Post by sian22redux on Nov 12, 2023 19:35:33 GMT
Story title: What is right and what is easy
Author: LadySternchen
Summary: There are many roads to choose for those who lead the Quendi on the Great Journey. This story tells of four such crossroads, each a game-changer in the lives of the Elves.
Characters: mainly Ingwë, Finwë, Elwë and Olwë, with Imin, Iminyë, Tata, Tatië, Enel, Enelyë, Ilion and Elmo on the sides.
Warnings: none
Rating: General Audience
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Finwë
“(Melkor becomes suspicious, and guesses war is purpose against him, because of the Quendi. During Oromë’s absence his emissaries are busy, and many lies circulate. The `heresy’ awakes in new form: the Valar clearly do exist; but they have abandoned Endor; rightly as the appointed realm of the Quendi. Now they are becoming jealous, and wish to control the Quendi as vassals, and so re-possess themselves of Endor. Finwë, a gallant and adventurous young quende, direct descendant of Tata […], is much taken by these ideas; less so his friend, Elwë, descendant of Enel)”- J.R.R.Tolkien (editor Carl F. Hostetter): the Nature of Middle-Earth, Chapter XIII ‘Key Dates’
“Finwë! Lord Oromë, he’s back!”
Finwë wrinkled his nose, looking scepticly at his friend.
“So?” he asked finally, wincing inwardly at how cool he knew his voice sounded. Unsurprisingly, Elwë frowned at his friend’s less than enthusiastic attitude.
“What do you mean, ‘so’? He’s going to tell us more of Valinor, and besides, when he is here, no Shadow will dare come close.”
“The Shadow is conquered, they say.”
“I hear that. But there are still enough foul things on the loose in these woods!”
“Yes…” Finwë said. “…or so the Vala says.”
Elwë just stared at his friend, and Finwë bit his tongue.
“Elwë, I’m… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”
“It’s fine! But will you come and hear for yourself what Oromë has to say?”
“What if he’s only trying to lure us to Valinor? What if the Valar are really truly the evil ones? I mean, we’re happy here, aren’t we?”
Elwë considered that for a while, his eyes on the star-strewn heavens. At last he sighed deeply, looking as if he were carrying a much older elf’s burdens.
“I don’t believe it. I know many do, I know it sounds so very… logical. But there is no evil in Oromë. Anger, perhaps, wrath even, but no evil. Have you seen the light that shines within his eyes? Something so pure can not in itself be evil, I am sure about it! So will you come with me back to the others?”
Finwë still was reluctant, though he had to admit that Elwë had a good point.
“But you were the one to take ages to start trusting Oromë…”
Elwë shook his head.
“No, your memory deceives you there, my friend. I trusted Oromë from the start. But I needed time to think over what he told us.”
An almost pained look crossed Finwë’s face.
“Yes. I know you do. You always think everything over. But it seems that that is no bad thing this time. Alright. Let’s go!”
Ingwë
He balled his fists in frustration beneath his cloak, doing his best to keep his face even. Lord Imin was smiling understandingly, and somehow, that made him even angrier, and he was by the Valar not prone to anger quickly.
“The tales you tell of Valinor are blissful, Ingwë, and I understand your youthful desire to seek new shores…”
“Lord, with all due respect, you speak as if with the wisdom of age, that truly only the Powers, who are ageless and timeless, possess. But it is said, by them, that this is the Age of the youth of all Quendi, so it might be all our youthful duty to find a home that is more suitable for our kind.”
Still, Imin was smiling, and Ingwë could have hit him for it. Behind Imin, Iminyë, Tata and Tatië, Enel and Enelyë stood with grimmer expressions, though all very much signalling consent to the eldest’ words. Ingwë chanced a glance at Finwë and Elwë, who stood beside him, Finwë glaring furiously at the elders, Elwë with his gaze lowered to the ground, looking about as comfortable as a speared fish. It was all he could do not to roll his eyes at his two friends, for none of them was in the least helpful, though for very contrasting reasons. Wryly, he thought that if one could somehow mix them together, make one out of two, they might actually become useful.
“You are bold, Ingwë. But consider this- here is where we awoke, where we are meant to be. The shores of the sacred waters of Cuiviénen are our home. The Quendi belong here, as the Valar belong in their realm of eternal bliss. We shall be ever glad of their friendship and help, but the offer to live among them we must refuse!”
“But…”
“The people of the stars we are, young lord!” said Enel, speaking up for the first time. “Have you not told us of eternal light there in Aman? How could the Eldar prosper in such a land? It seems to me that they would live in bliss for only a short time, burning with a flame too bright for their being, and then soon perish!”
Ingwë resigned himself to saying what he had tried to avoid to say, most of all for his friend’s sake.
“But it seems likely that we shall perish here even sooner. Was it not, Lord Enel, Lady Enelyë, a prince of your house that was slaughtered, his wife taken by the Shadows, only to leave an infant elfling behind? Is that what you would choose for your people truly?”
Predictably, a shudder went through the crowd and Ingwë sensed more than saw Finwë piercing glare while he laid a comforting arm around Elwë’s shoulders.
“That is quite enough, Ingwë!” Ilion spoke up, and though his tone was gentle, Ingwë could discern the warning in his father’s words.
“The Quendi that awoke on these shores will stay at these shores, whether you youngsters like it or not!” Tata stated, and had those not been words of doom, Ingwë would have laughed. It was easy to trace the passion with which words were spoken from Tata to his youngest lord without any trouble.
“Then, the Quendi will have to decide whom they will follow.” said Ingwë, raising his voice, so that everyone could hear him. “I ask therefore the tribe of the Minyar, my people, to choose whom they will follow!”
Elwë
Stars. Light. Diamonds in the sky. Or pearls on endless shores, shimmering in the light of the Trees. What was right? What wrong?
His head swam as if he had received a heavy blow. He was incapable of even a single straight thought, confused, and lost. Entirely lost.
Trees? Or stars? Lady Yavanna? Or Queen Varda?
It does not work like that, young lord.
Varda’s laughter, so clear, so warm, so pure.
You need not decide. My stars remain where they are, regardless whether your people do so as well.
He stumbled, branches piercing the palms of his hands as he fell on them.
Yavanna and Varda had exchanged mirthful glances at his words. He had not understood, but then, there had been so much he had not understood.
It would have been so easy, to give into the will of many of his people, to stay on starlit shores, the journey so difficult, Aman so bright, the sea so wide.
Do I choose what is easy? Or do I choose what is right?
He had never doubted Oromë, nor the Valar in general. And Finwë…
Finwë. Thoughts of his dearest friend stirred his mind out of its exhausted stupor. He had gone to visit Finwë, but then…
Mist seemed to fog his mind again. He would surly die here, and soon. His throat was dry, and his limbs shook with the effort of scrambling to his feet again. Tired. He was so tired. And yet he blinked, and after a little while his vision cleared enough for him to see what was in front of him- bushes, too thick and thorny to penetrate. To his left the trees stood closely together, to his right, the terrain fell a little, the ground rocky and treacherous, and yet… it sloped downhill, and going downhill would be so much less exhausting, at least for a little while. And did not all the land fall towards the sea? The sea… he had a feeling that he needed to be there. Nowë’s little toy ships on the mirror-clear surface of Cuiviénen. Home. The easy way.
Do I choose what is easy, or what my heart tells me is right?
The song pulled him towards the trees, so beautiful, and there was something familiar about it, something that made him think of Oromë. Had the Vala come again? Would he safe him?
But was this all real? Was anything real? Who was he? Where was he? What was he doing there.
Song. Light. The way to go.
His last thought, before he forced himself to walk on, his mind then so set on putting one foot before the other that there was no room for anything else, was of the song, and of how, when his strength would finally be spent, the music would be the last thing he heard, and that was a very comforting thought.
Olwë
The sea rushed back and forth, back, and forth. Olwë lost himself into that rhythm, as he had done frequently ever since they had reached the coast. Back, and forth. Yet today, that sound brought him no comfort.
Back…
Was he supposed to do that? Turn back now, after they had come so far? Refuse Ossë and his island and stay?
… and forth…
It was almost time now, the Maia had said, and Olwë knew it well enough within his own heart. They had long lingered here, and now was the time to go on.
Though could he go on? ‘How can you do this?’ Elmo had asked him last night, despair and barely concealed fury in his voice.
‘I can do this, because our people are my responsibility now, and I have to lead them on. That’s what Elwë wanted, what he laboured for for all these long years!’ he had answered, trying to convince himself as much as his little brother. There would be no reaching Aman after that. If he left now, he left Elwë behind, his dreams and hopes, and everyone who refused to leave without him.
No. No no no! He needed to be firm on this, could not allow the voices in his head to re-awaken. There was no older brother anymore to leave behind. Elwë is gone, he is dead, there is no other explanation! Elmo and Nowë were being stupid, and Beleg and Mablung and everyone else who wanted him to delay their journey further. He knew, he was utterly certain, that Elwë had not just walked away from his people, had not left them by his own free will. And that left only two possibilities- either he was dead, killed in some freak accident or by some fell thing, or… no, but that, too, was something he could not allow himself to think. And yet he could do nothing against his imagination showing him what was Elwë’s fate if he were indeed unlucky enough to still live. Captivity. Torture. Torture beyond what an elf could endure, until nothing was left of him but a maimed body and mind, bound to the will of the Shadow. Olwë had never believed it was truly gone. The one called Melkor might be, but not Evil itself. He wanted nothing more than to be gone from these shores, to be where the Powers dwelled, where it was safe.
‘Is that truly how you repay him for everything he’s done for us? You just give up on him?’
Olwë had caught Elmo by the wrists then, forcing him to calm down and listen.
‘I am NOT abandoning him. But we searched, Elmo. Everywhere. Many, many times. He’s gone. And I know this is what he would have wanted me to do- complete his work, lead his people on. Get us, you and me, to safety!’
‘Aye, I agree. That would be exactly what he would say, being noble, acting the hero. Because he’s learned to always put us first, and uh, did he enjoy himself in that role, and because he thought our safety was his responsibility. But we have a responsibility for him, too. We’re brothers. And what are brothers for if not to look after one another?’
Elmo’s words stung still. A lot. But what really hurt was what Elmo had said next.
“I’m not leaving here without him. He promised me not to leave me again and I don’t think he did. And I am most certainly not leaving him!”
So there he was now. If he choose to leave Middle-Earth, he was losing both brothers, and Nowë, too. He was losing all his family. There would be nobody there to pat him on the back, to say they were proud of him when they would finally reach Aman. He thought of his wife and their future children. Her parents had stayed at Cuiviénen, her sisters left them on the journey. Their children would just miss so much. No cousins to build boats with. No uncles and aunts to fish them out of the waves if they ever got over-excited. He would call himself king, and ever in his heart feel that this crown did not belong to him. And if he were to meet Elwë again? They had learned that the Fëar of those that had died could be rehoused after a fashion, return among the living. So what would happen if he did come face to face with his older brother once more and had to explain to him that he left Elmo behind? Elwë would never, ever, forgive him.
Back…
Maybe they could really be happy here. The sea was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. The stars overhead gave them light. Ossë and Uinen and Ulmo were ever there, so would it really be so bad to stay? And after all, that meant they could one day reconnect with those they had left behind. This, after all, was home.
… and forth.
But really, his mind was set, and had been from the start. He would do what he and Elwë had set out to do an eternity ago, or so it felt to him now.
When he sought out Elmo, he knew at first glance that his face showed his decision, for his brother smiled sadly at him.
“I stand by what I said. I will not leave Middle-Earth without Elwë.”
“Thus we, too, must part then. But Elmo? Promise me you will stay safe. Promise me you will find love and happiness, whether you ever find Elwë or not. And if by some chance you do find him alive, tell him I love him. And that his excuse had better be good!”
Elmo nodded, and Olwë embraced his brother, then turned to board the island at last, to turn his back to the lands of his birth, never to look back.
Author: LadySternchen
Summary: There are many roads to choose for those who lead the Quendi on the Great Journey. This story tells of four such crossroads, each a game-changer in the lives of the Elves.
Characters: mainly Ingwë, Finwë, Elwë and Olwë, with Imin, Iminyë, Tata, Tatië, Enel, Enelyë, Ilion and Elmo on the sides.
Warnings: none
Rating: General Audience
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Finwë
“(Melkor becomes suspicious, and guesses war is purpose against him, because of the Quendi. During Oromë’s absence his emissaries are busy, and many lies circulate. The `heresy’ awakes in new form: the Valar clearly do exist; but they have abandoned Endor; rightly as the appointed realm of the Quendi. Now they are becoming jealous, and wish to control the Quendi as vassals, and so re-possess themselves of Endor. Finwë, a gallant and adventurous young quende, direct descendant of Tata […], is much taken by these ideas; less so his friend, Elwë, descendant of Enel)”- J.R.R.Tolkien (editor Carl F. Hostetter): the Nature of Middle-Earth, Chapter XIII ‘Key Dates’
“Finwë! Lord Oromë, he’s back!”
Finwë wrinkled his nose, looking scepticly at his friend.
“So?” he asked finally, wincing inwardly at how cool he knew his voice sounded. Unsurprisingly, Elwë frowned at his friend’s less than enthusiastic attitude.
“What do you mean, ‘so’? He’s going to tell us more of Valinor, and besides, when he is here, no Shadow will dare come close.”
“The Shadow is conquered, they say.”
“I hear that. But there are still enough foul things on the loose in these woods!”
“Yes…” Finwë said. “…or so the Vala says.”
Elwë just stared at his friend, and Finwë bit his tongue.
“Elwë, I’m… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”
“It’s fine! But will you come and hear for yourself what Oromë has to say?”
“What if he’s only trying to lure us to Valinor? What if the Valar are really truly the evil ones? I mean, we’re happy here, aren’t we?”
Elwë considered that for a while, his eyes on the star-strewn heavens. At last he sighed deeply, looking as if he were carrying a much older elf’s burdens.
“I don’t believe it. I know many do, I know it sounds so very… logical. But there is no evil in Oromë. Anger, perhaps, wrath even, but no evil. Have you seen the light that shines within his eyes? Something so pure can not in itself be evil, I am sure about it! So will you come with me back to the others?”
Finwë still was reluctant, though he had to admit that Elwë had a good point.
“But you were the one to take ages to start trusting Oromë…”
Elwë shook his head.
“No, your memory deceives you there, my friend. I trusted Oromë from the start. But I needed time to think over what he told us.”
An almost pained look crossed Finwë’s face.
“Yes. I know you do. You always think everything over. But it seems that that is no bad thing this time. Alright. Let’s go!”
Ingwë
He balled his fists in frustration beneath his cloak, doing his best to keep his face even. Lord Imin was smiling understandingly, and somehow, that made him even angrier, and he was by the Valar not prone to anger quickly.
“The tales you tell of Valinor are blissful, Ingwë, and I understand your youthful desire to seek new shores…”
“Lord, with all due respect, you speak as if with the wisdom of age, that truly only the Powers, who are ageless and timeless, possess. But it is said, by them, that this is the Age of the youth of all Quendi, so it might be all our youthful duty to find a home that is more suitable for our kind.”
Still, Imin was smiling, and Ingwë could have hit him for it. Behind Imin, Iminyë, Tata and Tatië, Enel and Enelyë stood with grimmer expressions, though all very much signalling consent to the eldest’ words. Ingwë chanced a glance at Finwë and Elwë, who stood beside him, Finwë glaring furiously at the elders, Elwë with his gaze lowered to the ground, looking about as comfortable as a speared fish. It was all he could do not to roll his eyes at his two friends, for none of them was in the least helpful, though for very contrasting reasons. Wryly, he thought that if one could somehow mix them together, make one out of two, they might actually become useful.
“You are bold, Ingwë. But consider this- here is where we awoke, where we are meant to be. The shores of the sacred waters of Cuiviénen are our home. The Quendi belong here, as the Valar belong in their realm of eternal bliss. We shall be ever glad of their friendship and help, but the offer to live among them we must refuse!”
“But…”
“The people of the stars we are, young lord!” said Enel, speaking up for the first time. “Have you not told us of eternal light there in Aman? How could the Eldar prosper in such a land? It seems to me that they would live in bliss for only a short time, burning with a flame too bright for their being, and then soon perish!”
Ingwë resigned himself to saying what he had tried to avoid to say, most of all for his friend’s sake.
“But it seems likely that we shall perish here even sooner. Was it not, Lord Enel, Lady Enelyë, a prince of your house that was slaughtered, his wife taken by the Shadows, only to leave an infant elfling behind? Is that what you would choose for your people truly?”
Predictably, a shudder went through the crowd and Ingwë sensed more than saw Finwë piercing glare while he laid a comforting arm around Elwë’s shoulders.
“That is quite enough, Ingwë!” Ilion spoke up, and though his tone was gentle, Ingwë could discern the warning in his father’s words.
“The Quendi that awoke on these shores will stay at these shores, whether you youngsters like it or not!” Tata stated, and had those not been words of doom, Ingwë would have laughed. It was easy to trace the passion with which words were spoken from Tata to his youngest lord without any trouble.
“Then, the Quendi will have to decide whom they will follow.” said Ingwë, raising his voice, so that everyone could hear him. “I ask therefore the tribe of the Minyar, my people, to choose whom they will follow!”
Elwë
Stars. Light. Diamonds in the sky. Or pearls on endless shores, shimmering in the light of the Trees. What was right? What wrong?
His head swam as if he had received a heavy blow. He was incapable of even a single straight thought, confused, and lost. Entirely lost.
Trees? Or stars? Lady Yavanna? Or Queen Varda?
It does not work like that, young lord.
Varda’s laughter, so clear, so warm, so pure.
You need not decide. My stars remain where they are, regardless whether your people do so as well.
He stumbled, branches piercing the palms of his hands as he fell on them.
Yavanna and Varda had exchanged mirthful glances at his words. He had not understood, but then, there had been so much he had not understood.
It would have been so easy, to give into the will of many of his people, to stay on starlit shores, the journey so difficult, Aman so bright, the sea so wide.
Do I choose what is easy? Or do I choose what is right?
He had never doubted Oromë, nor the Valar in general. And Finwë…
Finwë. Thoughts of his dearest friend stirred his mind out of its exhausted stupor. He had gone to visit Finwë, but then…
Mist seemed to fog his mind again. He would surly die here, and soon. His throat was dry, and his limbs shook with the effort of scrambling to his feet again. Tired. He was so tired. And yet he blinked, and after a little while his vision cleared enough for him to see what was in front of him- bushes, too thick and thorny to penetrate. To his left the trees stood closely together, to his right, the terrain fell a little, the ground rocky and treacherous, and yet… it sloped downhill, and going downhill would be so much less exhausting, at least for a little while. And did not all the land fall towards the sea? The sea… he had a feeling that he needed to be there. Nowë’s little toy ships on the mirror-clear surface of Cuiviénen. Home. The easy way.
Do I choose what is easy, or what my heart tells me is right?
The song pulled him towards the trees, so beautiful, and there was something familiar about it, something that made him think of Oromë. Had the Vala come again? Would he safe him?
But was this all real? Was anything real? Who was he? Where was he? What was he doing there.
Song. Light. The way to go.
His last thought, before he forced himself to walk on, his mind then so set on putting one foot before the other that there was no room for anything else, was of the song, and of how, when his strength would finally be spent, the music would be the last thing he heard, and that was a very comforting thought.
Olwë
The sea rushed back and forth, back, and forth. Olwë lost himself into that rhythm, as he had done frequently ever since they had reached the coast. Back, and forth. Yet today, that sound brought him no comfort.
Back…
Was he supposed to do that? Turn back now, after they had come so far? Refuse Ossë and his island and stay?
… and forth…
It was almost time now, the Maia had said, and Olwë knew it well enough within his own heart. They had long lingered here, and now was the time to go on.
Though could he go on? ‘How can you do this?’ Elmo had asked him last night, despair and barely concealed fury in his voice.
‘I can do this, because our people are my responsibility now, and I have to lead them on. That’s what Elwë wanted, what he laboured for for all these long years!’ he had answered, trying to convince himself as much as his little brother. There would be no reaching Aman after that. If he left now, he left Elwë behind, his dreams and hopes, and everyone who refused to leave without him.
No. No no no! He needed to be firm on this, could not allow the voices in his head to re-awaken. There was no older brother anymore to leave behind. Elwë is gone, he is dead, there is no other explanation! Elmo and Nowë were being stupid, and Beleg and Mablung and everyone else who wanted him to delay their journey further. He knew, he was utterly certain, that Elwë had not just walked away from his people, had not left them by his own free will. And that left only two possibilities- either he was dead, killed in some freak accident or by some fell thing, or… no, but that, too, was something he could not allow himself to think. And yet he could do nothing against his imagination showing him what was Elwë’s fate if he were indeed unlucky enough to still live. Captivity. Torture. Torture beyond what an elf could endure, until nothing was left of him but a maimed body and mind, bound to the will of the Shadow. Olwë had never believed it was truly gone. The one called Melkor might be, but not Evil itself. He wanted nothing more than to be gone from these shores, to be where the Powers dwelled, where it was safe.
‘Is that truly how you repay him for everything he’s done for us? You just give up on him?’
Olwë had caught Elmo by the wrists then, forcing him to calm down and listen.
‘I am NOT abandoning him. But we searched, Elmo. Everywhere. Many, many times. He’s gone. And I know this is what he would have wanted me to do- complete his work, lead his people on. Get us, you and me, to safety!’
‘Aye, I agree. That would be exactly what he would say, being noble, acting the hero. Because he’s learned to always put us first, and uh, did he enjoy himself in that role, and because he thought our safety was his responsibility. But we have a responsibility for him, too. We’re brothers. And what are brothers for if not to look after one another?’
Elmo’s words stung still. A lot. But what really hurt was what Elmo had said next.
“I’m not leaving here without him. He promised me not to leave me again and I don’t think he did. And I am most certainly not leaving him!”
So there he was now. If he choose to leave Middle-Earth, he was losing both brothers, and Nowë, too. He was losing all his family. There would be nobody there to pat him on the back, to say they were proud of him when they would finally reach Aman. He thought of his wife and their future children. Her parents had stayed at Cuiviénen, her sisters left them on the journey. Their children would just miss so much. No cousins to build boats with. No uncles and aunts to fish them out of the waves if they ever got over-excited. He would call himself king, and ever in his heart feel that this crown did not belong to him. And if he were to meet Elwë again? They had learned that the Fëar of those that had died could be rehoused after a fashion, return among the living. So what would happen if he did come face to face with his older brother once more and had to explain to him that he left Elmo behind? Elwë would never, ever, forgive him.
Back…
Maybe they could really be happy here. The sea was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. The stars overhead gave them light. Ossë and Uinen and Ulmo were ever there, so would it really be so bad to stay? And after all, that meant they could one day reconnect with those they had left behind. This, after all, was home.
… and forth.
But really, his mind was set, and had been from the start. He would do what he and Elwë had set out to do an eternity ago, or so it felt to him now.
When he sought out Elmo, he knew at first glance that his face showed his decision, for his brother smiled sadly at him.
“I stand by what I said. I will not leave Middle-Earth without Elwë.”
“Thus we, too, must part then. But Elmo? Promise me you will stay safe. Promise me you will find love and happiness, whether you ever find Elwë or not. And if by some chance you do find him alive, tell him I love him. And that his excuse had better be good!”
Elmo nodded, and Olwë embraced his brother, then turned to board the island at last, to turn his back to the lands of his birth, never to look back.