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Many Journeys: Elleth's Fanfic and Fanart
many_journeys
.::. ...:::..
Many Journeys
In her youth she [Nerdanel] loved to travel far from the dwellings of the Noldor, either beside the Sea or in the hills; and thus she and Fëanor had met and were companions in many journeys.
(J.R.R. Tolkien, Morgoth's Ring)

December 2015
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Many Journeys: Elleth's Fanfic and Fanart [userpic]

For [livejournal.com profile] dawn_felagund's summer solstice challenge, a drabble (according to Open Office) for each of the solstices and equinoxes, centering around the Nirnaeth Arnoediad.



A Change of Seasons

Vernal Equinox

There is a promise in the budding year, in the shoots that rise gladly underneath the maiden's feet, though all around is snow. Dancing as they are, it is no matter, and their fingers – his left, her right – lace and tangle as they head like two spirits: the lack of chains nearly grants them wings toward Ossiriand, and their story, too, wings across Beleriand and kindles a spring-sun of hope, sends war-plans stirring and messengers rushing through the snowmelt as the night shortens and days lengthen.

Although the Eldar are the people of the stars, reservations go unvoiced.

Aestival Solstice

The offensive is full-fledged, and if it is nowhere near the hoped-for strength, nonetheless the Union of Maedhros will hold strong, or so they say, in laughter over their cups that proclaims the opposite. They are assigned to stacking the beacon above Dorthonion and relish the light beating upon their faces as they douse the wood with water and squint at the movements of the Eldar across Anfauglith. The summer sun ripens their plans like a fruit near-ready for the picking. The day is coming to sink their teeth into the promised reward. Only one short night until the triumph.

Autumnal Equinox

A resplendent autum of blood and fire follows the battle, and the dawn of true defeat comes upon them only slowly. They gather wild chestnuts and roast them in the white-hot coals, they strip the seeds off yellowed grasses and subsist on the barest necessities, feeding the wounded and the heart-sick before themselves. Even driven like fallen leaves before the wind, they are lords, and even now they clutch persistence to their chests as they pray for deceitful sun-days to shorten and promised star-nights to lengthen.

Understanding and recollection return to them: The Eldar are the people of the stars.

Hibernal Solstice

The year and its plans have fallen with the sun. The Sickle throws stark shadows on burned Dorthonion and its rays cut over empty Beleriand, shine argent in the frost and reflect the rare upward glance hidden among lace of leaf-stripped branches. There is a promise in the stars, especially in this constellation. It recalls Awakening in the longest of nights, and if voices are hoarse and war-torn now, cries innocent of that first joy, it strengthens their hope and heralds the Dark One's ultimate defeat. For the Sickle may foretell, but it is by swords that Morgoth must fall.

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