#melasse is silmeniel. calantiriel is also silmeniel. she has too many

[aurore-parle-de-ses-idees]

oc-tober 2021, day 13: burn with @oc-growth-and-development

i’m still on about the high elves, unfortunately

===

They came to her in the starlight, in reverie aboard Falarië, shaking her urgently as they cleared the ship of what little store of supplies it still held.

“Lord Fëanor has ordered the ships burned,” they told her. “You must come to the shore.”

“I will not!” All else dear she had lost, her home now shut to her, and at the last they would take this, too? “I will burn with my ship.” They begged her, wishing still not to add her death to their crimes, but she would not be moved, and instead heaved alone at one of the long oars even as the fires were set in the timbers of the white ships, until Falarië drifted from shore on calm waters.

The fires burned too hot, and for all her efforts she could not douse them, and drifted ever farther from the shore. She looked up, but the smoke obscured the stars. When only the highest deck remained amid the ash of Falarië, Sileär at last cried out, to Uinen and to Ossë, and to the Lord of the Waters, and when the last of the ships of Alqualondë was ash, she was borne away south.

---

They took all that could be of use from the ships, and even if they thought ill of it they obeyed. He looked up, but his own lord stood aside, looking towards the far shore in horror and grief. They took their torches at his father’s command, though, and set them to white wood.

Omaruin watched, though many others could not or would not, and he saw, among those that floated, burning, back into the firth, one figure, alone, standing proudly on the deck of their ship, aflame. Their shadow was dark against bright fire, and at the last they were hidden by smoke and waves. He nearly pled mercy for them from the lords of the sea, but fearing any prayer from him would doom them instead, he at last turned away from the water.

---

She ran, like the rest, to see the great light on the horizon. The light of great fires, blazing beyond their reach.

“The ships, the ships,” the whisper spread all through their host, and they knew, they knew. Betrayal.

We should have expected no better, Melassë thought bitterly, and almost she returned then, to her library and her calligraphy and her beloved shining city, but when Fingolfin turned instead north, she found instead a curiosity and an anger too great to do anything but follow, towards the ice.

#oc-tober #lotro #you know. i've thought Entirely too much about these guys for as reluctant as i am to touch silm #alas #melasse is silmeniel. calantiriel is also silmeniel. she has too many #est verse stuff #sil & om #silear seasheen #omaruin #silmeniel #my stories #someone else's turn tomorrow

[aurore-parle-de-ses-idees]

oc-tober day 30: soothe with @oc-growth-and-development

kinda similar to ‘truce’ (11). silear must be dramatic at all times

===

The city is days and miles behind them now but she can still smell the smoke. This is not the first time she has left all her work behind her. She was no more able to stop it this time.

They found the river two days ago and have been following it south ever since, hoping against hope that they will make it as far as the distant havens on the sea. Late in the afternoon, word comes from the front of their band of sails on the horizon, and on swift winds the white ship approaches, and they gasp at the sight of it, the vision of the swan-ships stolen and burned beyond the ice.

Sileär Seasheen, captain of the Imroval, stands dark-haired and tall and bright-eyed as any of the Noldor. She hurries the small group of survivors onto her ship while her crew armed with bows watch for attack from the shores as if they know this routine well. Theirs is not the first group Sileär has rescued; even in Tumladen, and even now, separated from other survivors and scattered along the river, Calantiriel has heard stories of the Imroval’s daring rescues these last forty-odd years. She leans gratefully against her kin now as the ship turns for its port and allows herself a moment of rest.

They land near dawn, daring to risk a brief hunt, their supplies long since dwindled as Sileär pushed farther in search of survivors of the devastation in the north. They are forced back to shore by evening as the river becomes choked with the wreckage of another ship that crashes into the hull of the Imroval with enough force to startle the refugees of Gondolin and send the sailors scrambling to find damage before the light fails.

It’s then that they are attacked, in the dimness before night, arrows falling among them as the Imroval’s sailors rush to push the ship back into the current and pull their passengers aboard. Sileär is the last off the shore, smallshield flashing in the starlight as she cries out in challenge. Her words echo and the waters of the river swell behind her. For a moment, the arrows stop.

“Captain, we are ready!”

Sileär runs and leaps to the rail as dark shapes crowd the banks, armed with torches and bows. 

“Through the wreck!” Sileär calls. “Before we join them.” Dark oars cut the water but the sail is only half-full in the fitful breeze. “Calros, Linhalwen, watch the sides.” She takes a place in the bow and beats a steady rhythm from a dark drum as the Imroval speeds away from the ambush.

They are followed for three days down the river, given no rest or respite from the pursuit until the fourth night brings them in sight of the Havens and the dark servants fall back beyond the reach of Círdan’s patrols. The oars are stowed and the sail lowered against the oncoming wind, and they all fall to the deck, exhausted, as the Imroval drifts with the current the last few miles to safety.

Sileär stands at the helm and watches them, her shoulders slumped as she leans against the rail. She catches Calantiriel’s eye where she sits against the mast and shrugs. Calantiriel sighs and lets her head fall back against the mast. They are nearly there. Despite the hour, she can hear gulls nearby and the faint laughter of the sailors in answer.

Someone begins to sing. Calantiriel opens her eyes at the sound. Sileär stands where she has been, her shoulders thrown back proudly now as she sings. Her sailors look at her and smile even in their weariness, but some among their charges wear expressions that mirror Calantiriel’s, shock and recognition and realization all together.

Calantiriel first heard this song while visiting a friend in Alqualondë but never in the years since, not even from those who had some of the Sea-folk in them. It’s a song for safe harbors, a welcome home and a send-off with the hope of swift return. 

But there’s a second part to it- more than one, really, but the second is the most important. She only half remembers it, but she can feel the gaps in the music that even Sileär’s sailors aren’t filling, and at last she takes a breath and sings the reply to Sileär’s call. Sileär turns in surprise, but she doesn’t stop, and slowly the ship relaxes, old music soothing frayed nerves under the bright starlight.   

#oc-tober #lotro #melasse is silmeniel. calantiriel is also silmeniel. she has too many #sil loves to jump dramatically onto her ship idk #[vague timeline noises] it's yknow. sometime between fall of gondolin and kinslaying 3 #sil & om #silmeniel #est verse stuff #my stories #call of orome/earendil reflavored for ulmo & friends for boat-elf minstrel?