Morning Mist and Silver Sun by StarSpray  

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Jubilee 2025

Written for the Jubilee 2025 instadrabble sessions

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Sky Full of Stars

Stars above and stars below, reflected in the still waters between the lilies of the pool. Beside, the Withywindle flows laughing along on its way to Baranduin and, someday, the Sea. Goldberry sits by the pool and sings to the stars, and to the river, and to the trees, and she laughs when a fish breaks the surface to send the reflections rippling, making the stars on the water dance. 

Somewhere in the hills behind her, a voice answers, merry and echoing, singing of everything and nothing, full of laughter. Overhead the stars wink and twinkle as though in reply. 

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Image: A clump of bright pink flowers growing in a small hollow. They are the main color in the landscape, as the rest appears to be burnt from a forest fire. Numerous naked tree trunks are visible, and there is an equally naked hill in the mid-distance.

What was left of the world that had not been swallowed by the sea seemed desolate, lifeless, all the trees and grass and flowers burned away into ash. Elros scuffed his boot through the dark ashen dirt and sighed. The air smelled of smoke and salt; somewhere behind him the sea crashed against the jagged, brand new shores. 

As Elrond stepped up beside him, he said, “There is nothing left.”

Elrond caught his hand and pointed, smiling. “Look!” 

There amid the blackened and broken pieces of what remained of Beleriand, flowers bloomed, a splash of brilliant pink, defiant and beautiful. 

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A thousand feet of snow over my heart.

When the fires died away, the frozen winds of winter returned, howling over the plains of Lothlann, where no more grass grew, and only snow and ash shifted in shallow drifts over the blackened earth. Maglor gazed at it from the high tower of Himring, where the snow lay thicker, and what tears he might have shed froze on his eyelashes. 

They had thought themselves mighty and invincible. Hoof beats and laughter had echoed over the plain. 

Then fire and dragons and balrogs had come—and his link in the chain of the Noldor’s leaguer had snapped like brittle glass.

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A matter of pride

Daeron had thought to find the greatest singer of the Noldor prideful and jealous of his reputation, perhaps believing that no one who did not learn his craft at the feet of the Valar could possibly compare. 

He was very happy to be wrong. Bright-eyed Maglor son of Fëanor greeted him with delight and a goblet of sweet wine. “They want us to compete, I think,” he said, laughing, “but I would rather collaborate.” 

Daeron smiled and raised the goblet in a toast. “Teach me your songs of the Blessed Realm, and I shall teach you mine of Eglador.”

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hurt, delusions, tandem, fly

Did they realize what they were doing, she thought as she fled toward the coast, the Nauglamír clutched shining to her breast. Did they know that they worked now in tandem with the Enemy—indeed, doing his work for him—or were they under the delusion that they were the heroes of this tale? 

Elwing came to a halt at the cliff top; pebbles and dust rained down over the edge into the waters below. Behind she heard them calling to her, voices that might have once been fair but which held nothing now but horror and hurt. 

She turned, and they halted, blinking in the sudden light of the Silmaril. “You will have neither it nor me!” she cried, and leaped. Under the waves she felt a strange power close about her, and then she was rising, breaking forth out of the foam, spreading her wings. 

Westward, she flew.

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The cure for anything is salt water - sweat, tears, or the sea.

The water was frigid but the salt stung his hand, already blistered and raw. The light of the Silmaril had vanished by then, sunk deep beneath the waves, taken by the tides. He could barely see through the tears that burned in his eyes as he knelt on the sharp stones, waves rushing in and out, foaming around his waist. 

Even there, even then, in that desolate place as the world continued to heave and to break around him, he could hear the Music. It was not ended. There were more verses to be sung; more Themes to be played. 

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Oh, this spacious sky
Is not poetry enough for our swelling lungs
We must write a thousand songs to carry on our tongues
Our thoughts will burn so bright we can white the stars out from the sky at night

There is too much in him to keep silent—too many thoughts and desires and feelings on the beauty of the world, from the slumbering trees to the niphredil on the riverbank, to the silver spill of stars across the sky. He tries to put them into words but even his skill is not enough. 

Daeron takes up his flute and takes a breath before beginning to play. He pays no heed to who might hear, but others stop and listen. Tears prick their eyes. Flowers bloom, and trees shiver awake. Overhead the stars shimmer, dancing, as the wind blows. 

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There is a crack, a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in

The stones around them cracked, split. Dust rained down, and a cry of terror went up—the ceilings would cave in and crush them—but no. They did not fall, but were lifted, rolled back like storm clouds before a strong west wind, and another cry went up, of relief and disbelief and of something else they had almost forgotten. 

Joy. 

Light streamed into the pits of Angband, where it had never reached before: full daylight, bright sun under clear skies. The Valar’s Herald stood and called to them: come out! Morgoth’s reign was ended. A new Age was beginning. 

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Even a wounded world holds us, giving us moments of wonder and joy.

He passed through the forest in a daze under the stars; colors remained muted and dull, and so he hardly noticed that the air itself had changed, sweet-smelling with strange flowers. There was the sound of flowing water, and when Beren knelt to taste it, it was clean and sweet.

Then morning came, with blue skies and birdsong. He looked up to see a robin perched over his head, regarding him curiously before flying away, into the lush green of real living trees; he knew that he had at last escaped the terrors of Nan Dungortheb, and he wept.