O-65 Erulisse - Life's Flotsam
Mar. 9th, 2012 08:06 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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b2memB2MeM Challenge: O-65 – Maglor in History – The Fall of Numenor, Artifacts and Weapons – Glingal, Art Supplies - Metal
Format: Fictlet
Genre: Drama
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Characters: Maglor, OC
Pairings: None
Word Count: 699
Summary: Maglor has heard a rumor that Numenor is no more. He goes to the coast to try and check it out and comes across things that remind him of people he knew in his past.
Life's Flotsam
Maglor first heard the rumor as he was passing through the southern part of Middle Earth, thinking about whether he wanted to book passage to Umbar or stay in Gondor. Unusual amounts of flotsam supposedly were washing up onto the western sands. The large amounts gave rise to the speculation of the fall of a great land, a civilization, a gift from the Valar. Wooden spars, pieces of broken glass, fabric, trash, even bodies were washing ashore throughout the western shoreline, carried by the sea currents from Númenor.
He headed west towards the nearest beach head town to try and separate the truth from the rumors. Walking into a marketplace he listened as people talked and looked at the goods that had been found. Several of the more enterprising merchants had apparently 'liberated' merchandise from the death and trash-filled detritus. It was while fingering a finely-wrought metal medallion picturing Glingal that he finally heard the ring of truth from the gravelly voice of a sailor.
“I was there,” he heard a rough voice say. “The capt'ns insisted we board the ships and leave immediately, we didn' know why they was so rushed. But we left the island, headin' in a flotilla for the western ports of Gondor. Then we were overtaken by the storm. I've never lived through a storm like that before, and hope I never will again.”
Maglor shifted closer to the speaker who had paused to finish his mug of ale. The sailor had no sooner put his empty glass down than a full mug was put in front of him, replacing it. He took a swallow from the new mug, then continued his tale. “I was on top of the main'sil, pullin' up the canvas for such were the Capt'n's orders. I happened to look behind us.” He shuddered, picked up his ale and took a large swallow, then said roughly with tears in his voice, “I saw a great wave, so high that it blocked out the sky, fall down on the island behind us. The sound was deaf'nin and the wind and wave caused by the crash of that wall of water took us in its grip, shakin' us hard and snapping one o' the masts. We nearly lost 'er that day, and the flotilla was broken apart. I don' rightly know how many ships survived, only that when we finally made landfall, eight still remained to be found.”
Maglor turned back to the merchant to replace the medallion, but pulled it back taking one more look at it. On the back of the metal circle was a familiar hallmark. Instead of returning it to the table, he bargained for it, finally claiming it for a small sum. Holding the necklace he walked over to the food stalls, walking over to a bench with a meal of meat, bread and ale to wash it down.
'Númenor is no more,' he thought. 'Once more the Valar have struck, for only their might or that of Eru himself could have destroyed that great island.' His mood was as bitter as the ale he was drinking. 'Why would Elros' kingdom, given to the second-born with such hope, be wiped from Arda now?' he wondered.
He turned the medallion over and over in his hand, examining the image of the golden tree of Turgon and, his niece Helyanwë’s hallmark on the obverse side. He had lost track of her after Sirion had been destroyed. He hoped that this was a recent work of hers; that she had survived and thrived after he had passed her bleeding body, lying in the mud of Sirion on that accursed day when he and Maedhros had galloped away with two young boys who would become as sons to them.
So many relations and friends were gone, and now the land to which his son had sailed, taking up its rule with so much hope in his heart had been buried beneath the waves; even as Helyanwë’s beloved city of Gondolin, and his own grassy lands near Himring, had been buried by Ulmo's waters after the War of Wrath. 'How many more times,' he wondered, 'will the things I love be drowned?'
Format: Fictlet
Genre: Drama
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Characters: Maglor, OC
Pairings: None
Word Count: 699
Summary: Maglor has heard a rumor that Numenor is no more. He goes to the coast to try and check it out and comes across things that remind him of people he knew in his past.
Life's Flotsam
Maglor first heard the rumor as he was passing through the southern part of Middle Earth, thinking about whether he wanted to book passage to Umbar or stay in Gondor. Unusual amounts of flotsam supposedly were washing up onto the western sands. The large amounts gave rise to the speculation of the fall of a great land, a civilization, a gift from the Valar. Wooden spars, pieces of broken glass, fabric, trash, even bodies were washing ashore throughout the western shoreline, carried by the sea currents from Númenor.
He headed west towards the nearest beach head town to try and separate the truth from the rumors. Walking into a marketplace he listened as people talked and looked at the goods that had been found. Several of the more enterprising merchants had apparently 'liberated' merchandise from the death and trash-filled detritus. It was while fingering a finely-wrought metal medallion picturing Glingal that he finally heard the ring of truth from the gravelly voice of a sailor.
“I was there,” he heard a rough voice say. “The capt'ns insisted we board the ships and leave immediately, we didn' know why they was so rushed. But we left the island, headin' in a flotilla for the western ports of Gondor. Then we were overtaken by the storm. I've never lived through a storm like that before, and hope I never will again.”
Maglor shifted closer to the speaker who had paused to finish his mug of ale. The sailor had no sooner put his empty glass down than a full mug was put in front of him, replacing it. He took a swallow from the new mug, then continued his tale. “I was on top of the main'sil, pullin' up the canvas for such were the Capt'n's orders. I happened to look behind us.” He shuddered, picked up his ale and took a large swallow, then said roughly with tears in his voice, “I saw a great wave, so high that it blocked out the sky, fall down on the island behind us. The sound was deaf'nin and the wind and wave caused by the crash of that wall of water took us in its grip, shakin' us hard and snapping one o' the masts. We nearly lost 'er that day, and the flotilla was broken apart. I don' rightly know how many ships survived, only that when we finally made landfall, eight still remained to be found.”
Maglor turned back to the merchant to replace the medallion, but pulled it back taking one more look at it. On the back of the metal circle was a familiar hallmark. Instead of returning it to the table, he bargained for it, finally claiming it for a small sum. Holding the necklace he walked over to the food stalls, walking over to a bench with a meal of meat, bread and ale to wash it down.
'Númenor is no more,' he thought. 'Once more the Valar have struck, for only their might or that of Eru himself could have destroyed that great island.' His mood was as bitter as the ale he was drinking. 'Why would Elros' kingdom, given to the second-born with such hope, be wiped from Arda now?' he wondered.
He turned the medallion over and over in his hand, examining the image of the golden tree of Turgon and, his niece Helyanwë’s hallmark on the obverse side. He had lost track of her after Sirion had been destroyed. He hoped that this was a recent work of hers; that she had survived and thrived after he had passed her bleeding body, lying in the mud of Sirion on that accursed day when he and Maedhros had galloped away with two young boys who would become as sons to them.
So many relations and friends were gone, and now the land to which his son had sailed, taking up its rule with so much hope in his heart had been buried beneath the waves; even as Helyanwë’s beloved city of Gondolin, and his own grassy lands near Himring, had been buried by Ulmo's waters after the War of Wrath. 'How many more times,' he wondered, 'will the things I love be drowned?'
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no subject
Date: 2012-03-10 05:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-03-10 09:34 am (UTC)- Erulisse (one L)
quick tagging note
Date: 2012-03-10 01:48 pm (UTC)Could you use the "card:maglor in history 1" tag instead of "card:maglor in history"? There are actually two maglor in history cards, and I am trying to differentiate between them. Thanks!
This is beautifullly written, and Maglor's bitterness seems justified. The last line -- ouch.
no subject
Date: 2012-03-10 02:03 pm (UTC)Appreciate your kind words on my fic as well. Yes, the last line -- 'ouch' indeed.
- Erulisse (one L)
no subject
Date: 2012-03-11 01:54 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-03-11 02:17 am (UTC)- Erulisse (one L)
no subject
Date: 2012-03-13 06:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-03-13 07:00 pm (UTC)- Erulisse (one L)