It is said that Tar-Telperiën, the second Ruling Queen of Númenor, never married nor had any children; in fact, Unfinished Tales makes a special note of the fact that she "would wed with no man" (220). I find this interesting, and while I suppose she could have just as easily been a lesbian, or that she could have been straight (or bisexual) and simply had others reasons for not wanting to marry, I like the asexual theory better.
I own nothing.
From earliest childhood, she knows that she is different. She has no special longing for boys, never cleaves to a childhood sweetheart. She is not like a certain small number of her female companions, who prefer the company of other girls and women, only ever feel stirred by and love towards them. She isn't like those who are stirred by both men and women. Telperiën, Tar-Telperiën from her two hundred and thirty-sixth year on, does not know how to name herself.
She is the eldest child of Tar-Súrion, ninth King of Númenor, and has a high and lonely destiny ahead of her. Her mother pressures her to wed early, saying that if Telperiën is to be Queen she needs a companion who is by her side at all times. She needs a husband, to produce a King after her. She needs a husband in order to remain her father's heir, for that is the way of the laws of Númenor (And no one would care as to whether or not I was wed, had I been born Father's son, Telperiën reflects bitterly, for there is no such condition placed upon male heirs to the Kings of this land). There are so many years for the young princess, the King's heir, to wed, and yet she will not. Why, it seems the entire kingdom wonders, does Telperiën not wed?
Telperiën would if she could say, bitterly thanks to probing eyes and unwelcome comments when they think she can not hear, that it is none of their business. It is none of their business that she feels stirred by neither man nor woman, that she does not wish for children. It is none of their business that she also wishes to be Queen, and when she hears the whispering that she should give up her rights to the scepter if she does not intend to wed, she clenches her fists and bites on her tongue to keep from spitting poison.
If no one else understands, her father might. It might just be that Tar-Súrion prefers his eldest child to be his successor over his other children, but Telperiën's father does not force her to wed, and when the time for her to wed has come and gone and his councilors remind him of the law, Tar-Súrion does not disinherit his daughter, in favor his second-born Isilmo. Instead, he reflects that Isilmo is wed and will no doubt have children, and that even if Telperiën does not produce an heir, there will still be her brother's children. Telperiën does not know why he makes an exception to the law in her case, and does not care, knowing only that her father, at least, will put no pressure on her to wed.
The years pass, and Telperiën never changes, not in her heart. Her body grows fuller and her silvery eyes grow wiser. She waxes into the full flower of her beauty, or so the people say (And still she will not wed, they say also)—Telperiën has found that Queens and Princesses are always described as beautiful, whether or not they actually are. Her beauty is just another reason she is considered strange, for there are many who come asking for her hand, her love, and she rejects them all.
They call her cruel. They call her cold. They speculate that she prefers traffic with women, or even with animals. Telperiën is not numb to the whispers of those around her, but she does all she can to behave as her station demands, and endeavors not to listen. The gossipmongers of the royal court have it all wrong. They do not come even close to guessing what she is.
Of course, Telperiën does not know what she is. She knows that she is nothing strange, just herself. She has never felt any way but this, and has no desire to do so. She is simply herself. She enjoys wearing yellow and purple, has a liking for pearls. She enjoys eating apples in the autumn. She likes books about old Elvish poetry, and she has no desire to feel the touch of another on her bare skin, and has never desired to lie abed with another.
Perhaps that is why I so wish to be Queen, Telperiën reflects ruefully, running her fingers over a cool silver ring on her right hand.
Telperiën has been alive long enough to take stock of the status of women in Númenor. She knows enough of the world to know that she is better off here than she would be in mainland Middle-Earth, where women are little more than chattel to their men-folk, on a slightly higher level than their livestock. Here, she has the freedom to move about and travel as she wishes. She can study Quenya and statecraft. She can even become the sole ruler of an entire kingdom.
But that's just it.
Only as Queen can Telperiën ever be sure of the freedom of her body.
In Númenor, she can still be forced into marriage by her father, or by her brother if her father is to die and name Isilmo as his heir over her in the meantime, Isilmo, despite being younger than her, can still force her to choose a husband, and the groom may well not be one of her own choosing (Not that any prospective husband would ever be any choice of mine). As Queen, the only husband Telperiën will have to take is the land. Her spouse will be hers to protect and guide, but she will never have to take the land to her bed, nor feel it against her bare skin, unwanted and unwelcome. She can remain apart from any man or woman for the rest of her days, and give the scepter to the eldest of her brother's children, but she will not be safe from a life of bondage, unless she is Queen.
As Queen, Telperiën will stand apart and afar from her people, regal and untouchable. She will guide her people, will be fully and completely in charge of her own fate, of her own body. The only touch she will ever have to endure is the touch of a physician when she is ill or perhaps injured. She will never have a husband demanding dominion over her flesh, nor have a child growing in her flesh like the growth that appeared on her mother's breast this past spring, unwanted and unwholesome, sapping her of strength.
She will be safe, and she will be free. Telperiën will be herself, simply herself.