Paper City, by Elleth
Mar. 16th, 2012 06:33 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
ladyelleth.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
b2memB2MeM Challenge:
G50: Book Titles: Paper Towns; Colours: Orange
G51: Relationship: Jealousy
Format: Double Drabble
Genre: Character Study
Rating: Gen
Warnings: N/A
Characters: Estelindë (my Fëanorian healer OFC), Fëanor
Pairings: N/A
Summary: Tirion is a paper city, with all the consequences.
"Tirion is a paper city," Ortaquin explains to Estelindë. What her father means is this: The city has been drawn and planned before its raising by the Eldar and the Valar, and when she runs her errands, she'll happily pretend the streets are ink marks on a sheet. Her game reveals a host of ingenuities to marvel at: the marble stairs, the bridges spanning waterfalls, the Mindon rising like a needle in the center. It fails to tire her until she departs for Lórien. The gardens there are wildly grown, not built, a first hint of the greater world outside.
Returning, she is always slightly restless, all too aware of rules and restrictions placed on her, the stifling weight of expectations that she stop her healing and her studies to marry and have children. These rules, too, being set on paper, make the city, the underpinnings, stanchions and supporting beams glossed over or invisible. How she detests these little details, the jealous thou-shalt-nots that her sister's eyes are windows into.
It takes Fëanáro to transform all that; she gladly joins his service. And at last, with torches flaming orange, he proves that papers cities also burn. Speaking figuratively, of course.
G50: Book Titles: Paper Towns; Colours: Orange
G51: Relationship: Jealousy
Format: Double Drabble
Genre: Character Study
Rating: Gen
Warnings: N/A
Characters: Estelindë (my Fëanorian healer OFC), Fëanor
Pairings: N/A
Summary: Tirion is a paper city, with all the consequences.
"Tirion is a paper city," Ortaquin explains to Estelindë. What her father means is this: The city has been drawn and planned before its raising by the Eldar and the Valar, and when she runs her errands, she'll happily pretend the streets are ink marks on a sheet. Her game reveals a host of ingenuities to marvel at: the marble stairs, the bridges spanning waterfalls, the Mindon rising like a needle in the center. It fails to tire her until she departs for Lórien. The gardens there are wildly grown, not built, a first hint of the greater world outside.
Returning, she is always slightly restless, all too aware of rules and restrictions placed on her, the stifling weight of expectations that she stop her healing and her studies to marry and have children. These rules, too, being set on paper, make the city, the underpinnings, stanchions and supporting beams glossed over or invisible. How she detests these little details, the jealous thou-shalt-nots that her sister's eyes are windows into.
It takes Fëanáro to transform all that; she gladly joins his service. And at last, with torches flaming orange, he proves that papers cities also burn. Speaking figuratively, of course.
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