Title: Solstice, Sunrise
Author: Elleth
Characters: Maglor, Sons of Fëanor
Rating: PG
Warnings: Non-graphic character deaths in the second drabble.
Book/Source: The Silmarillion
Disclaimer: It's the Professor's world, and I am making no money off this.
Author's Notes: For the Blizzard Challenge, a response to
Dawn & Dusk by
clodia_metelli, with her
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Comments 20
And bringing in literal wolves howling around the camp against the metaphorical wolfishness, that is a very vivid touch. It would be the season for wolves to starve and become desperate enough to close in around anything that looking vaguely edible.
Thank you!
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Perhaps gathered more confidence to try and attack Angband again. The Silmarils were tremendously powerful, after all, and at least gaining Lúthien's would have ended the necessity for kinslayings.
The wolves appeared the moment I read your drabble. Your metaphorical ones seemed a good deal more alive, so that was one image that needed to go in. Again, thanks!
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The wolf-metaphor for me was part of the longer story and bound up with the fact that wolves were Morgoth's creatures -- bringing in actual wolves solidifies that so clearly, even though that probably wasn't your intention (and something that would probably have been too obvious for me to get away with). Really, beautiful. Again -- thank you! :D
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Wolves as Morgoth's creatures is a tricky thing - on the one hand it's incredibly obvious, on the other hand it's perhaps too obvious to think of - though of course it makes sense especially with regard to Doriath and the stories connected to the Lay of Leithian, what with the Isle of Werewolves, Draugluin, Celegorm and Curufin discovering Lúthien while on a wolf-hunt, and of course Carcharoth... and the Feanorians are doing Morgoth's work, if with a certain reluctance and not directly serving him, so you're definitely right on both points there.
And again, thank you! :D And oh, the icon! Drive safe or Zeus will smite you? ;)
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The forest has no right to be pristine.
If only, he whispers and blows on red fingers to which snow clings, if only it had ended.
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