I’ve been working on a series of short ficlets/drabbles for @tolkiengenweek on characters’ Returns from the Halls of Mandos; some silly, some serious. Most of them I haven’t finished yet, but here’s the first of them.
Fingolfin (Wonder)
“Such hurt at the least will I do to the Foe of the Valar that even the mighty in the Ring of Doom shall wonder to hear it…” ~ Fëanor
Fingolfin did not have a tranquil return to life.
He had only just opened his eyes and scrambled to his feet, blinking against the unaccustomed light - has just begun to register the sensation of air on his skin and the scents of the garden around him - when he was bowled off his feet by a sudden, vast blow.
“DUDE,” said a loud, boisterous voice far above him. “DUDE. That was AWESOME!”
Tulkas picked him up bodily and placed him on his feet again as Fingolfin struggled to catch his breath.
“That was AWESOME!” he repeated. “You kicked his ASS!”
“I did lose,” Fingolfin observed, a broad smile breaking across his face in spite of it. He’d recognized that his return to life meant the Valar had pardoned him, but he hadn’t expected them to be this…enthusiastic.
(Though to be fair, he’d only had a few Vala to draw conclusions from, and Námo had never been enthusiastic about anything in his life.)
And he had never regarded his death in exactly this light before, rather than as rash despair that had left the Noldor unmoored.
“You’re an elf! You should never have been able to scratch him! You wouldn’t have been able to if he hadn’t fucked himself up so badly, that’s why we thought you were all mad when you went away. But you hurt him! Badly! You scared him, the damn coward! I’ve never seen anything like it!”
That was an extremely enjoyable thought. A lifetime’s experience of attempting to avoid at least outward displays of ego, however strong inner pride grew, made him make one more attempt. “Lúthien won.”
“Lúthien! That was stupendous! Nessa adores her, she was crowing about it for weeks! ‘She beat him with dance, dance, dance!’ We’ve spent many years since bickering about which of you was more impressive. But Lúthien was nice about it. She didn’t stab him. I still like you best!”
Fingolfin could not stop himself from laughing, and for the first time in a long while, he didn’t even want to.
“You beat him,” he said, “and I am very grateful for it! You clearly followed my fight closely enough! - would you care to give me a play-by-play of yours?”
“Oh, that,” said Tulkas. “He was terribly boring by the end. Very little to tell. Now, the rest of the war” - brightening again - “that was marvellous! I wish you’d been there! Your little brother, he’s a surprisingly talented commander, but he doesn’t know how to enjoy these things properly!”
He regaled Fingolfin with tales of the War of Wrath all the way back to Tirion.
Category: i love this
sandersstudies: Me, realizing I let cups pile up on my dresser again: my dearest princess is so…
Me, realizing I let cups pile up on my dresser again: my dearest princess is so frequently desirous of water in the late eve that she hath permitted her goblets to accumulate… dear me, I must have these cleared before the duchess arrives for tea.
Sometimes I really beat myself up for having a messy room/house and I get too upset to actually clean because what’s the point, I’ll just make it messy again?
Anyway, I’ve started countering this by pretending I’m a long-suffering maid for a sweet yet untidy princess, tasked with preparing her royal quarters for visitors. It is difficult work but the thought that she loves me and soon we will flee into the forest in disguise before her upcoming wedding (to a wealthy but unloving duke) keeps me motivated.
A comforting thought
Five thousand years ago, the Sumerians called the night ngi, the stars mul, and the moon Nanna.
Four thousand years ago, the Akkadians called the night mūšu, the stars kakkabū, and the moon Sîn.
Three thousand years ago, the Hittites called the night išpanza, the stars haštereš, and the moon Arma.
Two and a half thousand years ago, the Greeks called the night nux, the stars astra, and the moon Selênê.
Two thousand years ago, the Romans called the night nox, the stars stellae, and the moon Luna.
Kings and queens and heroes looked up at them. So did travelers coming home, and little children who sneaked out of bed. So did slaves, and mothers and soldiers and old shepherds, and Sappho and Muršili and Enheduanna and Socrates and Hatshepsut and Cyrus and Cicero. In this darkness it didn’t matter who they were, or where they stood. Only that they were human.
Think of that tonight, when you close your window. You are not alone. You share this night sky with centuries of dreamers and stargazers, and people who longed for quiet. Are you anxious? The Hittites were too: they called it pittuliyaš. Does your heart ache? The Greeks felt it too: they called it akhos. Those who look up to the stars for comfort are a family, and you belong to them. Your ancestors have stood under Nanna, Sîn, Arma, Selênê and Luna for five thousand years. Now its light is yours.
May it soothe you well.