The Book of Short Tales by Lyra

B2MeM '11 - March 10, 13, 4 & 24 - Bird's Eye View

Written for the B2MeM challenges for
- Gondolin: Start a story or poem with Charles Dickens' famous opening line from A Tale of Two Cities: "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times."
- Balar: Write a story or poem or create artwork featuring unanswered requests, prayers or pleas.
- Mithrim: Write a story or poem or create artwork where the character conquers his or her fears.
- Rhosgobel: Write a story or poem or create artwork using one or more animals as symbols, omens, or metaphors.

Four double drabbles (as counted by Open Office Writer) centered on Elwing.

Bird's Eye View

***

1. The Fate of Arda Marred

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. The mild seaside climate, the beauty of the havens invited a life of pleasure, while experience and dark rumours warned them to mistrust any semblance of bliss. Lush springs were followed by draughts, gentle autumn rains by bitter winter winds. The sea came rolling in, bright blue with foam-crests that glittered in the sun one day, deadly grey and black another. There were weeks of kind weather, of happiness, of wealth; there were weeks of harsh storms that filled the beaches with the rotting stench of stranded fish.

The joys of youth were tempered by disapproving looks: Her parents and her poor brothers dead, and she dancing as though she had no care in the world! Love came, and the tongues were wagging: Can she not find a husband among her own people? The splendour of their wedding - and the condemnation: Look at her boasting that accursed jewel! Has she no sense of propriety? The delights of married life – but her husband was away so often, so long...
Still, Elwing told herself, she was alive and free and healthy. Asking for more was graceless, these days.

***

2. Unrequited

Then the first letter arrived.
Maedhros Fëanorion to Ardamir Eärendil Itarildion*, greetings. Most worthy nephew, we have heard with delight the news of your marriage. The best wishes of joy, health and peace to you and your wife.
You will be aware of the exceptional value that a certain heirloom has to our house. The return of the Silmaril unto an heir of Finwë is intriguing and makes us hope for a swift and peaceful resolution to at least this part of our quest. We are naturally willing to recompense you in exchange for its delivery. Pray name your price.

The page on Elwing's desk declared, May you choke on your honeyed words. I would as soon return the Silmaril to Morgoth. She shook her head. Provocation was unwise.
She burned the letter, started anew.
My husband is currently at sea; I take the liberty of replying in his place. You will understand my reservations against yielding the Silmaril to you. It is of exceptional value to my house also. I will need time to consider this matter, and to discuss it with my husband when he returns. Do not press me further.
The following correspondence was no longer polite.

***

3. Dual

A short walk up the hill, and already she was exhausted. Elwing leaned against a pillar. Her belly stuck out obscenely large, obstructing her movement. And the heat was so oppressing. The child squirmed, touching her with too many limbs. Before her mind's eye, an octopus was swimming where the baby should be. She knew the whispers: Must be her mortal blood. Only three quarters Elvish, after all, and those Avarin². But she is rounder even than a mortal should be. Something is wrong with the child.
Her eyes burned with tears.
But there – his sail on the horizon!

A day later she could tell him of her fears, weep in his arms.
"Whatever is wrong," he soothed, "we must endure it."
We? You are never here, she wanted to say, and didn't. For he was here now. It was good not to be alone, not to fear alone; not one, but two.
Not one, but two...
She laughed. "I realised what is wrong."
"That is no laughing matter."
"It is! How foolish I was!"
"Elwing!" Less sharply, more urgent: "What is wrong with our child?"
Her eyes sparkled. "The singular."

***

4. Bird's Eye View

Dreams had haunted her for weeks. Always, it was dark. Always she was falling. Stormy wind made her eyes water; she was pounded by rain and hail. Underneath, black waters churned and foamed. Elwing screamed, and heard the sharp cry of a gull.
She heard it by day, too. She had heard gulls cry all her life; now the sound made her shiver. But the days were bright, the nights calm but for her dreams.
She rejoiced when, one day, the gulls were silent. She rejoiced until the sentinels saw the army on the cliffs.
The wind began to rise.

The storm tore at her white gown. With the Silmaril at her throat, she was a beacon. She would be discovered forthwith. She might as well return, try and find her boys.
The wind raged, carrying screams and the ringing of swords. There was nothing to return to. Her boys: lost like her brothers. Her people: dead or dying - for her refusal.
Returning now would turn their sacrifices worthless. They must not have it. She stepped into the air.
The waves churned and foamed.
Then she had wings, and tore through wind and rain. Her cry of surprise: a gull's.

Chapter End Notes

*Why is Maedhros writing "son of Idril" rather than "son of Tuor"? Entirely on purpose, of course. First, as he's invoking family bonds in the letter, it makes sense for him to refer to the person who is directly related, rather than the entirely unrelated mortal. Second, as a Noldië and a princess, Idril clearly outranks Tuor.
Why Quenya "Itarildion"? Because "Idrilion" and my sense of linguistic aesthetics do not get on at all.

²This is, of course, not entirely correct: Elwing is only five eighths Avarin. The missing eighth is Maiarin, which surely balances the quarter mortal at least a little. But the Noldor clearly need to feel superior. Not necessarily at maths, though...