Finrod - Tumblr Posts
I really hope Tumblr doesn't mess up the order here
That period between Aragorn's marriage and the Elves leaving Middle-earth must have been absolutely wild for the scribes, librarians, historians and archivists of Minas Tirith, because you suddenly have the people of Rivendell, who are packing, graciously sending for you to quickly transcribe the texts they're taking with them so the knowledge is not lost from mortals, but also just gifting you tons of priceless manuscripts because they have more than one edition of the same thing, or because they're sure there are many more in the West, and there's obviously no need to take 20 copies of Rumil's Ainulindalë with them.
And on the other hand, everyone who knew him is certain Finrod has been pestering every single new arrival in Valinor for information about Men, and you're Faramir, and Elrond asks you for a favour and is like, "Galadriel wants to collect as much information about your cultures and history as she can for her brother; do you think you could find anything of interest in Minas Tirith?", and you're like "The Lady of the Golden Wood....???? Fi-nrod Edenn-il???", of course you'll butcher the job, this is too much, but ultimately you just may have prepared a dossier for the greatest hero of the First Age and you have to lie down for a moment.
Death changes people.
That much Edrahil knows.
Finrod sits beside him, feet dangling in the cold water, shoulders wrapped in the blanket. It's peaceful, here, by the lake. The morning is cold, but not unwelcoming; he can hear birds chirping in the distance.
Finrod looks into the water. For a bit, Edrahil can pretend they're back in their teens - but Finrod's too pale, too twitchy, too thin. His smile is uncertain, his skin scarred. There is not much left from the kid Edrahil had known - not much from the leader he served - not much from the king he followed.
They sit on the bridge in silence. Finrod looks in the water, Edrahil looks at Finrod. He notices the messy hair, the itch urging Finrod to move, the shaking and the glassy eyes.
Finrod stills under his gaze. His eyes dart to meet it. Edrahil wants to look aside.
He doesn't.
Finrod shivers.
(Eru, they're so good at this whole conversation thing.)
And so they sit, and wait for another to start talking. Edrahil wants to go away, to run like a coward. Finrod gives him an unimpressed look.
(They're so great at this whole emotion stuff.)
Edrahil looks away. Finrod breathes shakily, somehow managing to look even smaller under his blanket. Edrahil finds that concerning, but you know what? Death does that to a man. Death takes your authority away, death strips you naked, death forces you through your worst fears, your darkest days. Edrahil learned that first-hand.
(So, well, it's not a surprise Finrod is twitchy and overprotective and apologetic and nervous - Finrod had always had a tendency to take all the blame. It's not a surprise his eyes are big and glassy from all the sleepless nights. It's also not a surprise that Edrahil keeps to himself, pushing his friend - his best friend - his brother - back. It's not a surprise Hilie can't sleep alone at night and Nyardo has to check that all of them are breathing before falling asleep.
They're broken. All of them.)
~i'm sorry.~
~... not your fault. ~
And, well, they don't break a word. Neither of them. Because Finrod fights between leaving Edrahil to his own and throwing himself over his shoulders and never letting go. Because Edrahil is too afraid to be weak, too scared of breaking down, too scared of screwing it all.
But, well. He makes Finrod tea in the morning and Finrod holds his hand until he falls asleep. Edrahil braids his hair - Finrod brings him brushes and paper. They sit together on the couch, looking at the flames in the fireplace. They follow eachother like unseperable shadows.
So maybe - just maybe - just a tiny little bit maybe - it's not as bad as Edrahil thinks. (As long as he has his friend, and his other friends, and maybe Finarfin, and just a little bit Amarie). And maybe - just maybe - he can somehow make it work.
Finrod and Edrahil. Commission for @solmarillion
Sketch Commission still open. Visit my Ko-fi: https://ko-fi.com/windrelyn
The inspiration of this set of paintings comes from an article 「the Lord of the Rings and the Pre-Raphaelite」 on Weibo. I really love the melancholy romantic and the mythical atmosphere in those works. So I combined the characters in the Silmarillion with some works I like to "create" these paintings.
Reference for these paintings:
Proserpine by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Sir Galahad by Joseph Noel Paton
Beata Beatrix by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
So Finrod and Balan(Bëor). I haven’t seen them as a romantic ship before but now I’m a bit obsessed. Like, this has so many layers and just beautiful
The painter’s honey moon by Frederic Leighton as reference because it’s just them.
I think I should tag @eilinelsghost you writing is so beautiful and inspiring
Finally posting them! I missed doing detailed workes Close up⬇️
I have recently seen a lot of art inspired by this reference and decided it would suit these two very much. Wanted to give Finrod something in hand for accent and remembered @eilinelsghost ’s snowdrops symbolism in Atandil.
Ref⬇️
My art for the Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang 2024 by @tolkienrsb.
The wonderful @eilinelsghost took this prompt and made it into an amazing fic about Finrod's reembodiment in Aman, which you will find here after the reveals! It was so great to work together, I can't wait until you can all read her fic!
Silmarillion Chapter 9: The Flight of the Noldor
“Here once was light, that the Valar begrudged to Middle-earth, but now dark levels all. Shall we mourn here deedless for ever, a shadow-folk, mist-haunting, dropping vain tears in the thankless sea? Or shall we return to our home? In Cuiviénen sweet ran the waters under unclouded stars, and wide lands lay about, where a free people might walk. There they lie still and await us who in our folly forsook them. Come away! Let the cowards keep this city!”
His Silmarils stolen and his father, the king, slain by Morgoth, Fëanor gives his firey speech to the Noldor. Behind him his brother, Fingolfin, prepares to speak against him, in vain. Galadriel, though no friend of Fëanor, is touched by his words and envisions kingdoms of her own in the East. Her brother, Finrod, simply weeps for the looming fate of his people. For better or worse, Middle-Earth is about to meet the Noldor. (More art and information on the Noldor here and here)
- Teleri Sailors - Some examples of the Teleri, the more numerous but less imposing ethnic group of the High Elves. Sleight and androgynous, especially compared to the more muscular Noldor, the Teleri are crafters of the only ships in Aman, a quality that seals their terrible fate at the hands of Fëanor and his followers. (More Teleri examples here).
- Gothmog - Captain of the Balrogs and second-mightiest of Morgoth’s servants. While Sauron ruled in Morgoth’s absence, it’s Gothmog who is generally in charge of leading his armies. (More Balrog examples here).
The Sons of Fëanor are infamous in the history of the Elves. Swearing a dreadful oath to recover the Silmarils at any cost, they’re second only to Morgoth in causing grief and death during the First Age.
- Maedhros the Tall - Eldest and generally the most diplomatic.
- Maglor the Mighty Singer - Makes it out of this story alive, but arguably the most depressing.
- Celegorm the Fair - Sexist creep and all-around jerkass.
- Caranthir the Dark - Dwarf-hater, rarely worked well with others.
- Curufin the Crafty - Most like Fëanor, and father of Celebrimbor, the Elf who would make the Rings of Power.
- Amrod and Amras the Hunters - They don’t do much, but I still don’t trust them. I mean look at them.