The Old Hope by Novus
(Novussibyl@aol.com)
Rating: PG
Summary: The Old Hope of Arda is come at last. Based primarily upon
the Silmarillion and Athrabeth Finrod ah Andreth.
Type: Drama/General
Author's Note: A Middle-earth Christmas story.
That's all. Push the button, Frank.
Disclaimer: All characters and places mentioned herein, except Elelome,
are the creation of J.R.R. Tolkien and used with the utmost respect.
****
When dusk fell over the land, Elrond climbed the long, winding stairs
of the white tower of Ingwë, as he had for years beyond count. And, as
ever, he was not alone. Few came to gaze eastward into Middle-earth, to
the cradlelands of the Elf-folk, but always a few.
Truth be told, there was little to be seen. No Elves lingered still in
Middle-earth, unless one believed the grim whispers of wandering fëar
in the dark lands of the utter east. The Dwarves had faded away,
becoming one with the stone they so loved, and the Hobbits were a
dying folk, lingering only in the deepest woods of the twilight isles.
And Men...
Elrond sighed. Men had fallen far and hard since he had departed the
shores of Middle-earth. The Kingdom, built on such shining foundations
by his son, had collapsed all too soon. Corrupted, divided, broken and
finally washed away by the wrath of Ilúvatar. Nothing, not even a
single stone, remained of its glory. The kingdoms of Men were petty
things, brutal and short-lived, much like Men themselves.
He forced himself not to dwell on such matters. The fate of Men was no
longer his concern. There were brighter things to think about.
Celebrian, his beloved, was ever at his side, and tonight was no
exception. Her passing from Middle-earth had been one of grief, but
time had eased those pains and now she joined her husband in looking
back at the land of their birth.
On this night, to Elrond's surprise, a large host had assembled. The
great marble flet was nearly full, each of the tribes of Elves well
represented: Noldor, Vanyar, Teleri, and even a few Dark Elves -
Thranduil's son, for one.
The moon rose over the Sea and all fell silent for a moment, paying
honor to the white pearl of the heavens and to the one who guided it
upon its way.
Then Elrond frowned and looked more closely at the stars. A murmur
began to run through the crowd, telling him his sight was not somehow
broken.
The stars were dim.
"What can this mean?" a voice cried out. It was Elelome, one of the
younger maidens of the House of Fëanor and also distantly akin
to him - or more precisely his son Elrohir - by ties of marriage.
"Lord Elrond, what do you make of this wonder?" she asked, spotting
him in the throng. He was the eldest of them all, Elrond realized with
some amusement. That was a rare thing here in the Undying Lands.
He looked up at the faded stars for a long moment, seeking to unravel
the mystery. But no foresight came upon him, only a great feeling of
anticipation. Something was coming.
"I cannot say," he finally told the young Noldo, smiling sadly, both
for his failure to understand and for ancient grief over another
dark-haired Elf much nearer to his heart.
"It as if something is sapping the very radiance of the heavens,"
Legolas murmured, perhaps remembering another darkness long-ago. But no
- Sauron was well and truly gone, and his master utterly lacked the
might to do such a thing even in his greatest glory.
And, deep in his heart, Elrond was comforted by this. "Sapped, perhaps,
or perhaps they give their light to some greater need," he suggested.
"I cannot see which is the right. We must seek wiser minds, or clearer
eyes, I think."
"There are few wiser than Lord Elrond, and few with keener sight."
All turned.
"Olórin!" Elrond exclaimed with a smile. It had been many months since
he had seen his old friend. "One who is wiser and keener than I. Can
you tell us anything of this?" he asked, raising one hand to the starry
sky.
The Maiar nodded slowly. "I could... but I will say only this. Watch.
Watch and wait. Soon you will see."
Elrond stared at Olórin for a moment, puzzled by the cryptic answer.
Why the mystery?
"How soon?" Legolas asked.
"Not this night, I think," Elrond guessed, some trickle of foresight
finally entering his mind. Olórin nodded, confirming it. "How long,
then?" Elrond asked.
The ancient Maiar bowed his head for a moment, lost in thought. Then
he looked upon the assembled Elves and smiled. "Four enquier, I should
think."
Four enquier... nearly a month as reckoned by the moon. A few of the
younger Elves, Elelome chief among them, murmured their disappointment.
Elrond glanced at them, amused by their rare display of impatience.
They would leave such things behind after two or three more millenia,
poor children...
Elrond carefully masked his own impatience.
"So be it."
Olórin clasped his shoulder for a moment. "The long defeat is nearly
at an end," he whispered, then turned and swiftly vanished down the
staircase.
Elrond stared, struck speechless for the first time in countless years.
The long defeat at an end? The words had sent a jolt down his spine.
What could Olórin possibly have meant? He turned back to the faded
stars, wishing he could decipher their portent.
But they had no answers for them. After a moment, Elrond gave up and
decided to trust Olórin, always a wise course.
He and Celebrian lingered a while longer, but as the moon began to
sink down into the West, they slowly began the journey back to their
home in the city below.
(Novussibyl@aol.com)
Rating: PG
Summary: The Old Hope of Arda is come at last. Based primarily upon
the Silmarillion and Athrabeth Finrod ah Andreth.
Type: Drama/General
Author's Note: A Middle-earth Christmas story.
That's all. Push the button, Frank.
Disclaimer: All characters and places mentioned herein, except Elelome,
are the creation of J.R.R. Tolkien and used with the utmost respect.
****
When dusk fell over the land, Elrond climbed the long, winding stairs
of the white tower of Ingwë, as he had for years beyond count. And, as
ever, he was not alone. Few came to gaze eastward into Middle-earth, to
the cradlelands of the Elf-folk, but always a few.
Truth be told, there was little to be seen. No Elves lingered still in
Middle-earth, unless one believed the grim whispers of wandering fëar
in the dark lands of the utter east. The Dwarves had faded away,
becoming one with the stone they so loved, and the Hobbits were a
dying folk, lingering only in the deepest woods of the twilight isles.
And Men...
Elrond sighed. Men had fallen far and hard since he had departed the
shores of Middle-earth. The Kingdom, built on such shining foundations
by his son, had collapsed all too soon. Corrupted, divided, broken and
finally washed away by the wrath of Ilúvatar. Nothing, not even a
single stone, remained of its glory. The kingdoms of Men were petty
things, brutal and short-lived, much like Men themselves.
He forced himself not to dwell on such matters. The fate of Men was no
longer his concern. There were brighter things to think about.
Celebrian, his beloved, was ever at his side, and tonight was no
exception. Her passing from Middle-earth had been one of grief, but
time had eased those pains and now she joined her husband in looking
back at the land of their birth.
On this night, to Elrond's surprise, a large host had assembled. The
great marble flet was nearly full, each of the tribes of Elves well
represented: Noldor, Vanyar, Teleri, and even a few Dark Elves -
Thranduil's son, for one.
The moon rose over the Sea and all fell silent for a moment, paying
honor to the white pearl of the heavens and to the one who guided it
upon its way.
Then Elrond frowned and looked more closely at the stars. A murmur
began to run through the crowd, telling him his sight was not somehow
broken.
The stars were dim.
"What can this mean?" a voice cried out. It was Elelome, one of the
younger maidens of the House of Fëanor and also distantly akin
to him - or more precisely his son Elrohir - by ties of marriage.
"Lord Elrond, what do you make of this wonder?" she asked, spotting
him in the throng. He was the eldest of them all, Elrond realized with
some amusement. That was a rare thing here in the Undying Lands.
He looked up at the faded stars for a long moment, seeking to unravel
the mystery. But no foresight came upon him, only a great feeling of
anticipation. Something was coming.
"I cannot say," he finally told the young Noldo, smiling sadly, both
for his failure to understand and for ancient grief over another
dark-haired Elf much nearer to his heart.
"It as if something is sapping the very radiance of the heavens,"
Legolas murmured, perhaps remembering another darkness long-ago. But no
- Sauron was well and truly gone, and his master utterly lacked the
might to do such a thing even in his greatest glory.
And, deep in his heart, Elrond was comforted by this. "Sapped, perhaps,
or perhaps they give their light to some greater need," he suggested.
"I cannot see which is the right. We must seek wiser minds, or clearer
eyes, I think."
"There are few wiser than Lord Elrond, and few with keener sight."
All turned.
"Olórin!" Elrond exclaimed with a smile. It had been many months since
he had seen his old friend. "One who is wiser and keener than I. Can
you tell us anything of this?" he asked, raising one hand to the starry
sky.
The Maiar nodded slowly. "I could... but I will say only this. Watch.
Watch and wait. Soon you will see."
Elrond stared at Olórin for a moment, puzzled by the cryptic answer.
Why the mystery?
"How soon?" Legolas asked.
"Not this night, I think," Elrond guessed, some trickle of foresight
finally entering his mind. Olórin nodded, confirming it. "How long,
then?" Elrond asked.
The ancient Maiar bowed his head for a moment, lost in thought. Then
he looked upon the assembled Elves and smiled. "Four enquier, I should
think."
Four enquier... nearly a month as reckoned by the moon. A few of the
younger Elves, Elelome chief among them, murmured their disappointment.
Elrond glanced at them, amused by their rare display of impatience.
They would leave such things behind after two or three more millenia,
poor children...
Elrond carefully masked his own impatience.
"So be it."
Olórin clasped his shoulder for a moment. "The long defeat is nearly
at an end," he whispered, then turned and swiftly vanished down the
staircase.
Elrond stared, struck speechless for the first time in countless years.
The long defeat at an end? The words had sent a jolt down his spine.
What could Olórin possibly have meant? He turned back to the faded
stars, wishing he could decipher their portent.
But they had no answers for them. After a moment, Elrond gave up and
decided to trust Olórin, always a wise course.
He and Celebrian lingered a while longer, but as the moon began to
sink down into the West, they slowly began the journey back to their
home in the city below.