Far Over Land and Sea by polutropos

Alqualondë

Prompt: Not a lot of options.

The Teleri fought with nets, tridents, spears, knives, arrows – but their most powerful weapon? They sang. They sang as they had since they awoke on the shores of Cuiviénen, and the sea’s rippling surface carried their voices from pier to pier. Now as sweetly as waves lapping over pebbles, now groaning as fiercely as a storm delving grottoes in the cliffsides.

Like a web of cracks that veins unseen through a sheet of glass, their Songs slowly broke down their opponent’s resolve, making brittle shards of the shell encasing a hardened heart.

Then came the knife, gutting the stunned soldiers like so many fish.

One, two, three fell this way as Macalaurë advanced. They spilled heaps of black gore onto the white boards as their bodies crumpled into the sea.

Four, five. The last, a woman who had crafted his first child’s flute.

“Cáno!” A cry from behind. His brother – which brother? Macalaurë whirled towards the sound. Upon the marbled breakwater: Tyelkormo surrounded by a wall of spears. Their bearers beat out a rhythm against the stones, singing together. A dreadful choir.

“Cáno!” his brother called again, his voice cut through with the shrillness of panic. “Stop them!”

All the Eldar could draw forth thoughts and sensations with Song, but few had Macalaurë’s gift for singing them into being.

He gathered his fear into his lungs. He felt, for the first time, what it was to wield a Song. The Teleri parried with a deluge of music and arrows. Macalaurë’s Song faltered, his shield arm was struck.

The circle closed around Tyelkormo. Mighty Tyelkormo, who had never needed Macalaurë once before.

In desperation, scarcely conscious of his choice, he allowed a strain of discord into his Music. His vision darkened. The clamour of weapons hushed. The sound carried on his breath was deep and full, the words ancient and unholy. The choir fell silent.

He opened his eyes and saw, for the first time, that Song could destroy.