"The Feathered" by Huinárë
Mar. 31st, 2016 10:07 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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b2memB2MeM Challenge: 2012 Bingo-–’Rare Characters’ card, square I19 (Ancalagon)
Format: Ficlet (~1000 words)
Genre: Gen (but see warnings)
Rating: Teens
Warnings: mild cursing, animal dissection
Characters: Ancalagon, Mairon, Thuringwethil
Pairings: n/a
Creators' Notes (optional): Partially inspired by my current academic foci (comparative anatomy/evolution). Art imitates life…
Summary: Wherein Ancalagon visits Mairon and Thuringwethil at work, and misunderstands their purpose.
Ancalagon, a tall fellow with large dark eyes, peered into the sparsely furnished space. The torchlight in the room was redoubled and carefully focused on certain areas by an array of adjustable mirrors. At the center of the space and the light, upon a long, highly polished granite countertop, was arranged a series of dead creatures. They appeared all to be of one type. The first was entire, bearing its novel covering of mottled brown and green feathers. The second was plucked of feathers, its bare flesh nubbly and garish, its half-closed dead eyes trained on the third specimen in what looked coincidentally like a grimace. The third and messiest creature was held open by a series of clips and clamps, while the fourth and final was a skeleton with a fair amount of gristle still clinging on. Though the space, delved high in the mountains above Utumno and ventilated by a labyrinthine series of clinks that opened on the frigid air without letting light out, was quite cold, there lay about it nonetheless a faint nauseous odor.
Ancalagon sniffed at the various ungentle scents, some of which were fresher than others. There was a nice bloody smell from somewhere. He approached the countertop with interest, whilst, on the other side of it, two Ainur leaned over the open specimen studiously. The slighter figure was sketching something and did not look up, while the more robust one paused with a hand on one of the clamps just long enough to spare the newcomer a glance.
“So these are all ‘birds,’” said Ancalagon.
“It would seem so. One species of bird,” assented Mairon, adjusting something on a clamp. The two halves of the bird’s ribcage spread wider with a soft crackling. “That better?” he addressed his companion.
Thuringwethil titled her head at the thing from a few different angles. “I need to adjust the light.” She went to fiddle with one of the mirrors, but not before pausing to lift a cup from a shelf and sip a dark, thick liquid from it.
Ancalagon had only seen a few of the new bird-animals at a distance, swift streaks of color sailing through the air between trees. Everyone had, of course, known about birds from the Music, just as everyone had known of many things that had not yet to come to pass here within time. He went to peer down at the face of the still-feathered specimen. “I don’t think it looks quite as I would expect.”
“It has come down along a line of reptiles, if you’ll recall. It still has a much in common with them.”
“It was sung that these would be dear to Yavanna, and to Manwë.” Ancalagon pondered and ambled back to stand again before the open bird. “Fitting, then, that you’ve devised such clever ways to dishonor them.”
“‘Dishonor?’” murmured Mairon, in a mild tone, but glancing up so sharply and peevishly that Ancalagon bristled.
“Well, yes, look at it. It’s disassembled, pathetic, no dignity left to it. Anyone who loves this creature, to look on it as it is here, would be horrified by it,” Ancalagon explained. He’d thought that all pretty damned obvious, but perhaps Mairon, a person of no small ego, had some desire to hear his cleverness outlined for him by others.
Light slid around over the specimen and their hands on the granite as Thuringwethil continued her adjustments to the rigging of mirrors. Mairon fiddled with a small pick-like instrument and eyed Ancalagon levelly, something like disdain animating his features.
“Nay, Ancalagon, if I wanted to insult and astound Manwë and Yavanna, this is hardly the way I’d go about that. For one, we would want to contrive a way to keep this just barely alive, not dead and beyond suffering, if we were really to seize full advantage of its potential as a token of insult or terror. For another, it’s no good as an insult to the Valar here where they cannot see it.”
Ancalagon blinked slowly.
“You really do not see what we’re doing here,” Mairon appended, vexation creeping into his tone.
Ancalagon would rather have liked to spring at his condescending interlocutor, but physical attacks were seemly only when aimed at one’s inferiors, and, unfortunately, Mairon outranked him by a fair bit. Why Lord Melkor kept such a person around, one who almost seemed to fancy himself the lord’s equal, was beyond Ancalagon. Yet his was to contribute to the cause in his own way, not to question the Lord of the Earth’s taste in lieutenants.
“Would you enlighten me then?” Ancalagon said through clenched teeth.
“We are studying it, documenting it, finding out what it contains and how it works.”
“Of course. To what end, sir?”
“That is not sufficient, in itself?” Mairon looked much put upon. “The knowledge, once gathered, may yet be the means to ends we can’t currently envision. Although, yes, we do have certain specific goals here as well, which may have some bearing on you.”
Ancalagon removed his hands from the cold work surface and clenched them at his sides, feeling both vexed and stupid. He did not like feeling stupid. Although he might not have much interest in or understanding of these experiments, he was certainly no fool. His was more philosophy proper, not natural philosophy. “I fear I do not follow you.”
Thuringwethil had resumed her sketching. She leaned in close over the specimen, face set in concentration.
Mairon moved out of her way and sidled back down to the intact specimen. “Ancalagon, Lord Melkor has a plan for which you volunteered yourself, yes?, though you know little of what it shall entail other than that you will be much changed and will be a great weapon against the enemy. That form which you must take does not exist in nature and is yet beyond us to imagine, and therefore beyond anybody to willingly assume. What we must do is design a form that will meet our requirements, and make that form come to pass in you. That is why,” he took the bird’s clawed hand and straightened its arm to spread its wing, “we are trying to understand how beings go upon the air.”
________________
ENDNOTES
_ Yes, that was an Archaeopteryx.
_ No, Ancalagon’s ultimate form is not going to be remotely birdlike, but that’s a story for another time.
_ I also suppose this means, considering my version of Ancalagon does not begin his metamorphosis until perhaps shortly before the Elves emerge, Mairon et al. must have spent about 65 million years in the research and experimental design phase...don’t question their process, man.
_ This was written closer to the start of the month, but I expected it to be the first installment of a several-chapter short story following Ancalagon’s progress from regular dude to ginormous dragon. Unfortunately, none of the other chapters got written, so I’m posting this as a stand-alone ficlet now while it’s still March. (My goal this month was to reduce my WIP pile, not add to it. *silent screaming*)
Format: Ficlet (~1000 words)
Genre: Gen (but see warnings)
Rating: Teens
Warnings: mild cursing, animal dissection
Characters: Ancalagon, Mairon, Thuringwethil
Pairings: n/a
Creators' Notes (optional): Partially inspired by my current academic foci (comparative anatomy/evolution). Art imitates life…
Summary: Wherein Ancalagon visits Mairon and Thuringwethil at work, and misunderstands their purpose.
Ancalagon, a tall fellow with large dark eyes, peered into the sparsely furnished space. The torchlight in the room was redoubled and carefully focused on certain areas by an array of adjustable mirrors. At the center of the space and the light, upon a long, highly polished granite countertop, was arranged a series of dead creatures. They appeared all to be of one type. The first was entire, bearing its novel covering of mottled brown and green feathers. The second was plucked of feathers, its bare flesh nubbly and garish, its half-closed dead eyes trained on the third specimen in what looked coincidentally like a grimace. The third and messiest creature was held open by a series of clips and clamps, while the fourth and final was a skeleton with a fair amount of gristle still clinging on. Though the space, delved high in the mountains above Utumno and ventilated by a labyrinthine series of clinks that opened on the frigid air without letting light out, was quite cold, there lay about it nonetheless a faint nauseous odor.
Ancalagon sniffed at the various ungentle scents, some of which were fresher than others. There was a nice bloody smell from somewhere. He approached the countertop with interest, whilst, on the other side of it, two Ainur leaned over the open specimen studiously. The slighter figure was sketching something and did not look up, while the more robust one paused with a hand on one of the clamps just long enough to spare the newcomer a glance.
“So these are all ‘birds,’” said Ancalagon.
“It would seem so. One species of bird,” assented Mairon, adjusting something on a clamp. The two halves of the bird’s ribcage spread wider with a soft crackling. “That better?” he addressed his companion.
Thuringwethil titled her head at the thing from a few different angles. “I need to adjust the light.” She went to fiddle with one of the mirrors, but not before pausing to lift a cup from a shelf and sip a dark, thick liquid from it.
Ancalagon had only seen a few of the new bird-animals at a distance, swift streaks of color sailing through the air between trees. Everyone had, of course, known about birds from the Music, just as everyone had known of many things that had not yet to come to pass here within time. He went to peer down at the face of the still-feathered specimen. “I don’t think it looks quite as I would expect.”
“It has come down along a line of reptiles, if you’ll recall. It still has a much in common with them.”
“It was sung that these would be dear to Yavanna, and to Manwë.” Ancalagon pondered and ambled back to stand again before the open bird. “Fitting, then, that you’ve devised such clever ways to dishonor them.”
“‘Dishonor?’” murmured Mairon, in a mild tone, but glancing up so sharply and peevishly that Ancalagon bristled.
“Well, yes, look at it. It’s disassembled, pathetic, no dignity left to it. Anyone who loves this creature, to look on it as it is here, would be horrified by it,” Ancalagon explained. He’d thought that all pretty damned obvious, but perhaps Mairon, a person of no small ego, had some desire to hear his cleverness outlined for him by others.
Light slid around over the specimen and their hands on the granite as Thuringwethil continued her adjustments to the rigging of mirrors. Mairon fiddled with a small pick-like instrument and eyed Ancalagon levelly, something like disdain animating his features.
“Nay, Ancalagon, if I wanted to insult and astound Manwë and Yavanna, this is hardly the way I’d go about that. For one, we would want to contrive a way to keep this just barely alive, not dead and beyond suffering, if we were really to seize full advantage of its potential as a token of insult or terror. For another, it’s no good as an insult to the Valar here where they cannot see it.”
Ancalagon blinked slowly.
“You really do not see what we’re doing here,” Mairon appended, vexation creeping into his tone.
Ancalagon would rather have liked to spring at his condescending interlocutor, but physical attacks were seemly only when aimed at one’s inferiors, and, unfortunately, Mairon outranked him by a fair bit. Why Lord Melkor kept such a person around, one who almost seemed to fancy himself the lord’s equal, was beyond Ancalagon. Yet his was to contribute to the cause in his own way, not to question the Lord of the Earth’s taste in lieutenants.
“Would you enlighten me then?” Ancalagon said through clenched teeth.
“We are studying it, documenting it, finding out what it contains and how it works.”
“Of course. To what end, sir?”
“That is not sufficient, in itself?” Mairon looked much put upon. “The knowledge, once gathered, may yet be the means to ends we can’t currently envision. Although, yes, we do have certain specific goals here as well, which may have some bearing on you.”
Ancalagon removed his hands from the cold work surface and clenched them at his sides, feeling both vexed and stupid. He did not like feeling stupid. Although he might not have much interest in or understanding of these experiments, he was certainly no fool. His was more philosophy proper, not natural philosophy. “I fear I do not follow you.”
Thuringwethil had resumed her sketching. She leaned in close over the specimen, face set in concentration.
Mairon moved out of her way and sidled back down to the intact specimen. “Ancalagon, Lord Melkor has a plan for which you volunteered yourself, yes?, though you know little of what it shall entail other than that you will be much changed and will be a great weapon against the enemy. That form which you must take does not exist in nature and is yet beyond us to imagine, and therefore beyond anybody to willingly assume. What we must do is design a form that will meet our requirements, and make that form come to pass in you. That is why,” he took the bird’s clawed hand and straightened its arm to spread its wing, “we are trying to understand how beings go upon the air.”
________________
ENDNOTES
_ Yes, that was an Archaeopteryx.
_ No, Ancalagon’s ultimate form is not going to be remotely birdlike, but that’s a story for another time.
_ I also suppose this means, considering my version of Ancalagon does not begin his metamorphosis until perhaps shortly before the Elves emerge, Mairon et al. must have spent about 65 million years in the research and experimental design phase...don’t question their process, man.
_ This was written closer to the start of the month, but I expected it to be the first installment of a several-chapter short story following Ancalagon’s progress from regular dude to ginormous dragon. Unfortunately, none of the other chapters got written, so I’m posting this as a stand-alone ficlet now while it’s still March. (My goal this month was to reduce my WIP pile, not add to it. *silent screaming*)
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