#gatesofsummer2015

... and now at length is that great feast Tarnin Austa or the Gates of Summer near at hand. For know that on a night it was their custom to begin a solemn ceremony at midnight, continuing it even till the dawn of Tarnin Austa broke, and no voice was uttered in the city from midnight till the break of day, but the dawn they hailed with ancient songs. 

Fall of Gondolin/Tarnin Austa + Father’s Day

FIC MUSE, YOU’RE BACK, WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN???

Okay don’t get too excited. I managed a short fic from the 1920s AU – Idril at the Gates of Summer Party. (Paging avantegarda!)

Happy Gates of Summer!

*****

It sounded as though the party was in full swing downstairs. The place had looked just swell, she had to admit - the chandeliers polished, and the best champagne glasses out.  Idril had cried off the party, saying she was sick. Just the sight of the bright pearls and shined shoes made her stomach clench, and she didn’t know why. But she knew it meant trouble. Her intuition was rarely wrong.

A ficlet about the people of Rhovanion celebrating summer solstice, or, a compromise between wanting to contribute to #gatesofsummer2015 and lacking the time. Partly inspired by Slavic customs.

Great fires blossomed into the night, the shortest night of the year, bursting with heat and light and smoke in the fragrances of dried herbs, filling the air with redolent, vigorous vivacity.

(It was said that in the dawn of time, there had not been a Sun; and that in the days before the Sun, there had not been not Men.)

Laughter rang out into the night, pealing through the warm, fresh atmosphere of a warm night, the shortest night of the year, and music followed; the sounds of pipes and drums, the solitary threads of violins raising amongst them in the vein of wisps of smoke, coiling and curling, adding a melancholic touch to the symphony of summer.

(It was said that in the days long gone, beneath the Sun, the Fathers of Men had passed through these lands; and earlier still, beneath the stars, the forebears of the Elder Folk, heading beyond the borders of the mortal world.)

Lines of dancers unrolled into the night, first slowly, rhythmically, their tempo gradually increasing until the dancers were out of breath, flushed with motion, flowers askew in their hair, and yet they danced on, carried by the scent and the music and the vitality of this night, the shortest night of the year.

(It was said that some of the marchers, stepping lightly through the woods in the world before the Sun, had left footprints of starry flowers; and that on this one night, the flowers bloomed again and could be found by those who knew how to look.)

Youths and maidens went into the night to search beneath the trees for the mythical flowers that would grant them happiness and bless their love; some would later claim they found one or two, scattered about in a trail of starlight, so pure in their fragile beauty that no hand dared pick them, only stare in wonder.

(It was said that those who saw such a flower carried a faint reflection of its shine in their eyes henceforth; and it was said that such people indeed saw more joy in the world, yet more sadness as well.)

I was there, my friend, in that night so many years ago. When after the freezing breath of winter the time of spring had followed, and the hearts were warmed by the sun. It was a night like this, the stars shone brightly, and Tilion’s light fell upon us, as we waited for the first rays of Anar at dusk. When the dark one retired, and his spies disappeared from our borders and the grip of his cold hand faded away, when we thought he was scared. That he would leave us be. We thought we were strong.

I was there at Tarnin Austa, when the the snow melted on the mountains and flames arose in the north. When our peace was disturbed as Ulmo prophesied through the adan Tuor, whom he sent to the king, I was there. And the hasty muster, the glory of our armies before the blow I will never forget.

I was there at the battle, and I led my house. But I dare not to speak of this dreadful night when I lost my home and many of those whom I loved.

I felt the defeat, the enemy was too strong, heard the king’s last words when he decided to stay. When the last glimmer of hope through Tuor and Idril was revealed and in secret led us away from the city. My heart broke this night when I dared to look back, and behind the mist of the valley the city was on fire. I cried in silence, for the trees and fountains, for the towers and the halls, for the songs that were sung of the city and its seven names.

I fell at Cristhorn, as you know, and into darkness I fell. But not for long I remained in Namo’s halls, and now I am here. And seeing you here, my friend, makes me feel proud, for it means that my sacrifice was not of useless nature.