Often. [She agrees, without hesitation because elves are. Though at the same time they are also often right, it was a delicate thing to navigate, to know your place without being cocky or arrogant.
But Mithiel didn't see how her desire to sink into the sea really made her self-important. It would not hurt anyone. Those left who might miss her would assume her taken in a raid or by some other misfortune, or to simply have died of grief as so many elves had.
Even Melian had abandoned them in her grief, now years ago, and though she did not die her absence signalled the death of her Kingdom and the people therein.
As much as Mithiel had daydreamed and drifted and wandered in ways and places she never should have for many years of her long life, she had never felt like this. Not when cornered by orcs, or when the great wolf ripped through Doriath. Not even when Lúthien left them and then later died.
Not even when her parents died, because someday, somehow she would meet them again.
But how would she ever meet her forest again? How could she replace a love that was drowning in front of her very eyes and would be forgotten by men and only whispered about by elves, too old and traumatised to want to talk about the place that had borne her all these centuries. Had protected her, sheltered her, loved her, taught her. Doriath had been her third parent, her teacher, her friend, her warden and her ward both for they looked after each other. The Ents and Ent-wives that lingered on the edges had known her all her life. The trees had known her name since before she was born.
How could that be replaced? How could that wound ever heal? It was not just a place, just trees and land. It was home in such a fundamental way that watching it sink left her breathless, and she did not care a bit if she offended this mortal who tried to fuss over her and act like getting up and keeping moving was the perfectly normal and logical thing to do as if her heart wasn't being ripped out of her chest at this very moment.
She wished she was dead.
More than that, she wished she had never been so she would not have ever known such grief that seemed to pile higher and higher in every passing moment.
She was cold and did not care, bleeding and it did not matter. She could barely even hear anything above the roar of the sea and the cracking trees, hundreds of miles away while she sat on this near-silent shore.]
Depends on what you wish to tell me, I suppose, for you cannot be convinced to just leave me here.
no subject
But Mithiel didn't see how her desire to sink into the sea really made her self-important. It would not hurt anyone. Those left who might miss her would assume her taken in a raid or by some other misfortune, or to simply have died of grief as so many elves had.
Even Melian had abandoned them in her grief, now years ago, and though she did not die her absence signalled the death of her Kingdom and the people therein.
As much as Mithiel had daydreamed and drifted and wandered in ways and places she never should have for many years of her long life, she had never felt like this. Not when cornered by orcs, or when the great wolf ripped through Doriath. Not even when Lúthien left them and then later died.
Not even when her parents died, because someday, somehow she would meet them again.
But how would she ever meet her forest again? How could she replace a love that was drowning in front of her very eyes and would be forgotten by men and only whispered about by elves, too old and traumatised to want to talk about the place that had borne her all these centuries. Had protected her, sheltered her, loved her, taught her. Doriath had been her third parent, her teacher, her friend, her warden and her ward both for they looked after each other. The Ents and Ent-wives that lingered on the edges had known her all her life. The trees had known her name since before she was born.
How could that be replaced? How could that wound ever heal? It was not just a place, just trees and land. It was home in such a fundamental way that watching it sink left her breathless, and she did not care a bit if she offended this mortal who tried to fuss over her and act like getting up and keeping moving was the perfectly normal and logical thing to do as if her heart wasn't being ripped out of her chest at this very moment.
She wished she was dead.
More than that, she wished she had never been so she would not have ever known such grief that seemed to pile higher and higher in every passing moment.
She was cold and did not care, bleeding and it did not matter. She could barely even hear anything above the roar of the sea and the cracking trees, hundreds of miles away while she sat on this near-silent shore.]
Depends on what you wish to tell me, I suppose, for you cannot be convinced to just leave me here.