Post by Admin on Jan 2, 2021 4:33:32 GMT
Author: Lotrfan
Ranking: Tied for 2nd place
Challenge: Life and Death
No warnings Provided.
You can review the story here:
FFN: www.fanfiction.net/s/12856246/1/One-Moment-Changes-Everything
AO3: archiveofourown.org/works/13857810
He was watching Vaire weave when the sensation came over him. He gripped the back of her chair and swayed for a moment as her eyes met his.
“You felt it?” she asked, the shuttle dropping from her fingers as she stood.
Namo nodded, pressing his fingertips to his forehead as the pressure grew there.
The door to their chamber flew open and he looked up to see the pale, distraught Maia who entered the room.
“My Lord,” Alariel began, his voice faltering. “My Lord, you are needed.”
“I felt it,” Namo said, the vision of the bodies on the bloodstained sand of Alqualondë filling his mind.
“There are so many—Noldor and Teleri—they are coming all at once and their strife continues in your Halls.” The Maia stepped closer and Namo could see how his hands trembled.
“Go,” Vaire said. “You must see to them, Namo.”
“I will sort this madness and return.” Namo squeezed her shoulder before sweeping out of the room, moving from a dignified swiftness to an outright run as he followed the agitated Alariel down the corridor.
He did not know how much time had passed before he returned to Vaire, time being a relative thing in his Halls.
She was at her loom, the shuttle working back and forth as she wove. He could see the tracks of tears on her face and the glittering drops that fell unheeded on the threads of her loom.
Vaire paused at his entrance, turning to meet his gaze. “Miriel was here,” she said. “I had Nienna take her away—to Irmo, to seek some solace. I have woven the deeds of today. It is too much to expect her to do so, so soon after her return, Namo.”
He sat down heavily, his head in his hands. “I do not think this is the worst she will have to document, Vaire.” Namo rubbed his aching forehead again. “I have sorted things for today,” he continued. “But I fear more days like this await us.” He shook his head. “The fëa of the Teleri and the Noldor dead were arriving so quickly from Alqualondë that there was no time to sequester them from each other. It was chaos but I have orders in place as the rest come in.”
“You expect more then?” Vaire questioned.
Namo closed his eyes and pressed the heels of his hands over them before answering. He did not expect the images to fade away and, as he anticipated, they did not. “I fear this is just the beginning.”
“Did you speak to Manwë?”
“I did. And I spoke to the Noldor, at his request. They are exiled, a great Doom revealed to them and most particularly on the House of Fëanor,” Namo said.
“This will be hard for Miriel, Namo,” Vaire said.
“Aye, I fear her son shall bring great sorrow to her and her labors to weave his story
shall bring her no comfort. I foresee my Halls will fill with Noldor as the years pass by.”
Vaire glanced at the tapestry before her—the dead littering the once pristine shore of Alqualondë, patches of sand stained with blood. The white swan ships of the Teleri, moored in the harbor still, their decks strewn with bodies, blood swirling in the waters around them. Could it truly ever be worse than this?
“It can,” Namo said, answering her unspoken question. “They go to Beleriand, to fight Melkor, forever exiled from the Undying Lands. Blood shall be spilled, lives shall be wasted in this quest for vengeance and tears unnumbered shall be shed. We must expect the worst.”
“I had not expected even this,” Vaire said, gesturing to her tapestry.
“Nor had I, fool that I am.” Namo could not disguise the bitterness in his tone. How had even he been caught unaware?
He met her eyes. “Moriquendi we have had—through accident or the brutal actions of Melkor’s creatures in Beleriand, as you well know. But never so many at once. And they passed through our Halls swiftly, eager to be rehoused and safe.” Namo shook his head. “Now I wish that I had advised them to settle even farther away than they did. Reluctant they were to come to Tirion—the darker reaches were more to their liking, the light of the Trees more distant—only starlight, as they were accustomed to in Endorë. Would that I had counselled the Returned to stay away from Formenos!”
“You knew they would go there, not only for the undimmed light of the stars but for the chance to trade with the Noldor,” Vaire said gently.
“There were other settlements,” Namo pointed out. “Fëanor might not have been so eager to cross the sea, had he not heard their stories.”
“He would have found them, Namo. In his wanderings over the years he has met many returned Moriquendi—his travels were not confined to Formenos, as you well know,” Vaire reminded him.
“Blast him and his travels,” Namo growled.
“Even had he not met them, he would still go—to avenge his father and the devastation Melkor has visited on his family.” Vaire paused, her brow creased in thought. “Fëanor always treasured Finwë’s stories of Cuiviénen and the Great Journey. He has longed to see those lands since he was a child. You know this.”
She moved closer to him and put her hand on his shoulder. “‘What is done is done.’ Is that not what you say? We cannot chase the past away, only learn from it. Time to heed your own words, Doomsman of the Valar.” Her fingers moved up to gently brush the hair away from his face.
Namo looked up at her, those cool fingertips the only solace he had experienced this day; his head still throbbed from the onslaught of the fëa that had crossed into his Halls. “Heed them I will. But I fear even my words are not enough to change the path the Noldor have chosen today.”
Ranking: Tied for 2nd place
Challenge: Life and Death
No warnings Provided.
You can review the story here:
FFN: www.fanfiction.net/s/12856246/1/One-Moment-Changes-Everything
AO3: archiveofourown.org/works/13857810
He was watching Vaire weave when the sensation came over him. He gripped the back of her chair and swayed for a moment as her eyes met his.
“You felt it?” she asked, the shuttle dropping from her fingers as she stood.
Namo nodded, pressing his fingertips to his forehead as the pressure grew there.
The door to their chamber flew open and he looked up to see the pale, distraught Maia who entered the room.
“My Lord,” Alariel began, his voice faltering. “My Lord, you are needed.”
“I felt it,” Namo said, the vision of the bodies on the bloodstained sand of Alqualondë filling his mind.
“There are so many—Noldor and Teleri—they are coming all at once and their strife continues in your Halls.” The Maia stepped closer and Namo could see how his hands trembled.
“Go,” Vaire said. “You must see to them, Namo.”
“I will sort this madness and return.” Namo squeezed her shoulder before sweeping out of the room, moving from a dignified swiftness to an outright run as he followed the agitated Alariel down the corridor.
He did not know how much time had passed before he returned to Vaire, time being a relative thing in his Halls.
She was at her loom, the shuttle working back and forth as she wove. He could see the tracks of tears on her face and the glittering drops that fell unheeded on the threads of her loom.
Vaire paused at his entrance, turning to meet his gaze. “Miriel was here,” she said. “I had Nienna take her away—to Irmo, to seek some solace. I have woven the deeds of today. It is too much to expect her to do so, so soon after her return, Namo.”
He sat down heavily, his head in his hands. “I do not think this is the worst she will have to document, Vaire.” Namo rubbed his aching forehead again. “I have sorted things for today,” he continued. “But I fear more days like this await us.” He shook his head. “The fëa of the Teleri and the Noldor dead were arriving so quickly from Alqualondë that there was no time to sequester them from each other. It was chaos but I have orders in place as the rest come in.”
“You expect more then?” Vaire questioned.
Namo closed his eyes and pressed the heels of his hands over them before answering. He did not expect the images to fade away and, as he anticipated, they did not. “I fear this is just the beginning.”
“Did you speak to Manwë?”
“I did. And I spoke to the Noldor, at his request. They are exiled, a great Doom revealed to them and most particularly on the House of Fëanor,” Namo said.
“This will be hard for Miriel, Namo,” Vaire said.
“Aye, I fear her son shall bring great sorrow to her and her labors to weave his story
shall bring her no comfort. I foresee my Halls will fill with Noldor as the years pass by.”
Vaire glanced at the tapestry before her—the dead littering the once pristine shore of Alqualondë, patches of sand stained with blood. The white swan ships of the Teleri, moored in the harbor still, their decks strewn with bodies, blood swirling in the waters around them. Could it truly ever be worse than this?
“It can,” Namo said, answering her unspoken question. “They go to Beleriand, to fight Melkor, forever exiled from the Undying Lands. Blood shall be spilled, lives shall be wasted in this quest for vengeance and tears unnumbered shall be shed. We must expect the worst.”
“I had not expected even this,” Vaire said, gesturing to her tapestry.
“Nor had I, fool that I am.” Namo could not disguise the bitterness in his tone. How had even he been caught unaware?
He met her eyes. “Moriquendi we have had—through accident or the brutal actions of Melkor’s creatures in Beleriand, as you well know. But never so many at once. And they passed through our Halls swiftly, eager to be rehoused and safe.” Namo shook his head. “Now I wish that I had advised them to settle even farther away than they did. Reluctant they were to come to Tirion—the darker reaches were more to their liking, the light of the Trees more distant—only starlight, as they were accustomed to in Endorë. Would that I had counselled the Returned to stay away from Formenos!”
“You knew they would go there, not only for the undimmed light of the stars but for the chance to trade with the Noldor,” Vaire said gently.
“There were other settlements,” Namo pointed out. “Fëanor might not have been so eager to cross the sea, had he not heard their stories.”
“He would have found them, Namo. In his wanderings over the years he has met many returned Moriquendi—his travels were not confined to Formenos, as you well know,” Vaire reminded him.
“Blast him and his travels,” Namo growled.
“Even had he not met them, he would still go—to avenge his father and the devastation Melkor has visited on his family.” Vaire paused, her brow creased in thought. “Fëanor always treasured Finwë’s stories of Cuiviénen and the Great Journey. He has longed to see those lands since he was a child. You know this.”
She moved closer to him and put her hand on his shoulder. “‘What is done is done.’ Is that not what you say? We cannot chase the past away, only learn from it. Time to heed your own words, Doomsman of the Valar.” Her fingers moved up to gently brush the hair away from his face.
Namo looked up at her, those cool fingertips the only solace he had experienced this day; his head still throbbed from the onslaught of the fëa that had crossed into his Halls. “Heed them I will. But I fear even my words are not enough to change the path the Noldor have chosen today.”