Many Journeys: Elleth's Fanfic and Fanart (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
many_journeys) wrote2007-09-30 01:32 pm
many_journeys) wrote2007-09-30 01:32 pm
Daily Drabbles III
As always, the disclaimer on the userinfo page applies to all material posted here.
---
A strange take on the Prophecy of the North, from Fëanor's POV. Possibly AU.
Providential
Clouds were piling up in the mountains, dark with a promise of rain. Crawling they scaled the peaks and invaded the Calacirya, and the sight of the sea was lost.
A strange light reigned, coming from waning Laurelin and waxing Telperion to the West, and all at once from everywhere as though the very skies acted like a mirror. The clouds were the color of lead, and low-hanging like curtains they slowly enclosed the city. The land seemed to diminish (and the Valar shall fence Valinor against you) until only the Mindon Eldalieva shone proudly in the gold-and-silver gloom, scratching the clouds much like his mother's ivory needles would have their marks on hands less skilled than hers.
He had tried them once – after all he was skilled by both name and inheritance - and looked in astonishment and fear on the droplet of blood that ran from his fingertip (for blood ye shall render blood) to stain her laid-down work.
The tattoo of heavy raindrops (tears unnumbered ye shall shed) on the palace windows began suddenly, and through the downpour he caught a glimpse of movement in the square below; a frenzy of gold and white as Artanis (treason of kin unto kin) darted outside and danced in the falling water. How liquid the light turned as the clouds tore, and how it played on her hair! A myriad reflections of the Trees, one in each raindrop as it soaked into her hair and ran in rivulets down her skin, seeped into her dress and made it half-translucent (and fear of treason) until she herself shone with that very radiance!
And then a voice.
“Love, what is it you see there? It seems as though you were staring.“ his wife's voice (to evil end shall all things turn that they begin well) sounded from across the room where she sat in discussion with his father. Reluctantly, slowly, he turned his head from the dancer below to look at them. “But the rain.“ (treason) He turned back.
The great courtyard lay empty. She was gone.
(The Dispossessed shall they be forever.)
The bracketed passages in italics are of course from the Silmarillion, Chapter 9: Of the Flight of the Noldor, as spoken in the Prophecy of the North. No, I do not entirely understand this drabble either... this was only the second time Feanor granted me access to his mind, and I am a little creeped out, to be honest. But I'm sure all of this makes sense on an obscure level us puny humans can't even begin to grasp.
---
Aulë, Fëanor and Nerdanel. A contest in three pieces of dialogue.
Bibelot
I
“Fëanáro challenged Aulë to a contest of skills.”
“So I have heard. He demanded a year's time, no earlier could his work be accomplished, he said, and then he disappeared. I think it is out of fear.”
“You underestimate him. He will not flee, nor seek help from any save perhaps his wife, young Nerdanel.”
“Then he really is as obstinate and proud as everyone says, at the risk of his honor.”
“There is little risk to that. There is no shame in being bested by a Vala.”
“But why speak up in the first place if he cannot win?”
“I did not say that. He is proud for one so young, but learned much, nor shared every secret he discovered. I think they will come to a truce.”
“We shall see.”
II
“A maker of bibelots and trinkets has he become, and dares attempt to teach me!”
“What angers you so, Fëanáro? The Lord Aulë has not lost his powers for his choice to put them to different uses now. Small things need not all be flawed or without worth. Grant me but a year to prove it.”
“I know, love. Your year you shall have.”
III
“I have come before you today, Lord, to present to you my work. A sphere of stone that, governed by one's thought, may see far-off and even speak with those who wield its brother-stones.
“Indeed an accomplishment worthy of great wonder and honor. Behold now my work, a mirror that shows not merely what is, but that which was and may yet be as history unfolds. - Now where is Lady Nerdanel?”
“Forgive my interruption, Lords. My daughter sent me to say that what she has brought into being mere hours ago is small, yet certainly no trinket. His name is Maitimo.”
---
First shadows on the Blessed Realm.
Sotto Voce
"I forbid you to shame me, mine and my house, and so yourself, Curufinwë!"
"You shamed you, yours and your house already, giving your hand to the Vanya! You condemned my mother – your wife - to death while Arda lasts!"
"She condemned herself! This discussion is at an end. You will greet your brother Arafinwë Ingoldo at his essecarmë tomorrow."
"I have no siblings."
Fëanáro forced his way past the lords in the courtyard. Engrossed in their own little politics, none had heard the argument fought in hisses and whispers, although one had glanced up and briefly wondered whether Manwë sent a storm.
---
Caught in Angband, Maedhros receives comfort from an unexpected source.
Confabulation
In the brief respites before I was returned to their chambers (for too much pain dulled the mind, and the orcs wanted their playthings aware), I was not alone. In that time between wakefulness and such dreams as are possible in Moringotto's fortress – of creatures that slashed your skin and had you wake bleeding – I felt my hand held. Sometimes I would crack my eyes open to see a mop of red hair that was not my own – and my heart would pound painfully; no, no, no, no! until she moved to reveal a young and unfamiliar face, save for that angle of her chin, or how she blinked her eyes owlishly, like grandfather Mahtan might do – or were these but phantom-thoughts to addle me?
At times I could not help myself and called her amil. Then, and only then, I thought I felt the pain lessen and the nightmares recede, and there was light and a voice I knew. “Take what strength and comfort there is, dearest, knowing that you are not alone, and sleep now. None shall assail you while I am here with you.“
And I slept, with her arms around me.
---
A strange take on the Prophecy of the North, from Fëanor's POV. Possibly AU.
Providential
Clouds were piling up in the mountains, dark with a promise of rain. Crawling they scaled the peaks and invaded the Calacirya, and the sight of the sea was lost.
A strange light reigned, coming from waning Laurelin and waxing Telperion to the West, and all at once from everywhere as though the very skies acted like a mirror. The clouds were the color of lead, and low-hanging like curtains they slowly enclosed the city. The land seemed to diminish (and the Valar shall fence Valinor against you) until only the Mindon Eldalieva shone proudly in the gold-and-silver gloom, scratching the clouds much like his mother's ivory needles would have their marks on hands less skilled than hers.
He had tried them once – after all he was skilled by both name and inheritance - and looked in astonishment and fear on the droplet of blood that ran from his fingertip (for blood ye shall render blood) to stain her laid-down work.
The tattoo of heavy raindrops (tears unnumbered ye shall shed) on the palace windows began suddenly, and through the downpour he caught a glimpse of movement in the square below; a frenzy of gold and white as Artanis (treason of kin unto kin) darted outside and danced in the falling water. How liquid the light turned as the clouds tore, and how it played on her hair! A myriad reflections of the Trees, one in each raindrop as it soaked into her hair and ran in rivulets down her skin, seeped into her dress and made it half-translucent (and fear of treason) until she herself shone with that very radiance!
And then a voice.
“Love, what is it you see there? It seems as though you were staring.“ his wife's voice (to evil end shall all things turn that they begin well) sounded from across the room where she sat in discussion with his father. Reluctantly, slowly, he turned his head from the dancer below to look at them. “But the rain.“ (treason) He turned back.
The great courtyard lay empty. She was gone.
(The Dispossessed shall they be forever.)
The bracketed passages in italics are of course from the Silmarillion, Chapter 9: Of the Flight of the Noldor, as spoken in the Prophecy of the North. No, I do not entirely understand this drabble either... this was only the second time Feanor granted me access to his mind, and I am a little creeped out, to be honest. But I'm sure all of this makes sense on an obscure level us puny humans can't even begin to grasp.
---
Aulë, Fëanor and Nerdanel. A contest in three pieces of dialogue.
Bibelot
I
“Fëanáro challenged Aulë to a contest of skills.”
“So I have heard. He demanded a year's time, no earlier could his work be accomplished, he said, and then he disappeared. I think it is out of fear.”
“You underestimate him. He will not flee, nor seek help from any save perhaps his wife, young Nerdanel.”
“Then he really is as obstinate and proud as everyone says, at the risk of his honor.”
“There is little risk to that. There is no shame in being bested by a Vala.”
“But why speak up in the first place if he cannot win?”
“I did not say that. He is proud for one so young, but learned much, nor shared every secret he discovered. I think they will come to a truce.”
“We shall see.”
II
“A maker of bibelots and trinkets has he become, and dares attempt to teach me!”
“What angers you so, Fëanáro? The Lord Aulë has not lost his powers for his choice to put them to different uses now. Small things need not all be flawed or without worth. Grant me but a year to prove it.”
“I know, love. Your year you shall have.”
III
“I have come before you today, Lord, to present to you my work. A sphere of stone that, governed by one's thought, may see far-off and even speak with those who wield its brother-stones.
“Indeed an accomplishment worthy of great wonder and honor. Behold now my work, a mirror that shows not merely what is, but that which was and may yet be as history unfolds. - Now where is Lady Nerdanel?”
“Forgive my interruption, Lords. My daughter sent me to say that what she has brought into being mere hours ago is small, yet certainly no trinket. His name is Maitimo.”
---
First shadows on the Blessed Realm.
Sotto Voce
"I forbid you to shame me, mine and my house, and so yourself, Curufinwë!"
"You shamed you, yours and your house already, giving your hand to the Vanya! You condemned my mother – your wife - to death while Arda lasts!"
"She condemned herself! This discussion is at an end. You will greet your brother Arafinwë Ingoldo at his essecarmë tomorrow."
"I have no siblings."
Fëanáro forced his way past the lords in the courtyard. Engrossed in their own little politics, none had heard the argument fought in hisses and whispers, although one had glanced up and briefly wondered whether Manwë sent a storm.
---
Caught in Angband, Maedhros receives comfort from an unexpected source.
Confabulation
In the brief respites before I was returned to their chambers (for too much pain dulled the mind, and the orcs wanted their playthings aware), I was not alone. In that time between wakefulness and such dreams as are possible in Moringotto's fortress – of creatures that slashed your skin and had you wake bleeding – I felt my hand held. Sometimes I would crack my eyes open to see a mop of red hair that was not my own – and my heart would pound painfully; no, no, no, no! until she moved to reveal a young and unfamiliar face, save for that angle of her chin, or how she blinked her eyes owlishly, like grandfather Mahtan might do – or were these but phantom-thoughts to addle me?
At times I could not help myself and called her amil. Then, and only then, I thought I felt the pain lessen and the nightmares recede, and there was light and a voice I knew. “Take what strength and comfort there is, dearest, knowing that you are not alone, and sleep now. None shall assail you while I am here with you.“
And I slept, with her arms around me.