|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
Shades of GreySummary: Manwë visits Melkor in the Void, and finds pity for the former enemy in his heart. Sometimes, there are shades of grey between white and black...
Disclaimer: Just Retelling Reuel's Tales
Beta reader: Cairistiona
It was cold here, upon Taniquetil. The air was thin, and the snow on the peak never melted. The wind didn't blow. It was peaceful, serene a white silence stretching through the halls of Ilmarin. There, high above all, Manwë sat on his throne, and his sight was directed to the east. The threat to Middle-earth has been destroyed. The One Ring has been melted in the fires of Orodruin, and a new age began. Change could be felt all over the world. And yet the expression of the Elder King was not one of joy. His all-seeing eyes were half-closed, focused not on the happening in the world, but something else. A memory, maybe. Then h
Shadows of Nan ElmothO golden cage of Gondolin, is covetousness a crime?
Behind the bars a bird felt freedom for first time
Aredhel Ar-Feiniel and Eöl, elven smith
Found wonder in the woods, between branches didn’t breathe
As she in the shade stood he saw her beauty bloom
Love piercing as a lance in the gathering gloom
Her freedom loving heart in shadows shimmers light
J. R. R. TolkienJust see who enters
the realm of dreams
that none have seen
legends of old
Molding them into
Reaping the fruits
that in his mind grow
to rivers of words
that from his pen flow
Travel through the lands,
follow the dream
He gives you his hand...
Enter with him!
Of Names and DecisionsFair child without sorrow
Is your life hollow,
Dreams are just small seeds
Adventures, great deeds
Ripen long since…
A burning fire
That’s your desire:
Onwards without wince
In the light of Two Trees
Noon of Valinor's bliss
Over the wide sea, though
Lie the lands you don't know
Distant and wild
Oh, eager child...
Faithful and steady
Is you oath ready,
Reaping the visions
Of your decisions
Darkness will sink
For the oath spoken
A new hope is born
Grief of those who mourn
Up to sky flew
New day is coming
Dawning in blue
The Ride of OromeThe stars were young upon the heaven’s dome
and darkness dwelt under the shade of trees
and in the darkness evil creatures roamed,
when a horn sounded clear and pure in breeze.
Like thunder rode there Béma on his steed
and Nahar's mane shone bright with silver light:
glistening dream, the music of his feet,
before them fled the creatures of the night.
Now hoofbeats silenced, Béma rides no more
in Middle-earth under the rays of Sun,
but Nahar's children still stay on this shore
and on the grass of Rohan freely run.
The lords of horses, Mearas free and strong,
the steeds of kings that came out of a song.
Ships of AlqualondeThe song of waters sounded clear and sweet
In light of Trees before its brightness dimmed
There white wood was with foaming sea-waves rimmed
The swiftest swan-ships in a mighty fleet
The sails were woven with a silver thread
As they sailed proudly through the storms and wind
Like graceful swans their prows were shaped, flanks winged
No better ship could sailor ever meet
Now white planks reddened with the Elven blood
In Swanhaven under the darkened sky
Where ships were taken together with lives
Then sky in Losgar reddened like rose bud
The fires rose on shores where the gulls cry
To Alqualondë only ash arrives
Dead MarshesOnce armies proud,
their enemies vile
Once armies proud,
now they rest in a mire
Side by side lie
noble Elf with a Man
Side by side lie
Orcs from a dark den
In dreamless sleep
Forever they'll rest
In dreamless sleep
Hosts of East, hosts of West
The waters cold
Are their murky grave
The waters cold
Above soldiers brave
Dead faces in water
Some noble and sad
Dead faces in water
And mud is their bed
Cold and pale faces,
Both evil and fair
Cold and pale faces
With weed in their hair
All foul, all rotting
Lit by corpse-lights
All foul, all rotting,
You should not look in
Or you'll lose your wit
You should not look in
When the candles are lit
Turin TurambarYou want to be a master of your fate
And believe still that you can win this fight
But anger kills as surely as a blade
And so is dimmed for you Doriath's light
For king's judgement you did not want to wait
But fled instead - fugitive in the night
Wandering lost, you found men of the night
And joined with them, and shared their lonely fate
On Amon Rûdh you will for your friend wait
His love will guide him, make him join your fight
Then Bow and Helm will bring to these lands light
Until the bond is severed by the blade
The sword is black and cruel is its blade
When it cuts flesh in darkness of the night
What you have done, you'll see in flash of light
And understand the evil turn of fate
For it is not an enemy you fight
But Beleg's death that in your hands did wait
For other man the elven maid did wait
But love is as dangerous as a blade
That Gwindor sees, and gives up without fight
Then bridge was build, and dragon came in night
And so is sealed Nargothrond's tragic fate
In Pool o
Yavanna's lullabyBeloved children, you must sleep
In a sleep dreamless and deep
The black night fell
Like evil spell,
But you will your strength keep
Darkness spread over the land
The Lamps that fell we cannot mend
With poisoned sting
Now Arda's Spring
Has ended, its time spent
Close your eyes and do not fear
To my heart you are most dear
When you wake
The night will break
Sky again will be clear
Rest under the wings of night
So you can wake in new light
A tree or weed
When land again is bright
Spark - chapter 2Words
Words and music. Two things that were so far removed that it took Maedhros a while to even realize they were there. His mind still did not understand them, but his heart did, at least in part. It recognized them as something to break through the endless cycle of painful heartbeats, and left him no say in the matter. He suddenly found that it had the music, and the words, as if it remembered them from a time long ago, though that seemed impossible. They came automatically, forcing themselves out of him with such strength that he couldn't hold them back. He sang the words, sang the music, without having any recollection of how to sing, or how to speak.
He fell silent with exhaustion, and found that not only his song, but also the other had stopped. There was no despair. He accepted it, as he had accepted everything for so long, until a voice cried out to him.
He stood there, a spectre from a different life, a tiny figure cut out from paper and stuck into the wrong picture,
Spark - chapter 5Strength
"So Fingon has told you."
"I found out on my own."
"We thought it would be best not to tell you until you were stronger."
"That would have been quite a feat."
Maglor shot his older brother an almost anxious glance, not asking the next question: So how did you take it?
Maedhros was sitting up in bed again, propped up against pillows, as he had almost all the time since the previous day. His back, shoulder and arm weren't taking it well, but he was determined not to give up any hard-earned ground. Sitting up had meant having his right arm in plain sight for twenty-four hours. He had risen to the challenge, having spent most of that time staring at the stump, trying to accept that it was a part of him now.
He could not deny that the discovery that he was maimed had left him badly shaken. It had cast a doubt on every single thing that he had been clinging to since first realising that his ordeal was over. Revenge. Strength. Normality. Fingon's reac
Spark - chapter 4Maimed
His broken shoulder was finally healing. The healers had expressed their amazement at the fact, but for Maedhros, it didn't bring that much of a change for the better. Progress and healing were still slow. He could turn his head without passing out from dizziness, and he found he could even move his right arm again, but it felt so strange, alien, and raw, that he mostly remained lying the way he was, still enduring them doing almost everything for him. And there was something else, a nagging fear of something unspoken. He had not had a look at his right hand in all this time.
"What aren't you telling me?" he finally found the courage to ask Fingon one evening, after the bandages were changed and the healer had left.
Fingon became just a bit too preoccupied with rearranging the covers. "What do you mean?" he asked.
"My hand won't heal, will it?"
Fingon looked down at his hands. It was slightly more difficult to read his face when he was not meeting Maedhros' eyes.
"Don't lie to m
Spark - chapter 3Guilt
Turgon's voice was cold. It was always cold when Maedhros heard him speak, which was seldom. Fingolfin's and most of the others' were usually rather flat around him, even the healers'.
"His brother is at the gate."
Fingon turned from his chair at Maedhros' bed to look at his brother standing in the door. "Which of them?" he asked in surprise.
Turgon laughed without humour. "Does it matter?"
"It does. Can you imagine Caranthir walking through our camp? There'd be blood."
"It's Maglor. So there probably won't be blood. Not that he'd deserve it any less." Turgon's voice was dark with resentment. "Atar allowed him to pass. Mainly because he had the decency to request, not to demand."
"Leave him in peace," Fingon said wearily. "He is here to see his brother, no more."
"Why did you have to bring him here?" Turgon said bitterly. "He's got more than enough brothers on the other side of the lake whom it wouldn't hurt to have their share in nursing him back to health."
Spark - final chapterBurden
The lake-shore lay under several inches of snow, the lake frozen and covered with a white blanket. Maedhros sat leaning against the trunk of a leafless willow, whose branches vanished into the ice, hung with glittering icicles like glass beads. The sinking sun threw long-fingered shadows across the icy lake and frozen fields, creeping behind the Mountains of Mithrim in the west, in what felt to Maedhros like a constant reminder that no hope would come from that direction.
He was wrapped in a warm cloak against the cold, his right arm in a sling to prevent him from jolting movements. The stump was still tender to the touch, but he knew that, in time, it would heal completely.
The lake lay to his right, the last rays of sunlight turning it into a glittering spectacle trying to catch his eye, but he was not looking at it. His gaze was to the northeast.
There, across the peaks of Ered Wethrin, lay Angband. The day had been grey and cloudy, so he could barely make out the moun
Thoughts...They wondered about him, he knew that. They couldn't understand why such a smart man, a genius some of them called him, would be that alone, but still be happy about it. And they didn't know that he really wasn't happy, that it was all an act that he put on, his last and greatest performance.
He had lost everybody now, there was nobody left that he could hold on to, that he could watch. Elrond's sons had finally sailed with their grandfather earlier in the day, and he was now all alone. Of course, they had never known he was watching them, that they were all he had that kept him from completely losing himself in his thoughts, his thoughts that just wouldn't shut up, and that kept replaying in his mind, tormenting him with everything that he had ever done or said that had caused others to disapprove of him, but really what else was there for him to hold onto? All the happy memories in the world couldn't keep his thoughts away. His singing was the only thing that did that, but when he sa
Sand and MusicSand and Music
He feels he cannot walk another step, until he does. The next step is the same, and the next, and he has stopped counting the sunsets and sunrises because measuring eternity has no purpose. He has wandered an eternity already, carrying his small harp for some indeterminable, compulsive reason, because it will be years before he can play again, if ever, and the sand blows into his eyes and into his throat as he sings. His hands are burnt and scarred and his voice is hoarse, and he wants to rip the strings from the taunting harp and scream, but he is unable to do either because it hurts too much.
Every muscle that has been on fire begins to numb from sheer fatigue, and he feels that he will die without food but is too weak from walking to fish or hunt- but then, Maitimo survived thirty-some years without food, didn't he- and now he is thinking of Maitimo again and he swore to himself that he would not think of them right now.&
SparkAll light had failed.
There was only darkness. Darkness, and him, and the pain. The pain was the only thing that was not dark. When Maedhros closed his eyes, the pain even blocked out the darkness, drowning it, mostly red, sometimes white.
There were no stars; even they had failed. Maybe they were still there somewhere, above the reeking fumes and smokes of the furnaces of Angband. Maybe they were already gone. Maybe the world was already gone. He had no way of knowing. Sometimes, it would rain, but the rain was black and oily, and it stank. There was no clean thing left in the world. It burned in his eyes and in the many wounds upon his body.
There were no voices, no sounds except the wind. The Orcs did not come up here. He thought that, ultimately, that was why they had chained him here. Down in the dungeons, even when they'd tortured him, there had still been something in him that had fought. Just seeing their faces had filled him with a burning fire of hatred, and the hatred had fu
The First Snow
He climbed onto the tower top. Brisk, frosty air surrounded him. The landscape down the hill was covered with mist.
Winter morning in Himring.
And the first snow.
The floor was already well sprinkled with delicate snowflakes.
He wrapped his thick long shawl tighter around his shoulders and slowly put a bare foot on the snow. At first he felt nothing, his skin was still warmed with the bath. He followed with his other foot, nothing. A step forward. Still nothing. Silence. Calm.
Slowly he walked to the middle of the turret. Now he was starting to feel the chill and dampness under his feet but still it was not unpleasant.
Snowflakes were lazily drifting before his eyes. He wanted to reach out, to catch them, to hold them in his hand, but... He had only one hand. The attempts to hold his shawl with the stump nearly ended with the garment falling. All he could do was to reach out with the stump or...
Put his face towards it, as towards the Sun.
He closed his eyes. The first snowflakes gentl
Maedhros: Son of FireHe was the fire
Wine until bottom
And pain of fame
He was my father
His anger like flood
We sealed our Oath
In fire and blood
The flame extinguished
By Oath we're still bound
Through tears and pain
No rest to be found
The blood on my hands
And my hand in chains
What was it for
When nothing remains?
The Light we sought, burns
So close, yet so far
We are not worthy
To touch a star
Burning flame, take me
And clean the stain
Take the cursed Jewel
And end my pain!
In fire it started
In fire it ends
Just like my father
The fire in my veins
Poetic PsychosisIn thirty seconds, the next shell would fall. Every night was the same, but every night Lorenzo experienced it as if it were the first time. His throat felt swollen; breathing was hard. He glanced around at the others; young men like him who had been shipped out in the name of honour and freedom. There was no honour in this, no freedom. Only death behind your eyelids, and a fear so gutting, that it carved out your innards and left you a hollow husk. Lorenzo tried to breathe, tried to assure himself that he was still whole, still made of flesh. They had lied when they told him he was ready.
Matteo ran towards him, arms out, rifle swinging uselessly at his side. He shouted for him to run, but Lorenzo remained motionless, unable to move as his friend’s warning was lost in the constant blare of gunfire. None of them were ready.
“The cycle is repeating. It is not safe.” The voice was soft and weak, yet it carried over the gunfire and battle cries without impediment.
Keep in Touch!
scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More