Sanwe [Doriath 435 F.A.] {One-shot}
Jul 18, 2018 16:07:13 GMT -5
Post by AMARIË on Jul 18, 2018 16:07:13 GMT -5
Sanwe - Thinking
Spring of Doriath, 435 F.A.
Spring of Doriath, 435 F.A.
They had not long known each other. The young elves were barely what could be considered courting… simply curious, having met only two weeks past, it was the Spring of the year, and Amariel and Saeros had drifted from their idle solitude to find themselves often together, sharing a tree outside the halls of Menegroth.
Saeros had climbed after her into her tree of choice today, as was his usual way. Doing their own things, yet together. Saeros with his journal and quill, and a vessel of ink perched precariously on the flattened ledge of a branch. Amariel, with her hands idle and her mind cast up into the leafy greens listening to the birdsong of Melian's realm and daydreaming.
They sat above, high in the lofty branches in the daylight, in silence, once in awhile watching each other, and Saeros' hair was shining golden. His eyes were green gems. Amariel's eyes had drifted back to Saeros. Admiring his features, not only admiring, but adoring. Not only gold and green, but the peaceful presence resonating from him. His posture, from his feet up to the very tips of his perfect ears. Beautiful ears which peeked ever so slightly from his golden crown.
The thoughts drifting from her mind while he was so intent in his writing seemed to startle him from his work, and he turned to look at her. Yet still when he had turned and her eyes had again locked with his, there were so many imaginings in her head for the beauty of the emerald gemstones set within, pure and gentle. Green, and shining in perfection in the sunlight. No gem had ever been made fairer by all the smiths of Tirion, nor by Aulë himself than those eyes gifted to the golden haired Sindar.
Saeros held her gaze, and she watched as the tips of his ears turned pink, the color flowing to the very roots of him, and even flushing the edges of his cheek. “Amariel,” he said in an outbreath, his voice seeming strained.
“What is wrong, mellon?”Amariel asked, concern masking her face, as she started to move from her branch to draw nearer, standing on a lower branch aside the one he sat now, though eye to emerald eye with him.
“What were you… doing?” Saeros asked, breathless.
“Just… listening to the birds,” Amariel answered coolly as she studied him. His breathing yet strange, Amariel kneaded her lips. “Are you unwell?”
“You were looking at me,” Saeros pointed out.
“I...” Amariel hesitated, confused. “Should I... not?” She bit her lip, a sullenness creeping into her voice. “I was... thinking. My eyes drifted.”
“And what did you think?” Saeros turned to ask, his voice near whisper, the tinges of pink still coloring his face.
“The forest is lush… green. I like the green,” she told him. It was not altogether an untruth. Green; his eyes were so green and lush like the forest canopies and the grasses below. So living, so pure and filled with summer breezes and symphonies of woodlands. Green of polished emerald and malachite. The kind of green you could curl within. Moss thick upon the forest floor, and a blanket of midsummer leaves.
Ears of crimson were seeming to deepen already on the golden haired elf, and he reached for Amariel's hand. “My eyes… I heard you the first dozen times… and not through my perfect ears,” he teased lightly through his own flush.
Amariel gasped suddenly, covering her mouth, as if the words had come from them and not her mind. “I am… so sorry. I have not… only with my Naneth.” Flustered, she looked away from him to the forest floor below, trying to weave through her thoughts and recall what Saeros might have heard of them. What might he think now.
“Noldor tricks,” Saeros shook his head, still in slight disbelief. Then added, “I too was thinking.” He tapped a finger on the journal, spread open on his leg. Four lines of a poem he was composing, and Amariel's eyes were drawn up, following the tap, taking view of the letters freshly inked on the page.
My Lady's eyes are like the skies
A soft and sunlit blue
No other fair could half compare
In sweet midsummer hue.
Amariel's heart was stolen, and she felt the warm press of her hand as she turned back to Saeros. Sheltering boughs of green met the sunlit blue above, and the leaves danced in their midst on the breeze.