The Daily Drabble: "The Source of All Things"
(Perhaps I should rename it the Occasional Drabble?)
Only it's not a drabble; it's actually 250 words. My mind can't even begin to conjure a name for this. (This from the woman who coined "drabunculus.")
So here, first, is the word of the day:
provenance \PROV-uh-nuhn(t)s\, noun:
"In a world awash in information of dubious provenance, whom can you trust to tell you the truth?"
-Gerald Jonas, review of The Jazz, by Melissa Scott, New York Times, June 18, 2000
"There may have been as many as one hundred antique statues of Roman provenance in the city at the time of the Fourth Crusade."
-Patricia Fortini Brown, Venice & Antiquity
"The provenance of his possessions traced back to dukes and duchesses, kings, queens, czars, emperors, and dictators."
-John Berendt, Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil
Provenance comes from French, from provenant, present participle of provenir, "to originate," ultimately from Latin provenire, from pro-, "forth" + venire, "to come."
You are welcome to take this speaker to be whomever you want. I hear him as Maedhros, mostly because I'm a hopeless Maedhros fangurl. (I'm not going to pretend otherwise or attempt to conjure some pretentious reason.)
The Source of All Things
I stare down at the blood on my hands; I think, Where do these things begin?
It commenced with the Oath, which began with our grandfather’s murder in Formenos.
Our grandfather’s murder would not have been but for our father’s exile, which fell into the laps of the Valar, for they had decreed it and defied the authority of Father and King.
And the Valarin decree? That had its provenance in fear and mistrust—dare I say jealousy?—of our father’s gifts which they shall never approximate.
Our father’s gifts—his fire, if you will—originated of a mother’s sacrifice; the conflagration was fanned by anger and hurt and grandfather’s remarriage.
Again: the Valar.
But also Grandfather—yes, I will say it. His desire for love, for children. And Indis’ unrequited affection. And the Valarin desire to make things right, always, through tinkering and the belief that their hands possess the power assuage the troubles of free will.
The result? A family torn, broken—mistrust and hatred brewing in eager hearts—something that would not be possible in Arda Unmarred.
But this is Arda Marred, and that has its source in Melkor. But even Melkor is not unexplained.
A child of independent thought, seeking his father’s attention and rejected, publicly humiliated—I burn as though it had been me.
The source then is Eru.
I raise my fist to the sky…but who says that Eru is in the sky?
Eru is in all of us.
And so there it begins.