![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
huinare.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
b2memB2MeM Challenge: "God" (Deep Thoughts), "The steady slowing down of the heart..." -C. Mews (Snippets of Verse)
Format: ficlet, ~970 words
Genre: General
Rating: G-ish
Warnings: Brief mention of booze, strong opposing opinions, philosophy
Characters: Saruman, Gandalf, Radagast, Alatar, Pallando
Pairings: This does not happen in my stories. People in my stories argue. K.
Summary: Wizards discuss Númenor and theology around a campfire. This takes place within the first six months of their arrival in Middle Earth, while they're wandering about getting used to things.
There's also a snippet of Emerson verse in here ("Terminus"). Because I could.
__________________
They encamped that night in a ravine shielded from the drizzling precipitation by overhung bushes, still nearer to the moors than to Mount Gundabad. The sense of unease continued to press upon them. Pallando, a fellow of few words, was quieter than usual. Alatar sharpened his knife for the third time that evening.
Aiwendil looked for something to talk about. “Olórin, do you remember the story the old village woman told us about the door which the dead used to pass through, and the man who closed it?”
“Yes.” Olórin was peering forlornly down the neck of a flask that had emerged empty from his pack, as though its contents might replenish themselves if he stared long enough.
“Why was the man in that tale bearing a star do you think? Does it have something to do with Eärendil?”
“Possibly. Men are short-lived, and legends can change particularly quickly among the unlettered. I would guess it has less to do with Eärendil, and more with Elendil.”
Alatar glanced up from his work. “Why Elendil?”
Olórin snorted. “Why not Elendil? The Númenoreans in their waning, being so concerned with averting death, had actually opened the door for death to walk among them. It obsessed them. Elendil and his folk were of a mind to close that door, to keep the shadow of the dead from ordering the philosophy and policy of Númenor, and to embrace life while still they could.”
“Hm,” said Aiwendil, nodding.
“It is easy to condemn the Númenoreans,” remarked Alatar, laying aside his work and rising to put more kindling in the fire, “when one hasn’t been in their position. Being crammed into these mortal bodies, aging bodies no less, might encourage a certain reconsideration of their plight.”
Olórin raised his eyebrows. “Why, I said not that it oughtn’t have troubled them, nor that it wouldn’t trouble anybody, Alatar. Men face a fate unknown after death, and it’s no crime for fear and sorrow to attend upon that. But what they would not or could not understand is that there is also fear and sorrow involved in living without cease. None of us who exist are exempt from trial or suffering. Many of the Eldar already weary, and the Ainur wane in power as the ages draw on, and the there shall be no release for anyone save Men. It may even be that they pass on beyond death to some place or state the rest of us would greatly envy.”
Curumo glanced up from a leaf he’d been examining. “All excellent theory, but we do not know what happens to Men beyond death and nor do they. From their point of view, with the knowledge available to them, I don’t believe they are unreasonable to envy immortal beings. For all they know–for all we know–suffering or senselessness lie beyond death’s door.”
“Eru would not have anyone suffer irredeemably,” Aiwendil pointed out.
Curumo’s eyes glinted sharply in the firelight for a moment. “What is Eru?”
“The fire which kindled all other being,” said Olórin.
“An egg,” offered Aiwendil, “from which we all flew.”
“Are fires or eggs benevolent, any more than they are malevolent?” Curumo persisted.
Alatar seemed annoyed with all the abstraction. “I wouldn’t presume to dissect the motives of Eru. I am grateful I was kindled, or hatched, or whatever other analogies you people care to come up with, regardless of why it happened. Now I’m going to resume sharpening my knife. Have fun discussing questions that have no answers.”
Olórin shrugged in Alatar’s direction, then turned the flask upside down and tapped it futilely. Finally laying it to the side, he resumed, “I find this analogy has been taken a step too far, Curumo. Fires and eggs have no will or mind with which to exercise benevolence or malevolence, whereas all beings do.”
“That being the case, why compare Eru to a fire at all, Olórin?” wondered Curumo. “Why not to a sculptor or something more apt?”
“Very well. Eru is now a sculptor. What is your point?”
“Only that, like all beings, a sculptor has the capacity for both charity and malice. And a fire has neither.”
Olórin stared quietly across the fire for a few moments, solemn, before bursting out in amusement and affront, “Curumo! Are you suggesting that, either way one looks at it, Eru lacks the ability to be wholly charitable? Small wonder you’re such a grim character, if that is how you see things.”
“Was it ‘charitable’ to drown a race of people?” Curumo said with faint righteousness.
Pallando looked from one to the other keenly and said nothing.
Olórin paused to collect the answer. Theology was a subtle and convoluted subject. Meanwhile, Aiwendil wondered, “Wasn’t that about justice?”
“Maybe it was, from a certain point of view,” shrugged Alatar, “but justice and charity surely aren’t the same.”
Curumo stirred the fire with the end of his staff. “If we are to speak of justice and points of view, we might also note that, from the Númenorean viewpoint, their fate must have looked unjust. While the Eldar with whom they interacted aged and weakened not, they themselves grew slow and forgetful under the steady slowing down of the heart, until it ceased to beat at all and cast them out from the world. And what had they done to earn this legacy of ebbing veins? It must have been perceived by many as an unjust punishment for a crime uncommitted.”
“Perhaps it is charitable to relieve a people of such a painful experience of the world, if that is the only way they are able or willing to experience it,” Olórin answered abruptly.
“Hm,” Aiwendil nodded.
“I daresay I’d not mind being drowned right now,” Alatar said, “so that I wouldn’t have to listen to this lofty blather.”
___________________
This is technically part of a longer story. Any of the chapters of this story can stand reasonably well as stories in themselves, but, should anyone be curious about the cohesive whole, here it lurks.
Format: ficlet, ~970 words
Genre: General
Rating: G-ish
Warnings: Brief mention of booze, strong opposing opinions, philosophy
Characters: Saruman, Gandalf, Radagast, Alatar, Pallando
Pairings: This does not happen in my stories. People in my stories argue. K.
Summary: Wizards discuss Númenor and theology around a campfire. This takes place within the first six months of their arrival in Middle Earth, while they're wandering about getting used to things.
There's also a snippet of Emerson verse in here ("Terminus"). Because I could.
__________________
They encamped that night in a ravine shielded from the drizzling precipitation by overhung bushes, still nearer to the moors than to Mount Gundabad. The sense of unease continued to press upon them. Pallando, a fellow of few words, was quieter than usual. Alatar sharpened his knife for the third time that evening.
Aiwendil looked for something to talk about. “Olórin, do you remember the story the old village woman told us about the door which the dead used to pass through, and the man who closed it?”
“Yes.” Olórin was peering forlornly down the neck of a flask that had emerged empty from his pack, as though its contents might replenish themselves if he stared long enough.
“Why was the man in that tale bearing a star do you think? Does it have something to do with Eärendil?”
“Possibly. Men are short-lived, and legends can change particularly quickly among the unlettered. I would guess it has less to do with Eärendil, and more with Elendil.”
Alatar glanced up from his work. “Why Elendil?”
Olórin snorted. “Why not Elendil? The Númenoreans in their waning, being so concerned with averting death, had actually opened the door for death to walk among them. It obsessed them. Elendil and his folk were of a mind to close that door, to keep the shadow of the dead from ordering the philosophy and policy of Númenor, and to embrace life while still they could.”
“Hm,” said Aiwendil, nodding.
“It is easy to condemn the Númenoreans,” remarked Alatar, laying aside his work and rising to put more kindling in the fire, “when one hasn’t been in their position. Being crammed into these mortal bodies, aging bodies no less, might encourage a certain reconsideration of their plight.”
Olórin raised his eyebrows. “Why, I said not that it oughtn’t have troubled them, nor that it wouldn’t trouble anybody, Alatar. Men face a fate unknown after death, and it’s no crime for fear and sorrow to attend upon that. But what they would not or could not understand is that there is also fear and sorrow involved in living without cease. None of us who exist are exempt from trial or suffering. Many of the Eldar already weary, and the Ainur wane in power as the ages draw on, and the there shall be no release for anyone save Men. It may even be that they pass on beyond death to some place or state the rest of us would greatly envy.”
Curumo glanced up from a leaf he’d been examining. “All excellent theory, but we do not know what happens to Men beyond death and nor do they. From their point of view, with the knowledge available to them, I don’t believe they are unreasonable to envy immortal beings. For all they know–for all we know–suffering or senselessness lie beyond death’s door.”
“Eru would not have anyone suffer irredeemably,” Aiwendil pointed out.
Curumo’s eyes glinted sharply in the firelight for a moment. “What is Eru?”
“The fire which kindled all other being,” said Olórin.
“An egg,” offered Aiwendil, “from which we all flew.”
“Are fires or eggs benevolent, any more than they are malevolent?” Curumo persisted.
Alatar seemed annoyed with all the abstraction. “I wouldn’t presume to dissect the motives of Eru. I am grateful I was kindled, or hatched, or whatever other analogies you people care to come up with, regardless of why it happened. Now I’m going to resume sharpening my knife. Have fun discussing questions that have no answers.”
Olórin shrugged in Alatar’s direction, then turned the flask upside down and tapped it futilely. Finally laying it to the side, he resumed, “I find this analogy has been taken a step too far, Curumo. Fires and eggs have no will or mind with which to exercise benevolence or malevolence, whereas all beings do.”
“That being the case, why compare Eru to a fire at all, Olórin?” wondered Curumo. “Why not to a sculptor or something more apt?”
“Very well. Eru is now a sculptor. What is your point?”
“Only that, like all beings, a sculptor has the capacity for both charity and malice. And a fire has neither.”
Olórin stared quietly across the fire for a few moments, solemn, before bursting out in amusement and affront, “Curumo! Are you suggesting that, either way one looks at it, Eru lacks the ability to be wholly charitable? Small wonder you’re such a grim character, if that is how you see things.”
“Was it ‘charitable’ to drown a race of people?” Curumo said with faint righteousness.
Pallando looked from one to the other keenly and said nothing.
Olórin paused to collect the answer. Theology was a subtle and convoluted subject. Meanwhile, Aiwendil wondered, “Wasn’t that about justice?”
“Maybe it was, from a certain point of view,” shrugged Alatar, “but justice and charity surely aren’t the same.”
Curumo stirred the fire with the end of his staff. “If we are to speak of justice and points of view, we might also note that, from the Númenorean viewpoint, their fate must have looked unjust. While the Eldar with whom they interacted aged and weakened not, they themselves grew slow and forgetful under the steady slowing down of the heart, until it ceased to beat at all and cast them out from the world. And what had they done to earn this legacy of ebbing veins? It must have been perceived by many as an unjust punishment for a crime uncommitted.”
“Perhaps it is charitable to relieve a people of such a painful experience of the world, if that is the only way they are able or willing to experience it,” Olórin answered abruptly.
“Hm,” Aiwendil nodded.
“I daresay I’d not mind being drowned right now,” Alatar said, “so that I wouldn’t have to listen to this lofty blather.”
___________________
This is technically part of a longer story. Any of the chapters of this story can stand reasonably well as stories in themselves, but, should anyone be curious about the cohesive whole, here it lurks.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2012-03-10 05:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-03-10 10:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-03-10 09:20 am (UTC)And the touches of humour undercut the high-toned dialogue nicely - you can see the seeds of Gandalf's grumpiness already, in the fact that he can't magically get a drink. Of course, no pipeweed yet!
no subject
Date: 2012-03-10 10:47 pm (UTC)Of course, no pipeweed yet!
Yes, this. The flask came about exactly because I was picturing Gandalf smoking iconically here, and then I was like "Wait, um, that ain't gonna work."
no subject
Date: 2012-03-11 08:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-03-11 11:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-03-10 09:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-03-10 10:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-03-10 08:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-03-10 10:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-03-11 12:27 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-03-11 12:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-03-11 02:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-03-11 02:28 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-03-11 04:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-03-11 11:10 pm (UTC)