“Sweetie, running won’t help, he’ll find you!” Your mother yelled, desperately. You slowly shook your head and ran out of the living room, one of many in the huge mansion. You ran past old paintings and staircases, your shoes tapping against ancient floors. You didn’t take anything but yourself and your phone with you, you didn’t stop to find out if they were following. You ran through the huge kitchen, slipping past chefs in the middle of preparing supper. Through the windows you could see the sun was setting.

 Throwing the backdoor open, you bolted through the massive garden, and the bushes shaped as bunnies. It had been for you, they’d said. All they did, was for you. What a load of crap. You would never let yourself be sold like some kettle. You were a human being with a mind of your own. You were turning 18 as soon as the clock rang midnight, and your parents would never see you again after this.

  Passing through intricate gardenwork, you ran into the dense forest behind your parents’ estate. You’d always played out there when you were young, and you’d always swore you’d had a guardian angel watching over you in those woods. You’d fallen out of tall trees, you’d scraped every inch of your body on branches, stumbled over stones. There had been incidents where you should have died, yet you never came out of the trees with anything more than a pale red patch wherever you’d hurt yourself. Perhaps the guardian angel was still in there.

  You didn’t waste a second. You heard your parents and a few servants call after you, but you blocked them out. You ran and ran and ran until you couldn’t breathe.

  Falling to your back in the middle of a meadow, you gasped for air. You didn’t care how much sound it made, or how loud you were crying. You had to get it out. Your chest hurt; your soul hurt. Weren’t parents supposed to love their children? Weren’t they supposed to protect their children?

  You didn’t know how long you laid in the small, damp meadow. Your jeans were soaked and probably green on the backside. Your body was numb from crying. From realizing your life was a lie. Your life had been a means to and end for them. You couldn’t fathom how anyone could do such a thing, and to their own child!?

  As you stared up at the sky, you knew he’d be coming for you. If it was really true, then he would come for you no matter where you were. Unless you were dead. No, didn’t demons rule the dead as well? The air felt thick.

  “I take it you’re not happy with your current… predicament.”

  You jumped up at the deep voice. A hand flew to your chest, your wide eyes staring at the man leaning against the trunk of a tall tree. He was… well he was breathtaking. Hair, black as night, framed his face. His eyes were dark, intense and amused as he watched you, blinking lazily. His hands were in the pockets of his dress pants. He wore a black suit, which one would usually find weird deep in a forest, yet he seemed to just… fit.

  You didn’t say anything. What were you to say? That you didn’t like it? You thought that part was pretty obvious. Your eyes flickered over his appearance. Had you not known his true nature; you might have freely spoken to him, told him you weren’t going with him and how you were going to be free. You might have been interested in what he had to say. But you knew, and you didn’t want to know any more.

  “Come here,” he said, his voice didn’t leave room for discussion, but you were frozen. Both in shock and fear. He watched you, seemingly patient, his eyes not leaving yours for even a split second. Did he even blink? You didn’t think he did.

  “Don’t make me repeat myself,” he muttered, his voice turning darker along with the look in his eyes. You felt your vision blur as you shakily took steps towards the man. The edge of his full lips twitched up in a smirk at your compliance.

  He stood up straight, towering over you as you stopped in front of him, a hot tear rolling down your cheek. You hated him. Or, maybe you hated your parents. You didn’t know, you just knew you didn’t want to be a slave.

  “Please,” you whispered, whishing for nothing else than to be left alone. You wanted to be away from him, from your parents, from their stupid massive estate. You didn’t care about any of it, you wanted to be free.

   He decided to take your plea as a wish for him to take you right away.

  “As you wish,” he whispered, his eyes turning as dark as night as he reached out for your waist, pulling you against him. You yelped and pushed your hands against a chiseled chest. The world around you turned loopy and dark smoke enveloped you both. You instinctively gripped his jacket, your wide eyes staring around yourself in terror. He watched in amusement, finding himself already loving the look of fear in your eyes. Your big orbs glowed with horror, and he could stare at the wonderful sight for hours.

  The world shook and trembled around you as you were both swallowed by the darkness. A grunt left your lips out of fear, your eyes squeezing shut. What was he doing? Was he going to hurt you?

–

  You startled upright, your arms grabbing at your body, your lungs gasping for air. You looked around yourself, but it was so dark, you could barely make out anything. You could, however, tell it wasn’t your room. It looked modern, stylish, dark. Black furniture against dark walls. Everything was so dark. The bed sheets, black silk, slick around your bare legs.

  You threw the covers off, your jaw dropping. You were wearing a big t-shirt, down to the top of your thighs. Your eyes carefully wandered around the room once more, your mind completely blank. You couldn’t remember how you got to this room, or where your clothes had gone. Or… if it was you who removed them.

  Quietly slipping out of bed, you slowly stepped towards the window. The curtains were closed, and you hoped the view could give you a clue to where you were. Gently taking a hold of the fabric, you pulled them apart.

  The view… though broad, was unhelpful. You looked down, and your breath caught in your throat at the height. You were so far above ground. You could see so far, yet you had no idea what city it was. The lights from the streets and the buildings were beautiful, but the sinking feeling in your stomach was not.

  Hands wrapped around your waist from behind, and you squealed in surprise, your body jerking forwards. The hands held you back from bumping your head into the glass. You spun around and found a pair of dark eyes staring down at you, looking very amused. You, were not. You glared up at him, your cheeks warming. Had he been in there the whole time? How did he sneak up on you like that?

  “Are you insane?” You asked, your voice low, feeling agitated. You’d never asked to be put in this situation, and you definitely couldn’t remember asking him to change your clothes for you.

  “Whatever do you mean?” He asked sarcastically, his lips curling up in a way too sweet smile, hands pulling you closer. You pulled a face and pushed against his chest, but his grip was locked behind your back. You shot him a look, which he mirrored, mocking you.

  “Where are my clothes?”

  “Trash.”

  “Excuse me!?” You yelled, your brows furring. Who the hell did he think he was?

  “You went all crazy and ripped them,” he shrugged, as if that was something that could just happen to anyone. As if it happened to him a lot. You narrowed your eyes, not believing him.

  “You think I’m going to believe some story about me just suddenly going ham and tearing off my clothes? I’m no Hulk.”

  “I didn’t say I was totally out of blame,” he smirked, taking a step back from you. You frowned.

  “What did you do?”

  “I just took you here,” he said, cocking his head to the side. “You inhaled something you shouldn’t have, and you went nuts,” he smirked, turning and walking towards the door. You ran after him as he walked down the dark hallways.

  “Inhaled what?” You asked, your voice raised with anger. Why couldn’t he just explain it in a proper way? Why be so god damned mysterious?

  He abruptly stopped and spun around, giving you no time to slow down. You bumped right into his chest, though his body didn’t move an inch. It was like hitting a brick wall. A… soft, brick wall. He looked down at you and you had no chance of reading his eyes, they were just looking at you.

  “This,” he said, his voice deep as he held his hand out. His fingers slowly began turning black, as a soft mist formed in his palm. He held his hand a good distance away from you, yet you could smell it as if it was right in your face. It smelled caramel, and the forest after it rains. And leather. Your eyebrow twitched as you turned you head towards his hand. Your eyes peered into the mist, and the deeper you looked, the more delicious the smell got. The mist flickered like a flame, and you wondered if the mist was a result of his skin burning.

  His other hand grabbed a wrist you hadn’t realized you’d stretched out towards the mist, and he pulled you towards the other side of his body as he closed his palm and forced the mist away, his hand turning back to normal.

  His eyes shifted as he looked at you, his expression one of confusion. You could only stand there and gape at him. You couldn’t wrap your mind around what had happened. It was as if you had been in a trance, and as he put the mist away, you felt almost sad. Maybe you really had gone crazy, like he said you had.

  He turned his body to face you, his hands on your upper arms as he leaned down towards your face. You looked up at him with wide eyes, your heartbeat picking up. Was he going to eat you?

  “What did it smell like?” He asked, almost carefully, which didn’t fit his image at all. You frowned at the question. Why did it matter what it smelled like?

  “Uhm… like a few things,” you said, uncertain. “A few things that have absolutely nothing to do with each other.”

  “What things?” He asked, more urgent.

  “Caramel,” you whispered. “And the forest. And leather.”

  He leaned back, and you watched as his eyes flickered all over your form. You swallowed, instinctively taking a step away from him. His eyes narrowed, and the intense look in his eyes returned. He was quiet for a while, and you didn’t dare move. You felt like a prey under his dangerous gaze. His dark t-shirt was tight around his firm muscles, and you swallowed, thinking about all the awful things he could do to you.

  “Y/N,” he whispers your name carefully, as if it was a prayer, and it knocked the wind out of you. Your mind began spinning, and all you could hear was his deep voice calling your name. You desperately looked up at him through your dazed vision. It felt like you were flying on clouds and being held down to the ground by bolts, bth at the same time.

  You tried speaking, but your lips just parted, no sound leaving them.

  “I know,” he whispered, as he took a few steps closer to you. You were frozen in your place, your skin tingling. His hands reached out, slowly, as if to not scare you, and rested on your upper arms. Your whole body practically vibrated at his touch, a shudder running down your spine and some of the tingling under your skin disappeared. You frowned, staring up at him, hoping he could give you an explanation. You mind was blank.

  He hummed, slowly letting his hands run down your arms. You stood there in wonder, amazed at how his touch seemed to make the heavy feeling lift. Though, if it was him who initially made you feel weird, then maybe it wasn’t so strange.

  “I’m sorry,” he muttered, pulling you into his chest in an embrace and your hands automatically rested on his waist. You wondered what he was sorry about, but the softness you felt inside was occupying your mind. It was strange – you’d met this man, this demon; he’d spoken a few words to you and taken you to what you presumed was his home. He… he owned you. He looked every bit a demon, all but the sharp teeth and claws. His deep voice, his heavy presence, his intense stare, his magic. Yet you didn’t really mind being in that apartment with him.

–

 The next few days were strange, to put it mildly. He would often scare the bejesus out of you by appearing right in front of you or engulfing the whole living room in shadow as he entered, his eyes glowing bright red. The sight scared you so bad you had to run straight to the bathroom to not pee yourself. He used every predatorial bone in his body, sneaking up on your from behind and pinching your waist. You’d scream. Each and every time.

  He took you out to fancy restaurants for dinner. You’d wake up and find expensive gift bags waiting for you in the kitchen, though he claimed it was all to make you look the part. He constantly asked what you wanted of certain things, and what you liked, though never straight out. It was always like a guessing game. He was mysterious, and nothing could ever be simple. You felt like he was somewhat doing the most to make you feel like living with him wasn’t a prison sentence. You didn’t feel like that, however, you had quite a lot of questions on your mind. There were quite a few you didn’t dare ask, for example: why did your chest feel so heavy and your skin so cold, until he touched you? What had he done to you? Had he done it on purpose? He had apologized for something; you just didn’t know what.

  He’d sneakily began sleeping in your bed, slipping in behind you when you were deeply asleep, draping a heavy arm over your waist. You’d groggily mumble incoherent protests, feeling his presence, but too tired to try to move him away. He was warm, and he fit very nicely against your back. You let him stay.

  “Are you going to tell me your name?” You pried, following him around the big apartment as he typed away on his phone. He didn’t answer you, so you asked again. This had become a sort of daily ritual. You’d asked him the first day, but all he’d said was: “Did your parents tell you nothing of my kind?” It had you so curious you could burst.

  “Can you tell me something?” You asked, growing bored of not knowing anything about him. He leant against the kitchen counter, his eyes glancing up at you. The stare was a warning to leave it be. You didn’t care, you wanted to know. It wasn’t fair.

  You narrowed your eyes and moved to sit on the counter opposite of him, on the other side of the kitchen, as he went back to texting. Maybe you could use something as leverage? He seemed to like sleeping in your bed. A smile crept over your lips, but you tried your best to conceal it.

  “If you don’t tell me something, I won’t let you sleep in my bed anymore,” you said, trying to keep your voice even. His eyes locked on yours, his stare was dark. Intense. Had you broken through? In the blink of an eye, he was in front of you, his chest pressed against yours. A surprised yelp left your lips.

  His eyes slowly roamed over your face, his lips tipping up in the slightest smirk. You felt your stomach flip at the sight of it. Your breath hitched in your throat as he leaned in even further, his nose nudging against yours. Your mind was going haywire, wondering what his next move was. You waited for him to scare you in some way, fully aware of how much he liked seeing you scared. You thought, though hoped against, that he might use his magic on you.

  What you had not expected, was for his lips to brush against yours. The touch sent shivers down your spine, and you had an urge to lean in a press your lips to his, fully. You didn’t.

  It seemed like he had trouble restraining himself, but he did. He backed off and disappeared right in front of your eyes. You sighed, your hand reaching up to cover your hard beating heart. You couldn’t deny his beauty, and you couldn’t say you didn’t like his sense of humor, and his way of speaking to you – even if he was mysterious. Did you have feelings for him? You had feelings for his looks, that you could agree with yourself on, but for him? You didn’t know him.

  You knew he worked a lot. Exactly what he did, you didn’t know, but he worked a lot. And when he wasn’t working, he was around you, but always had his phone within reach. He’d often be busy working, even when home. He was fancy when it came to, well, everything. He would stare at you until you cleaned up your cereal bowl, even if you weren’t even finished yet. He was very touchy, very ‘hands on’. It was unsettling at first, not being used to it, but when you live with someone, no matter the conditions, you sort of get used to their ways.

  When he was annoyed, which was quite often, though rarely towards you, his eyes glowed red and he unbuttoned a few buttons on his shirt. The day prior, he had actually ripped it apart on “accident”, and you had been caught staring at his chest. He teased you the whole day, though you could never be sure if he was really teasing or serious – his eyes were always intense, and his body language didn’t change between the two.

  He was ripped. Like, really ripped. You’d seen him shirtless several times over the last few days; you’d even seen him naked. He seemed to prefer walking around naked, and though it made you feel profusely uncomfortable, you couldn’t deny it was a pleasure to look at the muscles in his back move as his arms lifted, and the biceps curled and tightened as he held the phone to his ear. The main question on your mind was: why?

  Why had he been interested in ‘buying’ you?

  Why was he being so nice and taking care of you?

  Why did he not want to reveal who he was to you? Other than his nature.

  You weren’t ungrateful for his caregiving, though you had to wonder why he was caring towards you. You had seen how easily irritated he got; how driven he was by his primal instincts. How easy it was to push his buttons, though you tried your hardest to avoid doing that.

  A part of you hoped he was interested beyond the deal he had with your parents. That a man like him, a demon; dark and cruel, more beautiful than any angel you could imagine, was interested in you. Plain old Y/N. You didn’t have a low self esteem per say, though you knew you weren’t the best at most things. Looks wise as well, though you didn’t think you were ugly. You just… reality was that compared to a lot of people on this man’s level, you weren’t even considered pretty.

  You laid awake in your bed that evening, still thinking about the kiss. It was a kiss; you had decided it was. It was your first kiss with him. After your rapidly beating heart had calmed, your senses were overflowed by that same sensation as whenever he left you alone. The air was so cold on your skin, there was an uneasy feeling in your stomach, and you just didn’t feel right.

  The mattress dipped, with no warning, and your body jolted slightly in surprise, though you didn’t move. His hand slid over your waist, and under your hip, taking a hold of you and spinning you around. A gasp left your throat at the sudden movement, and your hands gripped onto his chest for support. You stared up at him in shock.

  He was laying on his side, head propped up on his hand, looking at you with those dark eyes and you were about to say something clever when you noticed his eyes weren’t the same. They were telling you something different.

  His hand slid across your torso, slowly and gently, easing off the pressure in your chest; the horrible cold feeling. How did he have this sort of effect on you? You couldn’t get a grasp of it.

  “What’s happening to me?” You whispered, your voice laced with fear, though your tried to hold it even. He didn’t answer. He leant down and nudged his nose against yours. You felt his breath fan over you face, and you bit your lip. You wanted to be closer. You had such an urge to hold onto him and push your body against his, it almost hurt to hold yourself back. You had to close your eyes, your body tingling with longing.

  “Look at me,” he whispered, and you couldn’t even control your own movements as your eyes snapped open, looking up at him as if he might be the answer you were looking for.

  “Do you trust me?” he mumbled; his voice low. The question caught you of guard. You hadn’t thought about that. Did you trust him? He had kept you safe, for now, at least. He hadn’t acted like the monster he probably could be around you - or, not that much at least. When you pondered over his question, you came to realize that yes, you did trust him.

  “Yes, I think I do,” you whispered, feeling incredibly stupid but also hopeful.

  His eyes shimmered red at your words, though not the angry, fearsome red. They held primal instinct, sure, but not for killing. His fingers tightened their hold on your waist.

After the Downfall of Númenor, Elendil led the survivors of the Elf-friends back to the North-western shores of Middle-earth. There many already dwelt who were in whole or part of Númenórean blood; but few of them remembered the Elvish speech. All told the Dúnedain were thus from the beginning far fewer in number than the lesser men among whom they dwelt and whom they ruled, being lords of long life and great power and wisdom. They used therefore the Common Speech in their dealing with other folk and in the government of their wide realms; but they enlarged the language and enriched it with many words drawn from elven-tongues.

The Númenóreans were a minority group within the realms they controlled, especially in Gondor, which was more populous than Arnor and expanded significantly throughout the first millennium of the Third Age as it established a very large empire in the northwest of Middle-earth. Gondorian monarchs also at times had influence over neighboring peoples such as the Northmen and the Haradrim, but even within “Gondor proper” not all inhabitants were considered Númenóreans, especially in the early period of Gondor’s history. However, the Númenórean worldview was not a static one. Faramir described the state of it at the time of the War of the Ring as such:

For so we reckon Men in our lore, calling them the High, or Men of the West, which were Númenóreans; and the Middle Peoples, Men of the Twilight, such as are the Rohirrim and their kin that dwell still far in the North; and the Wild, the Men of Darkness. (TTT, IV 5)

Tolkien substantially elaborated on this in the essay “Of Dwarves and Men” (found in HoMe XII) which is full of interesting points, but since that discussion is focused mainly on the labels of Middle Men and Men of Darkness I will quote only a few parts:

With regard to Middle Men Faramir spoke mainly of the Rohirrim, the only people of this sort well-known in Gondor in his time, and attributed to them actual direct descent from the Folk of Hador in the First Age. This was a general belief in Gondor at that time, and was held to explain (to the comfort of Númenórean pride) the surrender of so large a part of the Kingdom to the people of Eorl.

…

Thus it came about that the Númenórean term Middle Men was confused in its application. Its chief test was friendliness towards the West (to Elves and to Númenóreans), but it was actually applied usually only to Men whose stature and looks were similar to those of the Númenóreans, although this most important distinction of ‘friendliness’ was not historically confined to peoples of one racial kind.… Also it must be said that ‘unfriendliness’ to Númenóreans and their allies was not always due to the Shadow, but in later days to the actions of the Númenóreans themselves.

The passage goes on to mention the coastal peoples of the Minhiriath (cf. UT, The History of Galadriel and Celeborn, Appendix D) and their Third Age descendants, the Dunlendings, as examples of peoples who by descent should have been considered Middle Men, but became enemies of the Númenóreans due to the abuses perpetrated by the latter. We see this in action in the expulsion of the Dunlendings from Calenardhon when it was gifted to the Rohirrim. Both the Dunlendings and the Rohirrim (then known as the Éothéod) were descended from First Age Edainic peoples, but the Rohirrim were (a) phenotypically more similar to Númenóreans and (b) important military allies, so they were given the more privileged label and the Dunlendings were not.

My hypothesis here is that the label of Númenórean itself was just as confused and politicized as the labels of Middle Men and Men of Darkness. This was not to my knowledge explicitly stated by Tolkien as in the case of “Middle Men”, but I think there is enough evidence that can be gleaned from the Third Age histories, primarily found in LOTR Appendix A, to make a case, though it must remain speculative. The nature of the Appendices’ presentation in LOTR invites critical analysis of this sort because they are explicitly stated (in the Prologue) to be the product of in-universe historians, specifically drawing on sources from Rohan and Gondor. Furthermore, much of Appendix A is printed within quotation marks, indicating ostensible direct quotes from Secondary World historical texts, and Appendix B is an abridgment of The Tale of Years, which is also established as an in-universe text. These works should therefore be understood not as objective accounts but as sources influenced by the cultures and biases of their ostensible in-universe authors.

The significance of the label “Númenórean” was most famously addressed in the case of the Kin-strife, the 15th century Third Age Gondorian civil war. Valacar, the son of King Rómendacil II of Gondor, married a princess of the Northmen, an Edainic people of Rhovanion (Wilderland) who were an important part of Gondor’s defense policy both because of their status as a buffer state between Gondor and the Easterlings and because many Northmen were recruited directly into Gondor’s armies, some of them holding high rank. The civil war began when a significant number of Gondorian nobles and lesser royalty (“the high men of Gondor” and “descendants of the kings”) refused to accept Valacar’s son Eldacar (birth name Vinitharya) as king. Eldacar was deposed for 10 years by Castamir the Usurper who ruled with the support of the coastal provinces, but Eldacar regained his throne with the help of his mother’s people and the inland provinces of Gondor. Eldacar and his descendants were restored to the throne but Castamir and his followers held out in Umbar, which ceased to be part of the Kingdom of Gondor (LOTR, Appendix A).

After the return of Eldacar the blood of the kingly house and other houses of the Dúnedain became more mingled with that of lesser Men. For many of the great had been slain in the Kin-strife; while Eldacar showed favour to the Northmen, by whose help he had regained the crown, and the people of Gondor were replenished by great numbers that came from Rhovanion. (Ibid.)

There is a lot to unpack here. First, it must be noted that the war did not result in Gondor becoming a more racially egalitarian place. The Secondary World historians whose works were the ostensible basis for Appendix A continued to bemoan the loss of pure Númenórean descent in Gondor. The line of kings came to an end after the death of Eärnur some 600 years later because “no claimant to the crown could be found who was of pure blood, or whose claim all would allow; and all feared the memory of the Kin-strife, knowing that if any such dissension arose again, then Gondor would perish.” Because the Kin-strife had already established that partial Northmen descent was not a disqualifying factor, I think the conclusion here is that the lesser royalty of Gondor had been consistently intermarrying with other ethnic groups within the empire, probably including the indigenous and/or mixed descent inhabitants of Gondor proper, but possibly also more far-flung subjects and tributary allies.

It was not until the time of the Stewards that Gondor “recruited the strength of [its] people from the sturdy folk of the sea-coast, and from the hardy mountaineers of Ered Nimrais” (TTT, IV 5). At the time of the War of the Ring the people of Lossarnach and Lebennin “were reckoned men of Gondor, yet their blood was mingled, and there were short and swarthy folk among them whose sires came more from the forgotten men who housed in the shadow of the hills in the Dark Years ere the coming of the kings” (ROTK, V 1). This is contrasted unfavorably with the “high blood” of the men of Dol Amroth but it indicates a significant change in Gondorian policy and self-image since the days of the kings; a change based primarily on the political and military reality that Gondor no longer had enough “pure” Númenóreans under the original definition to remain a viable state. Faramir also noted this as the reason for the Rohirrim being gifted Calenardhon (TTT, IV 5) which, as noted above, also entailed a tweaking of the Númenórean worldview.

Returning to the Kin-strife, it is fairly clear that pure Númenórean descent was not the only or even necessarily the primary factor motivating Castamir’s faction. Appendix A states that “the high men of Gondor already looked askance at the Northmen among them; and it was a thing unheard of before that the heir of the crown, or any son of the King, should wed one of lesser and alien race.” I think that both halves of this statement are of crucial importance: it was unheard for a prince of Gondor to marry a non-Númenórean, but the nobility of Gondor was already displeased with the pro-Northmen policies of Valacar’s father. The rebellion originated in “the southern provinces”, which were all coastal. Castamir “was supported by the people of the coasts and of the great havens of Pelargir and Umbar” and “cared little for the land, and thought only of the fleets, and purposed to remove the king’s seat to Pelargir.” It’s not hard to imagine why the people of these regions, which had been the focal point of Gondor’s power during its zenith under the Ship-kings, would resent a realignment of Gondorian policy towards northern, continental matters; a realignment which gave the Northmen significant power.

(It behooves me to mention that some of these points first caught my interest when reading Chris Seeman’s essay “Rethinking Umbar” and to a lesser extent Codex Regius’ Middle-earth seen by the barbarians, although Codex Regius goes much further into the realm of revisionism than I am comfortable doing and I draw a different conclusion than Mr Seeman regarding whether the Black Númenóreans were fully subsumed into the Haradrim, as I will attempt to explain later in this essay.)

Rómendacil II, by birth Minalcar, was preoccupied with the threat of the Easterlings (his regnal name means “East-victor”) and desired to make the Northmen more reliable allies than they had been in the past. Valacar only met his bride-to-be because his father sent him to live among the Northmen, but he “far exceeded his father’s designs” (LOTR, Appendix A). Looking at Tolkien’s drafts of the Appendices is instructive here, though to be clear as unpublished texts they must be taken with a grain of salt. In a lengthy footnote to one draft Tolkien wrote that Rómendacil approved the marriage because “[h]e could not forbid or refuse to recognize it without earning the enmity of Vidugavia [self-styled King of Rhovanion and father of the princess Valacar wished to marry]. Indeed all the Northmen would have been angered, and those in his service would have been no longer to be trusted” (HoMe XII, The Making of Appendix A). Intriguingly, one version of another text states that after fleeing to Umbar Castamir’s descendants and other minor Gondorian royals who rebelled “married women of the Harad and had in three generations lost most of their Númenórean blood” (HoMe XII, The Heirs of Elendil). This is probably of more dubious reliability but there are a lot of interesting implications to think through here.

At the time of the War of the Ring the Haradrim were an enemy of Gondor and they had been so during the War of the Last Alliance as well. However, after their defeat by Hyarmendacil I of Gondor, Harad became a tributary region of Gondor for 400 years—until after the Kin-strife, when Gondor also lost the province of Umbar directly west of Near Harad. During the tributary period “the kings of the Harad did homage to Gondor, and their sons lived as hostages in the court of its King” (LOTR, Appendix A). Here we are very much entering the realm of speculation, but I don’t think it’s unreasonable to suppose that the Haradrim played a role not unlike that of the later Northmen. Probably not to the same extent, as the Haradrim were not a buffer between Gondor and other enemies, but there must have been considerable movement of people between Gondor and its tributaries; not only princes but also soldiers, merchants, laborers, and others. We know that there was significant interaction between Near Harad and Umbar throughout much of their shared history, to the point that Damrod (one of the Rangers of Ithilien, who had personal experience fighting the Haradrim in the late Third Age) described Umbar as a “realm” of the Haradrim (TTT, IV 5). I think it is more likely than not that this exchange continued while both were under the sway of Gondor, and from Umbar some Haradrim undoubtedly made their way to the rest of Gondor as well. While it is almost certain that no non-Black Númenórean Haradrim married into the direct line of kings, they could very well have been part of the reason for the overall decline in “pureblood” Númenóreans in Gondor, as mentioned above.

Nor were the nobility of Gondor the first Númenóreans whom the Haradrim had close experience with. For more than a thousand years before it became part of Gondor, Umbar was ruled by the Black Númenóreans: the descendants of the King’s Men faction of Númenor that opposed the Faithful (Elf-friends). The earliest Black Númenórean leaders that we know anything about are Herumor and Fuinur, “who rose to power among the Haradrim” around the time of the War of the Last Alliance. It is often speculated that they were rulers of Umbar because they are contrasted with other Black Númenórean “renegades, lords both mighty and evil, [who] for the most part took up their abodes in the southlands far away” because they were avoiding the power of Gil-galad (TS, Akallabêth; Umbar was as far north as the Black Númenóreans reached). A footnote to Appendix A states that “[a]fter the fall of Sauron [in the War of the Last Alliance] their race swiftly dwindled or became merged with the Men of Middle-earth, but they inherited without lessening their hatred of Gondor.” However, this is contradicted by other pieces of evidence. For one, the Mouth of Sauron is described as Black Númenórean, and he was born almost 3000 years into the Third Age (the evidence does not support the notion that he was born in the Second Age and somehow survived until the War of the Ring).[1] Keeping in mind the ostensible Secondary World origins of The Lord of the Rings in The Red Book of Westmarch, this description indicates the opinion of either Gondorians or Hobbits working from largely Gondorian sources. In either event, it means Elf-friends recognizing the continued existence of a separate Númenórean people outside the Realms in Exile thousands of years after the Downfall.

We could write this off as a case of Tolkien changing his mind and an error slipping through the cracks but I think it is more likely that the two conflicting statement reflect opposing viewpoints held by Gondorians (possibly in different eras) about the status of the Black Númenóreans and/or their descendants. The most interesting piece of circumstantial evidence for this is the case of Queen Berúthiel. The story of her cats is fleetingly mentioned in The Lord of the Rings and elaborated on in Unfinished Tales but it was in a 1966 interview with New Worlds magazine that Tolkien expounded on Berúthiel herself (quoted here):

There’s one exception that puzzles me—Berúthiel. I really don’t know anything of her—you remember Aragorn’s allusion in Book I (page 325) to the cats of Queen Berúthiel, that could find their way home on a blind night? She just popped up, and obviously called for attention, but I don’t really know anything certain about her; though, oddly enough, I have a notion that she was the wife of one of the ship-kings of Pelargir. She loathed the smell of the sea, and fish, and the gulls. Rather like Skadi, the giantess, who came to the gods in Valhalla, demanding a recompense for the accidental death of her father. She wanted a husband. The gods all lined up behind a curtain, and she selected the pair of feet that appealed to her most. She thought she’d got Baldur, the beautiful god, but it turned out to be Njord, the sea-god, and after she’d married him, she got absolutely fed up with the seaside life, and the gulls kept her awake, and finally she went back to live in Jotunheim.

Well, Berúthiel went back to live in the inland city, and went to the bad (or returned to it—she was a black Númenorean in origin, I guess). She was one of these people who loathe cats, but cats will jump on them and follow them about—you know how sometimes they pursue people who hate them? I have a friend like that. I’m afraid she took to torturing them for amusement, but she kept some and used them—trained them to go on evil errands by night, to spy on her enemies or terrify them.

Unfinished Tales specifies that the Ship-king in question was Tarannon Falastur (UT, The Istari, note 7). It has been argued by both Chris Seeman (not in the piece I linked above) and Codex Regius that his quote suggests Berúthiel was from Umbar, which I think is an odd reading of it since Umbar was a seaport and following Tolkien’s analogy with Norse mythology Berúthiel is implied to not have been from a coastal city. On the other hand, if we want to interpret the analogy with a giantess seeking marriage as restitution to mean that Berúthiel and Falastur’s marriage was a political one arranged in an attempt to forestall further conflict (though it clearly failed), then Umbar shoots back up the list of possible origins for Berúthiel since all of Falastur’s wars were “along the coasts west and south of the Mouths of Anduin” (LOTR, Appendix A; his epithet means “Lord of the Coasts”). On the other hand, because we know Harad consisted of multiple allied but presumably independent realms (cf. Damrod’s quote and the mention of multiple kings of Harad sending their sons to the court of a singular Gondorian king), we could suppose that Berúthiel was born in a Black Númenórean realm or city-state in the interior of Harad that nonetheless sent forces to participate in one of the wars with Gondor. At this point we are fully into the realm of speculation, but I find it an interesting prospect to consider.

Another indication that the Black Númenóreans persisted in Umbar can be found in Tolkien’s own out-of-universe notes to himself. Temporarily setting aside the question of Secondary World historiography, the discussion of Gandalf’s travels found in Unfinished Tales tells us that “Harad ‘South’ is thus a vague term, and although before its downfall Men of Númenor had explored the coasts of Middle-earth far southward, their settlements beyond Umbar had been absorbed, or being made by men already in Númenor corrupted by Sauron had become hostile and parts of Sauron’s dominions” (UT, The Istari). The implication here that Umbar, in contrast to other Númenórean colonies further south, had not been “absorbed” by their surrounding peoples is another piece of evidence for a continued Númenórean identity (presumably only among the elite) well into the Third Age, late enough for Gandalf to observe it during his travels.[2]

To attempt to draw these disparate points together, it must also be considered that the exodus of Gondorian nobility and royalty leaving for Umbar may have impacted the remaining Gondorians’ perception of the Númenórean status of their southern neighbors. Appendix A relates that by the time of Eärnur’s death in the 21st century of the Third Age:

Now the descendants of the kings had become few. Their numbers had been greatly diminished in the Kin-strife; whereas since that time the kings had become jealous and watchful of those near akin. Often those on whom suspicion fell had fled to Umbar and there joined the rebels; while others had renounced their lineage and taken wives not of Númenórean blood.

I find this statement interesting: minor Gondorian royalty joined their distant relatives in Umbar or they married non-Númenóreans and thereby removed themselves and their descendants from consideration for the throne (though as noted above I think they must also have married non-Northmen). The implication is that those who fled to Umbar did not “renounce their lineage”. Near the end of his life Tolkien responded to a letter asking if the named descendants of Castamir (Angamaitë and Sangahyando) had taken Quenya names as a way of asserting that their heritage was purer than Eldacar’s or his descendants’. Tolkien replied that “there was no need to assert their royal descent, as that was clear” (Letters, no. 347). As with so many of these quotes there is room for many interpretations. Taken in a vacuum Tolkien’s comment could suggest only that Angamaitë and Sangahyando had no need to impress their followers in Umbar, but taken in conjunction with the Appendix A quote I think it creates an intriguing possibility: namely, that Gondor recognized (at least at some points in history) that there was a distinct Númenórean realm beyond the two established by Elendil.

Also worth taking into consideration is that both the Gondorians and the rulers of Umbar later in the Third Age left the monument to Ar-Pharazôn’s victory over Sauron intact until after Sauron openly declared his return near the end of the Third Age (LOTR, Appendix A). I think this is a strong indication that the rulers of Umbar after its time as a Gondorian province identified with the Númenórean legacy represented by the monument and I think it is unlikely that a fully “Haradrified” population would have done so. Chris Seeman argues in “Rethinking Umbar” that the descendants of the Black Númenóreans had thoroughly merged with the Haradrim but let the monument stand because they identified with Ar-Pharazôn’s adoption of Melkorism. However, I find this argument unconvincing since the monument specifically represented Ar-Pharazôn’s victory over Sauron, whereas dedicated Melkorists considered Sauron a key figure in their religion and I think would have seen the conflict with him as a misguided decision made before the Númenóreans fully realized who the true enemy was, much in the same way that political extremists in the Primary World recast wars in their own historiographies.[3]

In any event, the Black Númenóreans undoubtedly intermarried with their neighbors just as the Gondorians had done. I suspect the same arguments that Faramir gave for an expansive definition of the term “Númenórean” (that the “pureblood” population had become too small to be viable on its own, even as a political elite) would have been made within the Black Númenórean community. What we can consider with slightly more grounding in the text is why the Gondorians appear to have waffled on whether or not they recognized said Númenórean status. We are told that records of Queen Berúthiel were destroyed at the time she was expelled by Falastur (UT, The Istari, note 7) but later scribes who recorded what was remembered of her would have been left to assume that she was of Númenórean descent since, according to Gondorian historiography, no king before Valacar had married a non-Númenórean. Presumably a similar justification would have had to be made at the time the marriage occurred. If it was in fact a diplomatic marriage then mutual recognition of each other’s Númenórean heritage might have been part of the bargain. Likewise, whichever author of the Red Book described the Mouth of Sauron as a Black Númenórean (perhaps Frodo but possibly Findegil or someone at Great Smials where Pippin curated a collection of material focused especially on Gondor) would have been writing in the very late Third Age or the early Fourth Age, shortly after Aragorn “made peace with the peoples of Harad” (ROTK, VI 5); a time in which Gondorians and their allies would presumably be more inclined to be diplomatic toward their southern neighbors.