Han mathon ne nen... [Galadriel, TA 2511]
Mar 28, 2019 20:16:56 GMT -5
Post by SIRION on Mar 28, 2019 20:16:56 GMT -5
Lothlorien had been exceedingly well named, he always thought. For what was this fenced realm of the Golden Wood than the meekest echo of what had come before? A people much changed from the days of their seeming youth and now play acting at something which they did not fully understand. And though he could see the light of the West in the tall mellyrn that grew there, to his eyes that had known the light of Melian in the bliss of her union with Elu Thingol it seemed only to be dim and distant. Only two there were, that Sirion knew of, who dwelt within had known the fenced realm proper and it was by the designs of Lord Celeborn and the Lady Galadriel that this place had been sculpted in like fashion down the long years. A dear memory, he supposed, carried down to be enjoyed by whatever Elves there were remaining in Middle-Earth, but oh how it made him pine for home.
His home now was where he sat in respite, twined in the arms of his wife whose cheek lay soft against the crook of his shoulder. But for Sirion's roving eyes, glimmering softly in the dappled light of the wood, one unfamiliar with Elven physiology might have mistaken them for sleeping, but in truth they lay awake. Content to simply be together and rest for a time while the night passed above them, enough words now had passed one way and the other over centuries of marriage that they could be so at ease as to simply sit and say naught.
For his part, Sirion would quite happily have stayed huddled there beneath his grey cloak watching the light of the Sun bounce and bound between the shimmering leaves of the mallorns for an age if his love were likewise content, only a dream it may have been, but it was a good one. Only... it was far off it seemed, but he definitely felt it. A tug of recognition, as though someone, or something had called out his name, he raised his head to look around. Nothing.
Putting the notion from his mind he dropped his gaze and closed his eyes, laying his own cheek against the top of his Aradien's head, now seeming to fall into a deep and tranquil trance alike to the mortal notion of sleep.
Uimithel...
His eyes snapped open with a start, which jarred his lady wife from her reprieve and she looked up at him now with concern set in here face. 'Sirion,' that was right, that was his name now. He had left Uimithel behind, in Doriath beneath the long shadows of... he'd left Uimithel back in Doriath at any rate. 'What troubles you, my dear?' Sirion seemed now to hesitate, gazing in to the middle distance as though at empty space before he finally returned to himself.
He smiled and kissed Midhiel upon the brow. 'It is nothing,' he said, but instead of simply returning to blessed rest he stood, huddling his cloak now around her alone.
'Nothing so much that you must pursue it immediately?'
'I would walk for a time in the light of the moon,' he replied, a weak and flimsy excuse he knew though he dared not share his true intent just now. 'The burden of memory weighs heavy on me tonight.' That was at least true, though leaving something unsaid as he beheld her wrapped in his cloak at the mallorn's foot now made him feel a coward of the highest order. 'Wait for me?'
'Always.'
That simple, honest promise stung Sirion almost as surely as the memory of his father name, but to ease this burden it was not the light of the moon which he sought after, for in the far reaches of the wood he had seen from their secluded spot the living light that was in the person of the Lady of the Galadhrim. Carried far afield from its origin in the outer West, it now called him on more surely than the whisper of his once name. He felt his beloved's eyes on him until at least he had gone among the thronging trees and been blocked from her sight.
Treading the soft grass whose dew glimmered in the pale light as scattered gemstones he followed after the restless gloaming as it drew him ever deeper and he thought again that he had heard the whispered word 'Uimithel' which yet filled him with dread. As he drew close though, he perceived that the light he followed grew dim, then dark yet again and finally vanished leaving him completely alone.
His home now was where he sat in respite, twined in the arms of his wife whose cheek lay soft against the crook of his shoulder. But for Sirion's roving eyes, glimmering softly in the dappled light of the wood, one unfamiliar with Elven physiology might have mistaken them for sleeping, but in truth they lay awake. Content to simply be together and rest for a time while the night passed above them, enough words now had passed one way and the other over centuries of marriage that they could be so at ease as to simply sit and say naught.
For his part, Sirion would quite happily have stayed huddled there beneath his grey cloak watching the light of the Sun bounce and bound between the shimmering leaves of the mallorns for an age if his love were likewise content, only a dream it may have been, but it was a good one. Only... it was far off it seemed, but he definitely felt it. A tug of recognition, as though someone, or something had called out his name, he raised his head to look around. Nothing.
Putting the notion from his mind he dropped his gaze and closed his eyes, laying his own cheek against the top of his Aradien's head, now seeming to fall into a deep and tranquil trance alike to the mortal notion of sleep.
Uimithel...
His eyes snapped open with a start, which jarred his lady wife from her reprieve and she looked up at him now with concern set in here face. 'Sirion,' that was right, that was his name now. He had left Uimithel behind, in Doriath beneath the long shadows of... he'd left Uimithel back in Doriath at any rate. 'What troubles you, my dear?' Sirion seemed now to hesitate, gazing in to the middle distance as though at empty space before he finally returned to himself.
He smiled and kissed Midhiel upon the brow. 'It is nothing,' he said, but instead of simply returning to blessed rest he stood, huddling his cloak now around her alone.
'Nothing so much that you must pursue it immediately?'
'I would walk for a time in the light of the moon,' he replied, a weak and flimsy excuse he knew though he dared not share his true intent just now. 'The burden of memory weighs heavy on me tonight.' That was at least true, though leaving something unsaid as he beheld her wrapped in his cloak at the mallorn's foot now made him feel a coward of the highest order. 'Wait for me?'
'Always.'
That simple, honest promise stung Sirion almost as surely as the memory of his father name, but to ease this burden it was not the light of the moon which he sought after, for in the far reaches of the wood he had seen from their secluded spot the living light that was in the person of the Lady of the Galadhrim. Carried far afield from its origin in the outer West, it now called him on more surely than the whisper of his once name. He felt his beloved's eyes on him until at least he had gone among the thronging trees and been blocked from her sight.
Treading the soft grass whose dew glimmered in the pale light as scattered gemstones he followed after the restless gloaming as it drew him ever deeper and he thought again that he had heard the whispered word 'Uimithel' which yet filled him with dread. As he drew close though, he perceived that the light he followed grew dim, then dark yet again and finally vanished leaving him completely alone.