Tolkien on Fairies

Grev Kafi 

If Fairies exist they are bound by the Moral Law as is all the created Universe; but their duties and functions are not ours. They are not spirits of the dead, nor a branch of the humankind, nor devils in fair shapes whose chief object is our deception and ruin. They are a quite separate creation living in another mode.

They appear to us in human form (with hands, faces, voices and language similar to our own): this may be their real form and their difference reside in something other than form, or it may be (probably is) only the way in which their presence affects us. Rabbits and eagles may be aware of them quite otherwise. For lack of a better word they may be called spirits, daemons: inherent powers of the created world, deriving more directly and ‘earlier’ (in terrestrial history) from the creating will of God, but nonetheless created, subject to Moral Law, capable of good and evil, and possibly (in this fallen world) actually sometimes evil.

They are in fact non-incarnate minds (or souls) of a stature and even nature more near to that of Man (in some cases possibly less, in many maybe greater) than any other rational creatures, known or guessed by us. They can take form at will, or they could do so: they have or had a choice.

Thus a tree-fairy (or a dryad) is, or was, a minor spirit in the process of creation who aided as ‘agent’ in the making effective of the divine Tree-idea or some part of it, or of even of some one particular example: some tree. He is therefore now bound by use and love to Trees (or a tree), immortal while the world (and trees) last – never to escape, until the End. It is a dreadful Doom (to human minds if they are wise) in exchange for a splendid power. What fate awaits him beyond the Confines of the World, we cannot know. It is likely that the Fairy does not know himself. It is possible that nothing awaits him – outside the World and the Cycle of Story and of Time.

– J. R. R. Tolkien, “Manuscript B,” in Tolkien on Fairy-stories, ed. Verlyn Flieger & Douglas A. Anderson, pp. 254-5

As Large as a Pigeon’s Egg

The brittle wall gave way as he plucked the huge diamond loose … it was as large as a pigeon’s egg, and threw rainbow sparks all about.

As a young boy of just six years and six days, Tindle did not know the value of this acquisition - nor, of who may have placed it there: perhaps a pirate had stolen this keepsake from an African trader; or an irate, thick-necked Troll - who may very likely now follow him home.

Tindle wiped its glittering face and dipped it into one of the rock pools littered with sea anemone - plop it dropped, and so clear was the gem, he could not see it again - for it appeared to have simply dissolved into the water.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, AZLANDER -: Finding Self - Second Guesses

Finding the Diamond

William Trost Richards

South of the grey waters, lay the outcast bastard village of Trent on Shore. On paper, its land had no borders, for not a King or surveyor saw value in its proprietary; and, as there was no farmland or commerce to be had, the mayor had long vacated, leaving it to the wayward to inhabit the huts that leant against its sea-wracked cliffs.

The name of this place was better known to some as: Dearth and Dingle.

It was there that Tindle had found a diamond. Embedded in the crumbling cliff, and once covered completely with crusty sand, he had caught the wink of its glitter as he foraged for seaweed grapes in the hairy pools of the sponge-like rocks.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, AZLANDER -: Finding Self - Second Guesses

Azlander: Finding Self, Second Guesses by Gabriel Brunsdon

Out now: the third book in the Azlander Series by Gabriel Brunsdon. 

Highly recommended for readers who are searching for a magical book of substance and teaching. Jam packed with tales of dark and goodly souls, cosmic travels, generous wisdoms, high philosophy, complex tales that travel through many realms and lifetimes past and present.

With both humour and heaviness at times, the characters are striving to find their spiritual homes. Although this is book three of the series, it is a stand-alone work, that can be enjoyed without having read the other two first.

There are many different beings, and mortals in the mix as well - famous and unknowns, yet all noteworthy.

A jolly good read, with passages that can be reread over and over again, because it is that good.
Go to your country's Amazon.

Resurrection, Continuum & Renewal

Steven Carlson

“You see the spirit draws us on - always a little ahead of us, always a little farther from us … into the lands of our destiny.

“There is never is an end to such a great story, for this is the supreme law of second chances: resurrection, continuum, renewal: that life goes on.”

And with that being said, Francis could feel his own future before him; he sensed the pull of his own heart, of his spirit calling to him with adventures and vistas to come.

He realized that at no point would anything ever be truly finished, or for that matter gone - for everything and every one transformed - and this was a good thing, a great thing - to go on.

He drew his blanket around his shoulders, and as with any good vision, it had made him so content he fell asleep returning into the land of wondering.

The great lion sat quietly beside the tired traveller.

“Bless you Francesco” he said most quietly, and then gently disappeared from sight.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, AZLANDER: NEVER ENDINGS: Second Chances

A Great Story

“Well that is not at all what I would call a very good story,” objected Francis, who genuinely thought he had heard better.

“It is not a good story, but a great story.”

“But the end is insufficient.”

“That is what makes it a great story,” said the Lion.

“No, I mean to say … it was wanting.”

“Yes.”

“But did he die in the end?”

“He was dead all the time.”

“Oh” said Francis.

“He just did not know it” said the Lion.


-Gabriel Brunsdon, AZLANDER: NEVER ENDINGS: Second Chances

The Tragic Climber

The lion began:

“A man stood on the top of a high precipice, on a rock that crowned a snow topped mountain. Its slippery coldness betrayed his foothold and his nails ripped in resisting the fall; and his skin was torn, grazed and sliced in the skid on the way back down.

"Yet his heart had been plucked and taken to an eagle hen’s lay - strident, nesting, resting on a bed of feathers and poop.”

“I believe I have heard this one before” Francis interjected.

The Lion continued, ignoring what he had said.

“Although his arms were seized with pain, and his legs ached beyond belief; this tragic climber struggled back to the summit in search of his heart that had been stolen from him. It was, as it were, that the very moment he ascended the final step to reach into the feathery nest, his lean betrayed him and he fell once again to the bottom.”

“Poor soul”, muttered Francis.

“Yes yes,” agreed the Lion, who then continued:

“Once again the heart called to the man below: and its magnetism drew him up, coaxing him every time he stopped.

"Just a little farther, just a little farther … and after what felt like many years, the heartless man once more came to the eagle’s nest - this time to find that his heart was gone. A silhouette of a bird could be seen in the distant sky, and the climber could feel his own heart moving fast away from him.

He looked down at the town beneath - the buildings and roads all in miniature - the streams and the rivers like silver ribbons glittering as they wrapped their way around the landscape beneath.

“What now?” asked Francis.

“What now indeed?” said the Lion agreeably. He stopped as though that were a suitable ending as any.

“Go on,” prompted Francis.

“There is no more to be said,” said the Lion.


Gabriel Brunsdon, AZLANDER: NEVER ENDINGS: Second Chances