![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
engarian.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
b2memB2MeM Challenge: O-72 – Maglor in History – Mongol Invasion
Format: Fictlet
Genre: Drama
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Characters: Maglor, Historical characters
Pairings: None
Summary: The Mongols recommenced their invasion of the Rus in late 1237. Only one town was spared, and no-one knows why.
The Power of Song
It is written that the Mongol invasion of the Rus recommenced on December 31, 1237 with an army of more than 35,000 Mongol and Turkish warriors invading modern-day Russia, Ukraine and Belerus. The Mongols were advancing to Novgorod but unexpectedly turned back at the suite mentioned as Ignach Cross, of which the exact location is not known.
(en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mongol_invasion_of_Rus%27)
Maglor flung his cloak around him to protect him from the bitter spring wind and driving rain that was whistling around the city's fortifications. Novgorod was dark and silent, seemingly holding its breath in the hope that it would not grab the attention of the Mongol invaders. Even now other cities of similar size were being leveled by the horde of warriors from the southeast who were swarming over the land like a plague of locusts. The complete annihilation of Kolomna and Moscow in January, followed by Suzdal being burnt to the ground in February, was bringing the terror of a possible dismal future to all who were huddling behind Novgorod's walls.
He turned, walking swiftly to the corner guard-tower. Swiftly descending the steps he exited through the door and proceeded towards the home of the Prince. The Mongols were not conquering the Rus, rather they were eliminating everyone and everything that stood in their path. Twenty years before they had been appeased and had stopped their northward movement, but this year their rampages had recommenced. The Rus prince of Novgorod knew that he had no hope of holding out behind his walls, no matter his brave words to the people. Now Maglor had to convince him to allow him to bring the battle directly to Batu Khan.
A short time later found him discussing his strategy with the Prince. “Here,” Maglor spoke firmly, his finger pointing at Ignach Cross. “Here is where we should dig in and try to hold them. Perhaps, if all goes well, the few who may go on towards Novgorod will be turned back by the forces that you will send to accompany me.”
“Are you sure of this path of action, my friend?” the Prince queried. “Even though I have seen you work marvels I hesitate to place you against these people. Their swath of destruction has been wide and thorough.”
“I ask you to have faith in me, my Prince,” was Maglor's response. “The terrain there will favor the smaller number of forces that you have available. However, I still hope that I will be able to convince the Khan to look elsewhere.”
The Prince threw up his hands. He had been trying to talk Maglor out of his plan on and off for several days, but the minstrel refused to give way. He was still insisting on carrying out his plan, even though his Lord believed it was suicide.
“Is there nothing I can say that will sway your mind? You are throwing your life away in a cause that is hopeless. How can one man, even one as unusual as you, turn away thousands of hardened warriors?”
“My Prince, it has been my joy to serve you and before you, your father. It is time for me to leave your service. If by so doing I can save this city and its people, and you yourself, my Lord, then I shall unhesitatingly walk into the mouth of the dragon without fear or regret.”
Tears filled the eyes of the Prince. He was young and had lost his father less than two years previously which allowed him to attain his current title. Maglor saw that a second loss so soon might be difficult for the young man. Pulling him into a strong embrace, he whispered into the Prince's ear. “Do not despair, my Lord. Care well for your people, marry happily, have strong sons and beautiful daughters, and celebrate each day of your life. This is a gift that I give to you – that you shall live, and that because of your love, your city will also live.”
He pulled away from the youth and gripped him by the shoulders. Pulling their foreheads together, he softly said, “Trust me.”
Maglor released the Prince, took his cloak up from the fire andirons where it had been drying off, and walked to the corner of the room. There, nestled next to a stool in the dim light, stood his harp. Once more he picked it up, a friend whose weight and shape were as familiar to him as his own body. The harp had survived against incalculable odds, yet it still sounded as sweet as the day that his father had put it into his hands. He placed it into its carrying cloths, and left the room. The Prince stood on the far side of the hearth with his arms wrapped around himself, but even though his body was immobile, his eyes followed the minstrel’s every move.
Going up to his room, Maglor changed into his most comfortable boots and his ceremonial clothing, the clothing of a bard. From his drawer he took a single neckpiece – a naturally pierced shell that had been given to him, eons before, by one who was as dear to him as his own son would have been. The harp and the pendant were the only things of his long life that he counted as valuable. All else could be replaced. He tied the shell around his neck. Once again he would be leaving everything behind him. He looked at the sword in its stand, but knew that he could not bring it with him if he would succeed in his task.
In the courtyard below, the Captains of the Guard were organizing the small group of soldiers who would accompany him to Ignach Cross. Taking a last look around the room, he opened the door and walked through it, closing it softly behind him. He had been happy here, but it was one more place of many he had left in the ages since he had followed Fëanor across the sea.
-0-0-0-0-
After three days of walking, the small group of soldiers and the world-weary minstrel finally arrived at Ignach Cross. Here, he ordered the captains to see their men well placed for a defensive stand. If he was unsuccessful, the men would be fighting a rearguard action against the troops of Batu Kahn. If, on the other hand, he was successful, there was always a chance that a small number of troops may disobey the Khan’s orders. In that case the guard would be the only thing between the invaders and their city. After sharing a small meal with a few of the men, he gathered his things and walked onwards towards the forces of Batu Kahn. He was a solitary elf facing more than 7,000 Mongol warriors.
Cresting a small hillock, he saw the enemy's forces spread out in front of him, claiming the landscape as their own by sheer numbers. Unwrapping his harp, he tuned it carefully, then began walking towards the host, Singing and playing as he went. The words of the Song of Power flowed from him and were carried wide by the power of his Fëanorian harp. At the back of his mind, in a partition that he felt he could examine more closely later, he recognized that the wind played with his hair, then picked up slightly, carrying the tune a bit farther. Later he would wonder if Lord Manwë may have arranged for some small intervention on his behalf. But at this moment he was intent on the Song because to lose that focus would be to lose his life and that of his city.
Maglor paid little attention to his surroundings, concentrating on the words that he was singing and the tune that he was playing. After a time, he stopped, then looked directly in front of him. There, standing fiercely before a functional but decorative portable pavilion, was Batu Kahn himself. Maglor sank to his knees, bowing low before the Mongol warrior, abasing himself in the hope that by doing so he might save Novgorod and its people.
“The Great Khan wants to know who you are and why he should not kill you now,” a voice asked, sounding from the Khan’s left side.
“I am merely a minstrel, a man of power as the music allows,” responded the elf. “I have come to the Great Khan with a proposition.”
“And what is that ‘proposition’? Do you not think that the Great Khan can have whatever he wishes, even your death? There is nothing you can offer him that he cannot merely wave his hand to have. If he wanted you dead, you would be dead before you could draw one more breath. If he wanted 10 warriors to take their own lives, their bodies would be hitting the ground before his hand returned to his side. What do you have to offer him, m i n s t r e l?” The contempt in his voice dripped like poison from his lips.
“My proposition is for the ears of Batu Kahn alone, not for the likes of minions like you,” Maglor responded. He quickly rose, catching the sword that was suddenly descending towards his neck before it had dropped more than a few inches. “The ears of Batu Kahn alone,” he repeated while forcing the swordsman to release and drop his blade.
“Halt!” Batu Kahn strode forward and looked up into Maglor’s eyes. The elf was careful to meet the gaze of the Khan without fear while continuing to hold back one of the highly trained warriors with what appeared to be little effort.
The leader stood directly in front of him and carefully looked him up and down, taking in his height, slender appearance and pointed ears, along with the cradled harp and the fact that he bore no visible weapons. “How did you manage to come through all of my warriors to my pavilion without an outcry? What magic did you make?”
“My magic is my song, and that magic can be turned to your purposes if you listen to me and heed my advice. If you do so, your name will be on the tongues of the sons of your sons and you will be remembered and revered for hundreds upon hundreds of years to come.”
“Come into my pavilion, musician. Tell me of this Song you speak of,” and the Khan turned and led the way to the silken-walled tent. “No-one else is to enter, just the musician.” The voices of the Khan’s advisors were immediately raised in concern and panic, but the leader refused to listen to any of his advisors, striding into his tent and expecting Maglor to follow him.
-0-0-0-0-
The Khan and the elf were closed up in the pavilion for hours. Food and drink were called for and consumed. The dulcet tones of the harp were heard, and their two voices were heard, although the words spoken were unintelligible by those surrounding the pavilion on the outside.
Near dawn, when the faint pink of the upcoming sunrise was just painting the horizon, the two men left the tent and stood facing the east. Maglor held his harp, and as the sun rose so did his voice, singing a hymn of his joy and his prayers to the Powers as he did every morning. The Khan’s voice joined his and their vocal accord reflected the agreement that they had come to overnight.
After the paean at sunrise was complete, Maglor sat down upon the ground, gently playing his harp while Batu Khan explained to his generals that they would be heading directly west from their camp, not taking the northwestern direction that would bring them to Novgorod.
“But Lord,” one of his advisors said. “We had planned to attack Novgorod and then turn west from there, continuing towards Hungary.”
The Khan, listening to the music subconsciously without paying attention to it, turned to the advisor. “Novgorod is out of my way. The musician promises me that if we go west today, Hungary will fall quickly to our forces, but if we delay, even by as much as a single day, aid will arrive for our enemies and our western plans will come to naught. We go west. Immediately. See to it!”
Maglor breathed a silent prayer of thanks to the Powers who had seen fit to train him in Songs of Power. Novgorod was safe. Even though his long life in the East had been tiresome and often dangerous, it was moments like this that made it worthwhile. He had made a promise and he would keep to it. Until the Khan had won over Hungary, Maglor would stay and travel with him. But afterwards, he would leave and return to the sea. Perhaps there would be a ship for him at long last.
Format: Fictlet
Genre: Drama
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Characters: Maglor, Historical characters
Pairings: None
Summary: The Mongols recommenced their invasion of the Rus in late 1237. Only one town was spared, and no-one knows why.
The Power of Song
It is written that the Mongol invasion of the Rus recommenced on December 31, 1237 with an army of more than 35,000 Mongol and Turkish warriors invading modern-day Russia, Ukraine and Belerus. The Mongols were advancing to Novgorod but unexpectedly turned back at the suite mentioned as Ignach Cross, of which the exact location is not known.
(en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mongol_invasion_of_Rus%27)
Maglor flung his cloak around him to protect him from the bitter spring wind and driving rain that was whistling around the city's fortifications. Novgorod was dark and silent, seemingly holding its breath in the hope that it would not grab the attention of the Mongol invaders. Even now other cities of similar size were being leveled by the horde of warriors from the southeast who were swarming over the land like a plague of locusts. The complete annihilation of Kolomna and Moscow in January, followed by Suzdal being burnt to the ground in February, was bringing the terror of a possible dismal future to all who were huddling behind Novgorod's walls.
He turned, walking swiftly to the corner guard-tower. Swiftly descending the steps he exited through the door and proceeded towards the home of the Prince. The Mongols were not conquering the Rus, rather they were eliminating everyone and everything that stood in their path. Twenty years before they had been appeased and had stopped their northward movement, but this year their rampages had recommenced. The Rus prince of Novgorod knew that he had no hope of holding out behind his walls, no matter his brave words to the people. Now Maglor had to convince him to allow him to bring the battle directly to Batu Khan.
A short time later found him discussing his strategy with the Prince. “Here,” Maglor spoke firmly, his finger pointing at Ignach Cross. “Here is where we should dig in and try to hold them. Perhaps, if all goes well, the few who may go on towards Novgorod will be turned back by the forces that you will send to accompany me.”
“Are you sure of this path of action, my friend?” the Prince queried. “Even though I have seen you work marvels I hesitate to place you against these people. Their swath of destruction has been wide and thorough.”
“I ask you to have faith in me, my Prince,” was Maglor's response. “The terrain there will favor the smaller number of forces that you have available. However, I still hope that I will be able to convince the Khan to look elsewhere.”
The Prince threw up his hands. He had been trying to talk Maglor out of his plan on and off for several days, but the minstrel refused to give way. He was still insisting on carrying out his plan, even though his Lord believed it was suicide.
“Is there nothing I can say that will sway your mind? You are throwing your life away in a cause that is hopeless. How can one man, even one as unusual as you, turn away thousands of hardened warriors?”
“My Prince, it has been my joy to serve you and before you, your father. It is time for me to leave your service. If by so doing I can save this city and its people, and you yourself, my Lord, then I shall unhesitatingly walk into the mouth of the dragon without fear or regret.”
Tears filled the eyes of the Prince. He was young and had lost his father less than two years previously which allowed him to attain his current title. Maglor saw that a second loss so soon might be difficult for the young man. Pulling him into a strong embrace, he whispered into the Prince's ear. “Do not despair, my Lord. Care well for your people, marry happily, have strong sons and beautiful daughters, and celebrate each day of your life. This is a gift that I give to you – that you shall live, and that because of your love, your city will also live.”
He pulled away from the youth and gripped him by the shoulders. Pulling their foreheads together, he softly said, “Trust me.”
Maglor released the Prince, took his cloak up from the fire andirons where it had been drying off, and walked to the corner of the room. There, nestled next to a stool in the dim light, stood his harp. Once more he picked it up, a friend whose weight and shape were as familiar to him as his own body. The harp had survived against incalculable odds, yet it still sounded as sweet as the day that his father had put it into his hands. He placed it into its carrying cloths, and left the room. The Prince stood on the far side of the hearth with his arms wrapped around himself, but even though his body was immobile, his eyes followed the minstrel’s every move.
Going up to his room, Maglor changed into his most comfortable boots and his ceremonial clothing, the clothing of a bard. From his drawer he took a single neckpiece – a naturally pierced shell that had been given to him, eons before, by one who was as dear to him as his own son would have been. The harp and the pendant were the only things of his long life that he counted as valuable. All else could be replaced. He tied the shell around his neck. Once again he would be leaving everything behind him. He looked at the sword in its stand, but knew that he could not bring it with him if he would succeed in his task.
In the courtyard below, the Captains of the Guard were organizing the small group of soldiers who would accompany him to Ignach Cross. Taking a last look around the room, he opened the door and walked through it, closing it softly behind him. He had been happy here, but it was one more place of many he had left in the ages since he had followed Fëanor across the sea.
-0-0-0-0-
After three days of walking, the small group of soldiers and the world-weary minstrel finally arrived at Ignach Cross. Here, he ordered the captains to see their men well placed for a defensive stand. If he was unsuccessful, the men would be fighting a rearguard action against the troops of Batu Kahn. If, on the other hand, he was successful, there was always a chance that a small number of troops may disobey the Khan’s orders. In that case the guard would be the only thing between the invaders and their city. After sharing a small meal with a few of the men, he gathered his things and walked onwards towards the forces of Batu Kahn. He was a solitary elf facing more than 7,000 Mongol warriors.
Cresting a small hillock, he saw the enemy's forces spread out in front of him, claiming the landscape as their own by sheer numbers. Unwrapping his harp, he tuned it carefully, then began walking towards the host, Singing and playing as he went. The words of the Song of Power flowed from him and were carried wide by the power of his Fëanorian harp. At the back of his mind, in a partition that he felt he could examine more closely later, he recognized that the wind played with his hair, then picked up slightly, carrying the tune a bit farther. Later he would wonder if Lord Manwë may have arranged for some small intervention on his behalf. But at this moment he was intent on the Song because to lose that focus would be to lose his life and that of his city.
Maglor paid little attention to his surroundings, concentrating on the words that he was singing and the tune that he was playing. After a time, he stopped, then looked directly in front of him. There, standing fiercely before a functional but decorative portable pavilion, was Batu Kahn himself. Maglor sank to his knees, bowing low before the Mongol warrior, abasing himself in the hope that by doing so he might save Novgorod and its people.
“The Great Khan wants to know who you are and why he should not kill you now,” a voice asked, sounding from the Khan’s left side.
“I am merely a minstrel, a man of power as the music allows,” responded the elf. “I have come to the Great Khan with a proposition.”
“And what is that ‘proposition’? Do you not think that the Great Khan can have whatever he wishes, even your death? There is nothing you can offer him that he cannot merely wave his hand to have. If he wanted you dead, you would be dead before you could draw one more breath. If he wanted 10 warriors to take their own lives, their bodies would be hitting the ground before his hand returned to his side. What do you have to offer him, m i n s t r e l?” The contempt in his voice dripped like poison from his lips.
“My proposition is for the ears of Batu Kahn alone, not for the likes of minions like you,” Maglor responded. He quickly rose, catching the sword that was suddenly descending towards his neck before it had dropped more than a few inches. “The ears of Batu Kahn alone,” he repeated while forcing the swordsman to release and drop his blade.
“Halt!” Batu Kahn strode forward and looked up into Maglor’s eyes. The elf was careful to meet the gaze of the Khan without fear while continuing to hold back one of the highly trained warriors with what appeared to be little effort.
The leader stood directly in front of him and carefully looked him up and down, taking in his height, slender appearance and pointed ears, along with the cradled harp and the fact that he bore no visible weapons. “How did you manage to come through all of my warriors to my pavilion without an outcry? What magic did you make?”
“My magic is my song, and that magic can be turned to your purposes if you listen to me and heed my advice. If you do so, your name will be on the tongues of the sons of your sons and you will be remembered and revered for hundreds upon hundreds of years to come.”
“Come into my pavilion, musician. Tell me of this Song you speak of,” and the Khan turned and led the way to the silken-walled tent. “No-one else is to enter, just the musician.” The voices of the Khan’s advisors were immediately raised in concern and panic, but the leader refused to listen to any of his advisors, striding into his tent and expecting Maglor to follow him.
-0-0-0-0-
The Khan and the elf were closed up in the pavilion for hours. Food and drink were called for and consumed. The dulcet tones of the harp were heard, and their two voices were heard, although the words spoken were unintelligible by those surrounding the pavilion on the outside.
Near dawn, when the faint pink of the upcoming sunrise was just painting the horizon, the two men left the tent and stood facing the east. Maglor held his harp, and as the sun rose so did his voice, singing a hymn of his joy and his prayers to the Powers as he did every morning. The Khan’s voice joined his and their vocal accord reflected the agreement that they had come to overnight.
After the paean at sunrise was complete, Maglor sat down upon the ground, gently playing his harp while Batu Khan explained to his generals that they would be heading directly west from their camp, not taking the northwestern direction that would bring them to Novgorod.
“But Lord,” one of his advisors said. “We had planned to attack Novgorod and then turn west from there, continuing towards Hungary.”
The Khan, listening to the music subconsciously without paying attention to it, turned to the advisor. “Novgorod is out of my way. The musician promises me that if we go west today, Hungary will fall quickly to our forces, but if we delay, even by as much as a single day, aid will arrive for our enemies and our western plans will come to naught. We go west. Immediately. See to it!”
Maglor breathed a silent prayer of thanks to the Powers who had seen fit to train him in Songs of Power. Novgorod was safe. Even though his long life in the East had been tiresome and often dangerous, it was moments like this that made it worthwhile. He had made a promise and he would keep to it. Until the Khan had won over Hungary, Maglor would stay and travel with him. But afterwards, he would leave and return to the sea. Perhaps there would be a ship for him at long last.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2012-03-03 05:18 am (UTC)Just amazing. I could see and almost hear the music. I walked in every footstep Maglor took. It felt so real as I read the words and absorbed the description. And that very last line about going to the Sea and hoping that there would, at long last, be a ship for him to sail; that was the perfect ending.
I just love this!
no subject
Date: 2012-03-03 10:03 am (UTC)- Erulisse (one L)
no subject
Date: 2012-03-03 02:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-03-03 03:40 pm (UTC)- Erulisse (one L)
no subject
Date: 2012-03-04 04:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-03-04 06:30 pm (UTC)- Erulisse (one L)