Peace-Breakers by Virodeil

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Story Notes:

Title: Peace-Breakers
Author: Eärillë


Number: O68
1. Emotions: Apprehention
2. Geography of The Silmarillion: Avalonnë
3. Smells: Pipeweed
4. Textures: Fuzzy
5. Weather: Humid


What did the inhabitants of Tol Eressëa think of the impending arrival of a ship they were excited and fearful about in equal measures? Had Elves forgotten about mortals they had fought together in the War of Wrath? Had they forgiven those mortals who boldly attempted to claim Aman for themselves just because of selfish greed?


Rating: G
Warnings: first draft


Characters: OFC, OMC
Genres: Family, Friendship
Place: Tol Eressëa: Avalonnë
Timeline: Beginning of Fourth Age
Word Count (in MS Word): 883


The little Elflings in this story are eight year old, roughly comparable to human children aged 4 to 4.5 years. Given the safety of the surroundings and the lack of threats imposed by wars (especially long wars), the Elves in the Lonely Isle would be more willing to reproduce, unlike their counterparts in Middle-earth. Also, they might not have the inhibition of showing off their offspring to strangers given the aforesaid reasons. (That would also explain why there were no Elfling mentioned in The Lord of the Rings save the small reference to Merry and Pippin in Fangorn Forest, which indirectly lamented the absence of Elf-children in the Third Age.)
This piece is intended to be the first part of a small collection featuring the same event, told in different point of views. If chance allows, the author might use prompts of the next days in B2MeM month to fill in the next parts; or, barring that, she will try to finish it when the month is over. And seeing that this particular piece is told from the point of view of small sheltered children, the prompts used to build it are not clearly visible especially regarding foreign items/people such as curly-haired/bearded persons and pipeweed.



Ammë is puttering aimlessly in front of us; I can see that she is doing nothing to the stoves and the pans and the big spoons and the big plates. She has bidden me and Voronwë to sit still on the kitchen counter, but I do not like it. I am bored, so bored. What is going on? Ammë is not the only grown-up acting weird like this; Atto and the others, too. It makes me feel cold and alone and afraid, and I am sure my brother is feeling the same. (We are twins after all, and share many things together since our conception.) Ammë seems to be trying to prepare for a big dinner, like she always does whenever her friends or Atto’s come for a visit, but she does not seem to like this particular visit much.


Well, if she does not like the visitors, then so do I, and a glance to my side tells me that Voronwë is having the same thought. It does not make it all better though. Feeling even colder and more afraid, I hug my stuffed turtle closer to me and bury my face in its soft fuzziness. I wish the visitors would just say they would not come and then go away, never to come back again. I want my ammë and atto back, and I do not want to see Voronwë to look so scared, like when I peep up briefly from my Meldis towards him and his Tíro. (Perhaps that look is on my face too?)


Perhaps, if I and Voronwë tell the visitors not to come to our home, then they will not come and thus not distress Ammë and Atto so?


I glance at my brother again and see that his eyes have hardened. Good. Now we just have to sneak away and wait on the front porch, or maybe go to the docks and see if some mainlanders that a season ago have insulted our parents decided to come back. Should I bring Meldis with me though?



Voronwë is sliding down the kitchen counter softly, still hugging Tíro to his chest. Well, if he has decided to bring his pet with him, then I do, too. It will be good to be comforted when I become too scared, or when Voronwë suddenly wanders away like he usually does if he finds something interesting. (I do not know why he likes eals and snails and worms so much. I can tolerate frogs, but others are icky!)


Hoping he will not suddenly leave me when we meet the strangers, I slink behind him out of the kitchen and into the dining-room. Atto’s papers are there, but Atto himself is not there. Judging from how untidy they are, though, I suppose he left in haste. (He is tidier than Ammë, and Ammë is already nastily-tidy in our opinion.) Seeing nobody in the parlour that we enter next, we slip through the ajar front door and rush out of the house. (Neither Atto nor his friends are lounging in the porch… Weird.)


Since our house was built on and also behind the cliffs, we have to run down the winding path encircling the house and the cliffs before meeting with level ground. I love racing down the way against my brother, but today I do not wish to play. (Ammë and Atto were always upset when they found us doing it, and I do not want them to be more upset today.) Side by side, I and Voronwë rush down to the docks, getting more excited and nervous when the damp breeze carries to us the strong scent of the sea. (Judging from how thick it is, I would guess that we are anticipating a storm in the evening. Or at least it is what Atto taught us.)


We halt on the edge of the harbour, however, unable to go forward. The harbour is packed with grown-ups! They are clamouring like flocks of sheep Lindorië’s older brother keeps on the highlands. I do not like the noise, but I can tell that they are just as nervous and excited as we are. Still, the people and the noises just make the air more stifling, and I am beginning to consider returning home. (Besides, we did not wear shoes when we went out of the house, and my careless footing made me step on a sharp stone on the path downwards. My right big toe is throbbing now, and I just want to cuddle to Ammë and have her heal it.)


I look to my side, to where Voronwë is standing, but I see that his gaze is focused ahead, terrified.


I look ahead as well, and see that an od man in grubby grey robes is striding towards us. I inhale sharply, and a pungent smell enter my nostrils from the man’s vicinity. Sneezing on and on, I scramble back and yank my brother along. The odor is unpleasant, and the man’s decisive strides alarm me. I do not like him, not at all. So, before he has time to reach us, I drag my brother back up the path and we proceed to run as fast as we can back home.


I do not want to play the hero again, ever.

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