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Chapter 1: Homecoming

by NancyBrooke

Each year at this time I have sought them. While my brother the lore-master lies abed I alone have ventured forth, to seek the truth in old tales.

They call to me – their silences, fretful and weary, echo just beyond hearing. But I know their songs. Do not their losses and longings lay upon my shoulders all the year ‘round?

Yet ever they have eluded me. Before now.

Now, with eyes newly opened I see. Embodied by myth and memory, star-silvered and shadow black, they take their places, numinous and fleeting as clouds before the moon.

Standing the Embrasure, here is ancient Denethor, mourning Osgiliath in her watery grave; while close behind him comes his son, my name’s-sake, limping withered and twisted from a devilled blade. And to the North stands Cirion, listening, listening for the hope of golden horns while in opposition Beren paces, swathed in furs and trembling for the sight of black sails. Alone and quiet beneath the failed tree sits Belecthor, sifting petals in hollow hands.

Now I recognize them. Now I see their fearful hearts transparent. Now I take my place among them, arrows protruding from an empty breast, cloven horn voiceless at my hip.

Now I have come home.


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23 Oct 2003
Last Edited
23 Oct 2003