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fan_flashworks2021-02-23 11:51 pm
lferion) wrote in fan_flashworks2021-02-23 11:51 pm
Entry tags:
Bruise: Silmarillion: Fanfic: Aftermath
Title: Aftermath
Fandom: Silmarillion
Challenge: Bruise
Other Prompt: SWG 13th Birthday Instadrabbles: Amber, Space, Shatter, Comfort.
Rating: G
Length: 300
Content notes: Non-explicit description of a battlefield.
Author notes: Thanks go to Zana, Morgynleri & Runa for encouragement & sanity-checking.
Summary: Maentâl observes the aftermath of the Battle of the Last Alliance.
The sky was purple-brown, underlit in livid greenish-yellow, like a bruise. The land around where Sauron had fallen was in worse shape: unstable, the surface a brittle crust over unspeakable muck, the very rocks flaking and fragmenting. But this was the gate of Mordor, not Angband at the end of the War of Wrath. Sauron was unhoused, not unmade. Druin belched dirty amber smoke, but there were no fissures of lava, no angry sea to swallow the shattered land. Already the Dwarves from the Orocarni and further souther were clearing space away from the center of the devastation to lay foundations for pyres, find suitable ground for cairns and graves. They had come out of the East, up from the high deserts of Umbar and further south. Maentâl stood by Elrond, and watched as they spoke with their Northern and Western cousins, every house and clan working together to honor all the dead of the Alliance. It was a surprising comfort, to see them, to watch the weary Men stand a little straighter at the sight, joining in the dreadful, needful work of winnowing the battlefield.
Not the devastation of the fall of Ancalagon, the taking of Melkor, the breaking of Thangorodrim, but devastation enough, certainly. And, as then, there would be peace for a time, possibly quite a long time, even as Elves counted. Time to build anew, explore new lands. He felt the indescribable shift that heralded a new Age, but first it was needful to lay the old to rest. Attend to the healing those who could be healed, and give honor and respect to the dead. The clouds were scattering, the setting sun burnishing them in clear reds and golds. In the twilight East, Earendil shone bright. Dwarves and Elves and Men together began to sing.
Fandom: Silmarillion
Challenge: Bruise
Other Prompt: SWG 13th Birthday Instadrabbles: Amber, Space, Shatter, Comfort.
Rating: G
Length: 300
Content notes: Non-explicit description of a battlefield.
Author notes: Thanks go to Zana, Morgynleri & Runa for encouragement & sanity-checking.
Summary: Maentâl observes the aftermath of the Battle of the Last Alliance.
The sky was purple-brown, underlit in livid greenish-yellow, like a bruise. The land around where Sauron had fallen was in worse shape: unstable, the surface a brittle crust over unspeakable muck, the very rocks flaking and fragmenting. But this was the gate of Mordor, not Angband at the end of the War of Wrath. Sauron was unhoused, not unmade. Druin belched dirty amber smoke, but there were no fissures of lava, no angry sea to swallow the shattered land. Already the Dwarves from the Orocarni and further souther were clearing space away from the center of the devastation to lay foundations for pyres, find suitable ground for cairns and graves. They had come out of the East, up from the high deserts of Umbar and further south. Maentâl stood by Elrond, and watched as they spoke with their Northern and Western cousins, every house and clan working together to honor all the dead of the Alliance. It was a surprising comfort, to see them, to watch the weary Men stand a little straighter at the sight, joining in the dreadful, needful work of winnowing the battlefield.
Not the devastation of the fall of Ancalagon, the taking of Melkor, the breaking of Thangorodrim, but devastation enough, certainly. And, as then, there would be peace for a time, possibly quite a long time, even as Elves counted. Time to build anew, explore new lands. He felt the indescribable shift that heralded a new Age, but first it was needful to lay the old to rest. Attend to the healing those who could be healed, and give honor and respect to the dead. The clouds were scattering, the setting sun burnishing them in clear reds and golds. In the twilight East, Earendil shone bright. Dwarves and Elves and Men together began to sing.