Tag: drabble

thelioninmybed:

There’s a version of this here but let’s try a different take. 

“I thought,” Maglor said conversationally, “That the Havens were the lowest we could sink.” He shifted his feet, careful not to splash the knee-deep ditchwater. 

“Ingenuity has ever been the hallmark of our line.”

The ground was wet and the heavy rain and heavy cloaks they wore against it did much to mute all sound, but they could still the pound of marching feet and the shrill of warhorns as the host assembled. A snatch of sentries’ conversation came from above them, too close and in a language that made Maglor and his brother flinch and crouch lower in the muck. 

It was long and long since they had heard Vanyarin. 

“Maybe he’ll be pleased to see us,” Maglor whispered when the guards had passed on.

His brother had his hood pulled so low, all Maglor could see of him was the rigid line of his jaw. “You’re welcome to chance it.”

“When you think about it, Finrod’s fate was not our fault. Angrod and Aegnor died well, and Galadriel lives yet. His losses have not been so great that he might not forgive what little of our family is left.”

“It’s not me you must convince, and you’ve not even managed that.” 

Maglor hadn’t convinced himself either, which was a poor accounting for a bard. 

There was a little brown toad patiently climbing the ditch’s rain-slick side. It would paw its way up an inch or two and then the sodden soil would crumble, and it would slide back down into the mud, to begin its climb again. The brothers watched it for a ten count, and then Maedhros said, “It would be cleverer to coordinate our efforts.”

“Our efforts?” Maglor shifted his position with such grace, he hardly felt the leap himself. They were used to squabbles with more participants and now must argue every part themselves. “Our efforts barely amount to stealing scraps from Morgoth’s larder.”

“We know the land,” Maedhros said, with no particular conviction. The horns were growing fainter but it would be at least an hour before the rearguard was safely past.

“So do any number of refugees who’ve attached themselves to the host.” 

They kept watching the toad. Maglor considered lifting the poor, wretched thing up onto the bank but did not move to do it. “Why did they come now?” He had thought it often as of late. He knew the way of music, themes and subthemes, the build to a crescendo, and yet- “Why did they not save us when there was still something to be saved?”

“We would have hated them for that as well.”

“Yes! We would have! Think how Caranthir would have raged, think of the circles Finrod would have talked himself in.”

Maedhros maybe flinched again, maybe shook water off his hood. “I’d rather not.”

“No. I suppose not.” If they craned their necks, they might see the bright sunburst of their uncle’s heraldry sink beneath the horizon, but Maglor preferred not to turn his face into the rain. “How long do you think this will last? If it keeps up, all of  Anfauglith’s like to wash away.”