eleanoraborealis

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FINROD

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I do have strong feelings about them

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This chapter: Eldarion talks to Namo

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Eldarion was confused for only a moment before he realized he was the only one unaffected. His confusion turned to suffocating dread. Breathing through the sudden constriction in his chest, Eldarion steeled his nerves and bravely turned back around.

Namo did not blink as he studied the terrified mortal. Eldarion desperately wanted to turn away, to look anywhere but the abyss of that impermeable gaze. He felt himself weighed, graded, and dissected like the bodies in his father’s anatomy books. He was sure that he would be found wanting. The chill air prickled at his skin. He found that he could not move except to let his knees fold as he fell prostrate in terror, tearing his eyes from the Doomlord and cowering against the broken marble with a whimper.

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I wrote 75,000 words of this fic just to get Eldarion Telcontar in the same room as Finrod Felagund for a therapy session.

You should read it.

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I made customized Silmarillion earrings

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For your consideration

Everytime I see Nerdanel skinny with thin arms I see red. This woman is a STONE CARVER. She had arms the size of a ham. Draw her as a dyke trap pleease

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The caverns shook with the low notes of the steam organ as Vilar leaned into the foot pedals, tossing his wildly expressive mane of orange hair, eyes closed tight in rapture, tears upon his cheeks. He let his dancing hands strike the rows of lapis lazuli keys, lifting from them music both sweet and sad. The moisture from the steam glistened on his creased brow.

The cavern into which the ancient instrument was built became a sound chamber, with towering pipes set into points of harmonic resonance in the undulating basalt. The tune was a traditional one, pared to the story of an Iron elf and a sulfur elf who fell in love and bore the first spark of organic life in the universe. Originally, the melody had been a song of triumph, of joy and hope that life would endure and endure and endure even when it had never existed in the first place. But this was a new arrangement, and the familiar tune was played in a minor key so that its joy became a lamentation and the bittersweet reminder of the miraculous value of life only served to make its ending more cruel.

Kavas raised his head to appreciate the music as he ascended the long and narrow stair to his father’s favorite perch. Stepping up onto the platform from whence the vast instrument was played, Kavas stopped to watch his father. The king of Falu was unaware that he had an audience and he played with a passionate abandon, body swaying in a pendulous dance across keys which seemed to fly to his hands. He thrust his body across the many-tiered keyboards, his hands calling the notes to chase along after their lusty galloping as phrase by phrase and measure by measure he poured out his grief into the flowing keys.

As Kavas watched, the music brought to mind his own grief at the loss of his grandfather, and before that his uncle Vigi who had loved his young nephew like a son. But beyond the personal, the music represented a larger grief, a grief that echoed in his soul and had been with him all his life, the deep sense of fear and helplessness that had festered in the guts of so many of the hidden people since the coming of the prophecy. The Earth was dying, and the dark elves would play Her a requiem long after the symphony of life had passed into silence.

Vilar played the last three notes like the tolling of a funeral bell and finally stilled, breathing hard, his head bent and one finger resting on the final key, as if he could hold onto the music even after it had fled. He felt the bench shift beside him and looked up through tear-filled eyes as his son took up the position of a duetist to play the higher register.

Kavas did not speak, but into the silence after his music, he dropped a few ringing notes and looked at his father with a loving smile as he lifted his second hand to stir the keys into flowing measures. His tune, in answer to the Ballad of Iron and Brimstone was a variation of the same phrasing, lifting up the turning music into a joyful song that called to their minds the ancient, elemental memory of their spirits.

Vilar looked at his son and smiled. “They were our children,” he said, “we forgot after the prophecy, after they had done so much wrong in this world, but there was a time…” Kavas touched his shoulder and Vilar covered his hand in his own. He had no shame in his tears.

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Giving myself Brimstone elf feelings:

The caverns shook with the low notes of the steam organ as Vilar leaned into the foot pedals, tossing his wildly expressive mane of orange hair, eyes closed tight in rapture, tears upon his cheeks. He let his dancing hands strike the rows of lapis lazuli keys, lifting from them music both sweet and sad.The moisture from the steam glistened on his creased brow.

The cavern into which the ancient instrument was built became a sound chamber, with towering pipes set into points of harmonic resonance in the undulating basalt. The tune was a traditional one, pared to the story of an iron elf and a sulfur elf who fell in love and bore the first spark of organic life in the universe. Originally, the melody had been a song of triumph, of joy and hope that life would endure and endure and endure even when it had never existed in the first place. But this was a new arrangement, and the familiar tune was played in a minor key so that its joy became a lamentation and the bittersweet reminder of the miraculous value of life only served to make its ending more cruel.

Kavas raised his head to appreciate the music as he ascended the long and narrow stair to his father’s favorite perch. Stepping up onto the platform from whence the vast instrument was played, Kavas stopped to watch his father. The king of Falu was unaware that he had an audience and he played with a passionate abandon, the stops near his knees pulled out to their fullest volume, barely using the bench, his body swaying in a pendulous dance across keys which seemed to fly to his hands. He thrust his body across the many tiered keyboards his hands calling the notes to chase along after their lusty galloping as phrase by phrase and measure by measure he poured out his grief into the flowing keys.

As Kavas watched, the music brought to mind his own grief at the loss of his grandfather, and before that his uncle Vigi who had loved his young nephew like a son. But beyond the personal, the music represented a larger grief, a grief that echoed in his soul and had been with him all his life, the deep sense of fear and helplessness that had festered in the guts of so many of the hidden people since the coming of the prophecy. The Earth was dying, and the dark elves would play Her a requiem long after the symphony of life had passed into silence.

Vilar played the last three notes like the tolling of a funeral bell and finally stilled, breathing hard, his head bent and one finger resting on the final key, as if he could hold onto the music even after it had fled. He felt the bench shift beside him and looked up through tear-filled eyes as his son took up the position of a duetist to play the higher register.

Kavas did not speak, but into the silence after his music, he dropped a few ringing notes and looked at him with a loving smile as he lifted his second hand to stir the keys into flowing measures. His tune, in answer to the Ballad of Iron and Brimstone was a variation of the same phrasing, lifting up the turning music into a joyful song that called to their minds the ancient, elemental memory if their spirits. Vilar looked at his son and smiled.

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He's not finished but I couldn't resist sharing this UV color shift video

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“Aye, it was a day many years now passed before the collapse,” Hans leaned forward skeptically as he listened to the old man’s tale, taking a mug from the Assesor. Many of those gathered at the table had heard the story before and rolled their eyes at the blind man, but The Assessor leaned in with an intrigued smile, “I was way far down the Eastern shaft, while we could still access it, clearing out the char from the night before, with no one else around but there was no ore, and I thought to abandon my work and try again in another place. I grew tired and thought that I should take a rest before I moved on, so I lay down to close my eyes. I was awakened by the sound of hammering and pounding, unlike anything I had heard before.” His audience was rapt, hanging on to every word of the old man’s story. “I heard a rough voice shouting from under the ground. It said, ‘Whoever our treasure espies will lose both their eyes!’ I pushed at the wall, and the rocks fell away. I saw a huge cavern, the walls sparkling with gleaning ore, and standing at its center was a spirit who seemed to glow with demonic fire. He was very tall and terrible to see, shining like Lucifer himself.” Hugo shook his head. “He told me to leave the mine, and I was so afraid that I took my axe to one of the support beams, and the whole cavern came down. I escaped, but the light of the demon took my vision. I told many that the mine was cursed by the Hidden Folk, but did they believe me? Twas not two weeks later that the great collapse came on Midsummer.” He settled back on the bench as if this proved his story true.

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Sitha Jarn, wielder of the rune blade Rudrika, Knight of Falu

Originally an Iron elf of the house of Havad Ivaldi, one of the first to be born, she defected when he turned on the humans under his rule in the ancient city of Solstad leading nearly 500 of them to freedom. She went on to follow Torvynd Ivaldi up to Falü but he had no desire to bring weapons into his city, after begging him to make an exception for his personal bodyguard, he made all those iron elves present who had taken the Oath of Steel and bound themselves to their weapons to fight one another and the one who emerged victorious would be allowed to come with him. She won victory that day and has guarded the line of Ivaldi ever since.

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Sitha Jarn - the only Iron Elf in Falü

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Casual census: Reblog if you are in the Silmarillion fandom

I just want to see how many of us there are out there

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/49476253

Chapter 1 of The Golden Wig is up!

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The prophetess queen of deep Falü

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Princess Runa Ivaldi of Falü

And with UV magic

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The King of Falü