The Soothsayer
Mar. 21st, 2017 09:33 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
engarian.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
b2memB2MeM Prompt and Path:Foresight, Red
Format:Ficlet
Genre:Gapfiller
Rating:PG
Warnings:Death in battle
Characters:Fiingon, Maehdros, OC
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:During the Long Peace, Fingon and Maedhros visit a soothsayer for hints about the future of their defensive lines against Angband and whether or not they would be victorious.
The Soothsayer
“Why are we here again?” Maedhros asked as he and Fingon walked up a muddy path toward a poorly-maintained hut.
“I’ve been told that the hag living within can foretell the future. We certainly don’t have anyone Elvish who can do such a thing.”
“How can you place credence in such a thing, Fingon? Telling the future is a child’s tale. Even the Valar say they cannot foretell events that haven’t happened yet, they only have the basic structure, but no specifics.”
“Yes, I know, but the lifespans of the Valar are beyond count, and ours are tied to Arda and so also of great length. Perhaps these second-born who live and die in a flicker of time can foresee with clarity because of their need to choose a valid path with haste.” They walked up to a doorway which was covered by a dirt-stiffened hide nailed into a wooden headspiece. “At any rate, it cannot do harm to make the attempt.” He reached out and swept the hide aside, ushering Maedhros in ahead of him.
The dwelling consisted of a single room with a slightly offset smoke hole in the top. The roof was low, forcing both elves to walk bent over. In the middle of the room was a multicolored cloth held down by candles in crude holders located at each corner. At one side of the cloth sat an old woman, hair of mixed black and silver braided down one side, wearing enough formless clothing that her shape was a mystery. Maedhros’ nose curled with the stench of her.
“Sit,” she ordered, “one on each side.” She looked at Fingon. “You brought payment?”
He fished a small pouch of coins from beneath his shirt, opened it and spread the contents across the cloth in front of the hag. Twenty gold pieces shone brightly in the candlelight. Cackling, she took each one up, tested it in her broken teeth, and added it to a cloth bag that she hung around her neck so that it dropped between her sagging breasts. She nodded.
“Payment has been received. What is it you wish to know Maedhros of the house of Fëanor and Fingon of the house of Fingolfin?”
“We battle the evil in the north, grandmother,” Maedhros said. “We have had a watchful peace for many years, yet I trust it not. Will we succeed in overthrowing this evil? Will we achieve peace for these war-torn lands?”
“You wish to know much, elf!” She spat to the side, then pulled a bag of marked bones from next to her. Mixing them up in her hands, she cast them upon the cloth, then studied them carefully.
“Spirit is not providing many answers, yet I see smoke clouding the northern plains and the darkness of evil forces covering the land with blood. I see strong buildings in ruins and unexpected allies without whom you would be lost. I also advise you to beware placing too much trust in the East.”
A shudder passed through her and her head fell, to hang loosely as her gaze was directed to the ground. She shook her head slowly. “Nothing more can I tell you, First-born. It comes clearly - Beware the East. Yet, I know you will not because you will not believe or remember the words of an old woman who will be dead soon. Leave!” She reached over and blew the candles out one by one, dropping the interior of the hut into semi-darkness.
The elves stood, still bending over because of the low roof, and bowed to the fortune-teller respectfully. Then turning, they left.
“I feel I should check all of my clothing to make sure no mites or other undesirable creatures have hopped along for the ride.” Fingon said as he took the lead. Maedhros remained silent.
“What did she mean about ‘Beware the East’?” Maedhros mused. “Morgoth’s forces are in the north, only allies of ours are in the east.”
“I cannot say. It may have been a waste of gold pieces, but perhaps something will become clear in the future because of what she mentioned today.” Fingon took the lead once again and the two elves left the small settlement returning to Himring several days later.
Several years later, when Fingon was battling in what would be called the Nirnaeth Arnoediad (“Battle of Unnumbered Tears”), he saw Maedhros across the battlefield from him. Their eyes caught, and the son of Fëanor began fighting his way toward his friend and sometime lover. It was then that Uldor, son of Ulfang of the eastern tribes, turned traitor and attacked the forces of Maedhros from behind, forcing a battle on three fronts. The traitors were defeated, but at a great cost of lives and with great sacrifice, not least of which was the death of Fingon at the hand of Gothmog, lord of Balrogs.
Much later on that dread day, when the bravery of the Dwarves of Belegost and their leader Azaghâl against the dragon Glaurung had allowed the elves to escape into Ossiriand, Maedhros allowed the shock and sorrow to finally find his heart. While he mourned the death of the friend dearest to his heart, the words of the old woman came back to him – “Beware the East”. He shook his head as he wept. If he had only listened.
Format:Ficlet
Genre:Gapfiller
Rating:PG
Warnings:Death in battle
Characters:Fiingon, Maehdros, OC
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:During the Long Peace, Fingon and Maedhros visit a soothsayer for hints about the future of their defensive lines against Angband and whether or not they would be victorious.
The Soothsayer
“Why are we here again?” Maedhros asked as he and Fingon walked up a muddy path toward a poorly-maintained hut.
“I’ve been told that the hag living within can foretell the future. We certainly don’t have anyone Elvish who can do such a thing.”
“How can you place credence in such a thing, Fingon? Telling the future is a child’s tale. Even the Valar say they cannot foretell events that haven’t happened yet, they only have the basic structure, but no specifics.”
“Yes, I know, but the lifespans of the Valar are beyond count, and ours are tied to Arda and so also of great length. Perhaps these second-born who live and die in a flicker of time can foresee with clarity because of their need to choose a valid path with haste.” They walked up to a doorway which was covered by a dirt-stiffened hide nailed into a wooden headspiece. “At any rate, it cannot do harm to make the attempt.” He reached out and swept the hide aside, ushering Maedhros in ahead of him.
The dwelling consisted of a single room with a slightly offset smoke hole in the top. The roof was low, forcing both elves to walk bent over. In the middle of the room was a multicolored cloth held down by candles in crude holders located at each corner. At one side of the cloth sat an old woman, hair of mixed black and silver braided down one side, wearing enough formless clothing that her shape was a mystery. Maedhros’ nose curled with the stench of her.
“Sit,” she ordered, “one on each side.” She looked at Fingon. “You brought payment?”
He fished a small pouch of coins from beneath his shirt, opened it and spread the contents across the cloth in front of the hag. Twenty gold pieces shone brightly in the candlelight. Cackling, she took each one up, tested it in her broken teeth, and added it to a cloth bag that she hung around her neck so that it dropped between her sagging breasts. She nodded.
“Payment has been received. What is it you wish to know Maedhros of the house of Fëanor and Fingon of the house of Fingolfin?”
“We battle the evil in the north, grandmother,” Maedhros said. “We have had a watchful peace for many years, yet I trust it not. Will we succeed in overthrowing this evil? Will we achieve peace for these war-torn lands?”
“You wish to know much, elf!” She spat to the side, then pulled a bag of marked bones from next to her. Mixing them up in her hands, she cast them upon the cloth, then studied them carefully.
“Spirit is not providing many answers, yet I see smoke clouding the northern plains and the darkness of evil forces covering the land with blood. I see strong buildings in ruins and unexpected allies without whom you would be lost. I also advise you to beware placing too much trust in the East.”
A shudder passed through her and her head fell, to hang loosely as her gaze was directed to the ground. She shook her head slowly. “Nothing more can I tell you, First-born. It comes clearly - Beware the East. Yet, I know you will not because you will not believe or remember the words of an old woman who will be dead soon. Leave!” She reached over and blew the candles out one by one, dropping the interior of the hut into semi-darkness.
The elves stood, still bending over because of the low roof, and bowed to the fortune-teller respectfully. Then turning, they left.
“I feel I should check all of my clothing to make sure no mites or other undesirable creatures have hopped along for the ride.” Fingon said as he took the lead. Maedhros remained silent.
“What did she mean about ‘Beware the East’?” Maedhros mused. “Morgoth’s forces are in the north, only allies of ours are in the east.”
“I cannot say. It may have been a waste of gold pieces, but perhaps something will become clear in the future because of what she mentioned today.” Fingon took the lead once again and the two elves left the small settlement returning to Himring several days later.
Several years later, when Fingon was battling in what would be called the Nirnaeth Arnoediad (“Battle of Unnumbered Tears”), he saw Maedhros across the battlefield from him. Their eyes caught, and the son of Fëanor began fighting his way toward his friend and sometime lover. It was then that Uldor, son of Ulfang of the eastern tribes, turned traitor and attacked the forces of Maedhros from behind, forcing a battle on three fronts. The traitors were defeated, but at a great cost of lives and with great sacrifice, not least of which was the death of Fingon at the hand of Gothmog, lord of Balrogs.
Much later on that dread day, when the bravery of the Dwarves of Belegost and their leader Azaghâl against the dragon Glaurung had allowed the elves to escape into Ossiriand, Maedhros allowed the shock and sorrow to finally find his heart. While he mourned the death of the friend dearest to his heart, the words of the old woman came back to him – “Beware the East”. He shook his head as he wept. If he had only listened.
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