"Empty Spaces", by Sigridhr
Mar. 12th, 2014 09:41 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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b2memTitle: Empty Spaces
Author Name:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sigridhr
Prompt: "Winter and snow will bite both men and elves…'" (Thorin, The Hobbit, "A Thief in the Night")
Summary: During winter in Hithlum, Elenwë has an unusual dream.
Rating: G
Warnings: References to character death.
Beta: The ever-lovely and super helpfulsuzll. Any remaining mistakes are mine and due to me tinkering afterwards.
Author's Notes: This takes place in an AU where Turgon dies during the crossing of the Helcaraxë, and is survived by Idril and Elenwë. Uses Quenyan names, so for anyone who is unfamiliar: Irissë is Aredhel, Itarillë is Idril, and Turukáno is Turgon.
There were never winters in Valinor.
Irissë could not help but think of all the times she’d pressed questions about the journey from Cuiviénen upon her parents faster they could answer, and run through the garden with sticks in hands fighting off imaginary orcs. She remembered the hours she spent pouring over accounts of the journey, memoirs that breathed life and danger that she sometimes managed to catch behind trees and in shadows in her garden before her family found her out and shattered it, returning her to the warmth of her home.
In truth, real orcs made her feel much less alive than she had slashing their shadows with sticks while her brothers watched. Now two of those brothers were dead – one cut down by the creatures she’d once considered playthings, and the winters at Lake Mithlim seem impossibly colder and emptier than the Helcaraxë with so few left to hold on to.
Their provisions were sparse and Irissë could see the pinched look on everyone’s faces throughout their makeshift camp, bones jutting out beneath their skin in a way that made her think that they had all been made hollow by the journey. She certainly felt hollow enough. But of everyone, she was most concerned about Elenwë, who grew paler and more wan by the day and seemed to have begun to define herself by the negative space of what she had lost. It was a temptation Irissë understood all too well. Her father’s halls – so unlike the overdone decoration of the house she’d grown up in – rang with the empty absence of her brothers. They all, it seemed, were haunted by the echoes of the world they’d left behind.
Their people were capable craftsmen, but materials were scarce and there seemed to always be a draft within their halls. Irissë pulled her blanket around her shoulders, and crept into the room she now shared with Elenwë and little Itarillë.
They were huddled together on the bed, despite the fact that it was still early evening, Elenwë’s long silver hair spread out on the pillow behind her. At Irissë’s entrance, Itarillë sat up and stared at her.
“You missed dinner,” Irissë said quietly, handing a few pieces of smoked meat and a bowl of pickled vegetables to Itarillë, who began to devour them almost instantly. “Elenwë?”
“I was not hungry,” Elenwë replied, flatly.
“Itarillë needs to eat, at least,” said Irissë.
Elenwë rolled over, and grimaced. She glanced up at Itarillë, who immediately stopped eating, her hand hovering halfway to her mouth.
“I’m not hungry either,” said Itarillë.
Elenwë shut her eyes, pressing herself back into the mattress. Then, slowly, she reached up and pulled a pickled beet from the bowl with her fingers.
“Eat, Itarillë,” she said, quietly, around her own mouthful. “And we will go to dinner tomorrow.”
Irissë crossed the room, sitting on the bed next to Elenwë.
“It’s still cold,” said Elenwë flatly.
“Spring will come soon enough,” Irissë replied, looking at Itarillë, who she suspected was humming under her breath and looking steadily out the window deliberately. “And we may be able to better replenish our store this year. Father has begun plans to gain a better crop yield.”
“Your father is hardly a farmer,” Elenwë said dryly.
“He is a great many things, now,” Irissë replied. “As are we all – warriors, carpenters–“
“Widows,” said Elenwë flatly.
“Yes,” Irissë said, placing her hand upon Elenwë’s head and gently stroking her hair. “Widows. And sisters.”
Elenwë turned her face towards the pillow, shutting her eyes, and her voice was half-muffled when she spoke. “I dreamt of a great city, with tall white towers encircled by mountains, and gleaming fountains of clear water, and upon the highest tower stood Turukáno.”
Irissë’s hand went still in Elenwë’s hair. “He is dead, Elenwë,” she said at last. “It was only a dream.”
“And yet not so,” Elenwë said slowly. “For I have had no dreams like this before.”
“Elenwë,” said Irissë warningly.
Elenwë reached out, grabbing Irissë’s wrist in a tight grip, her fingers surprisingly cold against Irissë’s skin.
“Perhaps the Valar have not deserted us after all?” Elenwë said, and she looked so wide-eyed and wild that Irissë’s breath all but stopped. “I have repented often our actions, repented leaving and begged to be allowed to return–“
“Stop,” said Irissë. “Elenwë – your vision of Turukáno cannot be true. We are banished.”
“I must look for the valley,” said Elenwë. She looked to Itarillë, who was watching in alarm.
“You are searching for phantoms,” Irissë said, firmly, sitting back. “You will not find him.”
“Perhaps,” said Elenwë. “But I will stand upon the tower in his stead, and Itarillë after me. If this is all the Valar will say to me, then I will see it fulfilled.”
Irissë frowned. “If you are meant to go, then why show you Turukáno?”
Elenwë shrugged, letting her hand drop limply from Irissë’s wrist. “So long has my name been entwined with his that those who do not look closely perceive that there is no difference. Whither he goes, I go, and I would see done what must be done. But for my own sake, Irissë. I cannot stay here.”
“You have no proof that this valley even exists,” said Irissë, doubtfully.
“I intend to look nonetheless,” Elenwë said, firmly. “Sister, will you come?”
“Yes,” Irissë said at once. “Of course.”
“Good,” said Elenwë. “And will you stay now? I am still cold.”
Wordlessly, Irissë crawled beneath the covers with her, wrapping her arms around Elenwë’s smaller form and feeling the slow, rhythmic movement of her breath. Though Elenwë was still, Irissë could not help feeling that at last, things were not nearly so hopeless as they had been.
Author Name:
sigridhrPrompt: "Winter and snow will bite both men and elves…'" (Thorin, The Hobbit, "A Thief in the Night")
Summary: During winter in Hithlum, Elenwë has an unusual dream.
Rating: G
Warnings: References to character death.
Beta: The ever-lovely and super helpful
suzll. Any remaining mistakes are mine and due to me tinkering afterwards. Author's Notes: This takes place in an AU where Turgon dies during the crossing of the Helcaraxë, and is survived by Idril and Elenwë. Uses Quenyan names, so for anyone who is unfamiliar: Irissë is Aredhel, Itarillë is Idril, and Turukáno is Turgon.
There were never winters in Valinor.
Irissë could not help but think of all the times she’d pressed questions about the journey from Cuiviénen upon her parents faster they could answer, and run through the garden with sticks in hands fighting off imaginary orcs. She remembered the hours she spent pouring over accounts of the journey, memoirs that breathed life and danger that she sometimes managed to catch behind trees and in shadows in her garden before her family found her out and shattered it, returning her to the warmth of her home.
In truth, real orcs made her feel much less alive than she had slashing their shadows with sticks while her brothers watched. Now two of those brothers were dead – one cut down by the creatures she’d once considered playthings, and the winters at Lake Mithlim seem impossibly colder and emptier than the Helcaraxë with so few left to hold on to.
Their provisions were sparse and Irissë could see the pinched look on everyone’s faces throughout their makeshift camp, bones jutting out beneath their skin in a way that made her think that they had all been made hollow by the journey. She certainly felt hollow enough. But of everyone, she was most concerned about Elenwë, who grew paler and more wan by the day and seemed to have begun to define herself by the negative space of what she had lost. It was a temptation Irissë understood all too well. Her father’s halls – so unlike the overdone decoration of the house she’d grown up in – rang with the empty absence of her brothers. They all, it seemed, were haunted by the echoes of the world they’d left behind.
Their people were capable craftsmen, but materials were scarce and there seemed to always be a draft within their halls. Irissë pulled her blanket around her shoulders, and crept into the room she now shared with Elenwë and little Itarillë.
They were huddled together on the bed, despite the fact that it was still early evening, Elenwë’s long silver hair spread out on the pillow behind her. At Irissë’s entrance, Itarillë sat up and stared at her.
“You missed dinner,” Irissë said quietly, handing a few pieces of smoked meat and a bowl of pickled vegetables to Itarillë, who began to devour them almost instantly. “Elenwë?”
“I was not hungry,” Elenwë replied, flatly.
“Itarillë needs to eat, at least,” said Irissë.
Elenwë rolled over, and grimaced. She glanced up at Itarillë, who immediately stopped eating, her hand hovering halfway to her mouth.
“I’m not hungry either,” said Itarillë.
Elenwë shut her eyes, pressing herself back into the mattress. Then, slowly, she reached up and pulled a pickled beet from the bowl with her fingers.
“Eat, Itarillë,” she said, quietly, around her own mouthful. “And we will go to dinner tomorrow.”
Irissë crossed the room, sitting on the bed next to Elenwë.
“It’s still cold,” said Elenwë flatly.
“Spring will come soon enough,” Irissë replied, looking at Itarillë, who she suspected was humming under her breath and looking steadily out the window deliberately. “And we may be able to better replenish our store this year. Father has begun plans to gain a better crop yield.”
“Your father is hardly a farmer,” Elenwë said dryly.
“He is a great many things, now,” Irissë replied. “As are we all – warriors, carpenters–“
“Widows,” said Elenwë flatly.
“Yes,” Irissë said, placing her hand upon Elenwë’s head and gently stroking her hair. “Widows. And sisters.”
Elenwë turned her face towards the pillow, shutting her eyes, and her voice was half-muffled when she spoke. “I dreamt of a great city, with tall white towers encircled by mountains, and gleaming fountains of clear water, and upon the highest tower stood Turukáno.”
Irissë’s hand went still in Elenwë’s hair. “He is dead, Elenwë,” she said at last. “It was only a dream.”
“And yet not so,” Elenwë said slowly. “For I have had no dreams like this before.”
“Elenwë,” said Irissë warningly.
Elenwë reached out, grabbing Irissë’s wrist in a tight grip, her fingers surprisingly cold against Irissë’s skin.
“Perhaps the Valar have not deserted us after all?” Elenwë said, and she looked so wide-eyed and wild that Irissë’s breath all but stopped. “I have repented often our actions, repented leaving and begged to be allowed to return–“
“Stop,” said Irissë. “Elenwë – your vision of Turukáno cannot be true. We are banished.”
“I must look for the valley,” said Elenwë. She looked to Itarillë, who was watching in alarm.
“You are searching for phantoms,” Irissë said, firmly, sitting back. “You will not find him.”
“Perhaps,” said Elenwë. “But I will stand upon the tower in his stead, and Itarillë after me. If this is all the Valar will say to me, then I will see it fulfilled.”
Irissë frowned. “If you are meant to go, then why show you Turukáno?”
Elenwë shrugged, letting her hand drop limply from Irissë’s wrist. “So long has my name been entwined with his that those who do not look closely perceive that there is no difference. Whither he goes, I go, and I would see done what must be done. But for my own sake, Irissë. I cannot stay here.”
“You have no proof that this valley even exists,” said Irissë, doubtfully.
“I intend to look nonetheless,” Elenwë said, firmly. “Sister, will you come?”
“Yes,” Irissë said at once. “Of course.”
“Good,” said Elenwë. “And will you stay now? I am still cold.”
Wordlessly, Irissë crawled beneath the covers with her, wrapping her arms around Elenwë’s smaller form and feeling the slow, rhythmic movement of her breath. Though Elenwë was still, Irissë could not help feeling that at last, things were not nearly so hopeless as they had been.
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no subject
Date: 2014-03-22 12:52 am (UTC)This is an excellent fic!
no subject
Date: 2014-03-22 04:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-03-22 11:37 am (UTC)You describe Irisse's feelings very vividly and I really like the interactions between the three of them.
That bit where Elenwe forces herself to eat, so that Idril won't refuse, really hits home.
no subject
Date: 2014-03-22 04:53 pm (UTC)I have a sneaky headcanon that the whole Aredhel-Eöl-Maeglin thing would've been handled much differently by Elenwë, but it's so hard to say given we know so little of her character.
no subject
Date: 2014-03-22 05:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-03-22 06:10 pm (UTC)Greatly done!
no subject
Date: 2014-03-23 04:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-03-23 10:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-03-28 08:32 am (UTC)Nice characterizations.
no subject
Date: 2014-03-31 02:01 am (UTC)I also liked the way you told your story with a very powerful grip on the characters, making them feel very much alive and painfully real.
no subject
Date: 2014-04-27 11:48 pm (UTC)