No lie; I came to tumblr today SPECIFICALLY to see your reaction to the SW Trailer. I logged on and came to your tumblr first FOR GREAT JUSTICE. Cause I watched it and needed to flail with excitement about... JEDI LEIA YES DEAR GOD PLZZZZZ~~
TRAGICALLY I WAS IN CLASS WHEN THIS ARRIVED
BUT I HAVE RETURNEDDDDD AND YES YES YES YES
(I spent the last seven hours having to think serious pedagogy thoughts but now I am honoured that so spectacular a three seconds would make anyone think of me :D :D :D)
This part is set a lot closer to the Downfall. By this time, I'm pretty sure hardly any of them think of themselves as anything but Númenóreans - the three houses of the Edain are so interbred it's not relevant any more. Those who do consider themselves people of Haleth probably have quite varying opinions on who Haleth was.
Urudabâr had said the second class ship-of-the-line Azgarâ was merely needed for routine patrols, but by all reports, it had come back with a group of ships that had seen several profitable raids in the east lands.
Already Khibileth had decided she didn’t like the city Azûlada. Her grandmother had still stubbornly called it Rómenna. Fortunately her house was rural enough that nobody had cared to report her for “use of banned languages”. In any case, it hadn’t been out of any loyalty to the Elven tongues. Just a deeply ingrained refusal to change. People joked that stubborn women in their area were a throwback to their ancestor, Haleth. It was an accusation that had been levelled at her more than a few times.
Another cart was heaved past her, forcing her to skip beneath the awning of a fruit shop. They were struggling mostly because of the weight of the three guards sat belligerently on the small chest, with an almost comical variety of cobbled-together weapons.
‘What do they all have that needs guarding so heavily?’ she asked the woman at the stall.
She shrugged. ‘Eastern stuff. Nothing we couldn’t make ourselves, finer and cheaper, I wager.’
Except for the strong Azûlada accent, she reminded Khibileth a little of her grandmother – perpetually unimpressed. ‘My son’s just come in on the warship Azgarâ. This street takes me down to the right wharf, does it?’
‘It does,’ she nodded. ‘And where are all your wagons?’
‘Wasn’t aware I needed any,’ said Khibileth, dryly. ‘I’m just here for my son.’
The woman looked her up and down. ‘Hyarnustar?’
‘Yes.’
‘Welcome to the east.’
‘It’s as far east as I plan to come,’ said Khibileth. The woman gave a thoughtful nod.
‘Very wise.’
*****
The seafront was even worse. Perhaps when less crowded it was impressive, but right now she just felt claustrophobic. Stepping out of the way of a loud group of sailors, she found herself beneath one of the many statues that stood guard along the low marble wall. Only Naval personnel were allowed beyond it, so she wasn’t the only person standing waiting for a family member. Most of them were local though. Her late husband’s family were from a fishing village in the south of the Orrostar, and had moved to Azûlada for better job prospects. They’d offered to take Urudabâr as an apprentice.
It had been his own decision to join the Navy, but now she was here, and could see the status and rewards – could imagine the way people talked about it – she could see better why he did.
There was little to do but stand here and wait for Urudabâr to find her. She made her way along the wall, statue by statue. Another Admiral…another explorer…an ancient hero – wait. Hador?
By habit, she looked along the line. There was Balan (historically called Bëor, although that wasn’t politically correct any more) and finally, Haleth.
Haleth was a little too far in the other direction, but Khibileth fought her way there anyway. The closer she got, the more she doubted it was really Haleth, except that she wasn’t sure which other woman would be standing there in armour among the founders of the Three Houses.
The Haleth statue was dressed in cleanly carved ancient armour – although it was of the same kind of armour that Tar-Minyatur was usually shown in. Where Haleth had the resources to forge plate armour was another question. The woman had smooth hair and skin, and fine features, if a stern look. She looked like a woman in her thirties – or at least, like a woman in her thirties looked now. A city dwelling thirty year old with an easy life, and a longer lifespan than the First Age Edain.
Khibileth looked at the statue labelled “Haleth” for a long time. She has to be strong – but of course, she also has to be beautiful (her armour somehow still showed off a feminine figure). And she has to look like one of us.
This is Haleth’s fate, Khibileth thought. To be used by all the following generations as a demonstration of what a good woman should be. Even if Haleth hadn’t fit that mould. She was certainly a lot more popular than Hador and Balan, for that reason. The basic facts were easier to use.
‘Ma?’
She started. It took her several seconds to recognise the tall sailor in front of her as her only son.
‘Urudabâr.’ He seemed so much taller as she reached to hug him – awkwardly, as his pack was in the way, and he kept glancing over his shoulder. ‘How are you?’ the question felt odd as it came out of her mouth.
‘Fine. Good,’ he said, a little stiffly.
‘Look at you,’ she said, wonderingly. It was almost as though someone had made a statue of her boy as a Naval Hero, and had got details wrong – why wouldn’t his eyes focus on her, why did he hold himself so stiffly?
But the statue was the real thing, so perhaps it was her mental image that was wrong.
They made their way up the street, and although the crowds pushed them together, every one word answer she got made her feel further away from him. After a while he pulled her into an inn he seemed to know.
‘We need to wait here. My watch master has to bring me something.’
‘Alright. Can we stay overnight, then? It’ll be dark by the time-’
‘Of course we’re staying overnight,’ he said impatiently. ‘He won’t be able to sell them for a few days.’
‘A few days?’
‘I deserve my cut, I stood with the rest of them.’ He sat down at a table and nodded to the barman.
Khibileth sat opposite him. ‘Certainly you do. And about that…you said in your letters it was a routine patrol.’
He leaned forward. ‘How are the girls?’
She told him about his sisters, in detail, although he didn’t seem to be listening. She told him about the farm, and the neighbours, and everything she could think of that he used to care about, as he drank glass after glass that the barman brought to him.
‘You never used to drink.’
He smirked. ‘What do you think it’s like out there, Mother? Do you think we all watch our language and go to bed on time like our mothers asked?’
‘Mmmm. Sing patriotic songs, bring civilisation to the dark lands and never flinch in the quest for our nation’s glory. Is that right?’ she asked.
He stopped smirking. ‘If you’re a Captain who gets a healthy cut.’
‘Cut of what?’
He took a big swallow of his drink, eyes unfocused. ‘Spoils of war. It’s only right. Didn’t belong to anyone else.’
She suddenly didn’t want to hear any more. The rest of the evening was very quiet, and he retired early.
*****
It was hard to sleep – the streets were noisy with drunken celebrations, loud arguments, and the room was chilly with the sea breeze. Urudabâr collapsed in the corner, pulling a blanket over himself and rolling to face the wall.
His nails were gnawed down to the quick, and he was far thinner than naval rations should have allowed for their sailors – how could he do his job while so malnourished? The others hadn’t looked that bad. He never used to be sullen and sarcastic with her.
Unless he was ashamed of something.
So when he woke a few hours later, shaking and cursing, she wasn’t surprised. Walking over, she sat on the floor beside him, and took his hand.
‘Just tell me.’
It took another twenty minutes before he’d finally talk.
‘We took…the big merchants guilds, they can’t get enough sailors. They offer a…finders fee, for any workers we can recruit from the east.’
Khibileth let this run through her mind.
‘These workers. They come of their own free will?’
He ran his hands through his hair, looking at the wall again.
‘And it’s…what, oarsmen, they need? Menial, manual tasks.’
Silence.
‘So. Our Navy trades in slaves now.’
‘What was I supposed to do?’ he snarled. ‘I’m just one man, how was I supposed to stop it?’
Feeling slightly sick, she looked him up and down. ‘Deserve your cut, do you.’
He mumbled a curse she’d never heard him use before, certainly never at her.
‘Suppose they’re just savages are they-’
‘Stop!’
‘Are you really going to wait here and take money for people’s lives?’
‘No,’ he said, in tears now. ‘You don’t know what I’ve seen, Ma, you don’t know what happened-’
‘Are you getting back on that ship?’
‘No.’
She nodded, once. ‘Then you are still my son. Get your pack ready. We’re leaving at dawn, we’re going home.’
Luthien the Jedi master with Beren her apprentice??
She always seemed to slip so easily, so naturally into her meditation pose, legs crossed neatly and hands at rest.
'Before we begin,' she said. 'I don't want to lie to you about how risky this is.'
'We have no idea if you're powerful enough for your mind trick to work on Lord Morgoth,' said Beren.
Luthien nodded. 'We cannot know until we try. Certainly I can trick others who should be immune, and my Master...' she trailed off, uncomfortably. The stories of Jedi Master Melian's mind tricks were legend. 'I certainly shouldn't try to trick him into handing the lightsaber crystals over. Getting him to sleep, though...which means recovery of the crystals is down to you.'
Beren nodded. 'The Angrist model blaster should be able to get through the shields, but with the extra power packs I think it's only good for one shot-'
'You'll only need one,' she interrupted. 'Forget the other two, don't even try - the quicker we're off his Star Destroyer, the better.' She took a breath. 'Beren, this might not work.'
'I know.'
She nodded, slowly. 'I need to meditate for a few hours before we go.'
'Of course.'
'I've been trying to for the last hour but...Beren, you know I'd never...I'd never use mind tricks on you.'
'I know,' he said, wondering why she felt the need to say it.
'On purpose,' she whispered. He stared at her. Had she ever...? He couldn't remember her ever using anything like that on him...
'Does it matter?' he said, finally.
'Yes. Yes, it matters,' she said. She closed her eyes, and for the next few hours she was silent, and still.
Lev, you said you wanted to see the people of Haleth on Númenor, and you got over 2000 words, so it's coming in two parts - one near the beginning, and one nearer to the Akallabêth.
I think the majority of the Edain were really happy to move from the ruins of Middle Earth to a fertile land that was all theirs, and free of war.
I think if anyone wasn't happy with the idea, they were very likely Haladin.
*****
In all the stories and pictures Avreth had ever seen, her ancestor Haleth was a warrior. In her imagination, when someone said the name “Haleth”, a grim woman in battered leather armour, carrying an old sword, popped into her mind. Haleth knew war. This was important to Avreth, because war was all she’d known.
Born in the thirty-fifth year of the War of Wrath, she grew up knowing when to stay silent and what to do if an adult woke her in the middle of the night telling her to run. She knew she needed to be responsible for collecting firewood and water, because if she wasn’t, there wouldn’t be any. The adults were too busy, either with the fighting, or with the business of staying alive and feeding an enormous army at the same time – while being moved from place to place as territories became unsafe.
By the end of the war, she was fifteen, and a passable blacksmith under the guidance of her father, who’d lost a leg in the fighting. And the war was ending. There was no need for her to craft weapons any more.
So she made ploughs and sickles and hoes, axes for trees rather than orcs, horseshoes occasionally (although who had a horse, now?), made enough to scrape by, and started to hide it from her father so he couldn’t spend it on drink to chase the nightmares away.
One evening their neighbour came by with the name of new land on her lips.
‘People are saying they’ll go,’ she shrugged. ‘I mean there’s not much to stay for here, is there?’
‘What’s to go for, though?’ Avreth asked.
‘The land’s green and fertile, never been scarred by war, no leftover orcs…they’re saying it’s a gift, we can prosper there.’
‘Who’s saying?’ she demanded.
‘Well, the messengers of the Valar, originally. But plenty are saying it now.’
‘How can a soldier and a weaponsmith prosper in a land with no war?’ her father asked.
‘Don’t know, Arth. But you’re not a soldier any more, and she’s not a weaponsmith,’ said Elliel, bluntly. ‘We’re not anything, it’s up to us what we are.’
‘We don’t take lands from overlords. We’re Haladin,’ said her father, stubbornly. ‘I know that much about who we are.’
Elliel nodded. ‘That’s what most people are saying. There’s talk of who’s going to be King.’
‘An elf?’ Avreth asked.
‘Eh, that’s what the debate’s about,’ said Elliel, with a smirk. ‘He was raised by elves, and nobody’s quite sure what he is. You’ve heard of the Peredhil?’
‘Half an elf’s still an elf.’
‘They’re saying he chose to be a man, when he could’ve been an elf.’
‘Do we get to talk to him?’ Avreth asked. ‘Decide for ourselves what we think of him?’
‘That’s what people are suggesting. They’re talking of sending old Cor down to meet him, get a sensible opinion.’
‘He chose to be a man – but who chose him as King?’ Avreth’s father persisted. ‘We Haladin choose our own Chieftains. Is he a Bëorian?’
‘I told you, he’s a bit everything.’
‘Who chose him?’
‘He was a leader in the war, and he was good at it, it makes sense-’
‘The Valar chose our glorious King for us, eh,’ said her father, with a grim smile.
Reports of Elros came back very positive. He was a good leader, he’d shown himself to be, and, people said – he was surely one of them. He looked like one of them – and which of us would choose to never die, if we could? But he chose the opposite. He’s more human than some of us are. And he’s got some fine plans for the new land, listen…
Avreth listened, but she heard what they were really saying.
It’s better than living in the wilds here, with its lurking memories of war. This land east of the mountains was never ours. If the land is good and fertile – may as well go.
In the end they sailed for these reasons, and because everyone they knew was sailing.
The sea was wide and dark, and she didn’t like it much. The ship’s crew was a mix of humans and elves – but the Captain was an elf. She managed to stop one of the young sailors.
‘They’re not staying, are they?’
‘No. They’ll take the ship back…they don’t really need our help,’ he admitted.
‘So…we’re being put on an island with no ships?’
‘We can build our own, if we need them,’ he said.
‘You know how?’
‘Some of us do,’ he said, frowning slightly, as if she was being unreasonable.
She didn’t say any more. But it sounded like if they changed their minds, it’d be a while before they could return. A few generations, even.
From a green hill she watched the ships leave. It was a few days later that she heard there were no metals to be found, anywhere in the land.
Her father raged. We are Haladin! We are free, we have no Lords! They sank Brethil beneath our feet, and now we’re imprisoned on this island with no metal – how can smiths make a living with no metal?
It was tempting to join him, and rail at injustice, at the way their people had never been on top. It was tempting to make surrender her act of defiance, like her father who wouldn’t move from the doorway of the hut that had been prepared for them. Instead Avreth went out to the fields one of their neighbours had already prepared, and learned how to work the earth. A few times a week she joined hunting and scavenging parties. They split what they found.
‘The land is good,’ said the farm-owner’s second son.
‘How do you know?’ Avreth asked him. ‘All you have to compare it to is scorched desert, crumbling into the sea.’
‘True,’ he agreed. ‘It’s alive here.’
He helped her dig out her own patch, behind her father’s hut, the beginnings of their own farm. Her father sat inside and watched them, occasionally criticising their efforts.
Her companion completely ignored him. Finally she said, ‘he’s seen too many things.’
The young man adjusted some of the stones in the drywall they were building. ‘He has a point. It’s not a great wall.’
She smirked. ‘It’ll do for now.’
That night her father mocked him, and for some reason it annoyed her. He kept it up, as it gave him some variety in things to complain about. Even after their tiny patch was finished, and growing, and harvest was approaching, her father didn’t get any better.
‘You’re never going to stop being angry about it, are you?’ she asked.
‘Doubt it.’
‘Don’t we have exactly what Haleth fought for? Fertile land, all our own, free from war, ruling ourselves?’
‘You think we’re still Haladin? You think we can remain us while we’re on others’ land, on others’ terms, ruled by someone others chose?’
Although he was angry, she found she couldn’t be angry at him. ‘I think we can. We’ve survived far worse. I know we can.’
‘Going to settle and become a good little girl of the west?’
‘Going to settle in the west, because it’s the best option we have.’
‘It’s the only option we have.’
‘This land, or trying to eke out an existence in the ruins, or death. I’ve chosen.’
He looked her up and down, bitterly. ‘You’ll give up on who you are, then. I suppose you think you’re going to marry that Hadorian boy, because he grubbed around in the mud for you? You think I’m going to allow it?’
The harvest was good. Settlers travelling from other parts of the island brought reports and samples of different plants. Some had pottery, others had textiles. She was almost brave enough to hope.
In any case, after a while she married the Hadorian farmer’s son, because she was one of the Haladin, and she wouldn’t be ruled by anyone she hadn’t chosen.
Have you ever ... ruined dinner? Written a poem? Witnessed something so monumentally stupid happening in front of your eyes you didn't actually believe what you saw?
