B2MEM ficlets
Mar. 24th, 2009 04:13 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
zhie((Exculpation was actually already posted here, but, it has a shiny title now, and Feanor demanded a repost... trust me, you don't argue with him))
FIC: B2MEM-10-A Fool in Paradise
Title: A Fool in Paradise
Author: Zhie
Rating: PG
Characters: Glorfindel, Erestor
Warnings: very mild slash, I suppose
Archive: http://phoenix.zhie.us
Summary: Response to B2MEM Prompt #10 – "Traveling is a fool's paradise. We owe to our first journeys the discovery that place is nothing." -Ralph Waldo Emerson
Then after some time they traveled to southern Aman – and here they saw towering high above them the Hyarmentir, and the other mountains capped with snow. In the distance, they appeared like ghosts of the rocky cliffs from Gondolin. It was their first journey together into placed unexplored by Glorfindel, and Erestor was pleased to act as guide.
The excitement exhibited by Erestor was mirrored by Glorfindel in the form of an unseen mask. During the first days of their travels, Glorfindel appeared as delighted as Erestor; however, upon retiring at an inn for the evening of the sixth day, the transparency of Glorfindel’s disguise was worn away. It was clear to Erestor that his companion was not sharing the same desire and he when the announcement that they should climb to the peak of Hyarmentir was met with a false smile.
“Is it that the travel has made you weary, or is the scenery not to your liking?” questioned Erestor once he finished tending to the fireplace.
“The scenery is fine,” said Glorfindel carefully.
“Is it my presence, then?” wondered Erestor. “I should speak less and allow you to look more,” he added to himself.
Glorfindel reached out to a pacing Erestor and managed to touch his wrist. “It has nothing to do with that.” He smiled when Erestor turned to face him in an attempt to appear friendlier. “My darling, this is not to in any way make your home seem any lesser, but I fear I shall disappoint you to tell you the truth.”
“There is no need to lie to me,” insisted Erestor, his arms folding defensively over his chest despite his comment. “I doubt you will upset me.”
Glorfindel drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair he sat in. “Every mountain looks like every other mountain.”
“But... the Hyarmentir is the highest peak in this part of the Pelori.”
Glorfindel smiled as sweetly as he could. “The mountains here in the South look just like the mountains in the North. And the mountains in the North,” he continued, “look strikingly similar to the Hithaeglir. All of them look like the Echoriath,” he added, he voice taking on a slightly acidic tone.
Erestor bit his lip and dropped his arms to his sides. “I should not have made you come to see the mountains,” he apologized. He snapped his fingers. “We could go to see the forest of Orome! I am sure you will enjoy that much better.”
“Alright,” answered a hesitant Glorfindel as he stood and headed for the bed in the next room. Erestor managed to take hold of Glorfindel’s hand before he was able to walk away. “Darling, what is wrong?”
“Well, I suppose it is just that... I have seen forests and mountains and all other things. I have little desire to travel,” admitted Glorfindel.
“Do you want to go home?” asked Erestor after a moment’s hesitation.
“Where are you going?” asked Glorfindel. When Erestor did not immediately answer, he continued, “I am going where you go; my destination is to follow your footprints. If that means climbing a mountain, or camping in a forest, or canoeing down a stream, that is where I shall be. Place means nothing; who I am with means everything,” he emphasized, giving Erestor’s hand a squeeze.
Erestor returned the action and nodded. “Then we should go home.”
“Wait a moment,” said Glorfindel, tightening his grip on Erestor’s hand when he attempted to walk away. “Just because I do not care whether or not I see another mountain does not mean you need to sacrifice completely for me. Do you want to see the mountain, or were we just going so that you could show the mountain to me?”
“For you,” replied Erestor. “I have seen it many times before.”
“Then, if it is all the same to you, we can go home. Unless there is another place you desire to go?” prodded Glorfindel.
“I do like visiting Tanequetil,” Erestor finally said. “I have friends living on the slopes I should like you to meet.”
Glorfindel finally smiled honestly. “Now that sounds like a journey worth making.”
FIC: B2MEM-08-Beholden
Title: Beholden
Author: Zhie
Rating: PG
Characters: Maedhros, Ereinion Gil-Galad, Fingon
Archive: http://phoenix.zhie.us
Summary: Response to B2MEM Prompt #8 – Beauty and Ugliness
Ereinion peeked around the corner and grinned. “Uncle Maedhros?”
Maedhros briefly glanced up from his breakfast – a simple cup of tea with honey and dry, toasted bread. The flit of his eyes toward the youth was invitation enough, even though Maedhros knew that the Elfling had been instructed by his father never to bother him before noon.
The young prince bounded over and climbed up onto the bench beside the older Elf. “Good morning!”
Maedhros made a noise that sounded like ‘mrrhhph’. He was not predispositioned to enjoy mornings.
“Ada said you were going to arrive later this week. You must have rode here really fast.”
There was a nod as Maedhros sipped his tea, set it down, and picked up a slice of bread with the same hand. His right arm remained hidden, his wrist tucked away in the long sleeve of his shirt.
“Why do most people call you Maedhros, while Ada calls you Maitimo sometimes?” queried Ereinion when no further verbal answer to his previous question was given.
“They mean the same thing,” mumbled Maedhros. “Maitimo is Quenya.”
“Oh, well, I have not learned a lot of Quenya yet. Who named you Maedhros?” asked Ereinion as his small hands picked up the end of Maedhros’s sash and traced along the intricate embroidered pattern of stars.
For a minute, Maedhros watched Ereinion, as intrigued at the child’s fascination as Ereinion was with everything. “My Nana did. She thought I was a beautiful baby, and for the most part I did not disappoint when I grew up.”
“What do you mean, for the most part?” Ereinion asked.
Maedhros shook his head and drew his right arm further back. The movement was not unnoticed by Ereinion, who said, “You seem like a pretty nice looking Elf to me.”
“Sure,” replied Maedhros. He focused on his breakfast again. As he switched from the toast back to the tea, he felt something brush his right arm. He glanced down and saw Ereinion carefully folding back the cuff of his sleeve. Maedhros nearly yanked his arm away, but something made him keep still as his wound was revealed.
There were children who had run away or hidden upon seeing his marred arm – in fact, some adults had turned away in disgust. Ereinion stared with his mouth half open for a bit. Just as Maedhros was about to reach down and cover his arm up again, Ereinion leaned over and touched the healed scar that had formed over the stump of Maedhros’s wrist. “Does it hurt?” he asked a stunned Maedhros.
“Not at the moment. Sometimes it does,” Maedhros admitted.
“It feels really smooth,” remarked Ereinion as he rubbed his fingers against it.
Fingon entered the room, and stopped midstride when he saw what was going on. “Ereinion,” he hissed, and the boy looked up. “What did I tell you about bothering your uncle this early? Go back to the nursery; your mother is looking for you.”
“Yes, Ada,” answered Ereinion as he hopped off of the bench and scampered back through the doorway.
Once Ereinion was gone, Fingon sat down in the spot his son had vacated. “I apologize. He should know better,” whispered Fingon. For emphasis of his point, he folded the cloth back down to cover Maedhros’s right arm and sighed.
“He was not harming anything.”
“Well, I know how much it bothers you,” said Fingon quietly.
Maedhros stopped eating. “What bothers me?”
Fingon shifted slightly. “You know...” He glanced down at Maedhros’s covered limb. “I will discuss it with him later so that it does not happen again.”
There was silence, and then Maedhros lifted up his right arm so that the sleeve cascaded down, revealing his missing hand. Fingon gulped but did not turn away. “This,” said Maedhros with emphasis, “does not bother me. It bothers you and everyone else, except, it would seem, Ereinion. I do not keep it covered for my own need; I keep it hidden for your benefit, and the benefit of everyone else.”
Fingon squirmed, and finally, looked away. “It is not quite so... simple as that. I am not so disgusted by it as what it represents – my failure to return you whole.”
“It is done,” Maedhros reminded him. “You did more than anyone else, and as much as could be done.” The silence became uncomfortable, and Maedhros stood up. “Do you mind if I speak with your son?”
“Of course not,” answered Fingon immediately. He stood as well, and followed Maedhros out of the sunroom and back through the hall to the nursery.
Ereinion was sitting on the floor, amid wooden panels with words written on them that were spread about in all directions. He was busy making sentences with the words as the pair entered, but abandoned his task upon seeing them. “Good morning, Ada! Good morning again, Uncle Maedhros!”
“Your uncle wishes to speak to you,” explained Fingon.
Ereinion nodded and looked far up, for Maedhros was the tallest Elf the boy knew, and he had been taught to always look at the person speaking to him.
“I think you have some questions for me that have been left unanswered,” said Maedhros. “I thought you and I could take a walk to the stables and discuss them. You have not seen my new horse yet, and I want to make sure he is well after the long ride here.”
The grin on Ereinion’s face was answer enough. Maedhros held out his hand – and blinked in surprise when Ereinion took hold of his right wrist instead. “What time do we need to be back, Ada?”
Fingon was momentarily as stunned as Maedhros, but eventually said, “Be back in time for lunch.”
“We will!” promised Ereinion as he led a now bemused Maedhros outside.
FIC: B2MEM-05-Exculpation
Title: Exculpation
Author: Zhie
Rating: PG
Characters: Feanor, Fingolfin
Archive: http://phoenix.zhie.us
Summary: Response to B2MEM Prompt #5 – Regret & Starting Over
Once again, he lifted his fist, fingers clenched together tightly, his eyes focused on his mark. He drew back slightly, hardly breathing. His hand – his arm – his whole body shook, and those who knew him so long ago might have mistaken it for rage.
Slowly, the hand was lowered; the fist unclenched. Feanor swallowed hard and closed his eyes while bowing his head.
He heard an owl in the distance, and tilted his head back upward. His eyes opened and took in the beauty of the night sky – ‘night’ was what they called this, when the stars were bright against a cloak of black. Yet, they were dimmer than he recalled them to have been, and the guilt that was becoming so common as of late struck him once more.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” he mumbled to himself. It has become his recent mantra, to mask his former pride with admitted idiocy. The trouble was that even if others believed it, he knew in his heart that arrogance had played a far bigger role in his fall than a loss of common sense.
Once again, he lifted his fist, fingers clenched together tightly. The door separated him from his future, though he could turn and leave at any time. Now the shaking renewed, and he let his arms relax at his sides.
It was so much easier said than done. He knew he no longer held a grudge, no longer loathed or hated them, or even cared about those thing which once caused him such grief. It was going to take three very small, very quick words to express those feelings. Feanor cupped his hands together and placed them over his nose and mouth in order to calm himself.
The shaking subsided, but the fear remained. “I cannot do this,” he whispered to no one, and he turned. The door now behind him, he faintly heard the sounds from within of merriment and happiness. His resolve to leave diminished with every moment, and he gasped slightly as the guilt turned to longing and regret. Tears he had kept hidden for so long were wiped away quickly and he turned back to face the door.
Once again, he lifted his fist – and the door opened. He lowered it in immediate shock – wide-eyed as a deer caught by the huntsman in a clearing. Feanor choked on his words, unpracticed yet simple, unable to speak.
“Brother! You have returned!” Fingolfin frowned and his face showed concern when Feanor did not respond. “Why do you stand alone on my porch at such a late hour? Surely you have reason to be here?” The words were hopeful.
The reply was faint and Fingolfin looked confused. Feanor swallowed and tried again. “I am sorry.”
Fingolfin blinked and looked downward, as if to jog his memory. When he looked up again, he asked, “Whatever for?”
“Everything,” added Feanor after a pause.
Fingolfin opened the door wider and stepped to the side. “We were just having a glass of wine by the fire. You are welcome to join us, of course. My mother is here tonight – she always did like you, even if you were not so very fond of her...” he trailed off.
Feanor stood on the porch, rooted in place. “That is it?” he asked, dumbfounded. “An age of misery from me, and more from my enemies, upon you and your entire family... and you invite me into your home?”
“I could turn you away,” supposed Fingolfin, “but I really do not wish to.”
They stood silently on the porch as the owl hooted again. Finally, Feanor broke the silence. “How is your mother these days?” he asked, inquiring as to the wellbeing of his father’s second wife.
“You could come in and ask her yourself,” Fingolfin reminded him. He stepped further away from the doorway and motioned toward the entrance. “Fresh scones and tea if you prefer those to wine,” he offered.
Feanor took a few steps toward the threshold and stopped. “I am sorry,” he said again, finding it easier the second time. It was no less sincere than the first, and Fingolfin nodded.
“I know. I forgive you,” he said. He shrugged. “I forgave you even then, remember? I told the Valar there was no reason to punish you, and I followed you clear across the sea – over the ice after you burned those ships we fought so hard to get.”
The reminder brought another remorseful look to Feanor’s face. “How?”
“Oh, I do not know,” said Fingolfin. “We just set our minds on our goal and walked very carefully. It was cold, but—“
“No, I mean... how could you forgive me so easily?”
“You are my brother; always have been and always will be. We do things, we forgive each other, we move on.” He started to grin, and said, “You were not the only one, you know. Finarfin did a few things that made me want to ring his neck sometimes, but I always forgave him.”
“I thought you and Finarfin got along so well,” said Feanor.
“Sure, but we still drove each other crazy from time to time. Tell you all about it over tea and scones,” he tempted.
FIC: B2MEM-13-Icecapades
Title: Icecapades
Author: Zhie
Rating: G
Characters: Finrod, Orodreth, Aegnor, Angrod, Galadriel
Archive: http://phoenix.zhie.us
Summary: Response to B2MEM Prompt #13 – Fear
For the first time in ages, all of the children of Finarfin gathered together for a night of feasting and talking and merriment. The excitement of being together again kept them up all night and into the morning. It was only after Amarië had herded them into the kitchen for pancakes and eggs that they realized the time and made plans for another meeting as soon as possible.
They laughed and joked their way to the door, but upon opening it, became collectively deathly silent.
Angrod was the first to speak. “Obviously the Valar still hate us.”
“They never hated us,” disputed Aegnor. “They just... they have a very warped sense of humor.”
“Warped sense of humor? This is downright sadistic,” Orodreth decided.
Finrod simply stared out across the lawn. Galadriel, tall and yet not as tall as her brothers, gently touched Aegnor on the shoulder in order to get him to move aside. As the view became unobstructed, she cringed. “Oh, my,” she said to herself. She stepped back behind Finrod and asked, “Is there another way out?”
The quintet shuffled away from the door, closed it, and proceeded to the back of Finrod’s residence. He settled his hand on the knob, and after a moment, yanked it open in hopes of surprising whatever it was into not being there.
Instead, they found that this way was worse. Not only was the grass covered in a sheet of ice, but the back stoop was as well.
“I guess we should count ourselves lucky that there is earth beneath the ice and not water,” Orodreth finally remarked. “Surely, it will not move if we step on it.”
“Are you volunteering?” asked Angrod.
Orodreth stared out over the glassy surface. “Not really. I was terrible on ice. You, on the other hand, have an innate grace about you.”
“Normally idle flattery would be enough to stroke my ego, but in this case I am content to stay in the wake of you and Finrod.”
“How did I get elected?” questioned Finrod.
“You are the eldest,” Angrod reminded him.
“And the tallest,” Finrod argued. “For me, it is a longer, harder fall! Besides,” he added, as more a reminded to himself, “I live here! I have no reason to leave!”
Galadriel had maneuvered her way around her brothers again, and was testing the ice with one foot. “It does not seem too slipper---whoa!” Her foot hit a particularly smooth patch and would have caused her to slide off of the stoop had she not had four very concerned brothers grab her arms and steady her. She was immediately back inside of the house.
“We could get a couple of branches, sharpen the ends, and use them steady our way across,” suggested Aegnor.
“Or, we could just wait for spring,” Orodreth said.
“I vote for spring,” agreed Angrod quickly.
“Spring,” said Galadriel with a nod.
Aegnor looked slightly hurt that his idea was not chosen, but he turned to his eldest brother and asked, “What is Amarië making for lunch?” as Finrod shut the door.
FIC: B2MEM-07 – Weeping Willow
Title: Weeping Willow
Author: Zhie
Rating: G
Characters: Aredhel, a tree
Archive: http://phoenix.zhie.us
Summary: Response to B2MEM Prompt #7 – Whispering Trees
“Go back.”
Aredhel paused. She had traveled alone for days now, her horse lost in the confusion of an attack by the same vile creatures that had separated her from her chaperones some months earlier. That part did not worry her; she had made it to Celegorm’s house on her own, and she could certainly go wherever else she pleased on her own as well.
At least, that was what she kept telling herself.
“Go back.”
With her arms crossed over her chest, she looked up into the bows overhead. The first time, she thought she had only heard in her mind the faint voice. Now she scanned the branches, thinking she might see one of the woodland Elves native to the outer reaches of Doriath. “Show yourself, please,” she announced.
The branches swayed as a breeze came, and the words on the wind were clearer now. “Go back... go back...”
The white lady leaned against the trunk of the insistent tree. “Go back to where, exactly? To Gondolin, to my brother, who shall smirk at my return and lock me away in one of his towers? To wait for my cousin, who wanders far and wide and has lost sight of his father’s goal? To Valinor, ah, but we all walk about in circles now with only false hopes of returning or regrets of leaving. No, I cannot go back, only forward,” she replied as she pressed her palms upon the bark of the tree and pushed herself back to standing.
“Go back.”
“I appreciate your concern.”
“Go back.”
“Good day!”
“Go back!”
“You really are persistant.”
“Come to me.”
Aredhel, who had been smugly walking away from the whispering willow, took a step back. “Reverse psychology?” she questioned as she looked over her shoulder, but faintly, she could still hear the tree, almost begging her to return. She began to take another step in the direction of the trees, but the new voice was stronger.
“Come to me...”
More compelling...
“Come to me...”
As if in a daze, she continued once again on her path, further into the depths of Nan Elmoth.
And the willow wept.
FIC: B2MEM-10-A Fool in Paradise
Title: A Fool in Paradise
Author: Zhie
Rating: PG
Characters: Glorfindel, Erestor
Warnings: very mild slash, I suppose
Archive: http://phoenix.zhie.us
Summary: Response to B2MEM Prompt #10 – "Traveling is a fool's paradise. We owe to our first journeys the discovery that place is nothing." -Ralph Waldo Emerson
Then after some time they traveled to southern Aman – and here they saw towering high above them the Hyarmentir, and the other mountains capped with snow. In the distance, they appeared like ghosts of the rocky cliffs from Gondolin. It was their first journey together into placed unexplored by Glorfindel, and Erestor was pleased to act as guide.
The excitement exhibited by Erestor was mirrored by Glorfindel in the form of an unseen mask. During the first days of their travels, Glorfindel appeared as delighted as Erestor; however, upon retiring at an inn for the evening of the sixth day, the transparency of Glorfindel’s disguise was worn away. It was clear to Erestor that his companion was not sharing the same desire and he when the announcement that they should climb to the peak of Hyarmentir was met with a false smile.
“Is it that the travel has made you weary, or is the scenery not to your liking?” questioned Erestor once he finished tending to the fireplace.
“The scenery is fine,” said Glorfindel carefully.
“Is it my presence, then?” wondered Erestor. “I should speak less and allow you to look more,” he added to himself.
Glorfindel reached out to a pacing Erestor and managed to touch his wrist. “It has nothing to do with that.” He smiled when Erestor turned to face him in an attempt to appear friendlier. “My darling, this is not to in any way make your home seem any lesser, but I fear I shall disappoint you to tell you the truth.”
“There is no need to lie to me,” insisted Erestor, his arms folding defensively over his chest despite his comment. “I doubt you will upset me.”
Glorfindel drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair he sat in. “Every mountain looks like every other mountain.”
“But... the Hyarmentir is the highest peak in this part of the Pelori.”
Glorfindel smiled as sweetly as he could. “The mountains here in the South look just like the mountains in the North. And the mountains in the North,” he continued, “look strikingly similar to the Hithaeglir. All of them look like the Echoriath,” he added, he voice taking on a slightly acidic tone.
Erestor bit his lip and dropped his arms to his sides. “I should not have made you come to see the mountains,” he apologized. He snapped his fingers. “We could go to see the forest of Orome! I am sure you will enjoy that much better.”
“Alright,” answered a hesitant Glorfindel as he stood and headed for the bed in the next room. Erestor managed to take hold of Glorfindel’s hand before he was able to walk away. “Darling, what is wrong?”
“Well, I suppose it is just that... I have seen forests and mountains and all other things. I have little desire to travel,” admitted Glorfindel.
“Do you want to go home?” asked Erestor after a moment’s hesitation.
“Where are you going?” asked Glorfindel. When Erestor did not immediately answer, he continued, “I am going where you go; my destination is to follow your footprints. If that means climbing a mountain, or camping in a forest, or canoeing down a stream, that is where I shall be. Place means nothing; who I am with means everything,” he emphasized, giving Erestor’s hand a squeeze.
Erestor returned the action and nodded. “Then we should go home.”
“Wait a moment,” said Glorfindel, tightening his grip on Erestor’s hand when he attempted to walk away. “Just because I do not care whether or not I see another mountain does not mean you need to sacrifice completely for me. Do you want to see the mountain, or were we just going so that you could show the mountain to me?”
“For you,” replied Erestor. “I have seen it many times before.”
“Then, if it is all the same to you, we can go home. Unless there is another place you desire to go?” prodded Glorfindel.
“I do like visiting Tanequetil,” Erestor finally said. “I have friends living on the slopes I should like you to meet.”
Glorfindel finally smiled honestly. “Now that sounds like a journey worth making.”
FIC: B2MEM-08-Beholden
Title: Beholden
Author: Zhie
Rating: PG
Characters: Maedhros, Ereinion Gil-Galad, Fingon
Archive: http://phoenix.zhie.us
Summary: Response to B2MEM Prompt #8 – Beauty and Ugliness
Ereinion peeked around the corner and grinned. “Uncle Maedhros?”
Maedhros briefly glanced up from his breakfast – a simple cup of tea with honey and dry, toasted bread. The flit of his eyes toward the youth was invitation enough, even though Maedhros knew that the Elfling had been instructed by his father never to bother him before noon.
The young prince bounded over and climbed up onto the bench beside the older Elf. “Good morning!”
Maedhros made a noise that sounded like ‘mrrhhph’. He was not predispositioned to enjoy mornings.
“Ada said you were going to arrive later this week. You must have rode here really fast.”
There was a nod as Maedhros sipped his tea, set it down, and picked up a slice of bread with the same hand. His right arm remained hidden, his wrist tucked away in the long sleeve of his shirt.
“Why do most people call you Maedhros, while Ada calls you Maitimo sometimes?” queried Ereinion when no further verbal answer to his previous question was given.
“They mean the same thing,” mumbled Maedhros. “Maitimo is Quenya.”
“Oh, well, I have not learned a lot of Quenya yet. Who named you Maedhros?” asked Ereinion as his small hands picked up the end of Maedhros’s sash and traced along the intricate embroidered pattern of stars.
For a minute, Maedhros watched Ereinion, as intrigued at the child’s fascination as Ereinion was with everything. “My Nana did. She thought I was a beautiful baby, and for the most part I did not disappoint when I grew up.”
“What do you mean, for the most part?” Ereinion asked.
Maedhros shook his head and drew his right arm further back. The movement was not unnoticed by Ereinion, who said, “You seem like a pretty nice looking Elf to me.”
“Sure,” replied Maedhros. He focused on his breakfast again. As he switched from the toast back to the tea, he felt something brush his right arm. He glanced down and saw Ereinion carefully folding back the cuff of his sleeve. Maedhros nearly yanked his arm away, but something made him keep still as his wound was revealed.
There were children who had run away or hidden upon seeing his marred arm – in fact, some adults had turned away in disgust. Ereinion stared with his mouth half open for a bit. Just as Maedhros was about to reach down and cover his arm up again, Ereinion leaned over and touched the healed scar that had formed over the stump of Maedhros’s wrist. “Does it hurt?” he asked a stunned Maedhros.
“Not at the moment. Sometimes it does,” Maedhros admitted.
“It feels really smooth,” remarked Ereinion as he rubbed his fingers against it.
Fingon entered the room, and stopped midstride when he saw what was going on. “Ereinion,” he hissed, and the boy looked up. “What did I tell you about bothering your uncle this early? Go back to the nursery; your mother is looking for you.”
“Yes, Ada,” answered Ereinion as he hopped off of the bench and scampered back through the doorway.
Once Ereinion was gone, Fingon sat down in the spot his son had vacated. “I apologize. He should know better,” whispered Fingon. For emphasis of his point, he folded the cloth back down to cover Maedhros’s right arm and sighed.
“He was not harming anything.”
“Well, I know how much it bothers you,” said Fingon quietly.
Maedhros stopped eating. “What bothers me?”
Fingon shifted slightly. “You know...” He glanced down at Maedhros’s covered limb. “I will discuss it with him later so that it does not happen again.”
There was silence, and then Maedhros lifted up his right arm so that the sleeve cascaded down, revealing his missing hand. Fingon gulped but did not turn away. “This,” said Maedhros with emphasis, “does not bother me. It bothers you and everyone else, except, it would seem, Ereinion. I do not keep it covered for my own need; I keep it hidden for your benefit, and the benefit of everyone else.”
Fingon squirmed, and finally, looked away. “It is not quite so... simple as that. I am not so disgusted by it as what it represents – my failure to return you whole.”
“It is done,” Maedhros reminded him. “You did more than anyone else, and as much as could be done.” The silence became uncomfortable, and Maedhros stood up. “Do you mind if I speak with your son?”
“Of course not,” answered Fingon immediately. He stood as well, and followed Maedhros out of the sunroom and back through the hall to the nursery.
Ereinion was sitting on the floor, amid wooden panels with words written on them that were spread about in all directions. He was busy making sentences with the words as the pair entered, but abandoned his task upon seeing them. “Good morning, Ada! Good morning again, Uncle Maedhros!”
“Your uncle wishes to speak to you,” explained Fingon.
Ereinion nodded and looked far up, for Maedhros was the tallest Elf the boy knew, and he had been taught to always look at the person speaking to him.
“I think you have some questions for me that have been left unanswered,” said Maedhros. “I thought you and I could take a walk to the stables and discuss them. You have not seen my new horse yet, and I want to make sure he is well after the long ride here.”
The grin on Ereinion’s face was answer enough. Maedhros held out his hand – and blinked in surprise when Ereinion took hold of his right wrist instead. “What time do we need to be back, Ada?”
Fingon was momentarily as stunned as Maedhros, but eventually said, “Be back in time for lunch.”
“We will!” promised Ereinion as he led a now bemused Maedhros outside.
FIC: B2MEM-05-Exculpation
Title: Exculpation
Author: Zhie
Rating: PG
Characters: Feanor, Fingolfin
Archive: http://phoenix.zhie.us
Summary: Response to B2MEM Prompt #5 – Regret & Starting Over
Once again, he lifted his fist, fingers clenched together tightly, his eyes focused on his mark. He drew back slightly, hardly breathing. His hand – his arm – his whole body shook, and those who knew him so long ago might have mistaken it for rage.
Slowly, the hand was lowered; the fist unclenched. Feanor swallowed hard and closed his eyes while bowing his head.
He heard an owl in the distance, and tilted his head back upward. His eyes opened and took in the beauty of the night sky – ‘night’ was what they called this, when the stars were bright against a cloak of black. Yet, they were dimmer than he recalled them to have been, and the guilt that was becoming so common as of late struck him once more.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” he mumbled to himself. It has become his recent mantra, to mask his former pride with admitted idiocy. The trouble was that even if others believed it, he knew in his heart that arrogance had played a far bigger role in his fall than a loss of common sense.
Once again, he lifted his fist, fingers clenched together tightly. The door separated him from his future, though he could turn and leave at any time. Now the shaking renewed, and he let his arms relax at his sides.
It was so much easier said than done. He knew he no longer held a grudge, no longer loathed or hated them, or even cared about those thing which once caused him such grief. It was going to take three very small, very quick words to express those feelings. Feanor cupped his hands together and placed them over his nose and mouth in order to calm himself.
The shaking subsided, but the fear remained. “I cannot do this,” he whispered to no one, and he turned. The door now behind him, he faintly heard the sounds from within of merriment and happiness. His resolve to leave diminished with every moment, and he gasped slightly as the guilt turned to longing and regret. Tears he had kept hidden for so long were wiped away quickly and he turned back to face the door.
Once again, he lifted his fist – and the door opened. He lowered it in immediate shock – wide-eyed as a deer caught by the huntsman in a clearing. Feanor choked on his words, unpracticed yet simple, unable to speak.
“Brother! You have returned!” Fingolfin frowned and his face showed concern when Feanor did not respond. “Why do you stand alone on my porch at such a late hour? Surely you have reason to be here?” The words were hopeful.
The reply was faint and Fingolfin looked confused. Feanor swallowed and tried again. “I am sorry.”
Fingolfin blinked and looked downward, as if to jog his memory. When he looked up again, he asked, “Whatever for?”
“Everything,” added Feanor after a pause.
Fingolfin opened the door wider and stepped to the side. “We were just having a glass of wine by the fire. You are welcome to join us, of course. My mother is here tonight – she always did like you, even if you were not so very fond of her...” he trailed off.
Feanor stood on the porch, rooted in place. “That is it?” he asked, dumbfounded. “An age of misery from me, and more from my enemies, upon you and your entire family... and you invite me into your home?”
“I could turn you away,” supposed Fingolfin, “but I really do not wish to.”
They stood silently on the porch as the owl hooted again. Finally, Feanor broke the silence. “How is your mother these days?” he asked, inquiring as to the wellbeing of his father’s second wife.
“You could come in and ask her yourself,” Fingolfin reminded him. He stepped further away from the doorway and motioned toward the entrance. “Fresh scones and tea if you prefer those to wine,” he offered.
Feanor took a few steps toward the threshold and stopped. “I am sorry,” he said again, finding it easier the second time. It was no less sincere than the first, and Fingolfin nodded.
“I know. I forgive you,” he said. He shrugged. “I forgave you even then, remember? I told the Valar there was no reason to punish you, and I followed you clear across the sea – over the ice after you burned those ships we fought so hard to get.”
The reminder brought another remorseful look to Feanor’s face. “How?”
“Oh, I do not know,” said Fingolfin. “We just set our minds on our goal and walked very carefully. It was cold, but—“
“No, I mean... how could you forgive me so easily?”
“You are my brother; always have been and always will be. We do things, we forgive each other, we move on.” He started to grin, and said, “You were not the only one, you know. Finarfin did a few things that made me want to ring his neck sometimes, but I always forgave him.”
“I thought you and Finarfin got along so well,” said Feanor.
“Sure, but we still drove each other crazy from time to time. Tell you all about it over tea and scones,” he tempted.
FIC: B2MEM-13-Icecapades
Title: Icecapades
Author: Zhie
Rating: G
Characters: Finrod, Orodreth, Aegnor, Angrod, Galadriel
Archive: http://phoenix.zhie.us
Summary: Response to B2MEM Prompt #13 – Fear
For the first time in ages, all of the children of Finarfin gathered together for a night of feasting and talking and merriment. The excitement of being together again kept them up all night and into the morning. It was only after Amarië had herded them into the kitchen for pancakes and eggs that they realized the time and made plans for another meeting as soon as possible.
They laughed and joked their way to the door, but upon opening it, became collectively deathly silent.
Angrod was the first to speak. “Obviously the Valar still hate us.”
“They never hated us,” disputed Aegnor. “They just... they have a very warped sense of humor.”
“Warped sense of humor? This is downright sadistic,” Orodreth decided.
Finrod simply stared out across the lawn. Galadriel, tall and yet not as tall as her brothers, gently touched Aegnor on the shoulder in order to get him to move aside. As the view became unobstructed, she cringed. “Oh, my,” she said to herself. She stepped back behind Finrod and asked, “Is there another way out?”
The quintet shuffled away from the door, closed it, and proceeded to the back of Finrod’s residence. He settled his hand on the knob, and after a moment, yanked it open in hopes of surprising whatever it was into not being there.
Instead, they found that this way was worse. Not only was the grass covered in a sheet of ice, but the back stoop was as well.
“I guess we should count ourselves lucky that there is earth beneath the ice and not water,” Orodreth finally remarked. “Surely, it will not move if we step on it.”
“Are you volunteering?” asked Angrod.
Orodreth stared out over the glassy surface. “Not really. I was terrible on ice. You, on the other hand, have an innate grace about you.”
“Normally idle flattery would be enough to stroke my ego, but in this case I am content to stay in the wake of you and Finrod.”
“How did I get elected?” questioned Finrod.
“You are the eldest,” Angrod reminded him.
“And the tallest,” Finrod argued. “For me, it is a longer, harder fall! Besides,” he added, as more a reminded to himself, “I live here! I have no reason to leave!”
Galadriel had maneuvered her way around her brothers again, and was testing the ice with one foot. “It does not seem too slipper---whoa!” Her foot hit a particularly smooth patch and would have caused her to slide off of the stoop had she not had four very concerned brothers grab her arms and steady her. She was immediately back inside of the house.
“We could get a couple of branches, sharpen the ends, and use them steady our way across,” suggested Aegnor.
“Or, we could just wait for spring,” Orodreth said.
“I vote for spring,” agreed Angrod quickly.
“Spring,” said Galadriel with a nod.
Aegnor looked slightly hurt that his idea was not chosen, but he turned to his eldest brother and asked, “What is Amarië making for lunch?” as Finrod shut the door.
FIC: B2MEM-07 – Weeping Willow
Title: Weeping Willow
Author: Zhie
Rating: G
Characters: Aredhel, a tree
Archive: http://phoenix.zhie.us
Summary: Response to B2MEM Prompt #7 – Whispering Trees
“Go back.”
Aredhel paused. She had traveled alone for days now, her horse lost in the confusion of an attack by the same vile creatures that had separated her from her chaperones some months earlier. That part did not worry her; she had made it to Celegorm’s house on her own, and she could certainly go wherever else she pleased on her own as well.
At least, that was what she kept telling herself.
“Go back.”
With her arms crossed over her chest, she looked up into the bows overhead. The first time, she thought she had only heard in her mind the faint voice. Now she scanned the branches, thinking she might see one of the woodland Elves native to the outer reaches of Doriath. “Show yourself, please,” she announced.
The branches swayed as a breeze came, and the words on the wind were clearer now. “Go back... go back...”
The white lady leaned against the trunk of the insistent tree. “Go back to where, exactly? To Gondolin, to my brother, who shall smirk at my return and lock me away in one of his towers? To wait for my cousin, who wanders far and wide and has lost sight of his father’s goal? To Valinor, ah, but we all walk about in circles now with only false hopes of returning or regrets of leaving. No, I cannot go back, only forward,” she replied as she pressed her palms upon the bark of the tree and pushed herself back to standing.
“Go back.”
“I appreciate your concern.”
“Go back.”
“Good day!”
“Go back!”
“You really are persistant.”
“Come to me.”
Aredhel, who had been smugly walking away from the whispering willow, took a step back. “Reverse psychology?” she questioned as she looked over her shoulder, but faintly, she could still hear the tree, almost begging her to return. She began to take another step in the direction of the trees, but the new voice was stronger.
“Come to me...”
More compelling...
“Come to me...”
As if in a daze, she continued once again on her path, further into the depths of Nan Elmoth.
And the willow wept.
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Date: 2009-03-25 07:20 am (UTC)... I think I still owe you a comment on Silver & Gold, too. >> Sorry about that. I'll comment some time. Really I will. May be a year or so. But eventually.
I love (surprise, surprise) the little Erestor/Glorfindel bit. Very fluffy and sweet, and for some reason I really enjoy when you put your Erestor in a position where he's uncertain and kind of timid. I love the devotion Fin has to him, and how Erestor shows the same love but in a more quiet manner. I'm always envious how your characters are all individuals, while I often feel like mine act very similar.
Exculpation is really cool, and I enjoyed it when I spotted it before, too. This, I'm assuming, is like... after he's reborn, yes? Feanor has always been a character that I love to read about but fear touching personally, because he's got to be so complex and so deep. I like how you played it here, and made references to the past without ever having to tell the reader in some sort of explanatory narrative bit. Just little throwbacks - like the shaking would have looked like anger to those who knew him, or his mantra of stupid stupid.
Icecapades made me giggle, honestly. Well done, and just adorable. I didn't read the title the first time, and at first really wasn't sure what they were all "D:"ing about. *giggle*
And Weeping Willow... gyah. Beautiful and depressing. A nice little character study-esque piece, bitterly sweet.