#young bucks of cuiviénen
Part 1,Part 2,Part 3,Part 4,Part 5,Part 6,Part 7
And with “Of Sheep” finallyfinished, the long awaited interlude chapter. This one has a fun structure, as it’s five interludes from the POV of our main three during the War of the Valar. You could say they’re “Of Big Brotherly Protection, Of Copper-smithing and Friendship, of Sheep, Of Dogs, and of Uinen and Why You Can’t Return to Eden”
Primitive elvish names and terms still left mostly untranslated, but context clues should explain them. More world-building in my mode from Klingon-Promotion-Vanyarandyoung bucks of Cuiviénen.
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The elves living in the safety along the shores of Cuiviénen knew not of the dreadful war waged on their behalf, except in general of its existence due to undeniable evidence in the far distance. A war between Ainur in their full power was felt across the entire world and thus could not be completely hidden from them, for the very contours of Arda were being reformed in those titanic battles.
Fires burned in the north, illuminating the crests of the hills and reflecting off the clouds. Long before either Laurelin or the Sun, night was pushed back by ruddy light. They were the flames of dreadful conflict as servants of Melkor battled their un-fallen brethren for dominion of Arda. This was long before the dragons entered Melkor’s black thoughts, but the devastation equalled any rampage of Glaurung. Winds brought heavy ash to fall over the valley of Cuiviénen until a more powerful wind smelling of burning frankincense pushed in from the west, clearing the air of ash.
Distant fires and the smoke and ash that they produced were not the only troubles to scare the elves. The ground would tremor violently, and people feared for their houses. After the sweet-smelling west wind, the tremors were never as savage, but it became common to feel the earth tremble beneath their feet.
It was the crashing thunder and lightning, and the bellowing sound that accompanied no lightning yet still echoed from every hill, that most frightened the Kwendî, for that continued even after the earth-tremors lessened. It was not normal lightning. Elwë described it as if a hammer was being taken to the roof of the black sky itself, trying to shatter it into a thousand pieces.
In his family hut, comforted by the familiar smell of smoke and wood ash, Elwë held his younger brothers close, one tucked under each arm, listening to their even breaths as they finally fell asleep, exhausted from worry over the terrible lightning and evidence of distant battles that they still knew little to nothing about. He cradled his brothers and thought back to when they were young and small, thankful that even now with all three into adulthood he was still much larger than either Olwë or Elmo. As children they had come to him for comfort during thunderstorms, wishing to be held by him instead of their parents. Now that they were all adults and the world beyond the borders of what any elf knew were being reshaped, still Elwë’s brothers turned to him for comfort. Elwe could not give them answers to those terrible lights and sounds, but in the privacy of their parents’ house, he could be the bulwark that he had always been for his younger brothers. He sat with his back against the wall of the hut as they clung to him, heads tucked into his lap and at the crux of his shoulder. They had been able to squeeze all three onto the sleeping shelf, and Elwë had draped his favorite blanket over his brothers and lap, covering their feet. Unmindful of the patch of drool or the sharp elbows digging into his side, Elwë held them tightly and stared out the doorway. Through the opening he could see the reflections of the lightning and fire against the waters of the lake. “Sleep,” he whispered to his brothers. “I will guard us.”
Until the final peal of unnatural thunder faded away, Elwë stared down the night and the flashes of odd-colored light.
