anarinya

[anarinya]

His little ornate knife passes smoothely through the reed’s dry tip, shaving off one smoothe flake and further thinning the would-be pen’s nib to Anarion’s exacting taste. The King’s attention is carefully divided at present, at once measuring the work of his hands as well as darting over the spread of parchments before them both, awash with building orders and the limitations thereof. The work of government already sits in a satisfyingly complete stack, rolled and stamped in black wax with their two interlocking sun and moon seals.

And in all of this, unlike his brother, Anarion found contentment and peace. What Isildur suffered might as well have been Anarion’s saving grace, a work that only Yavien had been able to temper away from mania. Methodical monotony had held his hand so tightly these past years, just as Anduin’s slow courses had tempered the once-debilitating nightmares he had been left with by the sea. No doubt, when the coastal lands called, it was the Lord of Minas Ithil that answered that summons, not he.

It is only when Anarion has finished his Tecceliscë (writing reed) that his eye catches upon Isildur’s sillouette. This expression upon his brother has become too familiar of late, a distant and pinched look that draws up some indefinable fear in Anarion’s heart at it’s sight. The thought arrives, unbidden, that his brother is trapped. It makes his tone sharper than he intends and when Isildur replies, Anarion releases his lingering nerves in a soft sigh. It takes a moment of quiet for him to process Isildur’s question but, once he has grasped it, the writing reed is put aside with an air of finality and Anarion himself finally meets Isildur’s gaze.

He does not watch the circlet’s discarding but does follow Isildur’s example in almost the same breath, it is right after all. They are Kings together or not at all. And it is not a King that replies to Isildur’s question.

“My sleep is not so troubled as it once was,” he says, in his usual low and neutral hum, and then, “... In waking, at leisure,” he does not say ‘at home’ but it lingers unsaid anyway, “then, yes. The past is there.” With this he reaches over with one long arm and steals away Isildur’s forgotten wine, sipping it before setting it at his own side. “Where do thine thoughts take thee, Isildur?”

the last light of day is vanishing,   casting a soft orange glow all over the room,  but isildur's mind is elsewhere and barely takes notice of it.  half full goblet of wine sits by his elbow,  forgotten hours ago as anarion and him have been hard at work over documents and plans for everything that needed to be done.  ruling,  it turns out,  is a grueling affair made of a never ending stream of proceedings to settle and smooth over,  one he is ever grateful to be sharing with his brother.  his gaze,  settled on the horizon,  finds only mountains where he longs to see water,  endlessly stretching,  glittering under the last rays of sunlight.  he can glimpse the sea not, with osgiliath being too far inland  —  and either way,  even if he were to venture to the coast,  to dol amroth,  that would not be the sea he longs for.  númenor hurts still,  like an arrow shaft lodged in his chest,  when he least expects it.  it is not the kind of pain that steals the breath from him and leaves him doubled over,  hemorrhaging terribly,  but rather the ache of a troublesome wound,  old and scarred over,  or the phantom suffering of a lost limb.  him,  than more than anything wanted to see the world beyond his beautiful island,  that always felt like númenor could not possibly contain him,  has had the adventurous moods of his youth dulled by the tragic finality of his homeland's fate:  swallowed by divine wrath,  sunk by the very same water isildur has always known and loved.

@anarinya's voice is a sharp blade cutting through the silence,  not unkind but firm enough to shift his attention back to the present:  what are you thinking about?

'  forgive me,  brother.  we can proceed,  i was just..  '   isildur pushes some unruly strands of curling hair out of his face with his hand,  before taking hold of the circlet fitted across his brows and laying it down on the table.  they are alone in the council's room,  and surely there is no need for it between them.  brothers  ruling as two arms of a whole, equals in their rank.   '  i find my thoughts turning toward the past with no forewarning.  does it happen for you,  also?  '

#;;v: too great to be subdued to the will of the Dark Power #;;rp #walkpathe #WOO thanks very much for this :3

[anarinya]

The Father made the World The Father made the World The Father made the World The Father made the World for Elves and Mortals

The Father made the World for Elves and Mortals and he gave it into the hands of the Lords. They are in the West. They are holy, blessed, and beloved – save the dark one. He is fallen. Alkar has gone from Earth: it is good. For Elves they made the Moon, but for Men the red Sun; which are beautiful. To all they gave in measure the gifts of Ilúvatar. The World is fair, the sky, the seas, the earth, and all that is in them. The World is fair, the sky, the seas, the earth, and all that is in them. Lovely is Númenor.

The Father made the World The Father made the World But my heart resteth not here for ever, for here is ending, and there will be an end and the Fading, when all is counted, and all numbered at last, but yet it will not be enough, not enough. What will the Father, O Father, give me in that day beyond the end when my Sun faileth?

The Father made the World The Father made the World for Elves and Mortals

#;;anarion #;;music #;;quotes #LITERALLY this song is everything Anarion it's EVERYTHING

[anarinya]

@wreths​ sent; "your life is stolen." ( for his wraith verse! :) )

RP MEME STARTERS // Accepting

"My life is spent, dear soldier."

It is not a small thing, to be seen by anyone. Other than those he does not wish to see him, that is. An eye has stricken him across this barren land for times uncountable now, and black servants sniff for him through the unseen world like starving wild dogs.

This two is neither of those, his double pair of eyes watching the King's formless shoes step over dust and dirt without disturbing a single grain. The sweet white tree shines almost cheerfully upon the body's livery, travel and battle worn though it might be. And, despite the caution The King knew he should show in the presence of such a strange amalgamation of bodies and wraiths, the sight of Isildur's sapling could do nothing but comfort him. Even the elf, for elf he must be, and all his severity does not make The King falter.

"My death is stolen." He corrects in a gentle, humming tone, as though consoling a child to a grim reality of the world that one has long ago accepted. No sun shines in this place, yet Anarion's translucent form is lit in a glowing sunset-red on it's edges and his look of concern bends the light into sharper lines of gold. "As is yours. If it is wisdom you seek from me, I would fain bequeath it. But such wisdom as pertains to an escape, or relief, I confess have it not.  I hope this does not dismay you."

#;;asks #wreths #;;v: unless the king should come again #this is months later but :))) FINALLY I am feeling a little writey again and testing the limits of it

[anarinya]

Anárion is a Quenya name. It likely means "Son of the Sun" and is a compound of anar ("sun") and the patronymic suffix -ion ("son of")

Isildur is a Quenya name, meaning "Servant of the Moon", from Ithil ("Moon") + -dur ("servant").

Narsil is a Quenya name meaning "red and white flame". The name is said to consist of the stems NAR ("fire") + THIL ("white light"). It was a symbolic name, pointing to the Sun and the Moon, the "chief heavenly lights, as enemies of darkness".

||Nina Mouawad, Blue Sun: A poetry collection; Tamino; Don’t Carry It All; The Decemberists; The Rings of Power; Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe by Benjamin Alire Saenz; Fortesa Latifi; The Old Revolution - Leonard Cohen||

#;;anarion #;;isildur #;;narsil #;;quotes #listen... this has been rattling around in my head for ages and I just had to postit #I have been SICK I have lost my LApTOP I have been super outof it but I promise i am still thinking about anarion all the time

[anarinya]

#;;aesthetic

[anarinya]

Just think about Anarion in the sun, swimming in cool clear pools of Numenor’s coast, watching for hours as the light begins to fade into a sharp golden horizon, absolutely overcome with agony and joy and grief over the beauty of the world.

#;;anarion

[anarinya]

Absolutely crushed by the possibility that, since there is an ‘Elendil and Isildur’ track on the RoP soundtrack, next season there might be an ‘Elendil and Anarion’ track and I’ll just die! 

#;;ooc

[anarinya]

starter call ,     feel  free  to  combine  multiple  prompts !

send  😊  for  a  happy  starter .

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send  🙌  for  an  excited  starter .

send  💢  for  an  angry  starter .

send  🌷  for  a  soft  starter .

send  😝  for  a  silly  starter .

send  💬  for  an  angsty  starter .

send  💀  for  a  violent  starter .

send  🌹  for  a  romantic  starter .

send  🔞  for  a  sexual  starter .

send  👼  for  a  comforting  starter .

send  👿  for  a  threatening  starter .

send  💥  for  an  argumentative  starter .

send  ⚔️  for  an  action  starter .

send  💋  for  a  flirty  starter .

send  ❤️  for  a  loving  starter .

send  🔪  for  a  hostile  starter .

send  👁️  for  an  envious  starter .

send  ❗  for  a  frightened  starter .

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send  🥂  for  a  celebratory  starter .

send  👫  for  a  reunion  starter .

send  💤  for  a  lazy  starter .

send  🛡️  for  a  protective  starter .

send  🏠  for  a  domestic  starter .

send  🔥  for  an  intimate  starter .

send  ☂️  for  a  weather  based  starter .

#;;meme

[anarinya]

Tamino photographed by Alexander Popelier for part of “Knack Focus Generatie NU” series, August 2017

#;;visual

[anarinya]

Tamino

Sun May Shine (2018)

#;;visual #tamino just does deep grief and despair so well

[anarinya]

WAIT... okay fine, it’s named after Elendil, yeah fine, and the sea is the next ‘heavenly body’ when considering Ekkaia OKAY ALRIGHT fine I’ll allow it. 

STILL irritable that they didn’t give Earien a star name instead so that I could say Osgiliath was named after her, MISSED OPPORTUNITY! Why did we drop the heavenly body theme guys!!

[anarinya]

In essence, Anarion’s faithfulness comes from his love of the world. Yes, the powers terrify him, death seems cruel, elves have asked so much of humanity’s faith whilst defying the demands faith places upon them, he has every empathy in the world for Kings men and their distrusts and desires. But, simply, Anarion cannot look at a beautiful world made by distant hands and believe that world’s makers to be unworthy of his devotion. And at every step in his life where Faith has asked too much of him, the question that always came to mind was did the world ask too much of me? And the answer he consistently finds is no. 

It isn’t until very close to his own death, with death all around him, after contending with God’s brutal vengeance and abandonment for a hundred years, that he begins to wonder, what if the world made itself? What if Sauron is closer to the image of the powers in the west than the humanity I perceive and the love I know? It is a despairing and heartbreaking thought that he cannot shake and his gentleness is greatly waned by the time Isildur and Elendil arrive with their Great Alliance to relieve the siege upon Osgiliath. 

Still, it is Meneldil he risks it all to save, having lost his helm in the chaos but heedless of the danger in the face of his son’s safety, and in that final moment he discovers that it matters not what the powers intend, this was always enough to die for. 

#;;anarioncanon #;;anarion #;;elendili

[anarinya]

“Two paces back, face to the stone but with a foot forward and one behind,” Anarion stood as he thus explained, focused, gesturing along invisible lines of sight in his mind’s eye as he slowly dancer-stepped around the circumference of the Palantir situated before him. At first it was dormant, a mildly iridescent sphere of stone that sat upon a haphazardly constructed pedestal of boxes and a small cushion. 

However, Anarion paused in his walk, standing up straighter from his usual sloping posture, and he seemed to catch the sight he had been looking for. “You must simply bend your mind’s eye to the stone and it will recognise your intent.” In a moment, the stone transformed. The layers of translucent but coloured mineral seemed to illuminate until the whole thing appeared like glass, the sky clear and visible through it like a window. Anarion did not appear to do anything, and yet the vision through the stone changed, travelling forward along Anarion’s line of sight, at times tilting side to side or up and down. Distant images of trees, water, plains and buildings flew by for a moment until Anarion spoke again. 

“Whatever might be in the path of your gaze, the Palantiri can show you. It’s sight will pass through any barrier, even stone, but darkness will blind it as surely as it does a man.” He shifted on his feet minutely to the left and the vision swung with him, coming to rest suddenly upon the small image of a sprawling yet triangular city set upon the shores of a river so wide one bank could not be seen when standing upon the other. 

“One might travel along their path of sight until they reach the edge of the world, the Palantir can show you this much with ease, it is it’s natural use. True skill comes into play when trying to narrow your view and close in upon something small.” The concentration it took was visible, but with a gradual magnifying, the belltower in Pelargir’s drydock slowly sharpened in detail and grew closer and closer until eventually the runes carved into the detailed patterns in it’s brass became readable ‘Erukyermë, Erulaitalë, Eruhantalë’.

Anarion released a soft breath of exertion through his nose, but nodded to himself as if to accept the outcome. 

Open-starter

#;;rp #;;openstarter #;;v: the west has failed #;;v: too great to be subdued to the will of the Dark Power #;;v: unless the king should come again #HEY... let Anarion teach you how to use a Palantir #SINCE EVERYONE AND THEIR MOTHER (LOOKS SO HARD AT PEEJ LOTR AND RINGS OF POWER) WANTS TO LIE TO YOU #yes I'm still made about getting the doodad wrong it's my doodad #I literally know how to use it like there's instructions #IT'S NOT MYSTERIOUS PEOPLE!!! #its a combination satallite imaging system + a voiceless facetime phone #IT CANNOT SEE THE FUTURE THE IMAGES IT SHOWS ARE REAL TRUE AND CURRENT REPRESENTATIONS OF WHERE YOU'RE LOOKING

[anarinya]

Anarion’s compatriots had learned not to clap his back in moments of victory or praise, cautious of the way he would stiffen against hard treatment. A grim and sensitive young man he was but they accepted him as such, as much for fondness’ sake as for the dedication and skill he brought to their cause. Instead, once they had sailed up the winding coast and were reaching the jutting cliff that marked the mouth of Andunie’s bay, the five of them would each urge him down from his towering height and kiss his brow in the Faithful fashion of farewell. 

Usually Anarion would then jump overboard and take advantage of the bay’s sheltered and calmer waters to swim up to the cliffside and climb it’s black slate. The walk back to the city was long and trackless but Anarion knew the miles, even in the dark, and it was no great toil when compared to the boon of secrecy if offered. 

Still, tonight he was glad when the bright moonlight fell upon the familiar prow of his grandfather’s sloop anchored just a little off the cape’s end. As were his fellows, who all regularly told him that watching him scale the sheer cliffs was more nerve wracking than any of their usual escapades. 

Anarion approached the railing easier with the promise of a blanket and a swift sail home. The black water lapped gently at their hull and the stars were brighter than ever with no ship’s lamp to dim them. Isildur would have lured me to a roof, were he here, Anarion thought to himself, in order to avoid thinking of his father. 

He finally gave over the canvas bag he had slung over his shoulder to their relic-keeper, tied the blackcloth tighter about his torso, nodded to all of them and elegantly dived from deck into the water. Cold shock greeted him with it’s familiar rush of sensation but he had trained away the need to gasp in childhood and it took no time at all for him to begin cleaving through the waves towards the blue and silver hull beyond. 

He found no hemp rope hanging over the side, but it was easy enough to assume Amandil had forgotten or fallen asleep before he thought to arrange it. It was no hinderance anyway, Anarion’s strong fingers and corded, elegant arms found purchase on the beaten metal ribbing to push himself high enough out of the water to catch the taffrail. All it took then was hauling his sodden bulk from the sea, slinging first one leg over and then another before twisting back around to sit dripping on the rail. 

Leaning over his knees, Anarion breathed deeply for a moment before dragging a hand through his dense wet hair and pushing it back away from his eyes, searching for-

Ah.

His father’s gaze was piercing enough even in the dark. He stood, the only man Anarion knew that looked down at him, unmistakably here, where he should not have been. Anarion himself was struck still, cast in black and white, his clothes clinging to his lank frame as he held that gaze with round eyes. In the silence his mind visibly worked and quickly it came back to him, Amandil’s informing him of Elendil’s arrival, his father’s love of night sailing, the clear night... he should have guessed. 

This all deduced, Anarion finally blinked. His shoulders unstiffened minutely and he released the breath he had been holding in a long sigh. His hands clasped and gently wrung one another before, finally, he spoke in a low brassy lilt, “Mára vinyë, Atarinya.” 

Starter for (@elendzir​) Father

#elendzir #;;v: the west has failed #;;rp #THAT.. #became so much longer than I wanted it too #don't feel you have to match length it got away from me xD but here you are! #The quenya just means 'good evening my father'

[anarinya]

lloyd owen

#ME DA' #;;atarinya

[anarinya]

BUT YES THE POINT IS... Anarion as the sun, Arien, warm and in love with the world to the point of agony and here to both cause change as well as lament it, large in spirit and knowing he must turn on the world’s axis but slow and reluctant to do so, his face is to the land he loves and his back to the shadow that claws and slavers to destroy it and him, looking not at the stars and ever tending to just the present. 

And Isildur as the moon, Tilion, cool and thrilled as quicksilver, both chasing and urging the sun across the sky, vigorous and enamoured with both past and future, adventurous and ever-reaching for something more, higher, distant and cosmic, in love with the stars and the light and the wide unknown, challenging and braving the shadow to reach for them, but only able to do so because the Sun is there to chase in the end. 

#;;isildur #;;anarion #;;anarioncanon #IT'S THE SEEEMBOLISM

[anarinya]

Anyway (tucks hair behind ear) wow you have a sun-name? And you embody those aspects of the sun with your whole body and soul as set out in the realities of your world, being both a man for humanity and having it burned into your whole being to nurture? To tend and grow and allow your people to flourish in the light as you battle the darkness? Are you clutching the anxious babe of a new country, born into the world in calamity, personally victimised by divine judgement and abandoned by god but not by you to your chest and comforting it’s fears and gently guiding it out of the circle of your arms and into its own? Wow... girlmode of you, the transgender is leaping out.

#;;anarioncanon #;;anarion #I SAID WHAT I SAID #;;gondor