Memories by Erulisse (one L)
Mar. 5th, 2016 08:00 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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b2memB2MeM Challenge: 2013 A
Format: Triple Drabble
Genre: Narrative Drama
Rating: PG
Warnings: Mild mention of death and destruction
Characters: Glorfindel, Elrond and others
Pairings: None (yet)
Creators' Notes (optional): None
Summary: Sent to the refugee camp of Imladris by Ereinion, Glorfindel arrives and starts to settle in.
Archetypes
“There cannot be any 'story' without a fall – all stories are ultimately about the fall – at least not for human minds as we know them and have them.”
Memories
He had entered the Valley late the night before as the sun was setting over the encircling peaks. His horse was tired after the long journey and he was disheartened after passing through the burnt lands the Enemy had left behind. Only Elrond and his closest advisors knew of his arrival; many hours had been spent closeted with them, the tactical maps, and the letters from the High King that he had delivered to the various commanders.
Now he was free to find a meal and then his bed in the tent that had been assigned to him. He settled at the far end of a trestle table, a bowl of thick venison stew and a heel of dense bread in front of him. Dawn had broken while he had been occupied and exhausted, he paid little attention to his surroundings. A childish voice and giggle caught his attention.
Across the room, sitting on the packed earthen floor, a group of children, human and elvish, were gathered in front of a wounded warrior whose crutches leaned near a large hearth. The storyteller's voice rose.
"Long ago, before the seas buried Beleriand, heroes whose names have come down the ages to us walked the cobbled roadways of a protected city named Gondolin. Among these were Ecthelion of the Fountain and Glorfindel, the Golden, both warriors whose sacrifice saved the life of Eärendil, allowing our own Lord Elrond to be born."
Unnoticed by all, a single tear slowly worked its way down his cheek as he remembered fair Gondolin and his friend Ecthelion. The savory stew tasted like ashes to his mouth as the tale of Gondolin's fall was unfolding across the room. He rose from the table. Hungry or not, he was unable to sit through a retelling of his death
Format: Triple Drabble
Genre: Narrative Drama
Rating: PG
Warnings: Mild mention of death and destruction
Characters: Glorfindel, Elrond and others
Pairings: None (yet)
Creators' Notes (optional): None
Summary: Sent to the refugee camp of Imladris by Ereinion, Glorfindel arrives and starts to settle in.
Archetypes
“There cannot be any 'story' without a fall – all stories are ultimately about the fall – at least not for human minds as we know them and have them.”
Memories
He had entered the Valley late the night before as the sun was setting over the encircling peaks. His horse was tired after the long journey and he was disheartened after passing through the burnt lands the Enemy had left behind. Only Elrond and his closest advisors knew of his arrival; many hours had been spent closeted with them, the tactical maps, and the letters from the High King that he had delivered to the various commanders.
Now he was free to find a meal and then his bed in the tent that had been assigned to him. He settled at the far end of a trestle table, a bowl of thick venison stew and a heel of dense bread in front of him. Dawn had broken while he had been occupied and exhausted, he paid little attention to his surroundings. A childish voice and giggle caught his attention.
Across the room, sitting on the packed earthen floor, a group of children, human and elvish, were gathered in front of a wounded warrior whose crutches leaned near a large hearth. The storyteller's voice rose.
"Long ago, before the seas buried Beleriand, heroes whose names have come down the ages to us walked the cobbled roadways of a protected city named Gondolin. Among these were Ecthelion of the Fountain and Glorfindel, the Golden, both warriors whose sacrifice saved the life of Eärendil, allowing our own Lord Elrond to be born."
Unnoticed by all, a single tear slowly worked its way down his cheek as he remembered fair Gondolin and his friend Ecthelion. The savory stew tasted like ashes to his mouth as the tale of Gondolin's fall was unfolding across the room. He rose from the table. Hungry or not, he was unable to sit through a retelling of his death
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no subject
Date: 2016-03-12 02:51 pm (UTC)I love the irony of the prompt with this entry: the storyteller is speaking of a literal fall. And it was a fall that should have ended Glorfindel's story, but instead was a beginning to a whole new story.
Poor Glorfindel, he's not going to be able to escape his fame.
no subject
Date: 2016-03-12 08:30 pm (UTC)Thanks for reading and reviewing. I too am trying to catch up, but it will take a bit before I finally catch up on reviews.
- Erulisse (one L)