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Ghosts of Voices Past
Mar. 1st, 2016 07:32 pmThere were days when the empty halls plagued her. She knew it was futile to walk here, in the place where they all had dwelt for so many years, but the echoes of the past seemed to call to her sometimes, as if she could still hear their voices. She could hear their laughter, their laughter, their spirited arguments, all as if they were still there, with her. If she closed her eyes she could see them all, perfectly, as if they'd never left.
Her sons. Her husband. They were ghosts that haunted her waking moments. She never stopped thinking of them, even as she went through the motions of a life, and she wondered if they had ever thought of her in the same way.
The absence of her sons especially haunted her. Her seven boys. The sons of Feanor they were, and everyone seemed to think of them as one. Everyone except for her. They were not just the sons of Feanor. They were hers as well, and she did not think of them as one. A mother knew how each boy had been unique and different. Each had their strengths, their weaknesses, their own manners, and she loved them all. Even though they were separated, torn apart by her husband's horrible oath, she still loved them each with the fierceness that only a mother could possess.
Maitimo, her eldest, who had always felt the weight of responsibility as an older brother. He had pretended, in his youth, that his brothers were a burden at times, but she knew that he was fiercely protective of them all. He always wanted to prove that he could shoulder the burden of being the oldest. She wished he knew that he did not have to do so alone.
Makalaure, her musician. He was most like her in temperament, and yet, even he had followed his father. Loyalty was important to them all. He would follow his father and brothers to whatever ends, but he would feel things the most deeply, she suspected She worried that he would lose his voice among them all.
Tyelkormo, quick to act, with his hasty temperament, and yet, he could have the most patience with birds and beasts. She remembered him as a small child, toddling after birds and conversing with them most animatedly. He had such joy then, she wondered if he would ever feel such happiness again.
Carnistir, quick to anger, and yet, he would always be her sweet son. He was the loner of the group sometimes. The oldest two of her boys had always stuck together, and Tyelkormo and Atarinke were a pair from the time the latter of the two had learned to walk. Carnistir never seemed to seek such companionship, but could float from pair to pair when it struck his fancy. He was independent, and she admired that in him.
Atarinke, the mirror of his father, so much that he preferred his father name, or family nickname, to the name she herself had chosen for him. Therefore, she always called him Curvo, though in her heart, he was Atarinke. She knew as her fifth son, he had always tried to please his father. Always tried to win his approval. She wished he knew that he did not have to try so hard. He was enough, just as himself. She wished sometimes that she had told him that.
Amras, the elder twin. Ambarussa had applied to both, yet Amras and his brother were one, but distinctive. The elder twin, Minyarussa, he was the more responsible of the two. He usually would speak for both, as though they were of the same mind, always.
Umbarto, the other Ambarussa. The younger of the two. It was this child she worried for the most. He had always been the baby, and as the youngest, she fear she had spoiled him a bit more. Oh, she treated the twins the same, but Umbarto was always more welcoming of his mother's comforts than his brothers. Oh, she wished he had stayed behind! She sensed he wanted to, but he would go the way of the rest of his brothers. However reluctantly he'd gone.
If she closed her eyes, she could see them all. Running about the halls as children, causing chaos as much as allowed. She could see them turning up with various bruises and cuts, with hopeful expressions and set jaws. They all had always been so determined to show how tough and grown they were, yet so longing for her attention as a mother, and she had always been more than willing to give them the love the needed.
There was no healing from such a loss. There was nothing that could replace her sons. And so, Nerdanel the Wise walked these halls, surrounded by her ghosts. It was as though by spending time here, they would still be a part of her. Perhaps it was better this way. These ghosts would never leave her, and she would never have to be parted from them. Her boys. The sons of Nerdanel.
Her sons. Her husband. They were ghosts that haunted her waking moments. She never stopped thinking of them, even as she went through the motions of a life, and she wondered if they had ever thought of her in the same way.
The absence of her sons especially haunted her. Her seven boys. The sons of Feanor they were, and everyone seemed to think of them as one. Everyone except for her. They were not just the sons of Feanor. They were hers as well, and she did not think of them as one. A mother knew how each boy had been unique and different. Each had their strengths, their weaknesses, their own manners, and she loved them all. Even though they were separated, torn apart by her husband's horrible oath, she still loved them each with the fierceness that only a mother could possess.
Maitimo, her eldest, who had always felt the weight of responsibility as an older brother. He had pretended, in his youth, that his brothers were a burden at times, but she knew that he was fiercely protective of them all. He always wanted to prove that he could shoulder the burden of being the oldest. She wished he knew that he did not have to do so alone.
Makalaure, her musician. He was most like her in temperament, and yet, even he had followed his father. Loyalty was important to them all. He would follow his father and brothers to whatever ends, but he would feel things the most deeply, she suspected She worried that he would lose his voice among them all.
Tyelkormo, quick to act, with his hasty temperament, and yet, he could have the most patience with birds and beasts. She remembered him as a small child, toddling after birds and conversing with them most animatedly. He had such joy then, she wondered if he would ever feel such happiness again.
Carnistir, quick to anger, and yet, he would always be her sweet son. He was the loner of the group sometimes. The oldest two of her boys had always stuck together, and Tyelkormo and Atarinke were a pair from the time the latter of the two had learned to walk. Carnistir never seemed to seek such companionship, but could float from pair to pair when it struck his fancy. He was independent, and she admired that in him.
Atarinke, the mirror of his father, so much that he preferred his father name, or family nickname, to the name she herself had chosen for him. Therefore, she always called him Curvo, though in her heart, he was Atarinke. She knew as her fifth son, he had always tried to please his father. Always tried to win his approval. She wished he knew that he did not have to try so hard. He was enough, just as himself. She wished sometimes that she had told him that.
Amras, the elder twin. Ambarussa had applied to both, yet Amras and his brother were one, but distinctive. The elder twin, Minyarussa, he was the more responsible of the two. He usually would speak for both, as though they were of the same mind, always.
Umbarto, the other Ambarussa. The younger of the two. It was this child she worried for the most. He had always been the baby, and as the youngest, she fear she had spoiled him a bit more. Oh, she treated the twins the same, but Umbarto was always more welcoming of his mother's comforts than his brothers. Oh, she wished he had stayed behind! She sensed he wanted to, but he would go the way of the rest of his brothers. However reluctantly he'd gone.
If she closed her eyes, she could see them all. Running about the halls as children, causing chaos as much as allowed. She could see them turning up with various bruises and cuts, with hopeful expressions and set jaws. They all had always been so determined to show how tough and grown they were, yet so longing for her attention as a mother, and she had always been more than willing to give them the love the needed.
There was no healing from such a loss. There was nothing that could replace her sons. And so, Nerdanel the Wise walked these halls, surrounded by her ghosts. It was as though by spending time here, they would still be a part of her. Perhaps it was better this way. These ghosts would never leave her, and she would never have to be parted from them. Her boys. The sons of Nerdanel.
