to bless, to curse by moetushie
Mar. 12th, 2019 08:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
moetushie posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
b2memB2MeM Prompt, Card and Number: O67 - The Late Great Mary Oliver - “bless touching.”
Format: Ficlet (287 words)
Genre: Drama
Rating: Teen
Warnings: Oblique reference to suicide
Characters: Aerin, Morwen, Túrin
Pairings: Aerin/Morwen
Creator’s Notes (optional): A vague spin off to my older Aerin/Morwen story -- I imagine it takes place in the same timeline.
Summary: Aerin does her duty, no matter her anguish.
Morwen, who had made a habit of defying fate, told Aerin that she would go with her and Niënor, escaping from Dor-lómin to Doriath.
“No,” Aerin said, putting down the biscuits she had been packing into one of Niënor’s saddlebags. “The Lady of Dor-lómin cannot abandon her people.”
“You make me ashamed, then,” Morwen said with a bitter twist in her mouth.
Impulsively, Aerin reached out and touched Morwen’s cheek, wrinkled more from sorrow than age. She had been so beautiful once. Such beauty was not meant to last. Their eyes met and Aerin knew Morwen saw through her clearly enough. And yet, that touch was still electrifying, still blessed.
Aerin dropped her hand to her side. Avoiding Morwen’s eye, she said, “Say not that, but rather I follow my predecessor’s example. Tell your son, if you should see him, that his people wait for him.”
*
It had been many years since Aerin had seen Túrin, but she recognized him easily enough. His face was like his mother’s, his gaze, his stubbornness was all Morwen remade. But as she listened to his story, she felt a sinking feeling in her stomach. Túrin had not come back to save them -- he had thought nothing of them, these many years.
There was no saving them.
If she could, she would have struck Turin for killing the last of her hope, but it mattered not. She turned away from Morwen’s son and saw the great hall behind her, filled with her husband’s people.
A single person’s life was but a candle in the dark.
But even a little flame, weak and unsure, when tipped against an ancient husk of a place, could send everything alight.
.
So it would be here.
Format: Ficlet (287 words)
Genre: Drama
Rating: Teen
Warnings: Oblique reference to suicide
Characters: Aerin, Morwen, Túrin
Pairings: Aerin/Morwen
Creator’s Notes (optional): A vague spin off to my older Aerin/Morwen story -- I imagine it takes place in the same timeline.
Summary: Aerin does her duty, no matter her anguish.
Morwen, who had made a habit of defying fate, told Aerin that she would go with her and Niënor, escaping from Dor-lómin to Doriath.
“No,” Aerin said, putting down the biscuits she had been packing into one of Niënor’s saddlebags. “The Lady of Dor-lómin cannot abandon her people.”
“You make me ashamed, then,” Morwen said with a bitter twist in her mouth.
Impulsively, Aerin reached out and touched Morwen’s cheek, wrinkled more from sorrow than age. She had been so beautiful once. Such beauty was not meant to last. Their eyes met and Aerin knew Morwen saw through her clearly enough. And yet, that touch was still electrifying, still blessed.
Aerin dropped her hand to her side. Avoiding Morwen’s eye, she said, “Say not that, but rather I follow my predecessor’s example. Tell your son, if you should see him, that his people wait for him.”
*
It had been many years since Aerin had seen Túrin, but she recognized him easily enough. His face was like his mother’s, his gaze, his stubbornness was all Morwen remade. But as she listened to his story, she felt a sinking feeling in her stomach. Túrin had not come back to save them -- he had thought nothing of them, these many years.
There was no saving them.
If she could, she would have struck Turin for killing the last of her hope, but it mattered not. She turned away from Morwen’s son and saw the great hall behind her, filled with her husband’s people.
A single person’s life was but a candle in the dark.
But even a little flame, weak and unsure, when tipped against an ancient husk of a place, could send everything alight.
.
So it would be here.
no subject
Date: 2019-03-13 02:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-03-16 02:10 am (UTC)