December 5, 2010

• The Woman from Thangorodrim

  I like to dedicate any creative writing when I can, and this one is for Amy, my fellow Tolkien obsessive, who will be disconcerted by my lack of detail but will hopefully forgive me anyway. Your family and you have always been encouraging to me since I met you in 1999, and this dedication is well-deserved.

  He stared blankly outside the window, watching the flakes fall. Behind him, the woman from Thangorodim briskly prepared the table, her attentive eyes arranging the vase of flowers to provide beauty, her precise hands placing each utensil and plate to provide balance. He re-focused his eyes to see her in the window’s reflection, her mass of dark hair cascading until the ends tickled the apron string that circled her chiseled waist.

  “How many days?” he said, whispering to the window. “How many days until my miracle becomes my bane?” His hissed words fogged the window and blotted out the sight of snow. Would that his breath could quench the fires of Thangorodrim! But he had already exerted all his strength when he and the Noldor fought before Angband, and carried her back over his shoulder while the black winged beasts blotted out the sun. He knew the cost even then; that while taking her away, she must go back someday to the triple peaks, her body to be consumed in the lava as her family had done for generations. But he thought of little of costs when she clung to him that day, her tall, thin frame wrapping around his back as he strode forward with her hips riding his shoulder.

  He felt something wet on his neck, and wondered if the small cabin was leaking. She never really spoke of how their story would end…did she think about it? Did she…another drop hit his neck. She was so quiet, but so instinctual, like a…and then the window unfogged, and he too wept without needing to turn around.

  • 2:28 pm
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