Many Journeys by Elleth

Washed Ashore

An instadrabbling submission from February 17, for the prompt "an artifact washed ashore". A wanderer in modern day remembers. 

"The trawler Colinda was the first to dredge up evidence of the human habitation of Doggerland in 1931. Its nets brought to light a clump of peat from the Leman-Ower banks, hiding a harpoon made from red deer antler, about 11,800 years old."

The curator's pleased, if somewhat droning, voice rang out through the museum's auditorium as the powerpoint presentation behind her showed the weapon. Polite applause scattered from the audience.

In the back row, one spectator leaned in as the slideshow jumped onward to a piece of glazed ceramic ware that had been reassembled from fragments into a pitcher resembling a swan with an outstretched neck. Feathers and other details were etched into the body, giving it an almost lifelike appearance.

Even stained and broken, it was beautiful. The audience murmured. Another pleased pause before the curator droned on.

The spectator blinked tears away. A wound from so long ago.

"Of course, Doggerland still holds its share of mysteries. While the oldest known ceramic in Europe is from the Czech Republic - I'm sure you're all familiar with the Venus of Dolní Věstonice - and has been dated to roughly 29,000 years ago, the level of sophistication found in the shards of this artifact washed ashore together near Cuxhaven, Germany, in 2014 is nothing short of breathtaking." She chuckled. "We have not yet been able to make sense of it or place it into a cultural context. There is, frankly, nothing quite like it. Some of my esteemed colleagues," and here she chuckled again, "even consider this to be a modern hoax, and I am not yet sure which side of the debate I fall on. Though there certainly are arguments to be made for the veracity of the…"

The spectator in the back row closed his eyes and slipped into memory as the curator droned on. Crates moved from hand to hand to load them onto a wagon bound for Eastern Beleriand. One slipped, spilling its contents - a swan-wrought pitcher, then white and unstained, falling and shattering. His wife picking up the shards, wrapping them in their leather cover and carrying them down to the lakeshore to bury them, as the swan was the guardian animal of her people, and it was unthinkable to simply leave the shattered piece in a refuse pit.

"... and we will likely never know for certain."

They wouldn't - but he knew. It was enough.

Chapter End Notes

Beleriand as Doggerland remains one of my favourite headcanons, so I will entertain that one sometimes. And yes, the spectator is Maglor, who in my 'verse married Lasbaneth, a woman of the Mithrim Sindar.