![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kayleearafinwiel posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
b2memB2MeM Prompt and Category: Create a fanwork that includes an animal that lives in or near the water (fish, whale, seabird, or whatever you like).
... a marching music began like solemn drums, and above the rolling beats and booms there welled voices singing high and strong. (The Two Towers, “Treebeard”)
Format: Ficlet
Genre: Mystery
Rating: PG-13
Warnings:
Characters: Eärwen, Eärendil, Elwing, Brandir (OC)
Pairings: Eärendil/Elwing
Creator’s Notes (optional): Score one for the randomizer again…And ‘Brandir’ was rather nonspecific, so I felt justified in adding mine and Emma’s OC here.
Summary: The sinking of Númenor had far-reaching consequences. They were felt even – perhaps especially – in the uttermost West.
'Elvish singing is not a thing to miss, in June under the stars, not if you care for such things.' The Hobbit
The Tower of Aewellond was beautiful in the cool grey light that preceded the dawning. That was the only thought occupying the mind of the Noldotári, Eärwen, as she gazed eastward. A visit to her Pereldarin kin was rare, but not unheard of, and she found the place peaceful – usually.
The dawn was welcomed by Elven song, and even now she heard elflings raising their voices in hymns of praise to the Queen of Stars, and to Arien who guided the Sun’s orb on its appointed path. Many of the elflings were ranged on the beach below, watching as Eärendil brought his ship in to dock.
Abruptly, the singing stopped, and the children raced inside. At that unexpected development, the Queen raced down the spiral staircase, hitching the hem of her gown out of the way. What in the names of the Valar… she thought, rather irreverently, but Eärwen reached the landing at the same time as the Mariner ascended to it. “What happened, Ardamirë?” she demanded of her great-nephew, using his mother-name for emphasis.
Elwing was right behind her husband, and only just managed not to cringe at the look on the Queen’s face. Her own face was white with fear. “They’re coming,” she whispered.
“Who?” Eärwen demanded impatiently, and Elwing was forcibly reminded of her Aunt Galadriel – she is Galadriel’s nana after all, Elwing thought. “Who is coming, elfling?”
Elwing had no time to answer. The tower rocked suddenly, and Elwing was glad they all fit on the landing as they were thrown to the floor, the breath knocked from them.
“Who is it?” Eärwen repeated, when she was finally able. The tower had not ceased its wild movements, but they were becoming used to it, and a fourth was making his way shakily up the steps toward them.
“Our…sons,” Elwing gasped, weeping. Eärendil wrapped his arms around her, as the wind howled, the tower shuddered, and Lord Brandir, once of Doriath, dragged himself up to the landing at last. “Our sons come.”
“Surely not Elrond,” Brandir said, getting the attention of the other three. He gave them the shy glance typical of a Reborn unsure whether he was wanted, but then he shifted almost effortlessly into ‘loremaster mode’, as Eärwen called it.
“Elrond would not—” he began, automatically reaching for the Queen’s hand as another tremor shook them. She gave it to him. “Elrond would not cause such a reaction simply by arriving. Elros…” He grieved silently for the mortal son of Elwing. “This is Elros’ long-son.”
“Yes.” The word was difficult to speak. “He comes, at the head of a fleet of ships,” Eärendil managed to say. Eärwen and Brandir laughed in shock and disbelief.
“What does he here, this son of Elros?” Eärwen demanded.
“I heard their talk,” Eärendil murmured. “He wishes to—ah---to reclaim immortality from we Eldar who kept it from him, and from the Valar. He wishes to conquer Aman.”
No one knew how to respond to that. No one could respond to that. The four frightened Elves – Pereldarin, Lindarin, and Sindarin – fell silent, holding each other there on the landing, sending silent prayers for safety. Somehow, they knew they could not, should not, leave that landing, halfway up – or down – the Tower.
At last, it was over. All was calm. Outside, the seabirds screamed, the whales leapt in the waves.
There were little changes – light had a different quality to it, somehow, the air a different scent, and it puzzled them. But the Tower was still, and slowly, carefully, they ascended, trying to ascertain the extent of the damage.
To their surprise and relief, there was none. But then, Maiar had been involved in the Tower’s construction.
They looked eastward, toward Tol Eressëa, and beyond that, to –
What?
Dumbfounded, the four took their time processing what they were seeing – or not seeing.
“Where,” Eärendil asked at last, “is Númenor?”
... a marching music began like solemn drums, and above the rolling beats and booms there welled voices singing high and strong. (The Two Towers, “Treebeard”)
Format: Ficlet
Genre: Mystery
Rating: PG-13
Warnings:
Characters: Eärwen, Eärendil, Elwing, Brandir (OC)
Pairings: Eärendil/Elwing
Creator’s Notes (optional): Score one for the randomizer again…And ‘Brandir’ was rather nonspecific, so I felt justified in adding mine and Emma’s OC here.
Summary: The sinking of Númenor had far-reaching consequences. They were felt even – perhaps especially – in the uttermost West.
'Elvish singing is not a thing to miss, in June under the stars, not if you care for such things.' The Hobbit
The Tower of Aewellond was beautiful in the cool grey light that preceded the dawning. That was the only thought occupying the mind of the Noldotári, Eärwen, as she gazed eastward. A visit to her Pereldarin kin was rare, but not unheard of, and she found the place peaceful – usually.
The dawn was welcomed by Elven song, and even now she heard elflings raising their voices in hymns of praise to the Queen of Stars, and to Arien who guided the Sun’s orb on its appointed path. Many of the elflings were ranged on the beach below, watching as Eärendil brought his ship in to dock.
Abruptly, the singing stopped, and the children raced inside. At that unexpected development, the Queen raced down the spiral staircase, hitching the hem of her gown out of the way. What in the names of the Valar… she thought, rather irreverently, but Eärwen reached the landing at the same time as the Mariner ascended to it. “What happened, Ardamirë?” she demanded of her great-nephew, using his mother-name for emphasis.
Elwing was right behind her husband, and only just managed not to cringe at the look on the Queen’s face. Her own face was white with fear. “They’re coming,” she whispered.
“Who?” Eärwen demanded impatiently, and Elwing was forcibly reminded of her Aunt Galadriel – she is Galadriel’s nana after all, Elwing thought. “Who is coming, elfling?”
Elwing had no time to answer. The tower rocked suddenly, and Elwing was glad they all fit on the landing as they were thrown to the floor, the breath knocked from them.
“Who is it?” Eärwen repeated, when she was finally able. The tower had not ceased its wild movements, but they were becoming used to it, and a fourth was making his way shakily up the steps toward them.
“Our…sons,” Elwing gasped, weeping. Eärendil wrapped his arms around her, as the wind howled, the tower shuddered, and Lord Brandir, once of Doriath, dragged himself up to the landing at last. “Our sons come.”
“Surely not Elrond,” Brandir said, getting the attention of the other three. He gave them the shy glance typical of a Reborn unsure whether he was wanted, but then he shifted almost effortlessly into ‘loremaster mode’, as Eärwen called it.
“Elrond would not—” he began, automatically reaching for the Queen’s hand as another tremor shook them. She gave it to him. “Elrond would not cause such a reaction simply by arriving. Elros…” He grieved silently for the mortal son of Elwing. “This is Elros’ long-son.”
“Yes.” The word was difficult to speak. “He comes, at the head of a fleet of ships,” Eärendil managed to say. Eärwen and Brandir laughed in shock and disbelief.
“What does he here, this son of Elros?” Eärwen demanded.
“I heard their talk,” Eärendil murmured. “He wishes to—ah---to reclaim immortality from we Eldar who kept it from him, and from the Valar. He wishes to conquer Aman.”
No one knew how to respond to that. No one could respond to that. The four frightened Elves – Pereldarin, Lindarin, and Sindarin – fell silent, holding each other there on the landing, sending silent prayers for safety. Somehow, they knew they could not, should not, leave that landing, halfway up – or down – the Tower.
At last, it was over. All was calm. Outside, the seabirds screamed, the whales leapt in the waves.
There were little changes – light had a different quality to it, somehow, the air a different scent, and it puzzled them. But the Tower was still, and slowly, carefully, they ascended, trying to ascertain the extent of the damage.
To their surprise and relief, there was none. But then, Maiar had been involved in the Tower’s construction.
They looked eastward, toward Tol Eressëa, and beyond that, to –
What?
Dumbfounded, the four took their time processing what they were seeing – or not seeing.
“Where,” Eärendil asked at last, “is Númenor?”
no subject
Date: 2018-03-10 12:03 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2018-03-10 11:08 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2018-03-11 12:32 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From: