Author's note : Ok, so I made Aredhel wish 'Happy birthday', as I couldn't
quite make her say 'Happy conception day', could I? And thanks to everyone
on Silmfics who answered my questions! I began working on this unaware of
the fact that Maeglin was only twenty years old –which makes him a child of
eight by human standards!-, but I was too lazy to rewrite it…
Ok, I'm not really comfortable with first person POVs yet. So, hm, I don't know if it'll work out, right?
Disclaimer: Nope, it ain't changed. I still own nothing.
Dusk
By Le Chat Noir
It is I now who am sitting at the window, like my Mother did when I was a child. It is I now who am looking North in longing of the light unknown, in longing of a freedom I crave and am determined to catch one day. It is I whose heart today lies in a kingdom I have never known, but through my mother's tales, never seen, but in my mother's eyes. Gondolin with its six Gates, the City of Light Hidden Kingdom, where seats Turgon son of Fingolfin and Idril the Silverfoot and the fairest city of all ever on Endor and that no one could find and the song of fountains and of nightingales. Everything beautiful and sweet to the eye and ear ever that stands in the semblance of Tirion the white. That I'm forbidden to ever see, and you ever again.
My father is gone more and more often now. The day before yesterday, he's been invited by the Naugrim to a feast in Nogrod, and he has left. In silence, as always now. Sorry, my mother. I know your proud heart suffers from his scorn. I know you've loved him, once upon a time, and maybe love him still; I've guessed through your words and your hurting eyes; I know the pain in your heart. I know it is my fault. Sorry my mother. My dear mother who's given me so much, and even that which I did not ask for. I'm sorry I cannot give it all back to you.
But I promise you one thing. I cannot give you life like you've given me life; I cannot give you thirst like you've given me thirst; I cannot give you knowledge like the one you've given me; I cannot give you hope, and for that I should be glad, for under this roof hope is only bitter. But I promise you one thing. I promise you my despair, I promise you my strife; I promise you to fight like you've wanted to fight, I promise you my hatred for him and the life he means for us, I promise you to hope in your place, I promise you, I promise you all that. And rest. One day.
Why, I wonder? Why look out this window into the perpetual darkness? What is it that draws our gaze to this unseen light, to look at the shadows and fool ourselves? What is it, what is it I yearn for? I do not know. I know only the darkness. I know only the tears. All I know you taught me, my mother, but still the light is but a dimly outlined idea in my heart. The light. A beautiful word, but empty of meaning. I have never seen a light brighter than the blazing fires of my father's forges.
I remember a time when my father used to take me with him on his journeys to the dwarven cities. We travelled only by night, and always was he careful of not letting me see the Sun. The Sun. In that time did I learn everything my father could teach, and everything the dwarves were willing to let me know. I remember that time. Yes. How far away it seems now.
But the door creaks open and you come in, my mother. You have that sad little smile on your lips, as always, and as far as I am able to recall you've always worn it, the smile through which I've guessed all the wonders of the City.
"Happy birthday." Oh yes. I had almost forgotten. "Maeglin." I notice the name is sour for you to speak. It's Lomion, my mother, you know that well, just as I do. It's Lomion to you.
"Thank you."
You peer out at the darkness, and in your eyes are reflected gleams of the light invisible to mine, Sharp Glance as I am. But suddenly I notice there is something unusual about you. Is it that your face is brighter, your pace lighter, is it that today you have decided to forget, just one day, for me? Is it that your hand rests on the windowsill in a way I have not yet seen, is it that fresh unknown scent that emanates from your white robe? Is it that new glimpse in your eyes, almost playful, that makes you look young, like a maiden with a secret?
But you look at me, smiling in a fashion all too strange, and burst into a clear laughter.
Mother, Mother, what do you have in mind? Too seldom have I heard you laughing, truly laughing! And even as you laugh no more, still it rings in the in the small, dark room, caught prisoner by the walls.
"There is not much for a celebration in this sombre valley. But I will offer you what I can."
What does this wry smile mean?
"Come."
And before I can stand, you have already turned away.
I follow you down the corridors, ever wondering where you are leading me. Today you walk proud and tall, though I find I cannot get rid of my habit to be wary of the gazes of my father's servants. You enter the stables, seeming like you knew where you were going. Still I do not. Confidently, you lead your horse into the outer darkness; bewildered, I hear you refusing the guards' escort. The little master will come with me, you say. The guards protest "But a child…" However, you will not hear.
And soon we are both riding swiftly in the dark forest, under the trees' shadows, two figures robed in white mounted on black steeds, past the branches that seek to tear.
~
Well, well, well, it's good to get back at writing! Next chapter coming will feature Maeglin's first encounter with the light… It may be long in coming, as I find it to be one greatly important turn in the young elf's life, and wish to do it as well as possible.
Thanks to the reviewers!
Ok, I'm not really comfortable with first person POVs yet. So, hm, I don't know if it'll work out, right?
Disclaimer: Nope, it ain't changed. I still own nothing.
Dusk
By Le Chat Noir
It is I now who am sitting at the window, like my Mother did when I was a child. It is I now who am looking North in longing of the light unknown, in longing of a freedom I crave and am determined to catch one day. It is I whose heart today lies in a kingdom I have never known, but through my mother's tales, never seen, but in my mother's eyes. Gondolin with its six Gates, the City of Light Hidden Kingdom, where seats Turgon son of Fingolfin and Idril the Silverfoot and the fairest city of all ever on Endor and that no one could find and the song of fountains and of nightingales. Everything beautiful and sweet to the eye and ear ever that stands in the semblance of Tirion the white. That I'm forbidden to ever see, and you ever again.
My father is gone more and more often now. The day before yesterday, he's been invited by the Naugrim to a feast in Nogrod, and he has left. In silence, as always now. Sorry, my mother. I know your proud heart suffers from his scorn. I know you've loved him, once upon a time, and maybe love him still; I've guessed through your words and your hurting eyes; I know the pain in your heart. I know it is my fault. Sorry my mother. My dear mother who's given me so much, and even that which I did not ask for. I'm sorry I cannot give it all back to you.
But I promise you one thing. I cannot give you life like you've given me life; I cannot give you thirst like you've given me thirst; I cannot give you knowledge like the one you've given me; I cannot give you hope, and for that I should be glad, for under this roof hope is only bitter. But I promise you one thing. I promise you my despair, I promise you my strife; I promise you to fight like you've wanted to fight, I promise you my hatred for him and the life he means for us, I promise you to hope in your place, I promise you, I promise you all that. And rest. One day.
Why, I wonder? Why look out this window into the perpetual darkness? What is it that draws our gaze to this unseen light, to look at the shadows and fool ourselves? What is it, what is it I yearn for? I do not know. I know only the darkness. I know only the tears. All I know you taught me, my mother, but still the light is but a dimly outlined idea in my heart. The light. A beautiful word, but empty of meaning. I have never seen a light brighter than the blazing fires of my father's forges.
I remember a time when my father used to take me with him on his journeys to the dwarven cities. We travelled only by night, and always was he careful of not letting me see the Sun. The Sun. In that time did I learn everything my father could teach, and everything the dwarves were willing to let me know. I remember that time. Yes. How far away it seems now.
But the door creaks open and you come in, my mother. You have that sad little smile on your lips, as always, and as far as I am able to recall you've always worn it, the smile through which I've guessed all the wonders of the City.
"Happy birthday." Oh yes. I had almost forgotten. "Maeglin." I notice the name is sour for you to speak. It's Lomion, my mother, you know that well, just as I do. It's Lomion to you.
"Thank you."
You peer out at the darkness, and in your eyes are reflected gleams of the light invisible to mine, Sharp Glance as I am. But suddenly I notice there is something unusual about you. Is it that your face is brighter, your pace lighter, is it that today you have decided to forget, just one day, for me? Is it that your hand rests on the windowsill in a way I have not yet seen, is it that fresh unknown scent that emanates from your white robe? Is it that new glimpse in your eyes, almost playful, that makes you look young, like a maiden with a secret?
But you look at me, smiling in a fashion all too strange, and burst into a clear laughter.
Mother, Mother, what do you have in mind? Too seldom have I heard you laughing, truly laughing! And even as you laugh no more, still it rings in the in the small, dark room, caught prisoner by the walls.
"There is not much for a celebration in this sombre valley. But I will offer you what I can."
What does this wry smile mean?
"Come."
And before I can stand, you have already turned away.
I follow you down the corridors, ever wondering where you are leading me. Today you walk proud and tall, though I find I cannot get rid of my habit to be wary of the gazes of my father's servants. You enter the stables, seeming like you knew where you were going. Still I do not. Confidently, you lead your horse into the outer darkness; bewildered, I hear you refusing the guards' escort. The little master will come with me, you say. The guards protest "But a child…" However, you will not hear.
And soon we are both riding swiftly in the dark forest, under the trees' shadows, two figures robed in white mounted on black steeds, past the branches that seek to tear.
~
Well, well, well, it's good to get back at writing! Next chapter coming will feature Maeglin's first encounter with the light… It may be long in coming, as I find it to be one greatly important turn in the young elf's life, and wish to do it as well as possible.
Thanks to the reviewers!