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[eilinelsghost]

Hi! If you're still doing the prompts, may I request a Finrod (in beleriand) + green things even among the pits and broken rocks?

Hello! Dear one! Most excellent silm artist! I apologize for being gone so long, feels like I have had several years of bad brain days in a row😭 but thank you so much for prompting me anyway - and what a prompt! I was instantly taken by an image and had to write it down. I hope you enjoy this one<3

TW for descriptions of blood, gore, bones, and general dead bodies.

They brought the bones up first.

Beren’s frame was sharp as daggers, driven into Lúthien’s arms; but he had not listened to her pleas that he eat.

"I will not rest until they can," he said, and for a long moment Lúthien had not understood: who? Rest where?

Then she understood: he meant the dead.

Lúthien was weary beyond belief, cursing the softness of her form and the six-days lost in Nargothrond, and even Huan beside her was sagging in exhaustion. But in truth, she did not want to leave anyone down there in the dark and the filth either.

So they gathered the bones. There were so many! Lúthien knew, of course, that the Eldar had skeletons; but the breadth of them, scattered about the floor, was such that she could not really connect any of it to living breathing creatures. Many of the bones had been split open and the marrow sucked out; others were splintered so badly they had wedged into the stone floor and had to be left. Despite this there were scraps of flesh, still, scattered here and there. It was like no death in the wilderness she had ever seen. These were not merely starving creatures; they had been purposefully cruel.

More than once Lúthien had to stop, and take her too-light load up under the stars, climbing the crumbling steps and breathing very steadily lest she lose all composure. Beren worked like a man possessed, but he was wasted to almost nothing, and so their grim task took long enough that the velvet blackness of the sky had begun to turn grey.

But at last it was done; they had neat rows of bones, away from the chains and the stones, laid out upon the dirt under the sky. At last there was only - only Finrod left, to carry out.

Huan descended with them, this time, head hanging low, and Lúthien clutched his ruff for support as they approached her cousin’s body. The stones crackled beneath her feet.

What was left of Finrod had been barely visible as they labored, between the gloom of the prison and the darkness of the night; but now light was creeping down the stairs, and she could see the gold of his hair and the pale grey of his skin. He was splattered in old black stains, across his mouth and chest and side and legs, and new brown stains. As Lúthien approached she could see the white of bone in his chest and flashing in one arm, and had to close her eyes. Beren beside her let out a low moan.

After a moment, she opened her eyes again, feeling the first rays of the sun warming her back. Then she froze.

Finrod’s hair had been mostly shorn, and what was left was covered in the damp blackness of the pit; but somehow, through a crack in the wall, a patch of aur-hennin had grown. It crowned him in yellow and green, leaves tucked behind his ears, one flower falling forward onto his forehead, as if he had simply fallen asleep after a night’s heavy revelry.

"Beren, look!" said Lúthien, very softly, "the king has got a crown again."

For a moment she felt - outside herself. She was not Lúthien, princess of Doriath; she was the Nandor Elves who had tended to Denethor’s slain body upon the hill of Amon Ereb and, it was said, crowned him in flowers; she was the Eagle who had snatched King Fingolfin’s body from the hand of the Morgoth; she was, for a moment, someone very small, standing in an unfamiliar forest under an unfamiliar sun.

Then the moment passed, as Beren staggered in grief upon her shoulder; but his tears were, she thought, a little lighter, seeing the golden king crowned, seeing her cousin cradled in softness.

Slowly they carried him up to the light.

[eilinelsghost]

Finrod playing the lyre

[eilinelsghost]

by Ekaterina Konnova

[eilinelsghost]

The Swan-Maiden of Alqualondë / Queen of the Noldor

[eilinelsghost]

One thing I love about the Silmarillion is that because it’s so massive, its fans have to specialize.

Like I love everything but my Silm major is in Finrod studies, with a minor in obscure background characters.

Reblog this post with your Silmarillion “speciality,”

[eilinelsghost]

Fingon does not play often anymore. Rarely does the mood strike him, and mostly when he is alone, his heart is sorrowful. But at the Mereth Aderthad some merriness of the crowd strikes him, some warmth of the liquor, and he picks up the harp and plays, unthinking, a drinking-song from bygone days. Around him elves laugh and dance, an ocean of swirling silk, and he hears little his own music. 

“You have lost the touch,” Maglor says, “you were better.” 

Fingon looks down at the joints of his fingers, where feeling has not returned since the ice, and says naught. 

[eilinelsghost]

3, 4, 18, 23?

From these fic writer asks. Still happily taking these!

3. how you feel about your current WIP

I'm actually feeling rather good about this one (Atandil 17)! I was very make-it-up-as-I-went for the last installment (within reason) and for this one I have a pretty solid outline of what beats to hit. Which always makes me feel like I have things a lot more in hand than when I have no idea where it will end up taking me.

4. a story idea you haven’t written yet

This Nerdanel and Finrod idea rotates constantly in my brain. I really hope this one materializes at some point.

18. if you keep them, share a deleted sentence or paragraph from a published fic

Here's one that never made its way into Children of the Sun:

“Balan, come sit beside me,” he said softly, then added quickly, “if thou wilt.” The other nodded and moved to join him upon the seat, awed by the intricacy of the design, the long cushions soft and welcoming. He looked for all the world like a skittish pup and Finrod tried not to let the amusement show on his face. Instead, he moved closer so his arm rested firmly against the other’s, but he did not take his hand. “There. Now I’ve some grounding.” He felt the other’s tension ease at the touch, but still a cloud of unease hovered between them. “Balan,” he said at last, turning his face toward him, “have I made thee a stranger by bringing thee here?”

23. pick three keywords that describe your writing

Oh goodness, this one is difficult. I'm so bad at keywords and also about being an objective perceiver of my own writing lol. Um....let's see....I've asked someone else about this because I was stressing too much on an answer and was informed that "contemplative, intricate, and dreamy" are the ones to go with here.

[eilinelsghost]

Hmm for the blorbo doodles....I will be on brand and drop Finrod and Bëor into the suggestion box. Just some silly shenanigans these two dorks pls?

them!! frankie atandil twilight crossover when

[eilinelsghost]

✍️ more fic writer asks!

reblog & your followers can send asks with the questions they’d like you to answer!

the last sentence you wrote

a character whose POV you’re currently exploring

how you feel about your current WIP

a story idea you haven’t written yet

first sentence of the fifth paragraph of an unpublished WIP

the word that appears the most in your current draft (wordcounter.net can tell you)

your preferred writing fonts

if you had to write a sequel to a fic, you’d write one for…

start to finish, how long did it take you to write the last fic you posted?

what is the longest amount of time you’ve let a draft rest before you finished it?

a WIP you’d like to finish someday

a trope you’re really into right now

a fandom you’re thinking about writing for

where do you get your inspiration?

favorite weather for writing

favorite place to write

talk about your writing and editing process

if you keep them, share a deleted sentence or paragraph from a published fic

the most interesting topic you’ve researched for a fic

in what year did you publish your first fic?

when did you publish your most recent fic?

do you ever worry about public reaction to what you’re writing? how do you get past that?

pick three keywords that describe your writing

how do you recharge when you’re not feeling creative?

besides writing, what are your other hobbies?

are you able to write with other people around?

your favorite part of the writing process

your least favorite part of the writing process

how easy is it for you to come up with titles?

share a fic you’re especially proud of

[eilinelsghost]

Tidbit Tuesday

Thank you @eilinelsghost for the tag to share a WIP snippet! Here’s tfs!Finrod being sad and frustrated:

“Because,” Finrod says, irritable, “chains can be broken. And I cannot bear to see you deny that, again and again – you as well as your brother! Forever need not always mean forever. There are brighter things in store for you, for all of us, than to mourn here for eternity in the dark. Valar help me, I did not fully realise it, until Lúthien showed me it was so – and yet—” He stops suddenly.

Amrod looks at him with sympathy. "It is not only us you are angry with," he says.

"I do not want to be angry at all," Finrod says wearily. "I want to find a way out, I want to believe that there is hope for all of us – for you and me and your brother and my Ten and those we lost on the Ice and all the doomed and damned and grieving Noldor – can it be so? Or is it always the same story over and over again, all of us trapped in our roles until the end of the time? The Ainulindalë had space in it for new themes, did it not? So why must we condemn ourselves over-hastily, name these chains unbreakable for ever?"

Tagging @melestasflight, @jouissants, @that-angry-noldo and anyone else who’d like to join in!

[eilinelsghost]

Many Lines Monday

Continuing to belatedly catch up on the tag games - thanks to @welcomingdisaster for this particular one! The rules are to share a snippet from a WIP at random, so here is a bit from Atandil 17 that continues to trudge its way toward a draft:

It was Balan now who shuddered at the recollection. Fool, why had he done it? What did he expect would come of it but a further quarrel, with each more bitter than the last? They had found an uneasy peace these past weeks and on a moment’s whim he had shattered it.

If the airna’akran had not lingered upon his tongue, if its taste had not brought the memory of all he abandoned, if self-loathing had not rekindled his envy…

If, if. He kicked furiously at the nearest patch, crushing the berries to pulp beneath his boot. What was it his mother had said? Search not for succor in the ifs and mights, nothing but distortion dwells between their peaks. And yet Balan had ever delved there hungrily. If Esrid had lived. If he had not pressed his people on in their wandering. If Geberic had not been slain. If Balan had stayed by his sons, or abandoned the search for the mountain passes. If he had never met Nóm, never been lured awake by his song.

Only hours ere that midnight he was full of joy, sitting beside the fire with the hymn to Melishk passing between Baran’s voice and his own, no shadow of torn loyalties between them, laughing as they greeted this new land in hope. Baran, whose laugh he had not heard for nigh a year, whose sharp wit had been turned instead to name him anew. 

Lord Vassal. His fingers dragged through his hair and gripped it in handfuls. Nóm had never pretended anything but the truth—love was dear indeed, but principle dearer. What complaint could Balan bring? After all, it was he who had begged to follow the king from Estolad, he again who could not manage to break with him on the road from Ivrin.

And it was Balan too whose bruised pride hammered at the patient serenity till he could see the crack shatter along its length. Guilt stung him to recall it. Nóm had never been sharp with him till now, even in the desperation of Ivrin his outbursts were all of grief, and Balan was ashamed to have goaded him to it at last. Yet even as he bristled against the words, the truth of them scraped raw furrows across his anger. He wanted to push it far from his mind, to wall it over or shroud it that he need not see his reflection there.

Tagging in @thelordofgifs, @searchingforserendipity25, @actual-bill-potts, and @that-angry-noldo.

[eilinelsghost]

Favorite Fics

Thanks so much to @thelordofgifs for this fun tag! (Rather belatedly jumping in on the game here after traveling all weekend.)

The rules are to post your favorites from your own fics and let people weigh in between those

So.

You can find all my fics on AO3 here.

As on most of these that I'm catching up on, I've been offline a lot due to traveling and have lost track entirely of who has already done this. So please ignore me if you've already joined in, but tagging @melestasflight, @outofangband, @searchingforserendipity25, @swanmaids, @actual-bill-potts, and anyone else who would like to join in!

[eilinelsghost]

combat finrod is something that actually existed i just keep forgetting he wasn’t just smelling pretty flowers all the time

soooorryyyyyyy for my crappy style i;m just not sure about drawing

[eilinelsghost]

“You move me, Gimli,” said Legolas.

[eilinelsghost]

Foggy path (2020)

[eilinelsghost]

old nerdanel doodles (ft feanor)

[eilinelsghost]

Not going to be normal about them