects all her father's policies out of spite, it's extremely sexy of her. Side note: Fuck Hallacar.

Re: Isildur I definitely think there is an aspect of longing there like you said, not for the sea but for the "real Númenor," so kind of an inverse Aldarion situation. I have also wondered if the tree which Aldarion is given as a wedding gift is meant to be the White Tree of Númenor aka Nimloth? I haven't seen anything conclusive on that but that is a HUGE connection between him and Isildur if so.

Also! in one of the first interviews of Ema Horvath's that I listened to she mentioned reading The Mariner's Wife to help inform her idea of Eärien as she was preparing to bring an original character to life, and how she related to both Erendis and Ancalimë, which is fascinating. There's definitely an element of women at odds with their families and a certain conception of Númenor as well!

Do you have more thoughts?

#kat replies #starlady66 #aldarion x erendis #ancalime #the mariner's wife #isildur #earien #rop chats #unfinished tales #anti aldarion #(lol)

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sajirah · 2 years

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The Rulings Queens of Númenór WIP: Tar-Ancalimë, Tar-Telperiën, Tar-Vanimeldë, and Miriel/Ar-Zimraphel.

In honor of The Rings of Power finally being released, here’s some WIPs of the queens of Númenór I’ve been working on on and off for a few months.

#art wip #wip #my art #fanart #silmarillion #tolkien #akallabeth #the rings of power #ancalime #telperien #vanimelde #miriel #zimraphel

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child-of-hurin · 1 year

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It is kinda funny, though, to observe the result of Ancalimë's parenting, who ends up having a very similar attitude to mandatory marriage and child-having as Aldarion -- largely motivated, apparently, by her mother's teachings on how much subjection to the male sex suuuuuucks

#ancalime #I don't think this is evident but it's extremely plausible #and... funny idk #most beloved sheperdess queen <3 #tar-ancalimë #númenor #the mariner's wife

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lanthanum12 · 5 months

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Niennandil-verse Advent Calendar Day 3

Erendis’s knitting needles had been clicking all day as a fuzzy sweater formed before Ancalimë's eyes. She had asked for a new set of books or a piano but Erendis had insisted on a sweater to keep her warm, despite it almost never being cold. It was something to do with her being dragged away to the sea which apparently was freezing during the winter.

“Are you excited for your Yule present?” Erendis asked.

“Yes, mother,” Ancalimë said, but she really dreaded it as she looked at the too large sheep with a crooked green cap woven in with the ruby red of the rest of the cloth. The sheep didn't even look real, its legs were too thin and its fur too flat. It was a disgrace to the animal.

“I’m making one for myself, we will match!” Erendis said with a concerning level of satisfaction. Ancalimë shuddered, both of them were going to have to wear that itchy monstrously. The poor sheep would flee from them, believing that they were being mocked. Zamîn would laugh at them in the dark of her room where no one could hear her.

In her heart, Ancalimë promised herself that when she grew up she would treat herself to something she liked every Yule. There would be no sheep sweaters.

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

A little bit of a shorter sillier piece today! My verse is filled with anachronisms and I like it that way because it's fun! Thanks Erendis for invented ugly sweaters, perhaps she can make one for Sauron one day.

#erendis #Ancalime #crack fic #tolkien fandom #numenor #2nd age #second age #tolkien #niennandil-verse #Niennandil-verse advent calendar #short ficlet #my writing

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vviths · 5 months

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tar ancalimë sketch

#tar ancalime #numenor #the silmarillion #silm art #made in the am

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aredhels · 5 months

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Ancalimë, like her father, was resolute in pursuing her policies; and like him she was obstinate, taking the opposite course to any that was counselled. She had something of her mother’s coldness and sense of personal injury; and deep in her heart, almost but not quite forgotten, was the firmness with which Aldarion had unclasped her hand and set her down when he was in haste to be gone.

#silmedit #tolkienedit #oneringnet #tar ancalime #numenor #userlyndeth #tuserosie #usertilions #mine #*tolkien #*pspam #100

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sesamenom · 5 months

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eight maids a-milking, seven swans a-swimming, six geese a-laying, FIVE GOLDEN RINGS! four calling birds, three french hens, two turtle doves, and a partridge in a pear tree

since in the last poll you decided that in light of a potential invasion the humans become Eru's problem (the elves have all been evacuated via swan-ship on day 7), here we have some very angry FA/SA ladies (and Morwen's cows)

Now that we're getting to a whole string of fun days:

#silm #silmarillion #holiday #12 days of christmas #swan ships #from left to right:#haleth #tar ancalime #silmarien #(she should have been queen! aldarion didnt even want to be king!)#tar miriel #erendis #andreth #morwen #aerin #i am now realizing the swans necks look a little lumpy #oh well i will fix it + add texture when i am less tired #days 9 10 and 11 are going to be fun >:D

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thelordofgifs · 10 months

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Obscure Tolkien Blorbo: Quarterfinal

Beregond vs Tar-Ancalimë

Beregond:

A Man of Gondor and one of the Guards of the Citadel, who abandoned his post to save Faramir’s life.

loyal, friendly, good dad

Tar-Ancalimë:

The first Ruling Queen of Númenor.

Ancalime the First Ruling Queen Of Numenor Herself!!! Let me tell you she is wonderful! She is savage! 'she did not refuse the Heirship, and determined that when her day came she would be a powerful Ruling Queen' a girlboss! I know people love making characters gay (it's me, i'm people) and Ancalime is a great case for lesbian/ace/aro headcanons (about marriage) ''We could', said Ancalime, 'if I had any mind to such a state. I could lay down my loyalty and be free. But if I were to do so, I should be free to wed whom I will; and that would be Uner (which is ''Noman''), whom I prefer above all others.'' She has gay vibes, take her and love her! Also she eventually gets married (either out of spite or to please the government) and her husband is just so rude to her so she kicks him out of his house because she's the Queen.

Propaganda for my girl Ancalimë, she must succeed. Technically Ancalimë is more obscure than most of the other characters here and she is such a wonderful character. This fandom says they like girlbosses, she is so girlboss, she's the First Ruling Queen. Plus she is politically savy - since she is called Tar-Ancalime that's probably not her original name, which means she could have named herself after the elven tree and not the other way around - that's one heck of a statement and more tree symbolism for her, tree lovers vote for her she is one of you.

Quarterfinals masterpost

#obscure tolkien blorbo #beregond #tar ancalime #queuevienen

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awesomevictoriau · 25 days

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Women of Middle Earth | Filles et femmes à la fois | Tolkien Fancast

women are born with pain built in

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maglorslostsilmaril · 9 months

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something so inherently sapphic about being a textual ghost of Tolkien’s works…

#tolkien #lotr #the silmarillion #lord of the rings #if you guessed that this is about haleth or ancalime you are RIGHT #but also uinen and miriel and indis #and all of those hobbit ladies

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sajirah · 30 days

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Ruling Queens of Númenór WIPs (yes, I am still working on these, I swear).

Tar-Ancalimë

Tar-Telperiën

Tar-Vanimeldë

Ar-Zimraphel (aka Miriel)

(poor Mirel doesn’t get the crown of her forefather’s because Pharazon stole it 😒)

#art wip #wip #my art #fanart #silmarillion #tolkien #tar ancalime #tar telperien #tar vanimelde #miriel

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transsexualhamlet · 10 months

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Hi I made a little thing! For Tolkien gen week! It's writing! for an incredibly obscure character

Day 1- Family, Mentorships, Community / Day 5- Culture, Diversity, Traditions

Tar-Ancalimë- Daughter of Ill-Pairing

@tolkiengenweek :)

(story below cut)

Her father had gone off to sea again for the last time, and her mother thought now of drowning herself in it. Her father had gifted her the sceptre, and she would only say it was a long time coming, for it had been nothing to him but a heavy plaything. Her father gifted her with it the bulk of his life’s dissatisfaction, and now it was hers upon her strong and unhappy hand. She held it well, they said, she held it like a man. She dearly hoped they were wrong.

Tar-Ancalimë fingered again the crown of silver and gold, pondering the slight ache of its wearing, the unforgiving shape of it. She must always wear her hair in tight and thick braids if this was to fit on her, which she did not mind. It was much preferable to the life of decorum and dust that was to be a princess, and she would rather run away into the hills than have her hair arranged like a fruit bowl every day. She was much too old for that, and so long had she waited for it to finally sit on her head that much of the novelty had already worn off.

She took the crown at least in part just for the satisfaction of her ego, and the knowledge that she would be a far better ruler than anyone else in the line of long-lasting childhood. She took the crown for many reasons- and it was another reason perhaps never to return to hateful Emerië. She had tried all other professions, and none suited her. Númenor was just not exceedingly large, and she had remained a princess whether she abided as a shepherdess or a wild thing in the woods, whether she covered her face in dirt or cut her braids and wore men’s clothing. The men saw her, and knew her, and still called her beautiful. Ancalimë did not understand the meaning of the word, and never wished to. Suitors spoke of her long, thick braids and deep olive skin, her dark lips, her long and regal nose, how she glowed when wearing white and gold. In her face, she only saw her mother and father, as everywhere else.

So a queen she would be instead, and here she returned, and knelt like a soldier to receive the crown. As soon as it was upon her head, she told her father to go play off at sea. It was as if she had severed his chains, and he smiled, and was soon gone.

Her rooms were still here, in the palace, and she returned to them now, with a bitter and cloying feeling. When her father had returned the first time, he had been much surprised to realize his child continued to exist in his absence, and had bidden her to Armenelos, away from her home in the country. He had given her everything. The rooms were grand and decorated and filled for her with things she did not like, or at least had not liked since she had been very small. There were useless gifts made of the gold of Middle Earth, gifts of the grey-elven peoples, worthless souvenirs of places she had little interest in. Aldarion thought they would make her happy, in some convoluted way. Aldarion thought perhaps they would make her his daughter, and not the daughter of Erendis.

Perhaps if she had been raised the son of Aldarion, they might have. If she had grown up at sea in the company of merry and singing men, eating salted crap, waving to foreign forests and elves who had not left them since before the rising of the sun, running from all responsibility- Maybe then she would have been happy, taken up a sword and drawn blood of strangers, and grown to be a senseless king, quickly siring an heir and leaving all care of it and the woman to someone else.

But in this world, she was her terrible mother’s terrible daughter. In this one her father left again, and she was only glad for it. She had explored all other pathways, and all only led again here.

The room had been redecorated long ago, but now the wallpaper began to peel, and beneath it still lay a pattern of twin birds, stained and filled with dust.

Ancalimë turned to the maid beside her, looking upon the rooms. “Now that I am finally queen, I may leave this place for the royal chambers, correct? It is not as if my parents have ever used them.” She surveyed the chamber she had inhabited through her adolescence, and would be glad to leave it, having few happy memories or well-slept nights within. “I would like to enjoy a larger bed and higher view. Those rooms may grant me a far glimpse of my homeland, instead of the sea.”

It was a bittersweet thing, of course. Her father had ruined the sea, her mother had ruined the northwoods, her father had ruined the trees. Everyone upon Númenor had ruined the pastures, but the palace was little better. She could not answer if questioned how this made sense to her. The place where she had power remained the best option, as she had roamed the whole island and found only more of her parents and the endless politics of marriage. Never again to the pastures would she return, nor would she speak to her mother, and she would not learn of her death until far after it had occurred. Neither would she weep, until she had barricaded herself somewhere far away, for her mother would curse her name if she had bent to weeping.

(She would do it anyway, no matter how her mother had ruined her.)

They would return to the sea, and she would stay on land, stubborn and unforgiving.

The maid pursed her lips, and threaded her hands together. “Oh, well, your highness, not yet, see- the royal chambers are only for a wedded king and queen. Surely you may enjoy them as soon as you have found a suitable man, but until then you will not have need for more than a maiden’s chambers.”

Ancalimë narrowed her eyes. “It’s your majesty.”

The maid looked down. “I am sorry, I am just unused to it is all. We have never had a queen ruler, and I have known you so long.”

Ancalimë seethed and set off down the hall, and the maid followed. “I am not a maiden. I am two hundred years old, and I have waited long enough to have my way. I will not marry. There is no one whom I would marry, and I truly do not expect that to change.”

Her maid was now bent with age, and unmarried as well, for she dismissed any that chose to. But the little lady bowed her head and sighed. “Now surely that is unwise. No one would wish you rule without a king.”

“Well then the land shall be disappointed, for this is my rule, and no one else’s.”

“But do you not wish for love?” the maid asked, grieved. “You are lonely, I know this. You talk to yourself. You wander at night, and never speak to your family except to bid them leave.”

She made her way to the balcony, and wished to be left alone, if nothing else, if somehow the highest office in the land would still not let one live as they wished. When she had been young, Aldarion had once promised she would have everything she had ever wanted. Aldarion appeared to think she wanted different things, for now she was only less free than ever before.

“I am not lonely. You see me talking little because every man who has ever dared to speak with me wishes only to take me as his wife,” she shouted, and kicked open the balcony’s doors. “I do not wish for love, and I do not understand anyone who would. I ask you, for neither are you married. Would you truly wish to give up your autonomy? To share your secrets, your bed, your own body and heart? It seems to me that all lovers have caught a disease I want no part in. I see what it has done to my mother.”

The maid set a hand on her shoulder, and smiled sadly. “I am not married, yes, but I would be if I could. Not all love is as unhappy as that which you come from. I have lived long with my lover, and I would not give her up.”

The queen looked out upon her kingdom, and still did not understand. “I am glad you are happy where my parents were not. But I would not have a woman in my bed either. I enjoy sleeping, and I enjoy being alone. Two things I am already exceptionally deprived of.”

The wind was fair, the sky was clear and the city streets were still decorated for her coronation, though very few were happy to see her take her due, and a thousand relatives and suitors had not yet gotten the order to vacate the palace at once. Far away to the west, Gil-Estel glittered, and was a guide only for those that ventured at sea. It was ever silent to her.

In her hand was a piece of paper now older than half the men in the capitol, and on it was a list, written by her at the tender age of fifteen. She looked down to the maid, who had followed her anyway, and held it up, reading it aloud in a strong and bitter voice.

“Rules I am going to make when I am queen.” She looked down, reading the bulleted list. “Number one, divorce is legal. Number two, my father has to get one. Three, all my servants get free horses and we ride them every day.” Ancalimë turned red, moving on to the next one. “Four, I never have to get married and no one is ever allowed to bother me about it ever again.”

The list went on, for an embarrassingly long while.

“It appears that most of these things are beyond my reach even now. Already my cousins call me to surrender my crown.” She narrowed her eyes. “But it is mine, and as long as I can I will live how I wish. Tradition means nothing to me, and my father is not here. This is my palace, and I shall sleep in the royal chambers. Alone. You may inform the rest of the staff of this order. I am tired.”

The maid frowned, bowing and hurrying away. Ancalimë threw the list to the wind, and closed the door, walking with head held high, holding still to her dwindling ground, high above all others.

The weight of the family hung like cobwebs upon her crown. The decisions of Elros were not hers. No legends ever taught made space for such a queen. When she had as a child walked through these massive libraries, all stories of the ancients were love stories.

Her mother had told her when she was young that Númenor was no place for a sane woman, and all was but a collection of the power fantasies, the land of gift to happy men. Her mother told her she would never be happy. But her mother had told her many things, and most were nonsense.

Perhaps the land of gift was not made for her, nor would it remember her well. But she inherited it whether anyone wished her to or not, and Tar-Ancalimë would live as she willed.

Far away on the open sea, Aldarion spent his last days on stormy waters, free as a child, and knew he should never have married. Near enough, on the ports of Rómenna, Erendis stood again as a sailor’s wife, and did not speak nor weep, grey and spent on nothing she had been able to keep. Though free of the house of Elros she would never be, the daughter of the ill-pairing would never suffer from such an affliction, and did not grieve it one bit.

#rowan screams into the void #tolkiengenweek #tar-ancalime #the fall of Númenor #this is the first time ive ever actually finished something in time to post it for one of these challenges damn (wrote this all today)#i might post this on ao3 but idk its short #and this isnt really something many people care about

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