For me personally was the favorite book of Tolkien“The Silmarillion”. I have not read a book that would make me so emotional and did’t meet the fantastic world more real than Middle-earth. I was especially touched by the story of Beren and Luthien. (on par with this story for me also loved the story about Fëanor and Turin, but this art is not about that )
Yes, I know a little something here indicates that this is Luthien and Beren, as from the world of Middle-earth is only its her elf’s ears. But it is they, Guys, believe me :>
Yeah, and another was planned that her shirt and belt belonging Beren oh how he looks at her…
Father taught her to fight as Grandmother had fought, with a knife and bow, to loose arrows on the run from any position in the trees and how to parry and strike with a long knife, though the one he gave her was sharp Dwarven steel, the best craftsmanship of Gamil Zirak in the treasuries of Uncle Thingol. This knife-work he taught also to Mother and her younger brother Oropher.
Nimloth practiced with her mother, and Oropher when he visited Ossiriand from the court, having them toss her targets and fresh arrows. She was not as swift as the Laegrim of her grandmother’s people, though they considered her and her father one of their own. Her footsteps never had the same silence as the green hunters, but everyone said she was improving.
Sometimes she swam over to the island to play with Dior and practice their blade-work. She never defeated him, for he was an uncanny prodigy with a sword, which baffled and worried his father. Nimloth liked the mortal, Beren, almost as much as her own father. He did not smile and laugh as often as Galathil, but when he did, and the lines and weariness evaporated from his face, she understood why the princess fell in love with him. Beren had a gentle and powerful manner with living creatures, able to call birds to rest on his shoulders, deer to feed from his hand, small things that crawled come up to warm his feet, and even the bears bowed to him in peaceful greeting. The Green Elves were in awe of him. Nimloth loved him. Therefore when she visited Beren, she did not bring her bow, and kept sheathed her knife. Weapons, and the war they reminded him of, seemed to make the mortal feel older, more worn and quiet like an old oak in deep frost. She liked when Beren smiled, and she liked when Dior only seemed a normal, if unbelievably beautiful, boy. And Tol Galen was the safest place in Beleriand, so she did not need her knife.
He clutched at the bright scraps of them during the long lonely nights in Taur-nu-Fuin, then started to push them away when he could no longer bear to remember who he had once been. But they never completely left him, and in those fragile spring days in Doriath she began to draw them out of him again. It was to her that he spoke the names of family members, haltingly, for the first time in years.
Some days in Tol Galen, they torment him. Every scent, every sound, the color of his wife’s hair, the little chirp of his son’s voice, every sense summons bursts of memory that he cannot suppress. They rub him raw, every touch reminding him of all that he has lost – it is too much, too much for one man to face, would that the creatures of Sauron had finished me along with all my kin –
But some days he looks at his son and (though Dior is the very image of his mother) he can see Emeldir in the warm grey of his eyes, or Baragund in the stubborn set of his shoulders, and knows that they would have loved this child as much as he does. And some days Lúthien sings a simple song while she works, a song that Andreth sang to all the children in his family even before they knew what the words meant, a song that had been with them since long before Bëor came west, ancient beyond reckoning.
He remembers singing it to Dior himself when his son was only a baby, even though every word tore at him like a wolf’s claws – but now he can hear it and smile, or weep, or both, and some days that is enough.
oh how
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