The Lord of the Rings - art by Donato Giancola
I am literally one of those high strung Respect Our Troops middle aged dads but about Frodo Baggins. If you hate on him I'm gonna pivot into a lecture about everything he's fought for and sacrificed and how you wouldn't last a day in his circumstances and
House of Finwë family tree, based on the later version from HoME. I chose to stop at Elrond & Elros' generation, but later added Arwen as a side note, which is why her brothers are not included.
Turgon, King of Gondolin- High King of the Noldor (Or, one of them anyways)
Last, but not least, Turgon. This is another I've drawn before, I stuck with the same design, just updated. I really just wanted him to look regal, and it was a fun chance to throw in Glamdring.
As one year wraps up and another begins I wanted to thank everybody. As of scheduling these, I'm at just below five hundred followers. Just from posting Tolkien art, just from doing something that makes me happy. I feel like I've grown a lot as an artist in the last year. One of the Lord of the Rings actors has my art on his phone! I still can't believe that. I never could have even imagined that when I first watched Lord of the Rings as a child. For all of its ups and downs, I think we really do have a great fandom. Full of wonderful and creative people. The next year is going to be hard, I won't pretend it won't be. The next four years is going to be hard. But the connections and friendships we forge over the internet and across the world is a light in dark places. The act of creation is a light in dark places. Kindness is a light in dark places. I can't think of anything more true to the spirit of Tolkien's work than resilience and hope in the face of overwhelming despair. Stay alive, and stay safe. You're a light in dark places, when all other lights have gone out.
A little hat tip to Círdan and company, for @sindarweek. Have 100 words of Eärendil learning to sing songs of the sea. Poor guy, always yearning. One of these days I'll write him happy, but it is not today.
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It comes from his father, of course: the great call from the depths; the shivering rush when the waves curl and crash on the shore. But Tuor’s Sea-binding is not the sole source of Eärendil’s longing. The Sindar mariners string ropes of song between Sirion and Balar to calm the swell. They chant in the primordial rhythm of the blood as they haul sail and raise anchor and swab the pale decks of their sharp-beaked ships. Eärendil climbs to the crow’s nest, heart-sore, seeking the songs’ origin in the stars that shimmer, mirrored, on the unreadable face of the sea.