Lore: On The Meneltarma
Telamon
A corvid.
- Location
- Texas
At the center of the star-shaped island of Elenna, there stands a mountain, cold and white. None have ever measured it's height or dimensions, but it looms over the Blessed Isle, stretching above all the lands of the Gift. The Tall Men say among themselves that it is the greatest peak in all the world. The first Númenóreans, landing on the shores of their new home, were awed to gaze upon it, and so called it the Meneltarma, which is the Pillar of Heaven in the High-Elven speech.
As it stands at the center of the island, so too stands the Holy Mountain at the center of Númenórean religious and political life. It was in the shadow of the Meneltarma that Elros Tar-Minyatur built his capital of Armenelos, that the greatest glory of the kings of men might ever be in the shadow of Illuvatar. It was on the slopes of that mountain that he was crowned King of the Men of the West, and there after him have all his successors been crowned. Amid the southern slopes of the Mountain, in the great valley called Noirinian, are lain all the tombs of the Kings of Númenor.
The Mountain lies at the center of all Númenórean maps, and is how their explorers mark the latitude and longitude of their sea-paths. All stars are reckoned by travelers with reference to how they appear on a clear night upon the peak of the Meneltarma — to say a star is "south of the mountain" is to say that a star has shifted southward relative to it's 'correct' position when viewed from the Mountain. Far-flung sailors upon the western sea may use the Meneltarma as a way-guide, for even from the distant shores of Middle-Earth it is visible on a clear day, and it's white spire may be seen afar from Middle-Earth by climbing any peak or tower of sufficient height.
The Meneltarma is held sacred above all other things, and there is an ancient tradition of silence for all who would ascend the mountain or walk it's slopes. The peak of the mountain is flat and level, and so of old great multitudes assembled there in silent praise. It was held that only the Ruling King, being of the blood of Elves and Maiar alike, descended from the elder race and the undying, could break the silence and speak a prayer to Illuvatar. Thrice a year in times gone by the King or Queen would ascend the mountain to speak such, and thrice a year a silent host of their people would follow behind them, garbed all in white.
The three great prayers — the Erukyermë, the Erulaitalë, and the Eruhantalë — came at spring, summer, and autumn, and it was by these sacred observances that the Númenóreans marked the coming and passing of the year, with the Erukyermë marking the springtide and the new year.
It was said that in the days of the kings of yore, great eagles the size of men dwelt on the slopes of the Holy Mountain, and kept eyries on it's peak. When the kings climbed the mountain to make observances, the eagles would circle in the sky above them, and men took it as an omen of good fortune, and called them the Emissaries of Manwë. And when one stood on the mountain and gazed west over the sea, they could glimpse on the horizon the golden shores of the Undying Lands.
But times have changed. The mountain is climbed rarely, if ever. The kings scorn the elvish tongues, and the slopes of the mountain are not tended any longer. The great eagles are no more seen in the skies of the Gift, and their eyries hang empty. Only the silence remains, the old stillness of tradition which even the proudest and rashest of men dare not break. And when those who hold still the old traditions make the difficult trek up the mountain — difficult, for the old passes are not kept as they once were — and stand to gaze west over the sea, they can see only stormclouds, roiling dark upon the horizon.
As it stands at the center of the island, so too stands the Holy Mountain at the center of Númenórean religious and political life. It was in the shadow of the Meneltarma that Elros Tar-Minyatur built his capital of Armenelos, that the greatest glory of the kings of men might ever be in the shadow of Illuvatar. It was on the slopes of that mountain that he was crowned King of the Men of the West, and there after him have all his successors been crowned. Amid the southern slopes of the Mountain, in the great valley called Noirinian, are lain all the tombs of the Kings of Númenor.
The Mountain lies at the center of all Númenórean maps, and is how their explorers mark the latitude and longitude of their sea-paths. All stars are reckoned by travelers with reference to how they appear on a clear night upon the peak of the Meneltarma — to say a star is "south of the mountain" is to say that a star has shifted southward relative to it's 'correct' position when viewed from the Mountain. Far-flung sailors upon the western sea may use the Meneltarma as a way-guide, for even from the distant shores of Middle-Earth it is visible on a clear day, and it's white spire may be seen afar from Middle-Earth by climbing any peak or tower of sufficient height.
The Meneltarma is held sacred above all other things, and there is an ancient tradition of silence for all who would ascend the mountain or walk it's slopes. The peak of the mountain is flat and level, and so of old great multitudes assembled there in silent praise. It was held that only the Ruling King, being of the blood of Elves and Maiar alike, descended from the elder race and the undying, could break the silence and speak a prayer to Illuvatar. Thrice a year in times gone by the King or Queen would ascend the mountain to speak such, and thrice a year a silent host of their people would follow behind them, garbed all in white.
The three great prayers — the Erukyermë, the Erulaitalë, and the Eruhantalë — came at spring, summer, and autumn, and it was by these sacred observances that the Númenóreans marked the coming and passing of the year, with the Erukyermë marking the springtide and the new year.
It was said that in the days of the kings of yore, great eagles the size of men dwelt on the slopes of the Holy Mountain, and kept eyries on it's peak. When the kings climbed the mountain to make observances, the eagles would circle in the sky above them, and men took it as an omen of good fortune, and called them the Emissaries of Manwë. And when one stood on the mountain and gazed west over the sea, they could glimpse on the horizon the golden shores of the Undying Lands.
But times have changed. The mountain is climbed rarely, if ever. The kings scorn the elvish tongues, and the slopes of the mountain are not tended any longer. The great eagles are no more seen in the skies of the Gift, and their eyries hang empty. Only the silence remains, the old stillness of tradition which even the proudest and rashest of men dare not break. And when those who hold still the old traditions make the difficult trek up the mountain — difficult, for the old passes are not kept as they once were — and stand to gaze west over the sea, they can see only stormclouds, roiling dark upon the horizon.
