The Tombless Sea by bunn
Mar. 1st, 2018 01:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bunn posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
b2memB2MeM Prompt and Category:
"The wind began to blow steadily out of the West and pour the water of the distant seas on the dark heads of the hills in fine drenching rain" & "I have passed through fire and deep water, since we parted."
initial prompt & daily prompt
Format: short story (379 words)
Genre: angst
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Characters: Maglor
Pairings: none
Creator’s Notes (optional):
Summary: Maglor threw the Silmaril into the Sea, but that wasn't the end of it.
The sky was a dark leaden grey in the distance, and the sea echoed its darkness, lacy white foam moving endlessly across the grey waves washing on black rocks that were sharp and newly-fractured at the edges. A thin rain was falling, almost more mist than rain, blowing in the seawind and making faint grey shapes against the black ocean: riders, horses, ships, banners showed themselves for a brief moment, then faded again into the wind.
Maglor sat on a wet black rock and shivered, staring at the waves as at an enemy. They were calling him. Silmaril, they whispered, endlessly, hushing on the rocks and the black sharp-edged gravel of the shoreline. Silmaril, silmaril.
He could not see it from where he sat. There was no light that shone out of a kinder past glowing from the waves, for he had learned by now that if it was hidden in the leather bag before he threw it into the sea, it was easier to ignore it, sometimes for days on end.
The ocean was an enemy. If the ocean were a friend, it would have drowned him by now, but it would not. He knew why, too. Uinen Lady of the Seas would not show herself, but her long hair ran through the waves. She had not forgotten Alqualondë, for all that her rage had turned cold now, and very bitter.
He could hear another voice too, plucking at the very edge of his mind from far away, `calling him by name. For a brief, shameful moment, he let it pull at him, let himself think, would it be so terrible if he answered? What could Elrond possibly say to him that would be worse than this?
But that was not, after all, the point. Whatever Elrond had to say, Maglor could certainly not speak with him. If there were two people above all that he must not allow himself to come near, they were Eärendil’s children. He pulled his mind more firmly closed with a great effort, and set barriers across it like walls of granite.
Silmaril, silmaril, silmaril, cried the waves, and Maglor dug his nails into the red flesh of his burned right hand, and sang, so that he could not hear them.
"The wind began to blow steadily out of the West and pour the water of the distant seas on the dark heads of the hills in fine drenching rain" & "I have passed through fire and deep water, since we parted."
initial prompt & daily prompt
Format: short story (379 words)
Genre: angst
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Characters: Maglor
Pairings: none
Creator’s Notes (optional):
Summary: Maglor threw the Silmaril into the Sea, but that wasn't the end of it.
The sky was a dark leaden grey in the distance, and the sea echoed its darkness, lacy white foam moving endlessly across the grey waves washing on black rocks that were sharp and newly-fractured at the edges. A thin rain was falling, almost more mist than rain, blowing in the seawind and making faint grey shapes against the black ocean: riders, horses, ships, banners showed themselves for a brief moment, then faded again into the wind.
Maglor sat on a wet black rock and shivered, staring at the waves as at an enemy. They were calling him. Silmaril, they whispered, endlessly, hushing on the rocks and the black sharp-edged gravel of the shoreline. Silmaril, silmaril.
He could not see it from where he sat. There was no light that shone out of a kinder past glowing from the waves, for he had learned by now that if it was hidden in the leather bag before he threw it into the sea, it was easier to ignore it, sometimes for days on end.
The ocean was an enemy. If the ocean were a friend, it would have drowned him by now, but it would not. He knew why, too. Uinen Lady of the Seas would not show herself, but her long hair ran through the waves. She had not forgotten Alqualondë, for all that her rage had turned cold now, and very bitter.
He could hear another voice too, plucking at the very edge of his mind from far away, `calling him by name. For a brief, shameful moment, he let it pull at him, let himself think, would it be so terrible if he answered? What could Elrond possibly say to him that would be worse than this?
But that was not, after all, the point. Whatever Elrond had to say, Maglor could certainly not speak with him. If there were two people above all that he must not allow himself to come near, they were Eärendil’s children. He pulled his mind more firmly closed with a great effort, and set barriers across it like walls of granite.
Silmaril, silmaril, silmaril, cried the waves, and Maglor dug his nails into the red flesh of his burned right hand, and sang, so that he could not hear them.
