#tuorposting

He decided that if he was yet alone and without a clear path forwards by the 22nd anniversary of his birth, that day was the very one upon which he would set out from Androth’s caves, turn Northeast for a change, find his way across the ruin of Anfauglith to the Hill of the Slain, and there lay himself down beside his mother’s bones to rest. 22 years since her death, and she would only be twice that, were she alive.

Then one day in early Spring, he realised that his 22nd birthday must have passed him by that Winter whilst he was busy keeping warm. And by then it was well into the Stirring—the thaw had begun, the flowers budding, the songbirds were starting to sing, and there was work to get on with besides. He elected to postpone his travels for another day and to choose a new deadline: the next anniversary of his birth, he thought. By the time Tuor realised he was 23 years old, it was because Voronwë had asked him.

Very well, he thought, if I fail on my quest, ‘twould yet be better I take my leave and heed the call of deep waters. Three more years, then. Tuor was busy on his 26th birthday with the arrival of the year’s first snowfall: a day for solemn remembrance in Gondolin. The Lady Idril held to his hand.

Perhaps 29, then—his father had died near his own 29th birthday; he was fairly certain. Three more years. On Tuor’s 29th birthday, he and Idril agreed to marry.

By Tuor’s 50th birthday, old age had in so many ways begun to creep upon him. His bones often ached, fingers sometimes slipped, memory more than occasionally failed. And ever the call of the Sea grew louder, stronger, more insistent, until it was often difficult to hear anything else.

Yet he looked upon the faces of the people of Sirion, and of Idril, Voronwë, Eärendil, and Elwing most of all, and on that day he sent a desperate prayer over the water for what time with them Lord Ulmo could grant. A prayer he realised he had then said seven times: I beg you, Lord, please—just three more years.*

Practically rubbing my hands together gleefully because I do indeed have thoughts! (Quick disclaimer that I often just have fun depicting Tuor with a beard/some other body hair, so I am a bit biased in all this lol.)

So there are those few Eldar who grow beards (ex Círdan and Mahtan), and it thus might not be an immediately and definitely distinguishing factor to them, albeit a rarity. There's also of course the possibility that Tuor didn't grow a beard - perhaps due to genetics and/or other factors he just didn't. But I personally have the pet theory that he did grow facial hair, just not much of it at all until some time after he arrived in Gondolin. He was approximately 24 years old at the time of his arrival, and we're told the Edain in Beleriand had pretty long lifespans if they didn't die from untimely circumstances such as loss of life in battle, often living upwards of 80 years if given the chance. That coupled with Tuor's life circumstances through his youth could, I think, reasonably delay beard growth until his mid to late 20s, with him not growing a full beard until sometime in his 30s. But I've enjoyed the thought of him having some awareness of various Mannish facial hair customs and eventually making the purposeful decision to grow and keep a beard at some point during his time in Gondolin - intentionally "giving up" on blending through some of his personal grooming habits. I imagine that, for the first stretch of time he's there, he does try to keep clean-shaven, to keep his beard from being just one more oddity/one more thing that sets him apart. Because for a while I just don't think he's in a secure enough place personally/mentally nor politically to deal with another aspect of his appearance being viewed as an additional invitation for eyes, questions, assumptions, and sometimes hands that he'd rather not receive.

ooh! well in sirion I think he loves learning to sail, and getting to teach eärendil in turn. learning to build ships is also very rewarding. and he finds a love of swimming - which he didn't often get to do in his childhood and youth, but which he later took to fairly easily. he loves how buoyant saltwater is in particular, and how light it makes him feel. he likes taking walks with idril and/or voronwë in the shallows, or just wading in the surf. looking for shells and creatures to observe in the tide pools and tidal caves with eärendil and elwing. sitting in silence and listening to the waves, or watching the sun rise behind him and set over the horizon...