Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me, I am merely playing with the characters and promise to return them when I am done.
Author´s notes:
This story is dedicated to Joan Milligan, as a Thank You for the lovely review you left for Laer Glorfindel.
It were your poems and stories that inspired me to write this.
Finch: Thank you for your feedback and that you let me know that there is a Silmarillion Section. =) I did not know until now.
Fragments
She told me once that the heat of his passion surrounded her and she melted. She melted so
completely that she could not remember where she ended and where he began. She still does
not know it, for all that remains of her now are the scattered fragments of a broken soul,
torn apart and burnt with icy pain when he went away.
I hate him for this.
She told me once that he fascinated her, that she loved him and felt a flame within him,
burning brighter than the mingled light of Telperion and Laurelin.
Today, I can only laugh about this irony. The light is gone and so is he.
But back in those days I knew not what would come to pass. Had I known, I would never
have done as she bid. I would have never laid her hand in his... if I had only known.
But I knew not.
She told me once that she believed him to return. She still believes, despite the fact that he is
to remain in Mandos´ Halls until the Final Battle is fought and Arda Marred is mended.
She knows, but she does not heed. She refuses to believe that he had to surrender to the
creatures of nightmares which we can only image. If we can at all.
She can, for a part of her soul remained with him, even when he left.
She saw all what happened.
She saw how the Spirit of Fire died and how his body burned to ashes.
She saw how her sons renewed their oath and how, one by one, they fell,
until now, only one is left, wandering the shores of the world and singing of his grief, not able to return.
I, too, am grieving. For her.
She is not made of ice, but of fire, as is he.
Two kindred souls and yet different as day and night.
Maybe it was her doom to share his fate;
To live with him, laugh with him, bleed with him
and eventually, for a part of her, to die with him.
If this is so, it gives my heart little comfort, if at all. And it is not the comfort I wish for her
to have, but the scarce comfort that I am not to blame.
Or am I?
When I see her today,
sitting in her room unmoving, staring blankly ahead with eyes that are filled with the
darkness of The Halls of Waiting, I desperately want to turn back time.
I often see her cry, when she gazes out of the windows, perceiving things that only
she can see.
She told me once that she cried because a smile would not be enough. Maybe it is so still...
and this is the hope I cling to. That she lives in the past where there is no pain, no fear, no
darkness....
My beloved daughter, my little Nerdanel, that is what I wish for you, for there is nothing I
can do to ease your pain.
*~*~*~*
This was an experimental piece, so please tell me how you feel.
Should I keep this style or give it up as fast as possible?
Tell me ad don´t hesitate. I am not made of glass.
Author´s notes:
This story is dedicated to Joan Milligan, as a Thank You for the lovely review you left for Laer Glorfindel.
It were your poems and stories that inspired me to write this.
Finch: Thank you for your feedback and that you let me know that there is a Silmarillion Section. =) I did not know until now.
Fragments
She told me once that the heat of his passion surrounded her and she melted. She melted so
completely that she could not remember where she ended and where he began. She still does
not know it, for all that remains of her now are the scattered fragments of a broken soul,
torn apart and burnt with icy pain when he went away.
I hate him for this.
She told me once that he fascinated her, that she loved him and felt a flame within him,
burning brighter than the mingled light of Telperion and Laurelin.
Today, I can only laugh about this irony. The light is gone and so is he.
But back in those days I knew not what would come to pass. Had I known, I would never
have done as she bid. I would have never laid her hand in his... if I had only known.
But I knew not.
She told me once that she believed him to return. She still believes, despite the fact that he is
to remain in Mandos´ Halls until the Final Battle is fought and Arda Marred is mended.
She knows, but she does not heed. She refuses to believe that he had to surrender to the
creatures of nightmares which we can only image. If we can at all.
She can, for a part of her soul remained with him, even when he left.
She saw all what happened.
She saw how the Spirit of Fire died and how his body burned to ashes.
She saw how her sons renewed their oath and how, one by one, they fell,
until now, only one is left, wandering the shores of the world and singing of his grief, not able to return.
I, too, am grieving. For her.
She is not made of ice, but of fire, as is he.
Two kindred souls and yet different as day and night.
Maybe it was her doom to share his fate;
To live with him, laugh with him, bleed with him
and eventually, for a part of her, to die with him.
If this is so, it gives my heart little comfort, if at all. And it is not the comfort I wish for her
to have, but the scarce comfort that I am not to blame.
Or am I?
When I see her today,
sitting in her room unmoving, staring blankly ahead with eyes that are filled with the
darkness of The Halls of Waiting, I desperately want to turn back time.
I often see her cry, when she gazes out of the windows, perceiving things that only
she can see.
She told me once that she cried because a smile would not be enough. Maybe it is so still...
and this is the hope I cling to. That she lives in the past where there is no pain, no fear, no
darkness....
My beloved daughter, my little Nerdanel, that is what I wish for you, for there is nothing I
can do to ease your pain.
*~*~*~*
This was an experimental piece, so please tell me how you feel.
Should I keep this style or give it up as fast as possible?
Tell me ad don´t hesitate. I am not made of glass.
