Swan's Song (June 3010) - OPEN
May 11, 2018 8:00:44 GMT -5
Post by Odothel on May 11, 2018 8:00:44 GMT -5
“She should have given her blessing. Calrein bore great honor. He was well proven to bear the standard of marriage. Even a proven warrior.”
Amarië’s words came plainly; they were not bold, yet they were honest, and Odothel slowly nodded. Calrein was proven, many times over. He had been an elf of integrity and strength, devoted to land and light. To her. “Emmë said she worried for me. That Calrein would march and not return,” Odothel whispered. Her face contorted, her heart panging deeply in her chest. “And perhaps her fears were proven true…yet, still I wish that she would have allowed it. I would have waited for him, as I am now—though at least then there would have been the knowledge that I was his all the while to bear me these long years.”
There would have been no threat of union with an ellon of the kingdom who she neither desired nor desired her in turn. The pain of her love’s absence was great enough; the dark-haired elf maiden needed no other hardship to bear upon her shoulders as she mourned.
“I would have given blessing.”
Another trail of warm water traced down Odothel’s cheek, and she tried to force her lips into a smile for her. “And for that, Eleneth, I am thankful beyond count and measure. Gerich ‘ûr sui Ethuil,” the elf whispered to her, tone warm. Your heart is like spring.
Amarië had always held wisdom in her eyes, and Odothel had long sought her for all manners of advice a young elfling might require; in all ways she had been easier to speak with than Odothel’s own Emmë, perhaps for she was alike to her Túremmë. Yet now before her, Amarië was only partial comfort, for deeply had her words made Odothel’s own spirit bleed and weep. Regret she could see upon her Eleneth’s features, sorrow that mirrored her own. Odothel knew there was little more in Arda Amarië cherished above her son, and surely to see him bound to Odothel would be painful for her as well. Adanedhel cared not for Odothel in a way that would lead to such vows, and to force them upon him would steal from him the chance to find his own hobas nîn.
“This will not come to pass. Neither will you or Adanedhel bear this. It is a slight against the Valar. It is not their will. Yet… I cannot control what my husband will do. You must in memory keep your Calrein, and in action; set yourself to departure. Let me help you, Gweineth. Help you prepare; while your Emmë tarries in Lothorien yet. Sometimes quick decisions must be made to serve a greater purpose. Come.”
Amarië’s hand came to link with hers, and Odothel’s pale, fair face looked upon her in surprise. It seemed somehow wrong to leave without farewell unto her Atta or Emmë, or indeed Aurindir, her hanna, brother. Aurindir had been gone for so long, working with the wood of the mallorns in the woods of Lothlorien; they had set out to travel with him home, and were set to return soon. Reunited the four of them would be after weeks of parting—and for Aurindir, many months. To leave, to sunder herself from her family without single word…
Yet, it had been her intent with Calrein all along, and they had tarried too late in hopes of finishing their farewells. Because of hesitation, because of the need to bid those they called family and friends the words they were due, Calrein was no longer there with her to make the journey at all. There was wisdom in the urgency Amarië suggested, for certainly if Emmë wished for Odothel to marry, she would not wish for her daughter to leave and avoid it.
Perhaps now Odothel had a chance to learn from the mistakes they had made. “You have always guided me, Eleneth,” she murmured as they began to make for The Great Gate once more. “Hannon le.” Thank you. Long would the journey be unto the Grey Havens, Mithlond, where she would take to a ship. Yet, hope there was within her, for many of her kin had gone the path before, and sweet would the sight of Alqualondë be when finally she joined her family once more.
Amarië’s words came plainly; they were not bold, yet they were honest, and Odothel slowly nodded. Calrein was proven, many times over. He had been an elf of integrity and strength, devoted to land and light. To her. “Emmë said she worried for me. That Calrein would march and not return,” Odothel whispered. Her face contorted, her heart panging deeply in her chest. “And perhaps her fears were proven true…yet, still I wish that she would have allowed it. I would have waited for him, as I am now—though at least then there would have been the knowledge that I was his all the while to bear me these long years.”
There would have been no threat of union with an ellon of the kingdom who she neither desired nor desired her in turn. The pain of her love’s absence was great enough; the dark-haired elf maiden needed no other hardship to bear upon her shoulders as she mourned.
“I would have given blessing.”
Another trail of warm water traced down Odothel’s cheek, and she tried to force her lips into a smile for her. “And for that, Eleneth, I am thankful beyond count and measure. Gerich ‘ûr sui Ethuil,” the elf whispered to her, tone warm. Your heart is like spring.
Amarië had always held wisdom in her eyes, and Odothel had long sought her for all manners of advice a young elfling might require; in all ways she had been easier to speak with than Odothel’s own Emmë, perhaps for she was alike to her Túremmë. Yet now before her, Amarië was only partial comfort, for deeply had her words made Odothel’s own spirit bleed and weep. Regret she could see upon her Eleneth’s features, sorrow that mirrored her own. Odothel knew there was little more in Arda Amarië cherished above her son, and surely to see him bound to Odothel would be painful for her as well. Adanedhel cared not for Odothel in a way that would lead to such vows, and to force them upon him would steal from him the chance to find his own hobas nîn.
“This will not come to pass. Neither will you or Adanedhel bear this. It is a slight against the Valar. It is not their will. Yet… I cannot control what my husband will do. You must in memory keep your Calrein, and in action; set yourself to departure. Let me help you, Gweineth. Help you prepare; while your Emmë tarries in Lothorien yet. Sometimes quick decisions must be made to serve a greater purpose. Come.”
Amarië’s hand came to link with hers, and Odothel’s pale, fair face looked upon her in surprise. It seemed somehow wrong to leave without farewell unto her Atta or Emmë, or indeed Aurindir, her hanna, brother. Aurindir had been gone for so long, working with the wood of the mallorns in the woods of Lothlorien; they had set out to travel with him home, and were set to return soon. Reunited the four of them would be after weeks of parting—and for Aurindir, many months. To leave, to sunder herself from her family without single word…
Yet, it had been her intent with Calrein all along, and they had tarried too late in hopes of finishing their farewells. Because of hesitation, because of the need to bid those they called family and friends the words they were due, Calrein was no longer there with her to make the journey at all. There was wisdom in the urgency Amarië suggested, for certainly if Emmë wished for Odothel to marry, she would not wish for her daughter to leave and avoid it.
Perhaps now Odothel had a chance to learn from the mistakes they had made. “You have always guided me, Eleneth,” she murmured as they began to make for The Great Gate once more. “Hannon le.” Thank you. Long would the journey be unto the Grey Havens, Mithlond, where she would take to a ship. Yet, hope there was within her, for many of her kin had gone the path before, and sweet would the sight of Alqualondë be when finally she joined her family once more.