Rating: PG-13
Warnings: rather unsympathetic to Luthien, matters related to death, semi-glossed-over graphic violence
Genres: Character Study, Hurt/Comfort, Spiritual, Tragedy
Characters: Luthien, Námo Mandos, Beren (spoken/thought of)
Length: triple drabble
Summary: Námo Mandos weeps, but not for Luthien.
Notes: Beren's age in each event may be horribly skewed; it's been years since last I dabbled in Silm, and I admit I've neither the energy nor the time to research about it right now. My apologies. Please correct me if that suspicion proves true. Please pardon me for the darkish quality of this piece, as well. I guess, my RL frustrations have bled through…
46. Justice
For Whom Kindness is Owed
The halfblood sang, swaying to her own music. She painted a tale of endless woe with her mesmerising words, wove a tapestry of blood and sweat and tears with her doleful notes. She believed she knew all, knew the best, knew him:
A boy of six, baffled with the sudden death of his beloved pet, yet sweetly wishing it into the keeping of Mandos.
A young man of fifteen, crushed by the demise of his beloved uncles, but hoping for a good rest for them in the Halls of the Dead anyway, before they ventured outside the Circles of the World.
A man of seventeen, petrified by the separation of his parents in a land long grown hostile, begging to all the Powers greater and lesser to please, please, please keep those parents safe.
A man of eighteen turned little child, finding the butchered form of his mother on the way back to her family, pleading to Námo to please, please, please take him instead.
A man of twenty turned wizened elder, weeping on the blood-soaked ground among the pieces left of his father and his remaining people, wishing so very much that he could join them.
A single defender in a swath of hostile and deserted Beleriand, bereft of everything, even his identity and the power to speak in words; Yavanna's champion, yet Námo's, as well, as he wished the orcs and wargs he killed into a kinder fate on their rebirth.
A loyal friend, dying again and again as bones of his companions crackled in a werewolf's maw.
A humble liegeman, sick and horrified by the death of his king in his place.
An eternal spirit freed from worldly obligations, contrived or otherwise, resting safe at last.
And the brat wanted him back into that world…
Námo weeps.