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8th of March is recognized as the international day of Women. What better way to celebrate it, than to promote a discussion of the role of women in the novels we know and love? We will start off with a spoof on Tolkien’s leading female Characters written by the Fan Fiction author Mouse, and the proceed to a more general discussion on the issue.

“If Women Had Ruled Middle Earth”
by Mouse

[Author's Note: This doesn't reflect my opinion on middle-earth's male heroes! I have a healthy appreciation for them (in some cases, a rather unhealthy appreciation). Also, techinically Luthien and Arwen wouldn't be in the Halls of Mandos, since they died mortal, but for story's sake I included them. Enjoy (or try to, anyway)!]

"Well, I can tell you one thing," Nerdanel lifted her eyebrows into delicate arches and spread a voluminous blue robe across her lap, catching the torn sleeve between finger and thumb. "If Feanor had made imitation Silmarils like I told him to, instead of flaunting the real ones every party we went to-- Eru help me, it was embarrassing-- then the whole thing wouldn't have started in the first place. Oh sure, they'll be safe in the vault on Formenos. I mean honestly, who in Valinor hadn't gone for the tour of Finwe's treasure chamber?"

Sitting next to her, gently swinging in gem-encrusted rocking chair, Nerdanel's mother-in-law paused to smooth the tablecloth she was embroidering and smiled pleasantly. "That boy was the death of me," Miriel said with a cluck of her tongue, expertly threading her needle. "Feanor never did what he was told. I have to admit that at times I'm a little relieved that most of his care was left to you and that poor young blonde thing Finwe took up with . . . Indis, that's it. Yes, you and poor Indis took the brunt of him," she laughed lightly, sending a condescending glance to her husband's second wife.

"Poor Indis," Indis muttered from the other side of Nerdanel, dropping her knitting needles to angrily rip back a flawed row. "Always poor Indis, just because her's was the favourite son. Nevermind that my Fingolfin engaged in single combat with Morgoth, or that Finarfin had the sense to stay in Valinor to be king . . . oh no, it's poor Indis, she never gave birth to a Spirit of Fire."

"What is it with blondes, anyway?" Nerdanel commented, her eyes turning to Galadriel, who was seated placidly across the circle, crocheting yards of white lace. "I don't know if I ever told you this before, but Feanor had some kind of fixation with your hair. He kept asking me why I didn't do mine like yours, like he thought that would make it look the same. And I was like, alright then, you let me know when you figure out a way to contain the light of Laurelin-- I didn't think he'd actually do it." She rolled her eyes. "And then with one look at you Celebrimbor started getting ideas . . . That boy is so much like his grandfather it scares me sometimes. Illuvatar knows we didn't need any more magical jewellery in Arda."

Luthien, who was showing Arwen once again how to make a robe and cloak out of one's own hair, spoke up, her mellifluous voice not even a little tainted by the displeasure implied in her words. "And people always that say that women are obsessed with jewellery! Everything was going perfectly fine when Beren and I were in Morgoth's chamber; Morgoth was under enchantment, and Beren-- after I woke him up-- had gotten a silmaril for my father. But then what does he do? He reaches for a second one! And things just went downhill from there." But then the face of the Most Beautiful Child to Ever Walk the Earth turned dreamy. "But it is very romantic, that he thought me worth more than one silmaril . . . and how he tried to protect me by going alone to Angbad, although of course I had to save him again . . . and the way he called me Tinuviel . . ." She sighed, a faint slip of perfumed breath.

"Will those two ever stop cooing about each other?" hissed Nerdanel to Indis before continuing in a louder voice, "Really Luthien, you need to stop. You only remind me what a creep my husband was."

Aredhel scoffed, lifting a slim white hand from the saddle blanket she was mending.

"In the creepy husband department, I would think that I definitely take the prize."

"Point," Nerdanel admitted, looking up curiously at the wife of Eol. "I have to say, I was always wondered exactly why you married him."

Aredhel's face remained prim with Elven dignity for several moments. Then she emitted a low whistle. "Psychotic recluse or not, let's just say he could do more with his hands than forge swords. And here's another fine example of a husband not listening to his wife," she added, raising her head to peer at the elf-women on all sides of her. "I told him we had to use birth control. I wasn't about to have any child in that spooky place, much less the heir of someone they call Dark Elf. Oh, he assured me, he'd take care of it. What happens? I give birth to Demon-Spawn."

Idril shuddered, bending closer to her stitch work. "I'll say." (…)

Want to read the rest? Go here.

I strongly recommend the follow up to this story, entitled: “Real Men Wear Jewellery”, by the same author.