Fairer Than Morning (Menegroth, F.A. 52) [Galadriel]
Sept 24, 2018 15:59:39 GMT -5
Post by Haldir on Sept 24, 2018 15:59:39 GMT -5
Dawn broke golden upon the land, though from deep in the caves of Menegroth Haldir knew only that night had passed. Little rest had come upon him, and many lines and paths his feet had traced in the small alcove that the young ellon counted as a bedchamber. His work, his life, the short days he had counted since his coming, were changing. Today, this golden autumn, was the start of his service to a lady so fair, she drew eyes at her passing.
Grace and wisdom, aged yet ageless even now. Haldir had seen Artanis for the first time the day before, passing soundless though not unwelcome through the many caves and halls born beneath the mountain. It had been a wonder to see her, walking alongside Melian the Maia, golden against the night-beauty of Doriath’s queen.
Haldir’s father had found him that very same afternoon, pulling him from his small patrol of the forest’s paths. “Bid farewell to your post,” he had told him, his words welled and full of a pride that Haldir had not known before. His eyes narrowed, curiously. “For today shall be your last bound to these routes. You have been chosen for a duty. One, I think, that shall carry you far beyond the reaches of Doriath.”
Artanis, an elf that seemed woven of light itself, had need of another blade and hand. Someone, perhaps the captain of the guard, had mentioned young Haldir’s name. Long had he be known to look and wonder what was beyond the reaches of the kingdom of his birth; it was, perhaps, this that had led to his mention.
At first, he had been thrilled. Transient as light itself, the Lady was said to walk much of the land. If truly he joined her, his footsteps, too, would tread beyond the familiar caves or forest paths.
And yet.
Such visions he had held were suddenly real, suddenly there at his grasp, and Haldir was frightened.
“Haldir,” a voice called, and immediately the elf turned to spy his father there at the door. “Come. Lady Artanis desires to meet you.”
A nod was all the young elf could manage, and with steps blessed for silence, he followed behind his father through the halls to the very throne room of Elu Thingol and Melian herself. Yet now, it was empty.
Empty save for one lone, slender figure, fairer than morning and with eyes as clear as sky. His mouth felt dry, his words lost somewhere between the path of mind to mouth. No greeting could he offer, and so instead he bowed, and prayed his humility was yet apparent.
Grace and wisdom, aged yet ageless even now. Haldir had seen Artanis for the first time the day before, passing soundless though not unwelcome through the many caves and halls born beneath the mountain. It had been a wonder to see her, walking alongside Melian the Maia, golden against the night-beauty of Doriath’s queen.
Haldir’s father had found him that very same afternoon, pulling him from his small patrol of the forest’s paths. “Bid farewell to your post,” he had told him, his words welled and full of a pride that Haldir had not known before. His eyes narrowed, curiously. “For today shall be your last bound to these routes. You have been chosen for a duty. One, I think, that shall carry you far beyond the reaches of Doriath.”
Artanis, an elf that seemed woven of light itself, had need of another blade and hand. Someone, perhaps the captain of the guard, had mentioned young Haldir’s name. Long had he be known to look and wonder what was beyond the reaches of the kingdom of his birth; it was, perhaps, this that had led to his mention.
At first, he had been thrilled. Transient as light itself, the Lady was said to walk much of the land. If truly he joined her, his footsteps, too, would tread beyond the familiar caves or forest paths.
And yet.
Such visions he had held were suddenly real, suddenly there at his grasp, and Haldir was frightened.
“Haldir,” a voice called, and immediately the elf turned to spy his father there at the door. “Come. Lady Artanis desires to meet you.”
A nod was all the young elf could manage, and with steps blessed for silence, he followed behind his father through the halls to the very throne room of Elu Thingol and Melian herself. Yet now, it was empty.
Empty save for one lone, slender figure, fairer than morning and with eyes as clear as sky. His mouth felt dry, his words lost somewhere between the path of mind to mouth. No greeting could he offer, and so instead he bowed, and prayed his humility was yet apparent.