The downfall
Pairing: None
Rating: PG
POV: Finarfin
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Professor Tolkien. No profit is made from this.
I bowed to her deeply. The simple circlet of a prince weighed lightly on my head.
"My son, you shall listen to me," she said from beside the lofty throne. In her hair were braided bright gems strung by silver and gold; on her white breast rested a necklace of pearls from Alqualonde - the gift from my wife. The crown of the king sparkled under the soft strokes of her endearing fingers. The Vanyarin High Queen rules the Noldor in Tirion.
I placed myself at the feet of Manwë begging for forgiveness, and my people were allowed to resume their life. High King Ingwë deigns himself often to the Noldorin court, exchanging quiet counsels with the Queen. I treate them with courtesy, and my people are hushed. The city is hushed while the Vanyar's delicate voices and light hair fill it and there is their jingling laughter, laughter only. Joy bounces behind crystalline eyes and courses under porcelain skins, unattainable. The bustling streets displayed a few figures, shoulders hunched, face obscure, but hair dark and skin pale, and they were silent. Words and craft have died away. The scrolls lament the one who bestowed them thoughts. The fire of the forge perishes with their kindler. Litanies become the only speech delivered. Morning prayers resound with the morning bells. Belief is our succor, our healer and our tormentor. The silver lamps of Mindon Eldaliéva condescended from high above the city. The epitome of our pride had carried the bane away, but what is left of us?
Sea winds racked through Calacirya carrying cries and salty tears from the faraway island. The glory bought by pride were lifted high up into nothingness. My hair danced wildly, and shimmered, in the starbeams from the pinnacle of Taniquetil, like embers crystalized in an eternal winter.
A/N: just one-shot, no more. sigh, it seems my thoughts are really weird...maybe you can treat this as an AU.
