[FIC] Purity
This is number six (#6) on my ten tacky fics list. Maglor and Elladan & Elrohir. I oddly like it, but I must note that it carries an oddity warning. This one is way out there...
1511
BS
Thursday, December 1, 2005
Friday, December 2, 2005
Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings was written by JRR Tolkien, is licensed all over the place, and is losing no money from my writing of this ficlet. No harm intended.
Warnings: This is w~a~y out there...
Rating: PG
Notes: Number Six. (#6)
I wanted it to be light-hearted? I think I failed.
P U R I T Y
They stared up at him with innocent gray eyes, shining with awe and unconditional love. Both boys were in the same bed, covered with the same blanket. They were still children by anyone’s standards, but Maglor suspected that they were too old for this. He wondered briefly if Elrond allowed it, but his foster-son had left him in charge of his children, and the Noldo did not see the harm in it.
“Grandfather,” Elladan said loudly. He grinned and wiggled under the blankets, then settled against the bed. “Tell us a story.”
He resisted his immediate answer of “no.” He had always had a soft spot for children, and he was surprised it had not faded with time. It had been countless years since a child had been left in his care, and he had worried he had lost his love for them.
The sons of Elrond were small, and though their little bodies were slender, they still held the soft fat of early childhood. Their eyes were round and a clear gray, and they sparkled with the untouched purity of youth. Their hair was dark, not black but not brown, and each sported an identical braid down their necks. They were dressed for sleep, but they did not appear tired.
Elladan had asked for a bedtime story, and Elrohir had seconded the request with a vigorous nod of his head. He knew without even thinking about it that he would tell them one. Once, he had done the same for his own brothers. They had outgrown it quickly, except for the youngest two, and they had squealed every night for some sort of tale of wondrous things. His chest felt tight as the memories surfaced unbidden, and he tried not to think of them. Those times were lost forever.
“What would you like to hear?” he asked, trying to think of something suiting for a young child. He wondered if he had lost his talent for it, as the only stories that would come to his mind were too gruesome and dark for children to hear.
Elrohir squirmed under the blanket and reached forward until his small hands touched Maglor’s hair. He grabbed it, and Maglor had a moment of absolute foresight that revealed the boy wanted to put his fist -- hair and all -- into his mouth. Acting swiftly, he gently removed his hair and patted the boy’s head.
“Perhaps a story of origin,” he said. The children did not answer as they stared at him with wide eyes. He took a deep breath and began. “When their first bodies were being made from the ‘flesh of Arda‘ the Quendi slept ‘in the womb of the Earth,’ beneath the green sward, and awoke when they were full-grown. But the First Elves (also called the Unbegotten, or the Eru-begotten) did not all wake together. Eru had so ordained that each should lie beside his or her ‘destined spouse.’ But three Elves awoke first of all, and they were elf-men, for elf-men are more strong in body and more eager and adventurous in strange places. These three Elf-fathers are named in the ancient tales Imin, Tata, and Enel. They awoke in that order, but with little time between each; and from them--”
Elladan interrupted with a whine, “This is boring!”
Maglor frowned. He started to speak, but the other twin interrupted.
“Tell us a story about you,” Elrohir said. He grinned and reached for his hair again, but Maglor subtly moved and evaded his grasp. "A happy one!"
He sighed and felt weariness steal over him. “I have no happy tales to tell about myself,” he said. The children looked at him, disappointed, and he almost felt guilty. A thought formed in his mind, and he was speaking before he even realized it. “Perhaps I have a brief one for you.
“Once, there was a prince, and he was as beautiful and brave as the rising sun. He ruled in a faraway kingdom, but it was not long before an evil king kidnapped the prince. He held him prisoner for many long years and vowed not to release him until the prince’s subjects paid the heavy ransom. They were aggrieved, but unable to rescue their prince. The evil king pinned him to a mountainside and left him there--”
Here, one of the twins gasped, but he ignored it.
“One day, the prince’s dear childhood friend went looking for him, determined to rescue the prince. He found him, but he was very sad, because he was unable to free him from the mountain. The prince was weary of being the evil king’s prisoner, and he begged his friend to kill him--”
Here, the other twin gasped.
“-- but his friend would not. He cut his arm at his hand, and the prince was free, but it was a heavy price to him.”
The twins stared at him with wide eyes. One of them said, “He cut his hand off? What did he do?”
“He learned to use his left arm, and he fought just as fiercely as though he had two hands. However, I am not finished--”
“I do not like that story, either,” Elladan said. “It would have been better if the friend had been a princess. Then, they could have been married and had children.”
Elrohir asked, “Grandfather, if the prince and the princess had babies, would they only have one hand?”
Maglor tried not to laugh, but it came out as a snort, and soon he was laughing as he had not in years. He could not answer the boy’s question, the mere thought of the conversation he was having with these two children was enough to make him start laughing again. Tears leaked from his eyes and rolled over his cheeks, and he struggled to regain his composure.
“I want to hear the rest of the story!” Elrohir cried as Maglor stood.
He chuckled. “Not tonight,” he pushed the boys back onto the bed and brought the blankets to their chins. He leaned down and hugged them both, then turned to leave. “Perhaps some other time,” he said. “Sleep now.”
They obeyed and he snuffed the candle, covering the room in darkness.
“You are good with them,” Elrond said from the door.
Maglor sighed. “They are children. It does not require a great deal of skill to amuse a child.”
“There are some who would disagree with you.” He walked to the bed and looked at his children fondly. “Elladan is impossible to please,” he said. “It was an interesting choice, but at least one that they had not heard before.”
“I would imagine not,” he replied. “You are home early,” he stated needlessly.
“Yes,” Elrond said. They left the room together, the door shut firmly behind them. “Thank you for looking after them.”
He said nothing for a moment. “There are many in your employ who would be glad to care for them.”
“Yes, but I wanted them to know their grandfather.”
“They know Celeborn well enough.”
Elrond looked at him darkly. “You know what I mean. Stop trying to distance yourself from us.”
Maglor said nothing, only continued walking beside him through the corridor. “You know that I will not stay. They are young. They will forget me before long.”
Elrond’s voice was strained. “You do not give them enough credit.” He turned to look at his foster-father and put his hand against the Noldo’s shoulder. “You know that you always have a place here,” he said.
“I know it,” he replied. “Thank you.” Inwardly, he knew that he did not belong anywhere, but he did not voice these thoughts. He glanced down the hall again, toward the children’s room, and then beyond to where he had slept these past three weeks. He looked away and Elrond was standing before him, watching him. “I think I will retire now.”
“It is late,” Elrond said. “Good night.” Without warning, he hugged him tightly. Maglor awkwardly returned the embrace, and then drifted down the corridor. Elrond went in the opposite direction, and for a moment he could hear Celebrian’s clear voice calling out to her husband. Maglor did not turn to look at her.
He stopped in front of the twins’ room and cracked the door open. He looked inside, and the boys were asleep beside one another, peaceful smiles on their mouths. For just a moment, he was looking at another set of twins -- two with soft red hair and shining faces, teetering around their room and climbing onto his lap as he tried to play the harp for them. His throat felt unbearably tight and his eyes stung as though he were about to cry.
He forced the emotions away and continued to his own temporary quarters. The night was only just begun, and he found that he could not sleep. He lay on his bed, eyes watching the trees outside his window. The moonlight was soft and it fell onto him like a blanket. Eventually, he slept; his dreams held copper hair and wide, smiling eyes.
(end)
-=-=-=-=-=-
Important Note: The first fairy-tale is lifted directly from Tolkien’s writing. Specifically, “The legend of the Awakening of the Quendi (Cuivienyarna)” Page 422 in The History of Middle-earth, Vol. XI: The War of the Jewels. I obviously did not copy the whole text, just a part of the first paragraph. The rest of the fic is obviously mine.
1511
BS
Thursday, December 1, 2005
Friday, December 2, 2005
Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings was written by JRR Tolkien, is licensed all over the place, and is losing no money from my writing of this ficlet. No harm intended.
Warnings: This is w~a~y out there...
Rating: PG
Notes: Number Six. (#6)
I wanted it to be light-hearted? I think I failed.
P U R I T Y
They stared up at him with innocent gray eyes, shining with awe and unconditional love. Both boys were in the same bed, covered with the same blanket. They were still children by anyone’s standards, but Maglor suspected that they were too old for this. He wondered briefly if Elrond allowed it, but his foster-son had left him in charge of his children, and the Noldo did not see the harm in it.
“Grandfather,” Elladan said loudly. He grinned and wiggled under the blankets, then settled against the bed. “Tell us a story.”
He resisted his immediate answer of “no.” He had always had a soft spot for children, and he was surprised it had not faded with time. It had been countless years since a child had been left in his care, and he had worried he had lost his love for them.
The sons of Elrond were small, and though their little bodies were slender, they still held the soft fat of early childhood. Their eyes were round and a clear gray, and they sparkled with the untouched purity of youth. Their hair was dark, not black but not brown, and each sported an identical braid down their necks. They were dressed for sleep, but they did not appear tired.
Elladan had asked for a bedtime story, and Elrohir had seconded the request with a vigorous nod of his head. He knew without even thinking about it that he would tell them one. Once, he had done the same for his own brothers. They had outgrown it quickly, except for the youngest two, and they had squealed every night for some sort of tale of wondrous things. His chest felt tight as the memories surfaced unbidden, and he tried not to think of them. Those times were lost forever.
“What would you like to hear?” he asked, trying to think of something suiting for a young child. He wondered if he had lost his talent for it, as the only stories that would come to his mind were too gruesome and dark for children to hear.
Elrohir squirmed under the blanket and reached forward until his small hands touched Maglor’s hair. He grabbed it, and Maglor had a moment of absolute foresight that revealed the boy wanted to put his fist -- hair and all -- into his mouth. Acting swiftly, he gently removed his hair and patted the boy’s head.
“Perhaps a story of origin,” he said. The children did not answer as they stared at him with wide eyes. He took a deep breath and began. “When their first bodies were being made from the ‘flesh of Arda‘ the Quendi slept ‘in the womb of the Earth,’ beneath the green sward, and awoke when they were full-grown. But the First Elves (also called the Unbegotten, or the Eru-begotten) did not all wake together. Eru had so ordained that each should lie beside his or her ‘destined spouse.’ But three Elves awoke first of all, and they were elf-men, for elf-men are more strong in body and more eager and adventurous in strange places. These three Elf-fathers are named in the ancient tales Imin, Tata, and Enel. They awoke in that order, but with little time between each; and from them--”
Elladan interrupted with a whine, “This is boring!”
Maglor frowned. He started to speak, but the other twin interrupted.
“Tell us a story about you,” Elrohir said. He grinned and reached for his hair again, but Maglor subtly moved and evaded his grasp. "A happy one!"
He sighed and felt weariness steal over him. “I have no happy tales to tell about myself,” he said. The children looked at him, disappointed, and he almost felt guilty. A thought formed in his mind, and he was speaking before he even realized it. “Perhaps I have a brief one for you.
“Once, there was a prince, and he was as beautiful and brave as the rising sun. He ruled in a faraway kingdom, but it was not long before an evil king kidnapped the prince. He held him prisoner for many long years and vowed not to release him until the prince’s subjects paid the heavy ransom. They were aggrieved, but unable to rescue their prince. The evil king pinned him to a mountainside and left him there--”
Here, one of the twins gasped, but he ignored it.
“One day, the prince’s dear childhood friend went looking for him, determined to rescue the prince. He found him, but he was very sad, because he was unable to free him from the mountain. The prince was weary of being the evil king’s prisoner, and he begged his friend to kill him--”
Here, the other twin gasped.
“-- but his friend would not. He cut his arm at his hand, and the prince was free, but it was a heavy price to him.”
The twins stared at him with wide eyes. One of them said, “He cut his hand off? What did he do?”
“He learned to use his left arm, and he fought just as fiercely as though he had two hands. However, I am not finished--”
“I do not like that story, either,” Elladan said. “It would have been better if the friend had been a princess. Then, they could have been married and had children.”
Elrohir asked, “Grandfather, if the prince and the princess had babies, would they only have one hand?”
Maglor tried not to laugh, but it came out as a snort, and soon he was laughing as he had not in years. He could not answer the boy’s question, the mere thought of the conversation he was having with these two children was enough to make him start laughing again. Tears leaked from his eyes and rolled over his cheeks, and he struggled to regain his composure.
“I want to hear the rest of the story!” Elrohir cried as Maglor stood.
He chuckled. “Not tonight,” he pushed the boys back onto the bed and brought the blankets to their chins. He leaned down and hugged them both, then turned to leave. “Perhaps some other time,” he said. “Sleep now.”
They obeyed and he snuffed the candle, covering the room in darkness.
“You are good with them,” Elrond said from the door.
Maglor sighed. “They are children. It does not require a great deal of skill to amuse a child.”
“There are some who would disagree with you.” He walked to the bed and looked at his children fondly. “Elladan is impossible to please,” he said. “It was an interesting choice, but at least one that they had not heard before.”
“I would imagine not,” he replied. “You are home early,” he stated needlessly.
“Yes,” Elrond said. They left the room together, the door shut firmly behind them. “Thank you for looking after them.”
He said nothing for a moment. “There are many in your employ who would be glad to care for them.”
“Yes, but I wanted them to know their grandfather.”
“They know Celeborn well enough.”
Elrond looked at him darkly. “You know what I mean. Stop trying to distance yourself from us.”
Maglor said nothing, only continued walking beside him through the corridor. “You know that I will not stay. They are young. They will forget me before long.”
Elrond’s voice was strained. “You do not give them enough credit.” He turned to look at his foster-father and put his hand against the Noldo’s shoulder. “You know that you always have a place here,” he said.
“I know it,” he replied. “Thank you.” Inwardly, he knew that he did not belong anywhere, but he did not voice these thoughts. He glanced down the hall again, toward the children’s room, and then beyond to where he had slept these past three weeks. He looked away and Elrond was standing before him, watching him. “I think I will retire now.”
“It is late,” Elrond said. “Good night.” Without warning, he hugged him tightly. Maglor awkwardly returned the embrace, and then drifted down the corridor. Elrond went in the opposite direction, and for a moment he could hear Celebrian’s clear voice calling out to her husband. Maglor did not turn to look at her.
He stopped in front of the twins’ room and cracked the door open. He looked inside, and the boys were asleep beside one another, peaceful smiles on their mouths. For just a moment, he was looking at another set of twins -- two with soft red hair and shining faces, teetering around their room and climbing onto his lap as he tried to play the harp for them. His throat felt unbearably tight and his eyes stung as though he were about to cry.
He forced the emotions away and continued to his own temporary quarters. The night was only just begun, and he found that he could not sleep. He lay on his bed, eyes watching the trees outside his window. The moonlight was soft and it fell onto him like a blanket. Eventually, he slept; his dreams held copper hair and wide, smiling eyes.
(end)
-=-=-=-=-=-
Important Note: The first fairy-tale is lifted directly from Tolkien’s writing. Specifically, “The legend of the Awakening of the Quendi (Cuivienyarna)” Page 422 in The History of Middle-earth, Vol. XI: The War of the Jewels. I obviously did not copy the whole text, just a part of the first paragraph. The rest of the fic is obviously mine.