Leaving The Nest
1. Leaving the Nest
Leaving The Nest
Mother's hair was raven-black, as were her eyes. I can still see the gleam of moonlight on her tresses as she told me of my father. I saw him change but once, she said. It was enough; she fled, with me in her belly. A fine strong man with gold-brown hair soft as feathers, and glittering eyes that could see what was far off, but that often missed what was before his sharply hooked, narrow nose. He told me what he was, but I would not believe…They were together for a season of passion and regret. I refused to believe… But now…
Gold is the hue of my silken curls, and green-gold my eyes that see as far as my sire, and the fine hairs on my bare outstretched arms shimmer in the sunlight, sparkling as bright as the tears streaming down my mother's face. Mama, I love you, but my fate has been chosen for me. I knew when I heard their screeching voices the first time, long before I saw their broad swift shadows or tilted back my head to search the sky for them.
I said goodbye and made her promise not to follow, for my human head feared the fall, the dashing onto rocks, the blood and the crushing, and I would spare her the sight of my broken form. But my father's heart beat wild and eager within me as I climbed and climbed, coming at last to the highest precipice, the human world sprawled tiny below me…
I looked out and up. Cold air caressed my face. I closed my eyes and made my decision. I called on my blood within, called my father forth from inside me. Suddenly my skin tingled and prickled as it changed. The slightest coat of nearly invisible hairs became a garb of surpassing beauty and lustrous softness. My arms widened and lengthened, my feet curled and sharpened. My eyes grew huge, and I could see! I see, I see! I screamed.
And I leaped, onto the Wind… and the Wind embraced me.
I miss my Mama, at times, 'tis true. But I no longer hear her voice. No more do the tears fall at the thought of her face, her raven-tresses, on those rare days I come down to earth and allow my feathered skin to shift for a while… for Eagles weep not, only clumsy, land-bound humans. For her gift to me—the gift of a handsome stranger's blood—I am forever grateful.
For I am my father's daughter. I am Súliel, Daughter of the Wind. And though I am able to change back, why would I ever want to?
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.