Utopia by FactorialRabbits

Utopia

A ficlet that occured to me on the bus, whilst thinking on another piece I'm working with. Also wrote it on my phone on the bus, and have only run a spell check through it not a proper edit. But whilst being serious, it is just musings.

Read Utopia

Doriath is paradise. Everyone knows it. Between their elven king and maiar queen, the people have few concerns. The crops flourish, the people sing, and the war affects them not.

Most days, children play in the caves and in the  trees as their parents work. Much of the work is hard, and injuries not unheard of, but there is little their healers cannot cure, and there is ample time to rest and relax.

Today is a festival. They elves dance and flourish in robes of silk, dyed every colour imaginable and ribboned with gold. Even the youngest elflings have bejeweled beads in their hair as they suckle on toys made of polished woods. Upon the plinth stands King Thingol and Queen Melian themselves, him offering a speech as she smiles sweetly on. Their daughter, strange and fae and beautiful beyond compare clutches her mother's skirts, peeking curiously at the crowd. Lady Galadriel, Noldorin kinswoman of Thingol, sits to one side, face impassive yet noble. Her brother left recently, into the dangers of the world; they understand why she is sad, and do not understand why he has forfeited the protection. But Lord Celeborn, another of the king's kin, sits with her. Whispers something in her ear, and she hides a regal but joyous laugh.

As evening falls Thingol leads his bride down into the crowds, and a maid takes their little daughter dancing with the other children. They swirl amongst their people, beautiful and golden and true. They both blend entirely in, and are unable to be missed. Every elf here is unique and beautiful, loved and beloved and safe.

Sometimes, the elves wonder why on earth their kin do not join them, even more so why sometimes their kin leave; because they do, a few elves every couple of years packing their things and disappearing beyond the border. Finrod was the most recent to leave, though they knew why he did - to found his own city, an image of Doriath a little ways south. That they could understand. But why some left without reason or word? Why their Sindar kin did not come to them? That they could not comprehend; of course the Noldor were not permitted to come, but they were evil. They would hurt the land. Lady Galadriel is sort of a Noldor, but she is Thingol's kin. And Thingol's kin are not evil; how could they be with such in their line? Blessed even by the love of a maiar.

So the people clap and laugh beneath the stars, the caves and forest safe from all harm but accident. Accidents happen - they always do - but nothing intended harms any here. The trees are not quiet, instead humming along to the music. The elves can hear it, and the two lead each other in a merry, circling tune. In the caves waters sparkle

Sometimes the hunters stray close to the edge, see and hear of awful things out in the world. But it is not so here. Here, the people are safe. Here, Queen Melian provides all. The crops grow, the birds sing, there is the perfect weather for whatever needs doing that day. Everyone owes their lives and their security and their existance to the Queen.

She keeps them safe with her Girdle, wrapped tight around their lands. Which prevents the darkness coming in, from finding and hurting their men. The people know not to stray too far, lest they leave it and fall prey to the creatures of evil. They do not even stray close to it, except those whose work calls them there. It is just a ring of fog around their lands, shielding them, after all. Of what interest is fog?

Those do travel there see it is not quite fog. It is impenetrable to the eye, thick beyond compare. Black and grey and white swirl together, and it is hard even for the trained to look too long. To look without headache. But one who is powerful, trained and determined - they can see through, see to the ruined lands which surround their paradise, burnt to cinders, hurting under the weight of the war. They see the horrors of the world beyond, never see a living person. Nobody has seen an orc, but some of them have seen what is left behind when they pass; destruction and horror and nothing remotely good. So they are too grieved to look closer, to see the details or to understand what they see. They turn back to their Lord and Lady and dancing under the moon, waiting out this war others brought upon them.

But, every now and again, someone looks and sees and understands and has to make a choice about what they will do.

Because encircling the Girdle are thousands of cairns; the graves of the desperate who came looking for help, and were turned away.

(When Galadriel finds them, she knows she cannot stay. She knows why people disappear into the night, why Finrod left. She packs her bags that night, takes her husband by the hand and leads him away; by morning there is no trace that she or Celeborn were ever there.)

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Chapter End Notes

Alternate text for the italics - 'In but a few hundred years, the Noldor will come for their revenge'

(changed because that's not exactly true. Also I liked this ending too)

Not really sure what else to say about this.