Two Sorrows by just_jenni
Apr. 1st, 2012 12:06 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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b2memB2MEM Challenge: i27 - Sons of Feanor - Maglor in the Fourth Age
Format: Short Story
Genre: Gen
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Characters: Maglor, Arwen
Summary: In the Year 121 of the Fourth Age, Maglor wanders into the woods of Lorien at the same time as Arwen Undomiel, who is on her way to Cerin Amroth.
Part One
The tall Elf cloaked in grey set down the belongings he had been carrying on his back before settling his weary body down beside them. Pulling his hood away from his face, he looked around at this most unusual forest.
"I never much desired to come and visit the home of my cousin in the past," he reflected. "But it is a beautiful place."
Maglor had been traveling for many days. In fact, it had been many years, but he would occasionally stop in an area that interested him. If the particular surroundings were pleasant and aroused his curiosity, if he felt he could become engaged with the people and their activities, then he would stay for a period of time before moving on again.
Although Maglor had suffered much in his long life and carried an inordinate amount of guilt and pain upon his stooped shoulders, he still felt bound to Middle-earth and continued to take some small measure of joy from its peoples and various environments. Ever a scholar and master both, he was keenly interested in the changes that had taken place during the several Ages in which he had lived.
For the past several days, since he had entered these green and strangely beautiful woods, Maglor had felt an uplifting of his spirits such as he had not experienced for many long years. Not that he had desired his mood to change - far from it. He was satisfied to continue to feel morose - for him, it was a way to atone for his past sins - and he was comfortable living in that skin. Maglor believed himself to be the saddest Elf in the world, and thought that this sadness was fitting punishment. He wore his moroseness like a comfortable robe.
These woods were more lovely than any he had wandered in before. The trees were not so dense that they made the forest gloomy. Plenty of sunlight streamed through the branches, a gentle breeze rustling their bright green leaves. The scent of wildflowers greeted his nostrils with welcome sweetness. Tiny white flowers spread a soft carpet upon the forest floor. Other flowers, some lavendar, some yellow, bloomed upon various sized mounds raised above the ground. Soft grass grew in patches on the dark, moist soil. Birds and butterflies of many hues flitted and darted among the smooth and slender tree trunks. A few mushrooms appeared half-hidden in the grass. Maglor turned to gaze upon the trees - there were many varieties that bore fruit and nuts - and shrubs laden with berries.
His hunger awakened by the scents and colours for he had not eaten in weeks, Maglor rose to his feet. Using his hood as a sack, he loaded it with a variety of nuts, fruit and berries, and picked some tender mushrooms. Listening carefully, he could hear between snatches of birdsong the melodic tinkling of a nearby brook. From this he could satisfy his thirst. Smiling to himself, Maglor resolved to stay in these gloriously abundant woods for at least a few more days. For now he would eat a good meal, and afterwards lie down to sleep, replenishing his energy before continuing to explore this forest and its wonders. It was so silent and so empty of people and other creatures that he felt in no danger by sleeping openly upon the forest floor.
~~~
She could not bear to carry her grief any longer. Elessar had been dead for almost a year. Arwen had tried to busy herself by becoming fully involved in the doings of her children, but felt that she had been intruding unasked upon their lives. One of her daughters had said to her:
"Mother, I know you still grieve for Father. We all do, but we must also move on with our lives. You seem unable to do so."
They had been previously gentle in speaking with her about him, in fear of hurting her feelings, but lately their words had seemed peevish and hurtful.
The truth was that Arwen could not let her grief go. It was a part of her now. It was not something light and free that could be released like a dove from her hands. No, it was more like a chain, one end attached to her heart and the other to a heavy stone that she could not bear to carry any longer. It must be soon cast down for relief from the agony it caused her.
One day she awoke and feeling that this was the day her time had come to leave Middle-earth, she dressed simply in soft grey robes with cloak and mantle hiding her face, and took her leave of the palace of the King of Gondor. Her heart was no longer heavy, nor did she feel the pain of sadness from leaving her home, but only a kind of peace and sober resolve.
Into the forest of Lorien she walked, her stride slow but purposeful, her feet almost gliding now that she felt the weight of her sorrow would soon be lifted. She headed toward the hill of Cerin Amroth that she had visited many times as a girl. She had always felt that it would be the most beautiful place to lie down and let herself die, to fade away forever among the smooth-trunked trees, their bright green leaves rustling in the soft breezes,listening to the birds sing their lovely melodies above the tinkling brook. For this was the most secluded area of the Lorien forest, hardly ever visited by Elf, Man or beast.
But when Arwen approached her destination, for Cerin Amroth was not far away, she stopped in surprise, for she spied, lying asleep on a patch of grass near her hill, a tall, lanky Elf. He was lying on his back, his long brown hair loose and spread around his face, which was turned to one side. He wore clothing that struck her as being of an ancient style, though it was clean and well-kept. But it invoked in her memories of past happy days spent in her father's library, looking through heavy old books about the history of the Noldor. As a young girl she had always been interested in the costumes and dresses of the First Age Elves.
Her breath caught in her throat, and before she could stop herself, Arwen reached forward to touch this strange Elf, for no small, fragile Sindar was he. With his height, strong build and striking good looks, he could have stepped right out of the pages of a history book.
~~~
TBC
Format: Short Story
Genre: Gen
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Characters: Maglor, Arwen
Summary: In the Year 121 of the Fourth Age, Maglor wanders into the woods of Lorien at the same time as Arwen Undomiel, who is on her way to Cerin Amroth.
Part One
The tall Elf cloaked in grey set down the belongings he had been carrying on his back before settling his weary body down beside them. Pulling his hood away from his face, he looked around at this most unusual forest.
"I never much desired to come and visit the home of my cousin in the past," he reflected. "But it is a beautiful place."
Maglor had been traveling for many days. In fact, it had been many years, but he would occasionally stop in an area that interested him. If the particular surroundings were pleasant and aroused his curiosity, if he felt he could become engaged with the people and their activities, then he would stay for a period of time before moving on again.
Although Maglor had suffered much in his long life and carried an inordinate amount of guilt and pain upon his stooped shoulders, he still felt bound to Middle-earth and continued to take some small measure of joy from its peoples and various environments. Ever a scholar and master both, he was keenly interested in the changes that had taken place during the several Ages in which he had lived.
For the past several days, since he had entered these green and strangely beautiful woods, Maglor had felt an uplifting of his spirits such as he had not experienced for many long years. Not that he had desired his mood to change - far from it. He was satisfied to continue to feel morose - for him, it was a way to atone for his past sins - and he was comfortable living in that skin. Maglor believed himself to be the saddest Elf in the world, and thought that this sadness was fitting punishment. He wore his moroseness like a comfortable robe.
These woods were more lovely than any he had wandered in before. The trees were not so dense that they made the forest gloomy. Plenty of sunlight streamed through the branches, a gentle breeze rustling their bright green leaves. The scent of wildflowers greeted his nostrils with welcome sweetness. Tiny white flowers spread a soft carpet upon the forest floor. Other flowers, some lavendar, some yellow, bloomed upon various sized mounds raised above the ground. Soft grass grew in patches on the dark, moist soil. Birds and butterflies of many hues flitted and darted among the smooth and slender tree trunks. A few mushrooms appeared half-hidden in the grass. Maglor turned to gaze upon the trees - there were many varieties that bore fruit and nuts - and shrubs laden with berries.
His hunger awakened by the scents and colours for he had not eaten in weeks, Maglor rose to his feet. Using his hood as a sack, he loaded it with a variety of nuts, fruit and berries, and picked some tender mushrooms. Listening carefully, he could hear between snatches of birdsong the melodic tinkling of a nearby brook. From this he could satisfy his thirst. Smiling to himself, Maglor resolved to stay in these gloriously abundant woods for at least a few more days. For now he would eat a good meal, and afterwards lie down to sleep, replenishing his energy before continuing to explore this forest and its wonders. It was so silent and so empty of people and other creatures that he felt in no danger by sleeping openly upon the forest floor.
~~~
She could not bear to carry her grief any longer. Elessar had been dead for almost a year. Arwen had tried to busy herself by becoming fully involved in the doings of her children, but felt that she had been intruding unasked upon their lives. One of her daughters had said to her:
"Mother, I know you still grieve for Father. We all do, but we must also move on with our lives. You seem unable to do so."
They had been previously gentle in speaking with her about him, in fear of hurting her feelings, but lately their words had seemed peevish and hurtful.
The truth was that Arwen could not let her grief go. It was a part of her now. It was not something light and free that could be released like a dove from her hands. No, it was more like a chain, one end attached to her heart and the other to a heavy stone that she could not bear to carry any longer. It must be soon cast down for relief from the agony it caused her.
One day she awoke and feeling that this was the day her time had come to leave Middle-earth, she dressed simply in soft grey robes with cloak and mantle hiding her face, and took her leave of the palace of the King of Gondor. Her heart was no longer heavy, nor did she feel the pain of sadness from leaving her home, but only a kind of peace and sober resolve.
Into the forest of Lorien she walked, her stride slow but purposeful, her feet almost gliding now that she felt the weight of her sorrow would soon be lifted. She headed toward the hill of Cerin Amroth that she had visited many times as a girl. She had always felt that it would be the most beautiful place to lie down and let herself die, to fade away forever among the smooth-trunked trees, their bright green leaves rustling in the soft breezes,listening to the birds sing their lovely melodies above the tinkling brook. For this was the most secluded area of the Lorien forest, hardly ever visited by Elf, Man or beast.
But when Arwen approached her destination, for Cerin Amroth was not far away, she stopped in surprise, for she spied, lying asleep on a patch of grass near her hill, a tall, lanky Elf. He was lying on his back, his long brown hair loose and spread around his face, which was turned to one side. He wore clothing that struck her as being of an ancient style, though it was clean and well-kept. But it invoked in her memories of past happy days spent in her father's library, looking through heavy old books about the history of the Noldor. As a young girl she had always been interested in the costumes and dresses of the First Age Elves.
Her breath caught in her throat, and before she could stop herself, Arwen reached forward to touch this strange Elf, for no small, fragile Sindar was he. With his height, strong build and striking good looks, he could have stepped right out of the pages of a history book.
~~~
TBC
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no subject
Date: 2012-04-02 03:22 pm (UTC)AUs are always intriguing. I've written two longer ones--"Go Out in Joy" and "The Farewell in Gondor," and it can be fascinating to see how things MIGHT have happened! I'd love to see this fleshed out!
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Date: 2012-04-02 11:06 pm (UTC)