Music by treelight, at the House of Finwë.
Foreground: Turgon playing a flute, Galadriel annoyed by Fëanor, Finrod and Maglor singing a duet, Aredhel playing a tambourine. (Aredhel and Galadriel are the same age, and maybe the elven equivalent of 13-14 years old here.)
Background: Eärwen and Finarfin dancing, Celegorm objecting to Huan's singing, Fingolfin with baby Argon and Anairë, Fingon and Maedhros more interested in each other's company than in music.
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Music Beside The Waves (entire work) by AlystraeaArt on Deviant Art (formerly Annamare)
Maglor through the ages up to modern times. Zoom it and check out the details, like Vingelot in the upper left, the satellite in the upper right. Amazing work.
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Composing the Annals of Beleriand
600 words. Finrod returns home to Amarië. On AO3
Originally written for @cuarthol / @nothinghereisworking, inspired by two beautiful pieces of art: cuarthol's own Finrod creating illustrated manuscripts and @alystraea's Finrod sculpting a bust of Amarië in Nargothrond.
At sunrise, Finrod stands before the western gates of Valmar, eyes unmoving upon the green mound of Ezellohar. Naught remains but the crystalized trunks of the Trees where they had stood splendidly. Their ancient bodies, much like his own, are relics of a time long passed, of splendor and cruelty the likes of which few of those who remained in Aman can imagine.
Arien’s early flame scorches the gloomy memories from his mind, and his eyes turn to seek her warmth at last. He is one of the Sun now and has long been. Sunlight has grown in his heart since the first time he plucked the strings of Bëor’s harp, and it shines still, even beyond death.
With the thought of that song between his lips, Finrod crosses the gates and lets his feet take him across the golden streets of Valmar. Much is changed about the city of the Vanyar, but silver domes adorn the towers still, and bells ring out like a peal of merry laughter in the summer wind.
His body remembers paths walked long ago, recalls the brush of a familiar hand and the sway of golden braids the hue of elanor in bloom. Will he recognize her now, Finrod wonders? And who will she see in the darkness of his eyes, in the hollows of one reborn under the light of the Sun and the Moon?
He finds her, as he expected, deep in thought in her study. Her golden head a small glimmer among the piles of books, scrolls, and maps. Her body is fully bent over a framed parchment, its inks staining the tips of her fingers.
‘Amarië,’ he speaks her name and falls silent. Perhaps no more should be said.
A pure river blue meets his gaze. Her face is perfectly still, almost too beautiful, like her bust captured in marble and pearl that had stood in Finrod’s gallery in Nargothrond for nigh over four hundred years.
But he catches the tremor in her hand, the tendons rippling rapidly under the skin until the quill in her palm snaps in half. The river blue spills forth down her cheeks, carrying with it the streams of longing, regret, anger. Love.
Finrod’s body moves of its own accord when he steps among the pieces of written history scattered upon the floor to reach her. There’s nothing unfamiliar about this embrace. Nothing is unknown about the way her head fits perfectly beneath his chin.
When the tremors in their bodies finally subside, Finrod catches sight of the parchment on Amarië’s desk: Of the Coming of Men into the West.
The delicate tengwar accompanies a miniature picture of a golden-haired elf, a simple harp upon his lap, and a kneeling Man before him. The Man appears much taller than Finrod remembers, and his beard almost touches the ground beneath his knees. He cannot help but chuckle at the depiction.
A slight blush colors Amarië’s cheeks as she traces his gaze. ‘We receive such few tidings from Endórë.’
‘I believe he would be quite pleased with how you’ve drawn him,’ Finrod tells her as he passes a light finger over Bëor’s figure.
Amarië answers his smile then, and Finrod hears himself let out a breath he has been holding for a whole age.
‘Will you help then? What happened after you sang to him of Eldamar?’ He knows the curiosity that sings through her voice.
Finrod accepts the quill Amarië offers and takes his seat beside his friend. They turn to their work, and for the first time since his rebirth, he feels he is home.
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I was looking for inspiration for the Glorfindel/Éowyn fic and @ajlatomljanovics look what I found!
Golden Summer by @alystraea
This is very well written and captures the concept of first infatuation quite beautifully. It's under 6k so a short n sweet bedtime read!
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Imagine being an Easterling and one of Ulfang's children, but unlike your family, who fight for the Dark Lord, you secretly tell the Elves about your family's betrayal in the upcoming war. You get tortured and blinded for your betrayal, then left to die. An Elf finds you and takes you in. It was peaceful and they treated you kindly, but were
unknown to you. It was Maglor. He recognized you and decided to take you in to return the favor, as you had attempted to help his family.
Author: @animatorwierdo
Artists: Gestalt1 & Alystraea
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