The Music in My Heart
folder
Lord of the Rings Movies › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
75
Views:
3,802
Reviews:
11
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Lord of the Rings Movies › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
75
Views:
3,802
Reviews:
11
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own the Lord of the Rings book series and movie series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Chapter 50 The Potter's Wheel
Title: The Music in My Heart, Chapter 50
Author: Sorsha
Fandom/Pairing: Elrond/OFC, Glorfindel/Haldir, Elladan/OFC, Elrohir/Legolas, others implied
Rating:.NC-17 for future chapters
Warning: AU (Story set 770 years after ROTK); Slash and het.
Feedback: This is my first fanfic, so constructive feedback appreciated.
Archive: Adult Fanfiction; Fanfiction
Acknowledgements: Many thanks to Alex Cat for her help in betaing this fic.
Disclaimer: Any of the residents of Middle-earth and Aman that you recognize belong to Prof. Tolkien’s estate. The same is true about Middle-earth and Aman. I’m only visiting and admiring the “views”.
Summary: Sauron may be gone, but his legacy of evil still lingers. As Middle-earth faces the threat of another dark lord, a party of elves departs Aman on a mission for the Valar, a mission of mercy long delayed.
Chapter 50 --- The Potter’s Wheel
“The deeper that sorrow carves into your being the more joy you can contain. Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter’s oven?”
Kahlil Gibran
*****
The Imladrian contingent made camp after its first day of travel to Gondor at a point where the road was paralleled by a steep drop-off on its eastern side and a high cliff wall on the western. They had made good progress seeking to reach this point as it was easily defended by a party as large as theirs. The site was one of several such camps travelers through the Misty Mountains had been using for millennia for trips between the valley realm and points east, including Lorien and Gondor.
Elrond stood at the edge of the cliff looking down into the valley below, his thoughts lost in the past. He had last camped at this site over seven hundred and fifty years earlier on the return trip from Gondor after saying his final goodbyes to Arwen and Estel before he sailed. That had been the last time he had seen his beloved daughter and foster son. The ghost of his broken, wounded fëa seemed to haunt the pass, as vivid memories of that painful journey flooded his mind.
/Ai! Arwen! I miss you, sellath nîn. I have been dreading returning to Minas Tirith and facing your absence from the place where I last left you. My grief is bearable in Imladris for I feel your presence in our valley, but here, on this path through the mountains, I can find no sense of you. I am left with only sad memories of my grief for company./ (my daughter)
A gentle hand came to rest on the small of his back. Looking around, he was not surprised to find Seere moving to stand by his side, her arm sliding around his waist in silent support. “You will find her spirit again, melme, when we reach Gondor.” (love)
No longer surprised that she understood his thoughts without the need for him to explain himself, he asked, “How can that be, meleth nin? She died long ago and followed the path of the mortal.” Hearing his thoughts voiced aloud caused a shudder of pain to ripple through Elrond’s body. (my love)
“I know not, but you will feel her presence there… the same as I always have when I have visited her descendents.” Leaning her head against his side, she sighed. “She is your daughter, Elrond. The magic of your line is strong. I have felt your presence… your magic in the valley ever since I was an elfling. I can feel your grief lingering along this path… your pain at leaving them behind that final time. Your fëa left a lingering mark where it passed… I suspect because your emotions were so intense.” (spirit)
“Be at peace, Elrond. You will find her in Minas Tirith. It was her home and she lived there many long, happy years. Her time there left its mark… a reminder for us of a life well lived… and it was, melme. She was loved and loved… was happy to the end with her choice.” Looking up to meet his eyes, Seere asked, “You do feel her presence in the valley… in the Last Homely House do you not, Elrond?” (love)
“Aye, I do. I felt it the moment I first entered the valley last year.” A smile touched his lips… his eyes as he looked deep into her golden gaze. “You feel her presence… you felt mine, pen vuil?” (dear one)
“I hear the sighs and sense the hearts of many that have called the valley home. They speak to me when I am still and listen,” she replied.
Returning his gaze to the valley below, he whispered, “Your Adar’ra once told me the same thing when I asked him if he heard the sighs in the swaying trees. I asked that question of many over the years. He and Galadriel were the only one that did and were able to listen to them with me. It is a blessing that the magic of his fëa runs true in you, meleth nin.” (my love)
The memory of a long-ago conversation came back to him. “I once asked Mithrandir why we were able to still sense them. He told me that all fëar leave an impression on the world around them… like the fingerprints of the potter’s hand left in soft clay. Most people are never able… or lack the desire to see the faint marks in the finished bowl, but they are there never the less… a silent reminder of the life that shaped the vessel. Though that person has finished his work and moved on, the impression remains. Gandalf said the passing of our spirits marks the world in much the same way.”
Turning his head so their eyes met, he added, “He said their sighs are part of the Song of Life, a part we can only hear with our hearts. Most people only listen with their ears and miss the comfort to be found in this part of Eru’s song.”
Slipping his arm around her waist, he pulled her closer to his side. /Suddenly, the thought of going to Gondor is not as painful as it was only a short time ago. I will find another part of my beloved children there… echoes of the two I thought I had lost for ever./
The two stood in silence by the edge of the cliff until long after Ithil had risen, the soft sounds of Arda whispering in their ears… understood in their hearts. “Hannon le, pen vuil… for reminding me to be still… and listen.” (Thank you, dear one…)
*****
Lindon, SA 1698
The King wondered aimlessly through the halls of his palace. There were none but the guards to note his silent passage through the empty corridors, for the rest of the inhabitants of the massive fortress slept. /He is not returning. Praise be to the Valar that he survived Eregion, but he is not coming home… at least not to my home../
/He has founded a refuge for the surviving warriors of his army and the Noldor that followed him after Sauron overran Ost-in-Edhil. I sent him out with far too few to save Celebrimbor and his people. Tis a miracle he lived and still saved so many… none of that thanks to me and my inadequate support./
Coming to a halt, he found his steps had taken him to the door Elrond’s personal suite of rooms. They had been the domain of the peredhel for centuries… but now they would stand empty. Elrond had moved on with his life and no longer needed the sanctuary they had once offered him… the King had once offered.
A message from his herald had arrived earlier that day by courier. Beyond the detailed report of the enemy’s actions and his responses, Elrond had spoken of the wonders of the valley he had found and the house he was planning. He and his people were now safe behind the walls they had built to enclose their stronghold from the pursuing Orcs. They, like those that had founded long-ago Gondolin, had used elven magic to hide it from those that sought its doom.
/Imladris… that is his home now./
With leaden limbs, he reached out to open the door and stepped inside. The air had a stale, dusty quality that spoke of the absence of its master. Elrond had left over a year before on his mission to defend the elves of Eregion. Eyes burning from the bitter sting of his long denied feelings, Ereinion closed the hall door behind him and shuffled across the sitting room to the door of the bedchamber. Motivated by a deep longing for something he knew would never be his, the King pushed open the heavy oak door and approached the massive four-poster bed.
A pair of large green eyes opened and watched the elf approach. Recognizing the King as a friend, the huge grey tomcat made no protest as the dejected figure sat tentatively on the edge of the bed. “Elrond asked me to look after you until it was safe for you to come and live with him in Imladris, Mith. He is not coming back to Lindon it seems. He has founded his own realm… will build his own home far from my court. You, at least, will have the promise of being able to join him there. I am left here… alone.” (gray)
Recognizing the elf’s evident distress, Mith rose from his nest of pillows and slipped quietly into the King’s lap. Getting no reaction, the cat nuzzled his head against the elf’s chest as he began to purr loudly. Without conscious thought, a gentle hand lifted to scratch the cat behind his ears.
After several minutes, Ereinion shifted to curl on his side on top of the soft covers of the bed. Mith, dislodged from his comfortable spot, sat for a moment eyeing the elf. Knowing he had nothing to offer save for the comfort of his presence, the large tom slowly wiggled his body under the King’s arms and nestled next to his heaving chest. His elf had often spoken to him about his confused feelings for this one. In Elrond’s absence, he was willing to keep the King company through the coming night… and for as many others as he allowed him.
*****
Author: Sorsha
Fandom/Pairing: Elrond/OFC, Glorfindel/Haldir, Elladan/OFC, Elrohir/Legolas, others implied
Rating:.NC-17 for future chapters
Warning: AU (Story set 770 years after ROTK); Slash and het.
Feedback: This is my first fanfic, so constructive feedback appreciated.
Archive: Adult Fanfiction; Fanfiction
Acknowledgements: Many thanks to Alex Cat for her help in betaing this fic.
Disclaimer: Any of the residents of Middle-earth and Aman that you recognize belong to Prof. Tolkien’s estate. The same is true about Middle-earth and Aman. I’m only visiting and admiring the “views”.
Summary: Sauron may be gone, but his legacy of evil still lingers. As Middle-earth faces the threat of another dark lord, a party of elves departs Aman on a mission for the Valar, a mission of mercy long delayed.
Chapter 50 --- The Potter’s Wheel
“The deeper that sorrow carves into your being the more joy you can contain. Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter’s oven?”
Kahlil Gibran
*****
The Imladrian contingent made camp after its first day of travel to Gondor at a point where the road was paralleled by a steep drop-off on its eastern side and a high cliff wall on the western. They had made good progress seeking to reach this point as it was easily defended by a party as large as theirs. The site was one of several such camps travelers through the Misty Mountains had been using for millennia for trips between the valley realm and points east, including Lorien and Gondor.
Elrond stood at the edge of the cliff looking down into the valley below, his thoughts lost in the past. He had last camped at this site over seven hundred and fifty years earlier on the return trip from Gondor after saying his final goodbyes to Arwen and Estel before he sailed. That had been the last time he had seen his beloved daughter and foster son. The ghost of his broken, wounded fëa seemed to haunt the pass, as vivid memories of that painful journey flooded his mind.
/Ai! Arwen! I miss you, sellath nîn. I have been dreading returning to Minas Tirith and facing your absence from the place where I last left you. My grief is bearable in Imladris for I feel your presence in our valley, but here, on this path through the mountains, I can find no sense of you. I am left with only sad memories of my grief for company./ (my daughter)
A gentle hand came to rest on the small of his back. Looking around, he was not surprised to find Seere moving to stand by his side, her arm sliding around his waist in silent support. “You will find her spirit again, melme, when we reach Gondor.” (love)
No longer surprised that she understood his thoughts without the need for him to explain himself, he asked, “How can that be, meleth nin? She died long ago and followed the path of the mortal.” Hearing his thoughts voiced aloud caused a shudder of pain to ripple through Elrond’s body. (my love)
“I know not, but you will feel her presence there… the same as I always have when I have visited her descendents.” Leaning her head against his side, she sighed. “She is your daughter, Elrond. The magic of your line is strong. I have felt your presence… your magic in the valley ever since I was an elfling. I can feel your grief lingering along this path… your pain at leaving them behind that final time. Your fëa left a lingering mark where it passed… I suspect because your emotions were so intense.” (spirit)
“Be at peace, Elrond. You will find her in Minas Tirith. It was her home and she lived there many long, happy years. Her time there left its mark… a reminder for us of a life well lived… and it was, melme. She was loved and loved… was happy to the end with her choice.” Looking up to meet his eyes, Seere asked, “You do feel her presence in the valley… in the Last Homely House do you not, Elrond?” (love)
“Aye, I do. I felt it the moment I first entered the valley last year.” A smile touched his lips… his eyes as he looked deep into her golden gaze. “You feel her presence… you felt mine, pen vuil?” (dear one)
“I hear the sighs and sense the hearts of many that have called the valley home. They speak to me when I am still and listen,” she replied.
Returning his gaze to the valley below, he whispered, “Your Adar’ra once told me the same thing when I asked him if he heard the sighs in the swaying trees. I asked that question of many over the years. He and Galadriel were the only one that did and were able to listen to them with me. It is a blessing that the magic of his fëa runs true in you, meleth nin.” (my love)
The memory of a long-ago conversation came back to him. “I once asked Mithrandir why we were able to still sense them. He told me that all fëar leave an impression on the world around them… like the fingerprints of the potter’s hand left in soft clay. Most people are never able… or lack the desire to see the faint marks in the finished bowl, but they are there never the less… a silent reminder of the life that shaped the vessel. Though that person has finished his work and moved on, the impression remains. Gandalf said the passing of our spirits marks the world in much the same way.”
Turning his head so their eyes met, he added, “He said their sighs are part of the Song of Life, a part we can only hear with our hearts. Most people only listen with their ears and miss the comfort to be found in this part of Eru’s song.”
Slipping his arm around her waist, he pulled her closer to his side. /Suddenly, the thought of going to Gondor is not as painful as it was only a short time ago. I will find another part of my beloved children there… echoes of the two I thought I had lost for ever./
The two stood in silence by the edge of the cliff until long after Ithil had risen, the soft sounds of Arda whispering in their ears… understood in their hearts. “Hannon le, pen vuil… for reminding me to be still… and listen.” (Thank you, dear one…)
*****
Lindon, SA 1698
The King wondered aimlessly through the halls of his palace. There were none but the guards to note his silent passage through the empty corridors, for the rest of the inhabitants of the massive fortress slept. /He is not returning. Praise be to the Valar that he survived Eregion, but he is not coming home… at least not to my home../
/He has founded a refuge for the surviving warriors of his army and the Noldor that followed him after Sauron overran Ost-in-Edhil. I sent him out with far too few to save Celebrimbor and his people. Tis a miracle he lived and still saved so many… none of that thanks to me and my inadequate support./
Coming to a halt, he found his steps had taken him to the door Elrond’s personal suite of rooms. They had been the domain of the peredhel for centuries… but now they would stand empty. Elrond had moved on with his life and no longer needed the sanctuary they had once offered him… the King had once offered.
A message from his herald had arrived earlier that day by courier. Beyond the detailed report of the enemy’s actions and his responses, Elrond had spoken of the wonders of the valley he had found and the house he was planning. He and his people were now safe behind the walls they had built to enclose their stronghold from the pursuing Orcs. They, like those that had founded long-ago Gondolin, had used elven magic to hide it from those that sought its doom.
/Imladris… that is his home now./
With leaden limbs, he reached out to open the door and stepped inside. The air had a stale, dusty quality that spoke of the absence of its master. Elrond had left over a year before on his mission to defend the elves of Eregion. Eyes burning from the bitter sting of his long denied feelings, Ereinion closed the hall door behind him and shuffled across the sitting room to the door of the bedchamber. Motivated by a deep longing for something he knew would never be his, the King pushed open the heavy oak door and approached the massive four-poster bed.
A pair of large green eyes opened and watched the elf approach. Recognizing the King as a friend, the huge grey tomcat made no protest as the dejected figure sat tentatively on the edge of the bed. “Elrond asked me to look after you until it was safe for you to come and live with him in Imladris, Mith. He is not coming back to Lindon it seems. He has founded his own realm… will build his own home far from my court. You, at least, will have the promise of being able to join him there. I am left here… alone.” (gray)
Recognizing the elf’s evident distress, Mith rose from his nest of pillows and slipped quietly into the King’s lap. Getting no reaction, the cat nuzzled his head against the elf’s chest as he began to purr loudly. Without conscious thought, a gentle hand lifted to scratch the cat behind his ears.
After several minutes, Ereinion shifted to curl on his side on top of the soft covers of the bed. Mith, dislodged from his comfortable spot, sat for a moment eyeing the elf. Knowing he had nothing to offer save for the comfort of his presence, the large tom slowly wiggled his body under the King’s arms and nestled next to his heaving chest. His elf had often spoken to him about his confused feelings for this one. In Elrond’s absence, he was willing to keep the King company through the coming night… and for as many others as he allowed him.
*****