Work Text:
Elven Breeze (drabble)
RAting: G
Summary: a glimpse into their far future, Erestor's POV.
AN: 1) somewhere in the HOM there is the description of how elves 'age' in contarty to mortals. That the fire of their soul consumes the body until there is almost nothing left of it. It is a fading very different from that of the Elvis Disease, for this aging does not separate body and soul.
2) the Straight Road back to the Undying Lands was granted to those 'who had left'. So a Sinda would not be able to get to Valinor because he had never been there.
Discussion on these matters is appreciated.
~~~~~~~~~~
AD 2004, somewhere on this planet:
The trees nearby sway in the wind, leaves are being torn from their stems. Yet we stand and are not bothered - it blows right through us.
Were my memory not as brilliant and crisp, I would have lost count of all the millennia of this, the Fourth Age of Arda. Men's reign. As it is, I can recall every single day, bright or bloody.
My kin have left for the Undying Lands many ages ago. Not me, though.
For I would have to leave my Sinarin mates behind. Those who have never been granted the grace to ever get there, to ever see its divine beauty. I would never leave them! I am thankful beyond words that we were granted to spend our eternity together.
So we stayed.
We witnessed the fading of so many of the Sindarin people everywhere. We became wanderers on an earth that was no longer ours. An earth that became estranged to us, yet we still were bound to it - much more than any Man would ever be. For a while we spread our wisdom, our knowledge among the Lateborn but with passing generations were were less and less welcome.
So we pulled back.
We ceased fighting with them - their causes were childish and immature anyway. The natural process of elven aging did its own to withdraw us further from our mortal siblings: the light that is the elven soul burns so hot, so brightly that is slowly consumes our bodies - if we live long enough to let this happen. Only very few have.
The body becomes translucent and slowly but inevitably becomes invisible to all but elven eyes until it is only a barely palpable shell around what makes us who we are: our soul, our inner light that never fades, never dims. To mortals we appear as what they call 'ghosts'.
So we watch.
By now 'tis all we can do - and all we wish to. Sometimes one can catch a glimpse of us. Rarely, but they do. Usually they blame it on their frayed nerves.
We are forgotten. Not even their lore tells of us any longer. Gone are the glorious days when Elves and Men lived and fought together, when the Lateborn stared at us in awe. We are now but a whisper in the rustling of leaves - easily ignored and brushed aside.
But lo! When the breeze is very sweet, ever so gentle brushing past your cheeks, whispering magically in your ears, that may be us.