#kingship

It's not wealth that makes a king Or the purple of his Tyrian clothes, Not the crown on his royal brow, Not roofbeams that gleam with gold: A king is he who's set aside fear And the evils of an ill-starred breast, Who is not moved by unchecked ambition Or the favor, never stable, shown By the mob that speeds headlong.

regem non faciunt opes, non vestis Tyriae color, non frontis nota regiae, non auro nitidae trabes: rex est qui posuit metus et diri mala pectoris, quem non ambitio inpotens et numquam stabilis favor vulgi praecipitis movet...

"For this is what it means to be a king: to be first in every desperate attack and last in every desperate retreat, and when there's hunger in the land (as must be now and then in bad years) to wear finer clothes and laugh louder over a scantier meal than any man in your land." -King Lune, The Horse and His Boy

On the bright side: he is the only Noldoran from Middle Earth who DIDN'T die

"I never believed the Folk who said you had turned professor. I simply can't imagine you putting in the effort."

"He has never been a particularly observant creature."

"Help me bring about my son's death. There is nothing special about him, Emily, I promise... you will not miss him."

"My son was always a superficial creature."

"I was not enthusiastic about the prospect of my nephew inheriting the throne, and for the most part, I remain unimpressed by him, even if he is less feckless than he once was."

"My father could not have had a lower opinion of my political capabilities."

"I have had no real trouble. Not from my court, and certainly from my son, airheaded creature that he is."

"Your talent for shirking responsibility was unparalleled."

"I would not be surprised if you were more adept at ruling a faerie kingdom alone than with my help."

"Is our king perhaps a disappointment in other respects?"

"I have never seen anything exceptional in him. As a child, his magical talents were ordinary, and certainly there were many wiser and braver—and less indolent—candidates for the throne, including at least two of his siblings."

"What a fearsome reputation this one has! They say he was almost always the last to leave a party."

"I thought you were supposed to be clever. Or is that just in comparison with my brother? No one thinks he's smart, that's for sure."

-----

Gil-galad doesn’t want dominion but to save Middle-earth so his people and all peoples can live in peace.

Sauron says he wants those things, but he would achieve his purpose through bending and binding the minds and wills of all beings to his own.

This can be seen in their dealings with Men: Gil-galad forges the Last Alliance, standing with Men to save Men and elves. Sauron enslaves mortal men with the promises of power, peace, prosperity, until the things they might have seen as blessings become a curse.

“A king’s place is where the need is greatest.”

Two brothers, two kings, but in entirely differnet ways. Like, they were as siblings are, super similar in some respects, the exact opposite to each other in others. But when it came to kingship, they were like night and day. Both were beloved by their people, both were quite successful (as in keeping their realms safe for a long time), but their styles of reign were polar opposites.

Olwë loved and lived that job. He was a good leader from the start, and though it grieved him to take his brother‘s crown and leave Middle-Earth, he still never felt overwhelmed. (Or hardly ever. Leading his people to Aman when he had never been there and everyone expected Elwë, not him, he was, um… let‘s say not entirely chill). But that was about it. He was soon regarded as a wise king despite his youth, ans he loved every moment of it.

He was filled with pride every time he stood on his balcony and looked over Alqualondë, HIS city, HIS people, the work of HIS hands. He was never afraid of hard work, and was prepared to labour tirelessly for the good of his people, and did so, too. But he also enjoyed the little benefits of being king, like not having to clean after himself, not having to care for day to day business. He could leave his bed in the morning and come back at night to find it in prestine condition. He did not run errands himself (well, ok, that‘s one thing where both brothers were alike. The other was that they were both wuite touchy when their authority was questioned), he would sit hours before a feast and let himself and his queen be dressed in all splendour.

And speaking of feasts… Olwë hugely enjoyed them, and being in the centre of attention, too. He was at ease with being the one in charge and making decisions, and every new day held new chances.

Elu, on the other hand, saw kingship as a burden. Something that restricted his freedom. He preferred doing things a and unwatched, and squirmed at the idea of being responsible for other people, in the sense of deciding for other people. He craved, above all else, peace and quiet. Sit in a tree. Sing. Dance. He was a faerie even amongst faeries.

He did things by himself. Never left his bedchamber without making his bed himself. Dressed by himself. For the longrst time mended his clothes himself, and refused to be touched by anyone save his family and closest friends. It was Melian who did his braids and helped him dress. No-one else.

Fests were his bane. So much so that he even refused to have his wedding celebrated, insisting that he and Melian were already wed, so there was no reason fussing around. Later, Melian and Lúthien both laughed themselves silly at Elu rather hiding in a cupboard than attending a feast, and it was Elmo‘s job to manage the precise amount of wine necessary to relax his brother enough to act naturally, without making him drunk. Most of the time, he succeeded. The occasions he didn‘t stayed in the Iathrim‘s collective memory. They smirked about every single one of them.

The one thing Elu really loved about kingship was the possibility to surround himself with beauty and lose himself in it. But that was it, really. He would have been far happier as a normal elf, and was more than happy to acknowledge Olwë as his sovereign when he was re-embodied in Valinor. Everything to get rid of responsibility. (That didn‘t keep him from being insufferably older-brotherish in private, though. Olwë considered feeding him to the fish once or twice. But mainly, they really loved each other)

To be fair, much of their respective attitudes were borne from their childhood. Elu was born and raised a prince, the eldest son of his father and thus expected to carry on Enel‘s line, and he HATED every moment of it. He wanted to roam the woods with Finwë, not learn about Lord Enel‘s… peculiar views of the world. And most of all, he wanted no attention. Coukd he have chosen, he would have become invisible. Not bother anyone, not be bothered by anyone.

The thing that made it all bearable was that Finwë found himself in the same predicament. Finwë was his anchor in so many respects. He was the adventurous one, he would always push Elu out if his comfort zone. They worked perfectly together. Had they not been seperated, Elvish history would have been very different. (No, not shipping them and not, never! saying Elu should bot have married Melian. But I sometimes wish they could just have gone to Aman together. But then, we would have no story)

In the Odyssey, there are occasions where individuals seem to be described as rulers of populations: Odysseus’ comrades ask Antiphates’ daughter who the basileus of the Laestrygones is (10.110), while Pheidon is named as the basileusof the Thesprotians (14.316; 19.287) and Phaidimos the basileus of the Sidonians (15.118); in the Iliad, Rhesos is named as king of the Thracians (10.435). What is interesting is that all these cases concern populations that were considered either non-Hellenic (the Laestrygones, Sidonians, and Thracians) or something less than Hellenic (the Thesprotians) – a usage that, in some senses, anticipates the application of the term to non-Greek sovereigns in the Classical period. On the Greek side, we do hear of basileis of the Argives (e.g. Il. 10.195) and of the Achaeans (24.404), but both these names are used virtually synonymously to designate the collective forces that marched on Troy rather than specific populations rooted in particular regions. Among the Achaeans, only Agamemnon is explicitly named as king of anything, and in this case it is not of a population but of a place – “Mycenae, rich in gold” (Il. 7.180; 11.46). Other heroes, such as Achilles (1.331) or Diomedes and Odysseus (14.379–80), are simply nominated basileis without any further specification. Similarly, in the Catalogue of Ships, the Achaean heroes may sometimes be described as arkhoi(“leaders”) of the contingents that they bring to Troy (e.g. Il. 2.541, 2.685), but never as basileis. Agamemnon does merit the title anax (e.g. Il. 1.172), which might have suggested a more regal status were it not for the fact that the term is also applied to Aeneas (5.311) and Polydamas (15.453–4), neither of whom was a sovereign ruler.

In fact, there are three reasons why it is difficult to view Homeric basileis as kings in any sense we would understand today. Firstly, basileus appears to be a relative, rather than an absolute, term. In the Iliad (9.69), Nestor describes Agamemnon as basileutatos (“the most basileus”) while Agamemnon himself notes that he is basileuteros (“more of a basileus”) than Achilles (9.160). Some have inferred from this that Achilles belongs to a more junior cadre of princes, subordinated to a paramount ruler, Agamemnon, but a little later, Achilles refuses Agamemnon’s offer of his daughter’s hand in marriage and bids him to “choose another of the Achaeans who is more similar to himself and more of a basileus” (9.391–92). This would seem to imply that basileus designates a personal authority that is subject to various gradations rather than a formally constituted office. Secondly, we often hear of a plurality of basileis. One of Penelope’s suitors, Antinous, points out that there are “many other basileis of the Achaeans in sea-girt Ithaca, both young and old” (Od. 1.394–95) and Alcinous notes that the Phaeacians have “twelve distinguished basileis who bear sway as leaders in the region, and I myself am the thirteenth” (8.390–91). Thirdly, the principle of hereditary succession, which would seem to be a fundamental characteristic of kingship as we understand it, is by no means guaranteed in the Homeric world. Odysseus is recognized as a basileus on Ithaca, but his father, Laertes, is still alive. Nor is there any certitude that his son, Telemachus, will succeed him to royal office should news of his demise be confirmed. When, in the Odyssey, Telemachus summons the assembly, we are told that the elders make way for him as he sits in the seat of his father (2.14) but he is utterly powerless at persuading – let alone ordering – his mother’s suitors to abstain from consuming the entire wealth of his house. Nor can it be accidental that the suitors Antinous and Eurymakhos are both described as basileis (18.64–65; 24.179).”