#beor

@eilinelsghost || send a character meme || accepting

First impression

He's fine.

Impression now

He's fine. (I'm sorry! I know he's one of your faves, but he's never inspired any particularly strong feelings in me.)

Favorite moment

I don't really have one, sorry. 😭

Idea for a story

An exploration of his feelings regarding the name Bëor. (See below)

Unpopular opinion

Gotta be honest, I have no idea which opinions on this guy are popular/unpopular. The strongest opinion I have about him is that I feel the same way about the name Bëor as I do about the names of Ulfang & Co. and Bor & Co., which is that I think it's indicative of a certain type of Elven arrogance that these Men went down in history not by the names they were given at birth, but rather by names that describe their relationships with particular Elves.

Favorite relationship

Finrod

Favorite headcanon

Thanks to @sallysavestheday for the tag to share the first lines of my last 10 works. With the latest round of bock, it's been awhile since I've revisited these!

1. In Wisdom's Arms Find Me (G: 8.8k)

There had been mulberry trees in the vales around Tirion, clustered in winding groves with branches arcing overhead, as though each reached for the others and twined their fingers in an inseparable grasp.

2. All of Gold Woven (G: 13k)

He woke slowly, blinking as sleep ebbed, and gathered the blanket in some half-thought reflex that his grip on the wool would hold oblivion too from slipping away.

3. All the Warmth of Morning; Seedlings ii, chapter 1 (G: 200)

“I have managed a hidden kingdom well enough, but I confess the making of a secret one has ever eluded me.”

4. Now Ringed About With Wolves (G: 613)

Finduilas sat silently, hands upon her knees, back straight, her eyes placid as she gazed over the Hall.

5. Blade's Peril (G: 12.1k)

Nóm had arrived with all the speed of a gale, galloping ahead of the Guard like an arrow loosed from their bows, and did not slow till Váya was within twenty paces of the palisade.

6. Far Have You Roamed (G: 12.7k)

The fields stretched out before them, a sea of purple rippling against their horses’ legs.

7. Then Love Like Dawn Awakens (T: 1.6k)

Autumn came early that year, its riot of golds and ruddy bronze sweeping through the Hills of the Hunters and leaving them draped like golden filigree above the Narog’s gorge.

8. Now the World Runs On Swiftly (G: 8.6k)

Váya’s coat shimmered like mist as she moved beneath the tall beeches.

9. In Memory to Dwell (G: 5.5k)

Finarfin watched the gull move along the shore.

10. The Warning Sounds Too Late (T: 6.2k)

“Blessed was the joining of your forbearers’ souls, and blessed are we by the fruit of their labor.” Eldalótë stood at one corner of the table with a slim chalice raised in salute, first to the king at her left, then to her husband at the foot of the table.

Thanks to @thelordofgifs for the tag to share a snippet of what I'm working on. Atandil 23 continues to murder me for fun, but I swear it will get done eventually. We are so dang close, folks. And I need it to be done because trust me, we need to get to part 24.

Anyway. A snippet wherein Finrod's doing about as well as my writing muses lately:

“What wouldst thou hear?” Finrod shuddered and his voice was strained. “That my greatest certainty is doubt? That the haven I have delved is merely a buttress against some day of evil when all the Siege shall surely go down in ruin? Or wouldst thou hear that this retreat too shall fail, and I and all my kingdom be undone? How, I cannot tell thee; but it shall be so. It weighs with an unflinching conviction in my bones.” “Nóm…” “Wisdom!” he hissed, and his restraint seemed to break with the outburst. “Wisdom? I see hints and shadows, or in these rare moments of clarity a certainty settles in my heart, but even these must be half-truths and muddied. ‘Sorrow that ye do not foresee,’ quoth the messenger. Why, then? Why burden us with foreknowledge when from their own tongues we know that naught will ready us? Is it meant to be a mercy? Some kindness bestowed overlate that we might not think ourselves cast off utterly from the One’s guidance?” He drew his hands over his face and shook his head. “I want it not, Balan.”

@morgancrystal

A longer chunk for you here because I couldn't separate out just a sentence or two of it. (I'm so bad at these games)

It had been petty to return by this route—the ferries at Aelin-uial were nearer, the path across the Guarded Plain a far swifter road than the Long Wall’s meandering way—but Balan had seen nothing of the Andram beyond Narog’s gorge and the Falls of Sirion were a wonder, six furlongs of tumbling cliffs over which the Meres poured in a seemingly endless curtain. Sídhon had laughed when Finrod proposed the altered journey, but Edrahil was meticulously polite. It would add only an enquië to the journey, he had conceded, and certainly Bëor should see the passage of the Falls. The Dwarven road itself was a marvel. Finrod grimaced. The mannered tone had left little doubt that Edrahil perceived the impetus of his lord’s suggestion, and little doubt too as to his opinion of that distaste for accepting Thingol’s hospitality at the crossings. It was petulant, of course; he knew that well enough. But he could not suffer the image of Balan’s pride humiliated once again for expediency. 

Anger burned in his breast. How could they demand this of him to quell their own mistrust? Were they not meant to take his word and heed his judgment? What right did they have to require more from him? “I am their king,” Finrod murmured, and a brief smile twitched his lips when Balan startled at the answered thought. “They may require all from me.” “But thou art a man first. They should not forget it.” “And they do not. This I require of myself.” He reached up and turned Balan’s face to meet his eyes, a quiet laugh escaping him when the other’s scowl persisted. “Now which of us is playing the guard dog?”

(❤️)

Going to take the triple roses as an excuse to post a few sentences instead of just the one...

“The hour is evil,” Nóm’s voice broke the silence at last, little more than a whisper brushing over his scalp, “and your road leads to sorrow that ye do not foresee.” “Hm?” Balan blinked hard to clear the drowsiness and shifted his face so that he could see the other’s. “What’s that?” “The words of the messenger in the dark of our madness. The curse of my people.” Balan reached over to brush the hair back from Nóm’s face, setting his lips briefly to his forehead. “Surely the day’s not been so bad as all that.”