Silmarillion Writers' Guild Númenórean Queens

Excerpt from "The First Queen"

by Lady Roisin

Finery and scholarly pursuits were the last things on Laurianna's mind in her youth. Surviving took priority over all else in her youth, especially when the Dark Lord seemed to pursue all of them, barely a step behind while the scattered settlements of men remained constantly on the move. Nothing existed but warfare and bloodshed. They had been one of the first things to greet Laurianna's newborn eyes. She had been born on the eve of battle, one that claimed the life of her mother and eldest brother. The years did not grow any kinder for the small girl. The sister that raised Laurianna in her mother's stead became lost in a winter storm. Laurianna recalled easily how she followed the rope tied to a tree near their home and the other end tied around her sister's waist. Laurianna would have been lost as well since night descended upon her faster than the girl expected. She would have frozen to death if it were not for the twin brothers who found her body half buried underneath fresh snow.

From that night on Laurianna became an ally and friend to the brothers, each of them coming to the others aid in those dangerous days. She remembered watching her last brother sputter and choke on the blood that filled his lungs, unable to stop the swirl of events around her. By then not even her aging father shed a tear. Instead he simply picked up his son's sword, not even bothering to wipe the blood from the blade before placing it in Laurianna's hands. He gave her only brief instructions on its use prior to returning to the battle that raged nearby. Circumstances left no opportunity for lengthy lessons or training and even daughters were not safe from the slaughter. One either learned quickly to use the weapon placed hastily in her hands or die on the end of another's blade.

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"Pyrrhic Wedding"

by Himring

‘You are not eating anything.’

‘How can I eat? I have betrayed my queen. And for what?

My parents considered you a good match—and I wished to be a compliant daughter. My friends considered you handsome—and I wished to be seen to be successful. You seemed to admire me—and I was flattered. I thought I saw a grey hair in the mirror and was afraid. But for all that, I hardly know you!

But my queen, who showed me kindness, who accorded me honour! See where she sits, the great Tar-Ancalime, pale and frowning, humiliated by her own husband! If she was not always gracious to him, does he not still owe her allegiance as both queen and wife? And did not I, even more than he, owe her obedience and gratitude?

How can I eat, when my queen does not? Each morsel chokes me, every sip burns in my throat. Oh, forgive me, forgive me, what

I said to you just now was cruel and unthinking. But my queen, my queen…!’

‘Faeleth, it is true, the humbled pride of our queen is not a good thing to see and her displeasure a heavy price to pay for your hand. But I cannot regret the bargain, not yet—not until I hear you say that you have come to know me well and still believe that this day held no compensation for its losses. But let us withdraw as soon as we can without being noticed. Hallacar’s costly victory needs no witnesses…’

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by Lyra

Tar-Ancalime by Lyra

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Excerpt from "She Whom the Queen Favored"

by Lady Roisin

"I will be passing The Sceptre to you after the Erukyerme. The preparations for your coronation are already set into motion." Tar-Súrion looked over his shoulder and offered Telperien a sad smile. For the first time in her life he allowed her to see how the years had drawn out his energy and vigor. It was enough for Telperien to move closer and place a comforting hand upon her father's shoulder.

"You must not be weak," Tar-Súrion murmured almost as if he was sharing a secret with his heir. "There are those who will want what is rightfully yours and you must not allow them to take it from you."

Telperien nodded slowly and gave her father the most reassuring smile she could muster. "I will remember everything you have taught me, especially that."

The muscles in her father's face relaxed and he reached out a hand to touch the side of Telperien's face. He had never been an overly affectionate father, since he believed that lavishing such luxuries on his children would make them soft and frail. However, Telperien or her brother did not doubt his love for them.

"Go on," Tar-Súrion murmured. "There is much that must be completed by the day's end and I am sure you will need some time to set your plans in order."

Telperien bowed her head and departed from the room without another word. She knew her father had a great many things lingering upon his mind. Yet she had hoped for him to give her some sort of reassurance, to tell her he was proud of her. Maybe in time such words would come, but for now Telperien required the solace of the royal gardens.

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Excerpt from "Mavoinë"

by Fiondil

Author’s Note: Tar-Telperien (b. 1320- d. 1731) was the tenth ruler of Númenor. This story takes place in 1634 and Telperien has been Queen for the last 78 years. Isildil will become Tar-Minastir at her death.


The royal family was gathered in the queen’s closet where Telperien was holding court. It was a small, intimate room off of her bedroom where the family often met when they wished for privacy. As an honored guest, Arminas had been invited to join them. The Elf noticed the looks of anger on Telperien’s and Isilmo’s faces at his friend’s announcement. Almiel looked resigned, but it was the hurt look in Niélë’s eyes that struck him as she sat in a rocking chair nursing her son who suckled with oblivious bliss to everything else but his own gratification.

“Your son is but two weeks old and you are all ready to hie to your precious tower?” Telperien demanded, her voice imperious and her eyes flashing with barely suppressed fury. “And if I were to forbid it, what then, Isildil? Will you defy your queen?”

There was a tense silence for several long minutes before Isildil answered. “Yes,” he said softly, keeping his eyes to the floor.

Telperien snorted. “Typical. Your father was much the same when he was your age. I don’t know why I am surprised.”

That got a bark of laughter out of Isilmo, though Arminas did not detect any real humor. “Your aunt is correct, my son,” the Man said. “Your place is here with your wife and son.”

“Why do you want this tower built, Isildil?” Arminas asked. He truly could not fathom the reason behind it. There was no strategic reason for it that he could see.

Isildil sighed. “For years there has been a great longing within me.”

“A longing for what?” the Elf pressed.

Isildil grimaced. “To be immortal,” he whispered.

“What!?” Telperien nearly screamed in disbelief, thereby upsetting little Telemnar who suddenly began to cry.... Telperien turned to her nephew with disgust.

“What nonsense do you speak, boy?” she asked scathingly. “You are Mortal and there is nothing shameful in that.”

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Excerpt from "Even Roses Have Thorns"

by Lady Roisin


Lindórië could hear a few individuals gasp audibly when Inzilbêth’s mournful voice called out the word in the forbidden tongue again. She could barely maintain her pride when she heard such sorrow in her daughter’s tone even from across the hall. The frantic look on Inzilbêth’s face pierced Lindórië’s heart further. Inzilbeth embraced her with a fierce grip before Lindórië could stop her. Tears burned the inside of Lindórië’s eyelids when she felt the trembling of Inzilbêth’s limbs., The unshed droplets of grief threatened to engulf her already broken and bleeding heart. Lindórië pulled her daughter close and nestled her face against her hair, breathing in its scent for the last time, and prayed the memory would keep her strong for the remainder of her days. Only now did the full bitterness of her father’s words take hold. Love had helped Lindórië to raise her daughter to be the woman that now stood in front of her, and it would be love that would help Lindórië to let her go so that Inzilbêth could be the Queen they needed.

“No more tears, sell vuin,” Lindórië soothed as she gently pulled herself out of her daughter’s grasp.

“The Valar have placed you here because you are stronger than any of us. Give your King an heir; change the course of history. Only you can do that,” Lindórië whispered in her daughter’s ear before pressing a final kiss to Inzilbêth’s brow. Somehow she found the strength to step away.

“Annon gur nîn achen bereth vuin.”

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Excerpt from "Wreathed in Jewels and Thorns"

by Lady Roisin

Míriel clenched her fists until the nails dug into her palms. When would those close to her cease to treat her like a child and more like the Queen she would become? She and Calairë had been as close as sisters once, before life began to make demands of them both and drew them apart. They had not yet come of age and where in that place where they were neither girl nor fully grown women when Calairë already began to pay closer attention to the young men of the royal court, eager for a suitor. Meanwhile Míriel had secretly begun a dalliance with one of her chambermaids. Those had been sweet days in which Míriel relished finally being able to allow someone so close. Unfortunately, Calairë had been the one to catch the princess with her secret lover and reported the affair to the King. The chambermaid was sent away from the citadel the very next day. Míriel never saw her again but heard her former lover had been married off quickly after the incident. Elentir was presented to the princess soon afterwards despite the fact Míriel's heart still ached with loss for her first love.

In time her father's anger cooled and Calairë begged for Míriel's forgiveness. Both claimed the separation had to be done for Míriel's own good, to preserve the foothold that the faithful now had in the royal court. Even though Míriel granted her attendant the forgiveness she asked for the sting of bitterness still remained in her heart towards Calairë. In these days they only kept a tentative friendship with scattered moments that reflected what they used to have. Both women were ambitious; a trait that often pitted them against eachother. Míriel had been closely guarded and sheltered after the incident with the chambermaid while Calairë was afforded far more freedom and flourished, becoming popular in the royal court and had more than a few suitors to choose from.

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by Dawn Felagund

In her girlhood: up the ascent to Meneltarma was a
Challenge. Now, it is treachery: slick wet sharp rocks
Made slicker wetter sharper by blood on her
Hands. In her girlhood: Númenor was an
Island. Now it is a hillock.
The sea gathers; she leaps
For a handhold. Misses.
Leaps. Misses. Faces
The sea

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