Something I wrote

[tinni.livejournal.com]

I have been wanting to write something to put to the group and see what people think. Here is what I have. I don't know if the story is going any where or even if I want for it to go somewhere. But I figured I'll put it out there and see what people's first reactions are.


How long have I wondered, singing the Noldolantë? I know not but the sun has risen and set many times since the faithful day. The day the Silmaril burnt my hand; the day I delivered the Silmaril to the keeping of Ulmo. Now my hand is burnt yet still soaked in blood. The pain would be nothing if it could make me forget but the pain only reminds me of all the pain I have caused and I know I am getting off easy.

Exhaustion overcomes me. I collapse on the sand as the words of the Noldolantë fade from my lips. Night comes heralding my dreams; dreams of my brothers. My beloved brothers, how I miss them, every single one of them, even Curufin who was least dear to me and knew it well. Forgive me Curufin for having not loved you as well as I should have. Forgive me, forgive me.

The tears start rolling down my cheeks and my heart grows heavy. Yet I draw comfort from this for my tears and my heavy heart have been my only companion for years uncounted. I sit where I collapsed, letting my mind wonder the path of elven dream but my dreams are not pleasant, tainted by memories they are scarcely more then Nightmares. They are not nightmares however, for nightmares frighten. I feel to fear, only remorse and sadness. If I could undo all that I have done I would, but I cannot. Vairë has weaved her tapestry and the threads cannot to be unwoven till time itself is unmade.

Closing my eyes I lay back and sigh. A freezing gust arises from the sea and chills my skin. In days gone by I would not have noticed the cold. But I have grown much weaker since and I feel the cold more. Perhaps it is fitting, for I never raised any opposition when my father condemned my uncle and cousins as well as a large part of our people to the bitter cold of the Helcaraxë. Nor did I repent and aid Maedhros in his quest to find the brothers Elured and Elurin, who were left to brave the winter cold in the woods after the sack of Doriath. If it is my fate to freeze to death then I deserve it wholly.

Unbidden the images of twin sons of Dior Eluchíl come to my mind. As mere children I saw them last and as children they appeared in my mind. Children with unforgiving stares and hate filled eyes. Slowly my mind morphs them to what they would appear as adults. The very image of Elu Thingol save for the solidity of their frame, a result of their mannish blood but I cannot see their eyes. I briefly wondered what they would do to me if they ever found me, the slayer of their kith and kin. What I would do if I were them? I acknowledge to myself that I would not be merciful. I would give into my baser nature. I have afterall given into bloodlust so, so, so many times before.

My sorrow overcomes my weariness and I found myself singing out once more, filling the air with my lamentation and wondering if they will ever be heard by any ears save mine, wondering if I want any others to hear my lamentation. My song falters and I stop, deciding that I did not want others to hear me, to find me.

I open my eyes and look up, I wanted to see the star but what I see are three pairs of eyes staring down at me. One of them elven, the other two half-elven. I sit up abruptly and try to scramble to my feet but one of the half-elves, one of a pair of twins, stops me by crouching down himself and laying a hand on my shoulders.

“You should not stand when your feet are bleeding so,” he said, drawing my attention to my cracked and bleeding feet. I had not noticed how badly were injured, since the pain from them had merged with the pain in my hand and heart. So it was that I found myself staring at my feet as if they were something foreign.

Suddenly I started to laugh uncontrollably, “Do you know who I am?” I wondered.

“You are Maglor,” replied the twin that was standing, putting a peculiar scornful twist to my name, “Do you think we would forget you? You who took everything from us?”

“Elured!” chided his twin.

I smile, for my fate had found me, “What are you going to do with me?”

“Well,” said Elurin, “I was thinking we return to our camp. Elured and I can carry you. Once there I can have a look at your wounds. I am sure I can relieve some of the pain if nothing else, while Daeron cooks dinner. He is a great cook as well as a great minstrel and after dinner… well if you are willing and Daeron is willing…”

“I am willing,” interjected Daeron as he directed an assessing glance at Maglor.

“If you are willing then we can finally settle the question that has remained unanswered since the first age. Which of you is the great elven minstrel to have ever lived,” said Elurin with a grin, “I am looking forward to it.”

It takes me awhile to fully comprehend the words. There was something surreal about this encounter. Was I dreaming? Was Elured and Elurin with Daeron of Doriath really with me? Were they really offering to share their camp, their food and such healing as they possessed with me? Why? “Why?” I asked out loud.

“Because,” replied Elured, “We are not you,” with that he stooped and effortless but gently slung me over his shoulder and headed towards the direction in which I assumed their camp lay.