Post by Admin on Apr 2, 2023 19:36:12 GMT
Author: octopus_fool
Challenge: Picture Challenge 7 (February/March 2023), the first picture.
Summary: After years of travelling westwards, Denwego’s and Nówë’s paths lead them in different directions.
Rating: T
Characters: Denwego (Lenwë), Nówë (Círdan), Daintáro (Denethor)
Warnings: Some setting-typical creepiness
“You taught him well, Nówë,” Denwego said.
They watched as Daintáro splashed around in the small lake the shifting course the Anduin had left behind. They had dried themselves off, but Denwego’s son hadn’t had enough of the water yet.
“He’s a fast learner,” Nówë replied, whittling a wooden boat that fit on the palm of his hand. “He’ll go far.”
They fell silent, the words reminding them of what was to come. The stars reflected in the dark water, and the branches of the willow above them clacked in the wind.
Denwego plucked a glow beetle from a spider web, removing the threads as it climbed up his finger.
“You could stay. You love the river and the weather is finally improving,” he said.
Nówë carved away another chip from the hull of the boat. Denwego watched and though of the real boats they had built together. They had started out simple and quite a few had sunk, but Nówë had quickly developed real skill at it and before long, all of Atyamar was eating fish they had caught on boats by Nówë’s design.
“You know it will not last. The storms will return, as will the rains and the snows. I know you are already counting provisions, packing tents. You know we cannot stay here. Come with us.”
“Those mountains are not meant to be crossed. You know what happened on the expedition through the foothills.”
Denwego still shuddered to think about it. They had known that there were bears in the mountains, they had heard their distant roars from Atyamar. So the bear attack hadn’t come as a surprise, though Denwego had never heard of bears attacking in packs before.
And things had only got worse once they had managed to escape from the bears. Echoes had accosted them, even the smallest whisper or footstep becoming louder than the thunder of the winter storms in the plains. Several of their expedition had sustained lasting damage from the noise and the madness that ensued.
They had still been struggling with the echoes when the shadows entangled them. The light of the stars had disappeared, and nobody could see the elves before them any more. Movement became difficult, the very air around them becoming dense and sticky. It wrapped itself around their limbs, their senses, their will to continue and filled their lungs, choking them.
Just the memory had Denwego struggling for breath again.
Nówë shifted beside him and placed a hand on Denwego’s arm, bringing him back to the present. He waited until Denwego had drawn a deep breath before he continued.
“This time Oromë will be with us. He will protect us and no harm will come to us on the path he carved for us through the mountains. Have faith.”
“I do believe he means well, but I doubt his ability to understand what is possible for us, nor the extent of the dangers in the mountains. I will find a safe place downriver where we can stay. You could join us. We could use your skills in making boats.”
“There is much skill in the people who will stay with you as well. I am bound to Elwë and Olwë, and I wish to see the trees of light.”
The glow beetle finally took to the air, drawing green lines in the air around them. Denwego nodded at it.
“There is much beauty to be found here as well.”
He longed to roam the woods and discover their wonders, even though their people had first shied from them. He had seen five different types of glow beetles since they had arrived in Atyamar, and he knew he would find more. He wished to discover the secret ways of the insects, the paths of the deer, the songs of the birds. There were still new plants to taste and mosses with healing powers to discover.
He would continue this journey one day, but not now, not before he knew the land on this side of the mountains better.
“I know. But I cannot turn aside,” Nówë said quietly.
“I know, but I had to try one last time.”
“As did I.”
They gazed towards the mountains, looming dark against the starlit skies. Flickering dots of orange lined the path up the mountains.
“The Tatyar seem to be progressing well,” Denwego said. “Tomorrow I will be sitting here wondering which fire is yours and wishing you a safe journey.”
“And I will be looking back. You should not tarry too long. What is left of Atyamar will be less safe now that so few remain.”
“I plan to leave within a fortnight.”
They lapsed into silence again. Nówë inspected the boat and chipped away a few last uneven spots.
“Perhaps you will find a way around the Hithaeglir, just like we found a way around the Great
Forest.”
“I hope so. I don’t want to believe that this is our final farewell, even if we have to wait until we are old and bearded like that old Tatyar that lived next to Elwë.”
“I have no intention of ever growing a beard! I’ll leave that to the Tatyar and those strange creations of Aulë that Oromë told us about.”
“Well, if you dare to grow a beard before we meet again, call it after me.”
Nówë laughed. “I’ll think about it.”
“Atta, Nówë, look what I found!” Daintáro came running towards them.
“A swan feather?” Nówë asked.
“No, a shiny shell! It reflects the light.” He handed it to Nówë. “I want you to have it, so that you can see if it also reflects the light of the trees.”
“Thank you, Daintáro. I’ll take good care of it until you join me, and then we can look at the trees together.”
Denwego wrapped Daintáro in a soft cloth, hugging him close.
“What would your Emmë say if she knew I was letting you get cold?”
Daintáro pouted, and Denwego reluctantly let him go again. “But I’m not cold!”
Nówë held out the wooden ship to Daintáro. “This is for you to remember me by.”
“Thank you, Nówë! It is beautiful!”
The horn for departure sounded when Alcarinquë started his ascent in the eastern sky. Denwego pulled Nówë into a tight hug.
“Stay safe,” He whispered.
“You too. May our paths meet again.”
There was nothing more to say. Denwego watched as Nówë shouldered his belongings and set off, soon disappearing into the stream of silent elves.
Challenge: Picture Challenge 7 (February/March 2023), the first picture.
Summary: After years of travelling westwards, Denwego’s and Nówë’s paths lead them in different directions.
Rating: T
Characters: Denwego (Lenwë), Nówë (Círdan), Daintáro (Denethor)
Warnings: Some setting-typical creepiness
“You taught him well, Nówë,” Denwego said.
They watched as Daintáro splashed around in the small lake the shifting course the Anduin had left behind. They had dried themselves off, but Denwego’s son hadn’t had enough of the water yet.
“He’s a fast learner,” Nówë replied, whittling a wooden boat that fit on the palm of his hand. “He’ll go far.”
They fell silent, the words reminding them of what was to come. The stars reflected in the dark water, and the branches of the willow above them clacked in the wind.
Denwego plucked a glow beetle from a spider web, removing the threads as it climbed up his finger.
“You could stay. You love the river and the weather is finally improving,” he said.
Nówë carved away another chip from the hull of the boat. Denwego watched and though of the real boats they had built together. They had started out simple and quite a few had sunk, but Nówë had quickly developed real skill at it and before long, all of Atyamar was eating fish they had caught on boats by Nówë’s design.
“You know it will not last. The storms will return, as will the rains and the snows. I know you are already counting provisions, packing tents. You know we cannot stay here. Come with us.”
“Those mountains are not meant to be crossed. You know what happened on the expedition through the foothills.”
Denwego still shuddered to think about it. They had known that there were bears in the mountains, they had heard their distant roars from Atyamar. So the bear attack hadn’t come as a surprise, though Denwego had never heard of bears attacking in packs before.
And things had only got worse once they had managed to escape from the bears. Echoes had accosted them, even the smallest whisper or footstep becoming louder than the thunder of the winter storms in the plains. Several of their expedition had sustained lasting damage from the noise and the madness that ensued.
They had still been struggling with the echoes when the shadows entangled them. The light of the stars had disappeared, and nobody could see the elves before them any more. Movement became difficult, the very air around them becoming dense and sticky. It wrapped itself around their limbs, their senses, their will to continue and filled their lungs, choking them.
Just the memory had Denwego struggling for breath again.
Nówë shifted beside him and placed a hand on Denwego’s arm, bringing him back to the present. He waited until Denwego had drawn a deep breath before he continued.
“This time Oromë will be with us. He will protect us and no harm will come to us on the path he carved for us through the mountains. Have faith.”
“I do believe he means well, but I doubt his ability to understand what is possible for us, nor the extent of the dangers in the mountains. I will find a safe place downriver where we can stay. You could join us. We could use your skills in making boats.”
“There is much skill in the people who will stay with you as well. I am bound to Elwë and Olwë, and I wish to see the trees of light.”
The glow beetle finally took to the air, drawing green lines in the air around them. Denwego nodded at it.
“There is much beauty to be found here as well.”
He longed to roam the woods and discover their wonders, even though their people had first shied from them. He had seen five different types of glow beetles since they had arrived in Atyamar, and he knew he would find more. He wished to discover the secret ways of the insects, the paths of the deer, the songs of the birds. There were still new plants to taste and mosses with healing powers to discover.
He would continue this journey one day, but not now, not before he knew the land on this side of the mountains better.
“I know. But I cannot turn aside,” Nówë said quietly.
“I know, but I had to try one last time.”
“As did I.”
They gazed towards the mountains, looming dark against the starlit skies. Flickering dots of orange lined the path up the mountains.
“The Tatyar seem to be progressing well,” Denwego said. “Tomorrow I will be sitting here wondering which fire is yours and wishing you a safe journey.”
“And I will be looking back. You should not tarry too long. What is left of Atyamar will be less safe now that so few remain.”
“I plan to leave within a fortnight.”
They lapsed into silence again. Nówë inspected the boat and chipped away a few last uneven spots.
“Perhaps you will find a way around the Hithaeglir, just like we found a way around the Great
Forest.”
“I hope so. I don’t want to believe that this is our final farewell, even if we have to wait until we are old and bearded like that old Tatyar that lived next to Elwë.”
“I have no intention of ever growing a beard! I’ll leave that to the Tatyar and those strange creations of Aulë that Oromë told us about.”
“Well, if you dare to grow a beard before we meet again, call it after me.”
Nówë laughed. “I’ll think about it.”
“Atta, Nówë, look what I found!” Daintáro came running towards them.
“A swan feather?” Nówë asked.
“No, a shiny shell! It reflects the light.” He handed it to Nówë. “I want you to have it, so that you can see if it also reflects the light of the trees.”
“Thank you, Daintáro. I’ll take good care of it until you join me, and then we can look at the trees together.”
Denwego wrapped Daintáro in a soft cloth, hugging him close.
“What would your Emmë say if she knew I was letting you get cold?”
Daintáro pouted, and Denwego reluctantly let him go again. “But I’m not cold!”
Nówë held out the wooden ship to Daintáro. “This is for you to remember me by.”
“Thank you, Nówë! It is beautiful!”
The horn for departure sounded when Alcarinquë started his ascent in the eastern sky. Denwego pulled Nówë into a tight hug.
“Stay safe,” He whispered.
“You too. May our paths meet again.”
There was nothing more to say. Denwego watched as Nówë shouldered his belongings and set off, soon disappearing into the stream of silent elves.