#evandar

[modern-inheritance]

I put this in the MIC discord. Putting it here because I get to happily say my meds getting adjusted does seem to be helping with me getting and grasping on to ideas. I WILL write this someday, hopefully soon.

[crow-thebard]

Inheritance Cycle Headcanons!!!

Oromis’s favorite color is white (Gaedr is very irritated by this)

If Eragon was introduced to the modern world, he would call CPR necromancy

“BUT THEY WERE DEAD! NOW THEY’RE ALIVE?!!”

“What do you mean they don’t use magic?!?”

Once he understood how it worked he would immediately want to learn to do it himself

He would hang the license certificate in his bedroom :)

Eragon also likes to paint

But he likes to paint with his fingers like a 3-year-old

Saphira and Arya both have framed fingerpaint drawings from Eragon and won’t let anyone criticize them

While elves don’t really “sleep” they sometimes don’t realize their bodies relax completely

Eragon was very apologetic when he woke up and realized he had laid his head on Arya’s shoulder

Arya has fallen asleep standing up at least twice

Eragon is very ticklish

Saphira is not but she likes to laugh at Eragon when he gets tickled

You would lose your hand trying to tickle Arya or Saphira

Saphira sometimes get food stuck between her fangs and Eragon has to pull it out

Arya was was a very rambunctious child and liked to climb out of windows as opposed to using the door simply to spite Islanzadí

Evandar met Blagden before he courted Islanzadí, so Blagden would get really jealous when Evandar spent time with Islanzadí instead of him

Blagden was really attached to Arya when she was a baby

Islanzadí and Evandar had to remove Blagden from her crib more than once

Arya liked it and was very gentle with Blagden’s feathers and cuddled with him but would get fussy when her parents took him out of her crib

Blagden is one who’s mainly responsible for teaching baby Arya swear words

[aldarquen]

My first #elf portrait. Made back in October, it’s of King Evandar - lord of Du Weldenvarden (realm of the Elves in Alagaësia. Not much is known about him other than:

- He was the husband of Queen Idlanzadí and father of Arya.

- His life was saved by Blagden, a raven who he blessed with knowledge (and accidental albinism) after the bird scratched up the faces of attacking Urgals

- Evandar later was killed in action after leading a charge against Galbatorix and the Forsworn. Blagden survived for the rest of the series, even protecting Islanzadí during the Battle of Urû’baen.

The portrait turned out to be similar to King Thranduil (one of my favorite elves), but I guess it makes sense given that Evandar would’ve been tall and had very light hair (most likely silver or blonde).

[lords-of-the-empire]

Elves and Thrown Weapons

Recently I’ve been looking at late-Roman models produced by Wargames Atlantic. I don’t like the look of their spears, I don’t like how they decided to cut the arms (they’ll be more difficult than they IMO need to be to look good, as-is), and the shields are rounder than I’d like them to be. The main selling-point for me is that they’re sculpted with one of my favourite weapons of all time: the Roman lead-weighted war-dart that replaced the pilum-style javelins in the final centuries of the Roman Empire, the plumbata.

And that got me thinking, a lot. On my LotR sideblog I finally got what Tolkien might have been aiming for when he has 1st Age elf Eöl try to murder his son with a “poisoned dart” that he smuggles into a secret city, and that sparked the idea... what if IC elves used thrown weapons of some variety?

IRL I think the reason they faded out of common use has to do with more, better and more thickly padded armour becoming more common as the technology developed, but that wouldn’t necessarily be a concern for the elves. As strong as they are I think they would definitely still have a place in the elvish armoury - if Arya can impale multiple fully-armoured Imperials by throwing a normal spear (IE not designed to be thrown), what exactly would an elf do with a sling? A javelin? Or, as it happens, a war-dart? Particularly a weighted one? I don’t know if they’d use lead, considering how toxic it is, but copper and silver are also quite dense heavy metals, quite soft metals, and depending where you live, moderately common - especially for elves, who can trade for it or just suck it out of the ground/water with a handy spell. Same applies for gold honestly, though gold is considerably denser heavier than even lead. I don’t think an elf would have issues with ridiculous throws even with gold-weighted darts, though.

Just... Imagine charging an elvish ramshackle “army”, more a mob really since they don’t march or even fight in formation and everyone seems to rock up with whatever kit they’ve got like ancient Greek or Italian citystates did it, and then there’s just... an absolute hail of supersonic balls of lead, copper and so on whizzing through multiple men if they’re enchanted against deforming, or absolutely exploding the guy they hit if they’re not (since soft metals deform easily, they’d mushroom in the body...). They’d be quick to reload as well, since you just put another ball in the sling and spin it a few times before letting go - absolutely broken, in elvish hands.

As for the darts: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EfgMfSZiQSU This guy has another video where he remade them with longer shafts, but even the short ones punch right through though bits of pork and have no problem lodging into wood.

I think I may be on to something here. They might even be popular in peace-time, with beautifully woven slings, still-living ones sung from roots, amazingly artistic darts with jewels set in them for energy so they can have juicier spells put on them... The potential is there.

[inheritance-cycles]

Headcanons of Evandar (Arya’s father)

Haha not to sound like a broken record but, so sorry I took this long to respond! My academic life currently is pure chaos lol.

Some Evandar headcanons!

We don’t know much about Papa Elf! But will that stop me from bullshitting my way through this ask? Of course not!

His duty as king is the most important thing to him. Arya gets that from Evandar.

Arya gets a lot of her core personality traits from her father. She may look like her mom (minus the eyes), but that’s where the similarities stop.

As implied, I think he had Arya’s green eyes.

He was a really great, loving father! I always have thought of Islanzadi as like, a manipulative helicopter mom, and Evandar... not.... like that lol. A chill dude.

He loved Arya more than anything, and all he wanted was for her to grow up in a world that was safe and peaceful.

Super loyal and strong moral compass!

Really solid in the swordsmanship department but Islanzadi and Arya could both easily kick his ass if he had lived past Arya’s childhood.

Had a lot of stereotypical female hobbies! Flower growing, artsy fartsy stuff, etc.

Great sense of humor but also gave no fucks. He knew how to be lighthearted and have a good time, but also did what he had to do. People learned fast not to get in his way.

The bird who’s name sounds vaguely like Bagdad genuinely loved Evandar and was super sweet to only him. When he he died Not-Bagdad really struggled.

I’m going to have to come back to this one!

[weirdponytail]

Islanzadi’s eye color?

So, I know in the books it’s emphesized that Arya and her mum look incredibly alike. Same black hair, similar facial features, ect. However, and I’m quite surprised at this, apparently Islanzadi’s eye color is never explicitly stated, though I’m only guessing that because the wiki doesn’t have an eye color listed. I think at some points it’s stated as ‘dark,’ and Arya’s eyes have been explained as a very dark emerald to the point of almost being black (I think?? I tended to skim over Eragon getting creepy/puppylove staring), so I’ve just been assuming that Izzy’s eyes are green due to that and also how it seems to be a common eye color for elves. 

Part of me wants to give Izzy a hazel eye color (it wouldn’t even show up on the page because the eyes are so small), and let Arya get her eye color from her dear old Da. Evandar gets so little recognition, despite him apparently being a part of Arya’s life that she cherishes (the farith of him in her room, giving all of herself to the people of Alagaesia like her father did, fighting against Galbatorix who likely killed him, ect), and I want to let him get this tiny bit of love.

Ah well. I’ll think it over.

[alagaesia-headcanons]

Finally, someone who appreciates Islanzadí as much as me. Do you have anymore headcanons on her? How was she as a child? What was her relationship like with Evandar and Arya? What was her relationship with Oromis and Glaedr?

this ask is 7 months old im so fuckin sorry

-Honestly, I’m not really sure what Islanzadi would be like as a child.  I’d like to imagine that elf children have some degree of personality, but the only description we get from the book establishes that they 1) are magical 2) are creppy 3) like to stare at people from a distance.

-Though I can imagine a young Islanzadi being excellent at all 3.

-She truly loves Evandar.  They got to know each other before Evandar became king and the relationship that they built before hand helps them weather the difficulties that come with his strenuous position.

-In general, Islanzadi would defer to her mate when he would make decisions about the elven kingdom(? nation? idk).  She would alway give her thoughts if he asked, but she knew that he constantly received advice from countless elven lords so she never started political arguments with him unless she considered it of the highest importance.

-But she was always listening, thinking, and learning.  By the time she took over his rule, Islanzadi was just as capable and intelligent a ruler as Evandar ever was.

-Her grief at his loss blinds her though.  It affects her relationship with Arya a lot.  The fear of losing her daughter after losing her mate drives Islanzadi to be very possessive of her.

-I’ve mentioned the way that Islanzadi immediately dismisses Arya as dead after she learns of the urgal attack before, but I think that that really has to do with her grief over Evandar.

-His loss is so fresh to her that it prevents her from maintaining hope for Arya, out of the fear that it will be destroyed again.  She abandons her out of desperation to process her grief as quickly as she can.

-As for Oromis, Islanzadi has a sort of deference to him.  When he calls her out on not scrying Alagaesia, she yields and admits her failure.  I think that she is younger than him.  She respects his wisdom, but she’s somewhat afraid of the threat he could pose to her authority.

[modern-inheritance]

Modern Inheritance: A Requiem (End of the Fall, pre-war)

(A/N: A young Arya attends a very important event. This memory is eventually to be used in a future story series. I didn't reread this but I'll probably be doing edits over time.)

~~~

MODERN INHERITANCE: A REQUIEM

The sun was shining. For all things, it was a beautiful day. Golden beams lit the edges of floating forget-me-nots and set the throats of white lilies along the path burning with resplendent fire. 

But the birds did not sing. The insects that buzzed and hummed were silent. The only creature daring to bring noise to the forest was Blagden, a mournful, keening melody rising and falling as he perched atop the Menoa tree.

Mum’s hand was cold. Arya had to keep adjusting her grip, holding tight to limp fingers. She had already cried all she could, eyes wide and gritty despite washing her face three times. The tip of her nose and her cheeks felt raw from hours of trying to clear the tears, sniffling and gasping and hiccuping as the truth kept coming back.

“Evandar was felled on the Plains of Ilirea.” 

‘My Da is dead. He won’t wake up again. He won’t talk again. He won’t hug me again. My Da is dead….’ 

Mum had held her all night, almost too tightly to even breathe, silent, frighteningly silent. Never answering Arya’s sobbed questions of why, why, why.

Arya could not settle on if she preferred the hollow silence to the terrifying, ragged screams that came before. The wails of…of someone torn away. 

She had heard those sounds before. When others had been told. 

But Mum had never made those sounds. Mum had never…she had never needed to, Da was always back, he was always….

Arya looked up. Her mother’s face was white as the lilies. Her golden eyes no longer held the radiance of the sun, only the dim, feeble glow of an ember so dangerously close to sputtering out. 

She squeezed her fingers tighter, tried to rouse the woman walking beside her that felt so unlike the mother she knew. ‘Mum, be strong. Please. Please be strong. Da needs us to be strong, he needs us….’

They had all stopped now. Beneath the Menoa tree. A space between the towering roots, where all past kings and queens lay and gave their bodies to feed the greatest monarch of the forest. The casket holding Da slowed and gently settled to the needle strewn ground, the golden pinewood cradling his body as gentle as a mother with a newborn babe. Not even the clematis blooms draped and curling around the graceful engravings swayed, so soft was the care and reverence the gathered elves took with their fallen king.

He looked peaceful. Like the mornings Arya had crept into her parents quarters and clambered into bed with them, cuddled up to them as she remembered doing when so very small. Or the mornings that she bounced them both awake, proclaiming that the day begin with giggles and gentle bouts of wrestling with Da. A lion and his cub, a dragon with his hatchling. 

They had told her he would not wake. He was not sleeping. He was gone to the void, to the darkness that lies beyond. A few had told her his energy was now a part of the wider world. That he would still give to the forest with his flesh, would still be protecting her through that natural process to feed the Menoa tree, to give his lifeblood to the spells that protected their land. 

They had all told her she could not wake him, no matter how hard she tried.

It did not stop her from trying. It did not stop her from climbing over the curved lip of his funerary dais when no one was there.

She curled up against his side, and if she kept her eyes squeezed shut, her forehead pressed into his ribs, little fists bunched tight in the liquid smooth fabric of his most handsome tunic…she could pretend the crook of his arm was not limp against her back. Pretend that she could feel his heart beating. Could hear his voice as he crooned to her and rocked her to sleep. Pretend that he wasn’t cold, that his chest didn’t rise, that he didn’t move or speak or comfort her as tears leaked past scrunched lids.

Mother had been furious when she found her there. Arya did her best to not remember being yanked away from the deceptive pool of warmth her own body heat had created on her father’s skin, the collar of her tunic tight around her throat as she wailed in protest. Did her best to forget that her mother had screamed at her and shaken her and had dragged her away from the room where Da lay alone and cold before collapsing in the hall. 

Arya forced herself to remember only that Mum broke down in tears and pulled her close, cradled her in her lap as they both sobbed until Mum couldn’t any more. 

The singing was louder now. Sylvian voices rising and falling together through silent crying that streaked the faces all around them. Arya didn’t know the words. 

Blagden alighted upon the rim of the dais, white wings flared. He perched behind the crown of Da’s head, the white silver circlet with diamond and emerald and gold that once was the raven’s favorite thing to nibble and nip to bait his dear friend into focusing on his feathered companion now a reminder of loss. Blagden’s voice keened above them all, the sorrowful song of mourning constant since the battle’s end. 

Many words were said. Memories of her father from many people she did not know. Däthedr wept as he spoke, open and unabashed. So did the others. 

The entire time, Arya watched and listened to them all with wide, red rimmed eyes. So many people knew Da. She hadn’t realized just how many. He was just Da to Arya, not Evandar Könungr, just…Da. The one who tucked her in, taught her to skip stones, carried her on his shoulders, made flowers bloom at a single touch and caught her when she fell.

Then the talking was finished. 

Blagden took flight. The singing began again. 

For the first time that day, Islanzadí’s hand closed around Arya’s, her grip tight and fingers shaking. Arya looked up and saw the tears falling again, dropping to the needles at her mother’s feet as she joined the singing, a pain in her voice that Arya had only heard in her screams the days before. 

She could understand most of what they sang. An acknowledgement of loss, of an end, a new beginning for the elves, and, over all of it, a farewell.

This…this was goodbye? Already? Now?

The earth beneath the dais shifted, flowing away as a column of roots remained, supporting the casket above a gaping maw of darkness. The dais, Da’s body still ensconced so peacefully upon it, began to lower into the earth.

Arya knew he was gone. She knew, she knew that. That he was dead, Da was dead, he couldn’t talk to her anymore or hold her anymore or be him anymore but–

Mum was there, then. Kneeling, still singing her farewell, tears rolling down her cheeks. Hands on Arya’s shoulders, tight, stopping her from running forward. Before she could even suck in a breath to scream for her Da to not go. 

And yet, Islanzadí never looked at her. She kept her eyes fixed on her life-mate’s disappearing body, face white, tremors passing from her fingers to her child’s thin shoulders. 

The last piece he had left her. The only thing of Evandar truly left in this world.

The casket was even with the ground now. Arya saw her father’s face one last time. Peaceful. Cold. 

Arya squeezed her eyes shut. 

And when she opened them again, all that remained of her father was a bed of clematis flowers, lilies and forget-me-nots, sprawled out on the forest floor.

‘Goodbye, Da.’