Hi to the community

[dracoena.livejournal.com]

I am a new member. Well, I´ve been a member of the ML and the archive for a while, but I didn´t have a LJ until now.
In the Tolkien fanfiction world, I sign either as Gadira or as Maeve (Riannon).

I am aware that this is the Fëanorian month, but I´m going to snub them and post a Númenor-based vignette. Knowing them, they will probably take it *very* badly, but I will compromise: if they decide to celebrate "Granny-day" in honour of Míriel the Broideress, I´ll publish 4 related fics. One even has Fëanor in it. :)

Notes: This vignette is based on my long fic about Númenor: "Full of Wisdom and Perfect in Beauty". ( http://www.silmarillionwritersguild.org/archive/home/viewstory.php?sid=82) Alissha is an original character mentioned there. She was the eldest niece of Ar-Belzagar, and an unsucessful pretender to the Númenorean Sceptre. After losing the civil war against her cousin Ar-Adunakhôr, she was imprisoned in the Tower of Meneldur.
At the start of my fic, she is alread dead, but the shadow that she projects on later events is so long that I thought she deserved her five minutes of spotlight.

Summary: Vignette based on Full of Wisdom and Perfect in Beauty. No spoilers.
Alissha, entombed in her prison, surrenders to desperation.

 

This is the Empress
whom we compared with the moon
in earlier days
but no radiance brightens
the lonely mountain dwelling.

(Heike Monogatari)

-------

Every morning, she rises to look at the Sea.

Back when they brought her to this place, she was young and proud like a queen. She sat in the shadows of the lower rooms every day, sewing quietly and giving them nothing but passing glances of disdain. Oh, she heard their gossip, imagined the mocking smiles in their faces. She is waiting for them to come and free her, they said, but she never rose to their provocation.

Only now and then, a dark despair settled in her heart, and she would tear her sewing and throw back her chair. She would pace in circles like a furious beast then, breaking her fingernails against the walls, pressing her mouth against the stone to smother a wailing cry.

She was a queen, a powerful queen... Once upon a time, the Island had shaken under the might of her army, and noblemen had swarmed to kneel at her feet. She had been promised the alliance of faraway Elven kingdoms, the vast power of the Valar.

Now, she is alone. She shouts, and no one hears her call except the walls of an ancient king who liked to watch cold stars. And then she fears, she knows that she was deluded by the shadow of a dream.

They had used her. They all had deserted her: army, noblemen, kinsmen, Elves, Valar, even her sister... no, she did not want to think of her! Never her! Curse her name! They let him bury her alive, abandoned her to her fate.

Deep inside, however, she still hopes that they will arrive one day.

----------

When she was finished with her raging, curling in a corner and watching her hands tremble over her lap in quiet fascination, there was always blood in her mouth. She spat it over the floor, but she could not free herself from the taste for days.

Once, she had the strength to be ashamed of this. She combed her hair, cleaned her face, and forced her hands to take up her torn sewing again and mend it. Sometimes, she even took care of bandaging her fingers, pretending that the needle had prickled them in a moment of distraction.

And she had wanted to take up a sword, the guards laughed.

----------

There were also the nightmares, terrible in their vivid persistence. Those were worse, oh, so much worse. Dreams of a ship that finally comes to take her to a faraway land, but whenever her feet touch the shore it closes upon her, dragging her to a watery grave.

Other times, as she lay on her couch, she was visited by ghosts of children. It was your fault, they said, pointing at her accusingly. Power-hungry monster. Man-woman. We will never be born because of you.

I am not a woman. she said to them, but she did not believe her own words anymore. I am a queen, the rightful holder of the Sceptre. Leave me and begone!

You are nothing. You will never leave this place.

She shuddered. The ship had not come yet.

----------

Now, those struggles have left nothing but chill and silence. Alissha has lost everything, even her pride. Every morning, she rises to look at the sea in search of a sail, white and graceful like the morning star. Her hair has grown dishevelled and grey, her face pale and absorbed, and her former beauty has shrunk to skin and bones.

Only her eyes reflect still a spark of her old fire, fell and distorted, as they watch the horizon for a ship that does not come.

Comments

[angelica-ramses.livejournal.com]

Although I'm a Feanorian through and through, this vignette made me feel like taking a break from First Age angst and delve into Numenorean tragedies. As soon as I have some time, I'll start reading your longer fic.
I've friended you -if that's ok with you (I'm from Argentina so we can rant a bit in Spanish every now and then just for a change)

[dracoena.livejournal.com]

¡Hola! Ya te he añadido.

I´m glad I´ve made someone read a fic about an OFC and like it. Go figure. ;)

[rhapsody11.livejournal.com]

Oh Maeve, I think I said it often and perhaps not often enough.. you have a beautiful balance of pacing in this vignette (and the other two I've already read), a dance almost. A dance of desperation and regret. Again this is another marbel of your fabulous Numenore !verse which is always so incredibly enjoyable to read. Thanks so much for sharing. :c) Maglor doesn't mind sharing a wee!bit of spotlight for you ;)

[dracoena.livejournal.com]

LOL! Thank you Maglor! I think Alissha would make a nice match with at least some of the Fëanorians - must be the penchant for obsession.

Btw, now I think about it, Alissha is a descendant of Elros. So, in a very, very loose way -she´s a Fëanorian!

[elvenpiratelady.livejournal.com]

(Hi, Maeve! I'm Enelya on ff.net, and I've read your set of drabbles about Miriel and Ar-Pharazon, so I'm not a complete random...)

This is very chilling, but wonderful all the same. Great job conveying this woman's pride, which eventually turns to despair and then to madness. The quote at the start was also very apt. I'll have to look out for your Numenor fics!

I am not a woman. she said to them, but she did not believe her own words anymore. I am a queen, the rightful holder of the Sceptre. Leave me and begone!

You are nothing. You will never leave this place.

*shivers* She sounds very much like Miriel there.

[dracoena.livejournal.com]

Hi, Enelya!

I remember you - I must say I´ve abandoned ff.net in a fit of desperation. I still post there, but I don´t correct the typos or make additions as I do in the rest of the archives when they come up. And I practically don´t read anything there anymore, unless directed.

I have posted more of those vignettes in my own LJ. It´s a much nicer environment. ;)

Glad to see you!

[elvenpiratelady.livejournal.com]

Well, I can understand that. The Silm section is fairly sane, at least, and there's good stuff to be found in the LOTR section if you can wade through sues and badfic. But yes, I stay well away from the rest of it.

Do you mind if I friend you?

[dracoena.livejournal.com]

Do you mind if I friend you?

Of course not! I absolutely forgot to tell you I´d friend *you*.

[elvenpiratelady.livejournal.com]

Yay! :D