The Sickle of the Valar
Nov. 5th, 2003 11:20 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
altarielA few months ago, I took part in the Stargazers challenge at Henneth Annûn. The challenge was sparked by this story by Starlight, and several of us contributed other chapters in which Adrahil taught a young Faramir about other constellations (including my story The Eagle and the Swan).
The Sickle of the Valar has been lurking in my mind since then, but I've not had time to write it until this week. It comes at the end of the time period during which the challenge is set, and I guess it forms a loose trilogy with At Sea and Lady of Silences.
The Sickle of the Valar
He woke, suddenly, from a dream disturbed by whispers. He reached out, but his hand found only the book that had slid from him as he had fallen asleep; found only the space where she had once lain. She herself was gone, twenty months past.
He forsook the bed in turn, and wondered at the time. He crossed to the window, where heavy curtains blocked out whatever light there might yet be, and drew them back – but it was still night. He watched and listened to the darkness, and reflected.
Grief, he observed, had form; absence had presence. At its end, her life had been light, feather-like, a wisp waiting trembling for the cut. Sheared, he had made for her a monument – white slabs of marble levelled in unequal remembrance of her brittle beauty. In death, she had taken on the presence, and the permanence, of stone.
In the sky above, as he watched, slivers of starlight merged and took on meaning. A cloud passed over Alquatelpë, leaving only a solitary wing visible; in the West, Soronúmë hovered – bright and remote, sure in his purpose and biding his time.
He turned his mind swiftly to consideration of the practical – of the voyage he had lately made, from Pelargir, and the trials of sea travel... of the journey beginning the next morning, and the parlous state of the roads through Lebennin... of the White City and how it might be faring without him to oversee all its affairs— Then he heard whispers again, in the night.
They were coming from below his window. Shadows were moving there too; and then they resolved themselves into his father-in-law – and his younger boy! What could bring them out so early? he thought, exasperated. Tomorrow, no doubt, the boy would be tired and out of sorts – and it was not his grandsire that would be troubled with him, but his sire.
“There,” said the old man, “there – can you see?”
“I think so...” answered the boy. “Yes, I have it! A handle, and there’s the blade.”
“The Sickle,” his grandsire agreed.
Adrahil was teaching him the stars, Denethor realized – and recalled a promise made about a map, if the boy showed willing... So, Faramir had enlisted his grandsire to aid him, it seemed...
“Or the Valacirca, since I know you prefer the names in Elvish,” the man said, a smile in his voice. “It was set in the northern sky in the Elder Days, as a promise that the darkness of that time would pass. I saved it for last, as our farewell. For even the deathless,” he murmured, “know everything comes to an end. All joys – and all sorrows.”
Denethor looked up at the northern sky, to the seven stars raised there.
“Thirty years ago,” the old man said, “I stood on this very spot and showed it to a little girl not much older than you.”
“My mother?”
“Your mother.”
He waited.
“Did... she like the stars?” the boy said.
“Yes, she did— Do you remember her, Faramir?”
“Sometimes...” His voice wavered uncertainly, like grass in the wind.
“And your father,” Adrahil asked, “does he say much about her?”
The night gained substance, and weight.
“No,” the boy replied. “But sometimes he gets sad.”
Watching, Denethor thought, and whispering.
He listened, closely.
“Come along,” the elder said, at length, and sighing. “One last look at the Sickle, and then back to bed. A long day for you tomorrow.”
The fond grumbling of an old man lifting a loved boy up into his arms, some last words about the hope that hung in the heavens, and then they were gone... And if the Steward of Gondor, watching the stars and hearing all, thought too of their promise, or if he thought only of his wife, scythed too soon – this tale cannot tell.
Altariel, 3rd-5th November 2003
The Sickle of the Valar has been lurking in my mind since then, but I've not had time to write it until this week. It comes at the end of the time period during which the challenge is set, and I guess it forms a loose trilogy with At Sea and Lady of Silences.
The Sickle of the Valar
He woke, suddenly, from a dream disturbed by whispers. He reached out, but his hand found only the book that had slid from him as he had fallen asleep; found only the space where she had once lain. She herself was gone, twenty months past.
He forsook the bed in turn, and wondered at the time. He crossed to the window, where heavy curtains blocked out whatever light there might yet be, and drew them back – but it was still night. He watched and listened to the darkness, and reflected.
Grief, he observed, had form; absence had presence. At its end, her life had been light, feather-like, a wisp waiting trembling for the cut. Sheared, he had made for her a monument – white slabs of marble levelled in unequal remembrance of her brittle beauty. In death, she had taken on the presence, and the permanence, of stone.
In the sky above, as he watched, slivers of starlight merged and took on meaning. A cloud passed over Alquatelpë, leaving only a solitary wing visible; in the West, Soronúmë hovered – bright and remote, sure in his purpose and biding his time.
He turned his mind swiftly to consideration of the practical – of the voyage he had lately made, from Pelargir, and the trials of sea travel... of the journey beginning the next morning, and the parlous state of the roads through Lebennin... of the White City and how it might be faring without him to oversee all its affairs— Then he heard whispers again, in the night.
They were coming from below his window. Shadows were moving there too; and then they resolved themselves into his father-in-law – and his younger boy! What could bring them out so early? he thought, exasperated. Tomorrow, no doubt, the boy would be tired and out of sorts – and it was not his grandsire that would be troubled with him, but his sire.
“There,” said the old man, “there – can you see?”
“I think so...” answered the boy. “Yes, I have it! A handle, and there’s the blade.”
“The Sickle,” his grandsire agreed.
Adrahil was teaching him the stars, Denethor realized – and recalled a promise made about a map, if the boy showed willing... So, Faramir had enlisted his grandsire to aid him, it seemed...
“Or the Valacirca, since I know you prefer the names in Elvish,” the man said, a smile in his voice. “It was set in the northern sky in the Elder Days, as a promise that the darkness of that time would pass. I saved it for last, as our farewell. For even the deathless,” he murmured, “know everything comes to an end. All joys – and all sorrows.”
Denethor looked up at the northern sky, to the seven stars raised there.
“Thirty years ago,” the old man said, “I stood on this very spot and showed it to a little girl not much older than you.”
“My mother?”
“Your mother.”
He waited.
“Did... she like the stars?” the boy said.
“Yes, she did— Do you remember her, Faramir?”
“Sometimes...” His voice wavered uncertainly, like grass in the wind.
“And your father,” Adrahil asked, “does he say much about her?”
The night gained substance, and weight.
“No,” the boy replied. “But sometimes he gets sad.”
Watching, Denethor thought, and whispering.
He listened, closely.
“Come along,” the elder said, at length, and sighing. “One last look at the Sickle, and then back to bed. A long day for you tomorrow.”
The fond grumbling of an old man lifting a loved boy up into his arms, some last words about the hope that hung in the heavens, and then they were gone... And if the Steward of Gondor, watching the stars and hearing all, thought too of their promise, or if he thought only of his wife, scythed too soon – this tale cannot tell.
Altariel, 3rd-5th November 2003
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no subject
Date: 2003-11-06 12:51 am (UTC)Ooh, I like that, says she coherently... Sheared is such a great word in this context. You always write a lovely young Faramir, and it's nice to see him (and his father) getting a little comfort for once.
no subject
Date: 2003-11-06 01:34 am (UTC)Did you find this story comforting? I found it bloody depressing!
no subject
Date: 2003-11-06 02:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-11-06 10:48 am (UTC)I think that Faramir and Adrahil are in transition; Adrahil because he can accept events, Faramir because memory is doing that kind thing of fading and so alleviating that intense pain you mention. As for whether Denethor is in transition... I'm not sure. He feels to me like the grief has made him numb, and he's solidifying.
no subject
Date: 2003-11-06 11:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-11-06 11:32 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-11-06 10:12 am (UTC)I especially liked the dialogue towards the end ("My mother?"...), where I felt myself listening, hardly daring to breathe, along with Denethor. And Faramir is sweet, as always.
It doesn't need saying, but what I like through all of this trilogy is the different aspects of Denethor, each as more than just the grim Steward, even in LoS. Each story has other things as well (and I have to express preference for AS, but you knew that ;-)), but thank you for Denethor.
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Date: 2003-11-06 10:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-11-06 11:05 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-11-06 11:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-11-06 11:11 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-11-06 11:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-11-06 11:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-11-06 02:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-11-06 10:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-11-07 01:33 am (UTC)BTW - have you seen that a book has come out called 'Tolkien and the Great War', by John Garth? I was browsing through it in Borders earlier today and thought it looked pretty good.
no subject
Date: 2003-11-07 04:14 am (UTC)My pleasure!
BTW - have you seen that a book has come out called 'Tolkien and the Great War', by John Garth?
No, I hadn't. Thank for letting me know about it. I'll have to see if I can make time to stop in my Borders and see if they have a copy.
no subject
Date: 2003-11-07 12:02 pm (UTC)