Reminders of Burnt Dreams
Mar. 18th, 2017 12:22 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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b2memB2MeM Prompt and Path:…he recognized her dimly through shadows, Red
Format:Ficlet
Genre:adventure
Rating:PG
Warnings:No
Characters:Maglor
Pairings:None
Creator’s Notes:Tolkien provided the sandbox, I merely play with the bucket and shovel he left behind. No profit of any kind is made from my fanworks.
Summary:Hoping to return to the Uttermost West after many long years in Middle Earth, Maglor buys a ship and sails toward the sunset.
Reminders of Burnt Dreams
Ships had improved somewhat over the thousands of years since they had first sailed over from the West. The beauty of those first ships, those stolen through payment of blood at Alqualondë, had never left his mind. In some of his music he had attempted to show the grace of line or flow of carving. In some of the instruments he had carried over the years, he had duplicated their swan shaped prows on the carved heading of his harps.
Now it was his intention to buy a ship, stock it with food and drink, and sail toward the setting sun. The sun – another marvel of this new land. The sun, the moon, they would be his guides. He dared not think about Eärendil and the star he carried, the Oath would once again overtake his mind with unidirectional focus and all would be lost. If he actually managed to return to the far West, he would deal with the repercussions and ramifications of his Oath at that time.
He searched through the shipyards of the south, hunting for the perfect vessel. He had coin that he had put aside over the years for this purpose, but more important than the cost was the necessity to have a ship that could easily be handled by a single elf in both calm and storm. Late in the season the perfect ketch came on the market, its owner retiring and moving inland to live with his daughter. Talking price over ales in a seaside inn resulted in Maglor being the proud owner of the jaunty vessel.
Although he wanted to begin his voyage immediately, he knew better than to attempt a journey over such troubled seas without having the ship thoroughly checked over. He had it cleaned, and caulked, and the rigging rings greased. Any worn ropes or sails were also repaired or replaced. The work of a month accomplished that and on a brisk morning in late fall, he boarded “Heru Órava Omessë”* and headed out of the harbor tacking against a brisk wind.
Several hours later found the land far behind him, the only hints left were the shore birds that still flew above him. Not for much longer would he have their company. Soon he would be out of their range and into the deep ocean waters. The sunset that night was gentle, a movement of lavender into the deep blue of Varda’s gown. Her stars shone in full glory and the wind died down, leaving him becalmed. He didn’t mind, it had been a struggle to get this far and some rest underneath the lights of the night was welcome. He rested in the bottom of the ketch and watched the stars dance overhead.
Suddenly he felt the ship scrape against a solid surface and he started, sitting up. He had heard of no islands in this area, yet here he was, caught on a small hillock pushing up from the depths. He couldn’t check to see if there was any damage to the bottom of the ketch until morning’s light, so he fastened off against an outcropping of stone and settled in to wait for the dawn.
Morning’s breaking light brought a sight he had never thought to see again. On the far side of the rise was a gravesite marked with flowers which were showing golden hints of color as the light increased, and beyond that, on its side and partially buried by sand and silt was the blackened skeleton of the prow of a ship. It had been badly burned but the shape still held true – a swan ship from Alqualondë – perhaps the very one he and his brothers had sailed on. Almost certainly it was one they had burned and sunk upon their arrival in Middle Earth.
A chill swept up his back and he felt as if he was being watched. Turning slowly around he looked to the West and saw a figure as vast as the ocean itself, standing in his way, a foreboding presence blocking his passage.
Maglor fell to his knees, tears filling his eyes. It was clear to him that the only way past Ulmo was through death; that the deeds committed at Alqualondë and repeated so many more times in Middle Earth would not be forgiven, and that he would not receive peace or welcome in the Uttermost West. He accepted the flower bedecked grave as a sign that he would only pass West at death, not realizing that it was actually the grave of another who had died and then been brought back.
He got to his feet and bowed respectfully toward Ulmo, then turned and returned to his ketch. Doing a quick check of the hull showed scrapes but no serious damage, so he pushed the boat off the embankment into the deep waters and swimming up to the side, he pulled himself aboard. Setting the sails, he turned once more into the wind but this time heading East.
* Heru Órava Omessë “Lord, have mercy on us”. The first line of Tolkien’s Quenya translation of the “Litany of Loreto” prayer (VT44/12).
Format:Ficlet
Genre:adventure
Rating:PG
Warnings:No
Characters:Maglor
Pairings:None
Creator’s Notes:Tolkien provided the sandbox, I merely play with the bucket and shovel he left behind. No profit of any kind is made from my fanworks.
Summary:Hoping to return to the Uttermost West after many long years in Middle Earth, Maglor buys a ship and sails toward the sunset.
Reminders of Burnt Dreams
Ships had improved somewhat over the thousands of years since they had first sailed over from the West. The beauty of those first ships, those stolen through payment of blood at Alqualondë, had never left his mind. In some of his music he had attempted to show the grace of line or flow of carving. In some of the instruments he had carried over the years, he had duplicated their swan shaped prows on the carved heading of his harps.
Now it was his intention to buy a ship, stock it with food and drink, and sail toward the setting sun. The sun – another marvel of this new land. The sun, the moon, they would be his guides. He dared not think about Eärendil and the star he carried, the Oath would once again overtake his mind with unidirectional focus and all would be lost. If he actually managed to return to the far West, he would deal with the repercussions and ramifications of his Oath at that time.
He searched through the shipyards of the south, hunting for the perfect vessel. He had coin that he had put aside over the years for this purpose, but more important than the cost was the necessity to have a ship that could easily be handled by a single elf in both calm and storm. Late in the season the perfect ketch came on the market, its owner retiring and moving inland to live with his daughter. Talking price over ales in a seaside inn resulted in Maglor being the proud owner of the jaunty vessel.
Although he wanted to begin his voyage immediately, he knew better than to attempt a journey over such troubled seas without having the ship thoroughly checked over. He had it cleaned, and caulked, and the rigging rings greased. Any worn ropes or sails were also repaired or replaced. The work of a month accomplished that and on a brisk morning in late fall, he boarded “Heru Órava Omessë”* and headed out of the harbor tacking against a brisk wind.
Several hours later found the land far behind him, the only hints left were the shore birds that still flew above him. Not for much longer would he have their company. Soon he would be out of their range and into the deep ocean waters. The sunset that night was gentle, a movement of lavender into the deep blue of Varda’s gown. Her stars shone in full glory and the wind died down, leaving him becalmed. He didn’t mind, it had been a struggle to get this far and some rest underneath the lights of the night was welcome. He rested in the bottom of the ketch and watched the stars dance overhead.
Suddenly he felt the ship scrape against a solid surface and he started, sitting up. He had heard of no islands in this area, yet here he was, caught on a small hillock pushing up from the depths. He couldn’t check to see if there was any damage to the bottom of the ketch until morning’s light, so he fastened off against an outcropping of stone and settled in to wait for the dawn.
Morning’s breaking light brought a sight he had never thought to see again. On the far side of the rise was a gravesite marked with flowers which were showing golden hints of color as the light increased, and beyond that, on its side and partially buried by sand and silt was the blackened skeleton of the prow of a ship. It had been badly burned but the shape still held true – a swan ship from Alqualondë – perhaps the very one he and his brothers had sailed on. Almost certainly it was one they had burned and sunk upon their arrival in Middle Earth.
A chill swept up his back and he felt as if he was being watched. Turning slowly around he looked to the West and saw a figure as vast as the ocean itself, standing in his way, a foreboding presence blocking his passage.
Maglor fell to his knees, tears filling his eyes. It was clear to him that the only way past Ulmo was through death; that the deeds committed at Alqualondë and repeated so many more times in Middle Earth would not be forgiven, and that he would not receive peace or welcome in the Uttermost West. He accepted the flower bedecked grave as a sign that he would only pass West at death, not realizing that it was actually the grave of another who had died and then been brought back.
He got to his feet and bowed respectfully toward Ulmo, then turned and returned to his ketch. Doing a quick check of the hull showed scrapes but no serious damage, so he pushed the boat off the embankment into the deep waters and swimming up to the side, he pulled himself aboard. Setting the sails, he turned once more into the wind but this time heading East.
* Heru Órava Omessë “Lord, have mercy on us”. The first line of Tolkien’s Quenya translation of the “Litany of Loreto” prayer (VT44/12).
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