Last Of The Homely House - by Elwen
Mar. 16th, 2016 01:35 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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b2memB2MeM Challenge: Start a piece of writing with A gentle breeze brushed the hilltop, combing the ruins
Format: ficlet
Genre: Angst . . . definitely angst!
Rating: Gen
Warnings: Hankies required
Characters: Not saying
Pairings: n/a
Creators' Notes (optional): n/a
Summary: History becomes legend and legend becomes myth
I don't own anything. It belongs to JRR Tolkien and he should have looked after it better.
A gentle breeze brushed the hilltop, combing the ruins. In truth it was hardly a hill and not much of a ruin. But it was the highest point of what had once been a very beautiful garden, topped with a fine pergola. Even now, ancient rose bushes could be seen stranded amongst brambles and ivy and, here and there, a crumbling stone figure leaned precariously at the foot of a flight of impassable, overgrown steps.
The house itself had long ago succumbed to tree root and rain. Carved wooden railings and balconies were decayed to stumps, leaving intrepid explorers clinging to the rock cliff behind them to avoid falling into the deep chasm of the valley below. Marble columns tilted, sending once finely tiled roofs sliding to their death upon delicate mosaic floors. The ruins of this ancient home were now too dangerous to enter but sunbeams revealed glimpses of finely painted walls and the shelves of what was once an extensive library. The books were long gone, whether to rot or the greedy hand of looters mattered little now.
Few travelers came here and even fewer stayed beyond sunset. Those who did said that when the stars came out pale figures, slender and graceful, walked hallways and bridges that had long ago crumbled to dust. And sometimes, when Earendil rode the night sky toward the dawn, fair music could be heard and the figures danced and sang in tongues not heard in Middle earth for many generations of man. But if one were intrepid enough to try and touch these beings it was said that they dissolved into the mist and all would be silent again.
But a few years more, and The Last Homely House East of the Sea would slip quietly into the land of legend and fireside tale.
The travellers turned away, two sets of matching grey eyes sparkling with tears. This would be their last visit to the valley that had given them birth.
END
Format: ficlet
Genre: Angst . . . definitely angst!
Rating: Gen
Warnings: Hankies required
Characters: Not saying
Pairings: n/a
Creators' Notes (optional): n/a
Summary: History becomes legend and legend becomes myth
I don't own anything. It belongs to JRR Tolkien and he should have looked after it better.
A gentle breeze brushed the hilltop, combing the ruins. In truth it was hardly a hill and not much of a ruin. But it was the highest point of what had once been a very beautiful garden, topped with a fine pergola. Even now, ancient rose bushes could be seen stranded amongst brambles and ivy and, here and there, a crumbling stone figure leaned precariously at the foot of a flight of impassable, overgrown steps.
The house itself had long ago succumbed to tree root and rain. Carved wooden railings and balconies were decayed to stumps, leaving intrepid explorers clinging to the rock cliff behind them to avoid falling into the deep chasm of the valley below. Marble columns tilted, sending once finely tiled roofs sliding to their death upon delicate mosaic floors. The ruins of this ancient home were now too dangerous to enter but sunbeams revealed glimpses of finely painted walls and the shelves of what was once an extensive library. The books were long gone, whether to rot or the greedy hand of looters mattered little now.
Few travelers came here and even fewer stayed beyond sunset. Those who did said that when the stars came out pale figures, slender and graceful, walked hallways and bridges that had long ago crumbled to dust. And sometimes, when Earendil rode the night sky toward the dawn, fair music could be heard and the figures danced and sang in tongues not heard in Middle earth for many generations of man. But if one were intrepid enough to try and touch these beings it was said that they dissolved into the mist and all would be silent again.
But a few years more, and The Last Homely House East of the Sea would slip quietly into the land of legend and fireside tale.
The travellers turned away, two sets of matching grey eyes sparkling with tears. This would be their last visit to the valley that had given them birth.
END
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Date: 2016-03-16 02:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-03-16 02:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-03-16 02:35 am (UTC)Kaylee Arafinwiel
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Date: 2016-03-16 09:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-03-16 02:46 am (UTC)Larner already got me crying. And then YOU went and made me cry worse!
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Date: 2016-03-16 01:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-03-16 10:51 am (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2016-03-16 06:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-03-19 10:15 am (UTC)They must have been very lonely, poor things.
The ruins are well described!
It's really just the passage of time, I guess--but even harder to bear when you're thinking in terms of elvish life spans.
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Date: 2016-03-19 10:33 am (UTC)Well, as far as I know (and I haven't read all the later works put out by his son) Tolkien never tells us whether they ever left Middle earth. In this tale I imagined that they left it too late. Maybe they're still walking amongst us now?
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Date: 2016-03-19 03:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-03-19 04:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-03-25 05:55 pm (UTC)You paint such a vivid picture of the valley's slow descent into myth. It's a gentle fading, as you describe it, and there is a mystical beauty to it, but for one who has known the valley when it was still full of life, it must be heartbreaking.
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Date: 2016-03-25 07:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-04-19 04:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-04-19 09:09 pm (UTC)