The Invisible Man by Erulisse

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Disclaimer:  Tolkien built the sand box; I only play with the bucket and shovel that he left for me.  No money, profit or non, is made from the publication of this story.  

 


The Invisible Man

The Invisible Man

 

 

She sits on the half-shaded bench, flowers from the vines trailing around her, closer and more intimate than I will ever be allowed.  Her book lies forgotten in her lap, her gaze is directed outwards across the secluded valley. 

 

As I grew older, my mother told me much of my Noldorin relations, and ever did I focus on the fell King, Turgon, and his only child, his daughter, Idril.  But when I was finally allowed in to Gondolin and led to them, I was speechless.  The reality of their visages superseded the tales of my mother even as sun supersedes moon. 

 

Always I attempt to speak with her.  Always I am given polite acknowledgement and surface compliments, yet her eyes do not rest upon me. 

 

I look upon her, though, and I desire more.  I want to hold her golden-haired ivory body close to mine, to join my lips to hers in passion, and to allow our bodies and fëar to become one.  I have been told that I am pleasing to the eye, and indeed have had no difficulty in finding others who satisfy my needs for small periods of time.  But I desire the sun, and nothing less will do. 

 

I have tried to express my feelings.  I have written her poetry; penned under the shining moon when comparing her to it’s silvery glow, or scribed under the blazing sun when I say that she is even more radiant than that golden orb.  I have had songs composed for her, have commissioned books to be illuminated and adornments to be crafted for her, but all has been for naught. 

 

She tells me that relations as close as we – cousins, yes, but with distance because of her mother and my father – are forbidden from bonding.  I feel that is an excuse of convenience only.  I have poured over the law books in the archives and have found nothing stating such. 

 

Look - look you there, how the small songbirds gather around her for a caress and small morsels of food.  Yet to me, so constant and yet invisible to her eyes, she casts nothing.  No caress for Maeglin, indeed, no recognition at all.  Yet in spite of this, I cannot turn myself away from her glow.  Whether she acknowledges me or not, I cannot conceive of a life in which she is not my sun.  I carry her image under the mountains with me, it illuminates the darkest mines and makes me search harder for that illusive stone that may make her smile and see me, for once.  I cannot give up the hope that someday I will be visible to her and that she will then become my own. 

 

 


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