A Númenórean Death, by Starlight

[starli-ght.livejournal.com]

B2MeM Challenge: o67: Adûnaic: breath; poetic Forms: Sonnet; Rangers of the North: Sceptre of Annúminas; Scientific Achievement: Pharmacy
Format: Ficlet
Genre: Gen?
Rating: General
Warnings: None, really-- does bad poetry count?
Characters: Anárion, Amandil
Pairings: None
Summary: A final appeal to decency...


The morning after the death of the King's chief physician (and temple under-priest) shocked the island, a paper began circulating with this written on it:


A Númenórean Death

As he lies there, half-witless on the ground
All rhythms, feelings, stopping, on the brim--
Beyond there, Death awaits him with his shroud
Above him, voices cluster, fearful, grim:

"Gone are the days of hawthorne, basil, youth!"
"Of what did all his dark descent avail?"
"Of what the arts, the potions-- bitter truth!
We could not stop his breath becoming frail."

Then comes the wailing-- seemingly sincere--
but listless ears account it noise, and hollow--
A guise of grief made up to mask this fear:
"Whither thou goest soon we are to follow!"

Thus, busy finding different ways to cleave
hearts are so spent that they forget to live.


When the paper reached the Lord of Andúnie (in all but name, for his sceptre, as his power, was tucked away in a box somewhere in Rómenna), Amandil merely smiled.

"You are getting too bold, Anárion," he said. "The Star was supposed to reach only the Faithful."

To this, Anárion answered, "I cannot fathom your meaning." A minute shrug. "But, I will say this: reaching only the Faithful, we do nothing."

Blessed he who still thought there was something to be done!

"It's a different vein, too: sounds more like a plea than a criticism."

His grandson's shoulders dropped. "If neither criticism nor doom-saying work, maybe an appeal for humanity? For dignity?"

The Lord of Andúnie-- Andúnie never-forgotten-- sighed and walked to the window. He wished he could tell his grandson not to lose hope, to keep working, keep trying. The afternoon would end in rain if the wind kept blowing in the same direction and, in the gathering gloom, the only certainty they had was that Númenor was dying.

~the end

Comments

[cairistiona7.livejournal.com]

Oh, this is top notch... and no need for the bad poetry warning! You've captured the tragedy of Numenor and the agony of the Faithful who watched it unfolding before them so well here. I can so easily imagine Amandil pondering his grandson's words and making his decision to sail to the West to plead with the Valar.

You gave me goosebumps and a lump in my throat!

[starli-ght.livejournal.com]

Thank you so very much, Cairistiona! I was nervous posting this one. I'm so glad you feel it worked! Yes, I can so see Amandil not letting this thought go so easily. He was such a brave, fellow! And Anárion is a favorite of mine; I love to write him :-)

Thank you for reading!

[just-jenni.livejournal.com]

The poetry is gorgeous. The story so emotional. I just loved it. :)

[azalaisdep.livejournal.com]

Well done - I made sure not to read this till I'd finished my own sonnet, but as it turns out they couldn't be more different (well, apart from, y'know, both being sonnets...)

I do like the final couplet, which sums up Numenor's disease at this point very well, and "a guise of grief made up to mask this fear". And the ominous weather reinforcing the ominous direction in which they are headed.

[blslarner.livejournal.com]

Excellently written, and good reasoning by both Amandil and his grandson. Yes, Numenor fails as they watch.