To Silver Glass (September 3010) - [Calrein]
Apr 14, 2018 21:35:23 GMT -5
Post by Odothel on Apr 14, 2018 21:35:23 GMT -5
When her golden eyes peered first upon the water, Odothel had been so moved she halted Nenloth at the crown of the hill, finding no way to part her attention from the waves of silver-green, or the sapphire sky and the stretch of glass that met upon the horizon. “No bain,” she murmured, breathless into the breezes that whispered and danced by her ears and down to the elf-city below. It is beautiful.
She had seen the water, the far horizon, and cities upon shores in her dreams. She had watched the birds that swooped from wall to water, white like foam, carrying a song of laughter as they chased the spindrift and lapping sails of the ships pulling from harbor with eyes that were not her own; visions of lands she had not walked, memories she had not made. A long count of years Odothel had remembered and pined for things she had not herself known, yet now she felt fulfilled.
A shimmer came upon her gaze like a veil, and the elf maiden pulled her eyes away from the proud and perfect Mithlond in the valley below only for the promise of something far fairer. “We have made it at last, hobas nîn,” she whispered to him. He was beside her, as he had been all steps of the journey, the curl of his lip gentle as the breezes. Her Calrein. Her love. With her yet, though no hoof or boot-print had been made by his company.
Heavy as the anchor of the ships below Odothel felt a press of sorrow upon her. Calrein should have been there with her; she should have seen first the sea with him at her side. When I find you once more, we shall sit upon the shore together, and listen to the Song that Ulmo has kept.
“Thilia,” Rhossalas said. Sparkles. Named for the way her eyes had glistened when first he had seen her under the starlight. He pulled his dappled stallion up beside her, casting his slivery eyes first to Odothel, then beyond her, as if seeking what it was she saw. There was little there but tree and root, below them sprawling what remained of the once might Mithlond. Grey Havens.
Odothel blinked her tears and dream away, looking to the tall figure beside her. Perhaps she should sing a song to Elbereth that she had not needed to make the journey all alone. Rhossalas, her friend, had been there from the moment she had passed from The Great Gate of the Woodland Realm, and he was here with her at journey’s end. Celebros, too, though he had parted their company as soon as the song of the water had begun to reach them upon their horses. Not all the Eldar were so willing to look upon the Western Shores; some could not yet acknowledge the time of the elf was fading.
“Yes, mellon?” Friend. She asked him.
“Are you well?” He inquired. Rhossalas’ face seemed bent in a frown, lip almost severe. His face had been darkening as the distance closed between them and the last harbor; Odothel could feel the tumult within him. Ever loyal, he was leading her where she had asked of him, though in her heart she knew the elf was not fully thrilled with the thought of seeing her off upon the ships.
Odothel smiled for him, a small, quiet motion that sat comfortably upon her lips. “I am,” she assured him. “I have felt no better in many a year now.” Not since the battle for the Mountain. Not since he had been taken.
“You do not need to leave, Thilia,” Rhossalas said after a moment of silence seeped between them.
Odothel laughed, though the sound was quiet and low, gentle like that of a brook. “You are wrong, mellon. I have never needed to do anything more than this. Now come. My ship awaits.”
The elf maiden heeled Nenloth, the dark, brownish-black mare complying immediately. Odothel did not notice the way Rhossalas looked upon her, his hesitation in following. Instead, she looked toward Mithlond, eyeing the horizon peeking through the rocky precipices that jutted from the harbor. Soon, she would set off for the West. To Valinor. To the Undying Lands, and to her Calrein.
A song she drew to her lips as she rode onward, Rhossalas slowly setting out to follow.
While you sleep, dream of me,
I’ll be keeping our memories.
Living in my heart and soul,
Waiting for the day
When we will be together again.
Carry me to my love,
O’er the sea to the clouds above,
Where I know he’s waiting for me.
Carry me to my love,
O’er the sea to the clouds above.
Take me away to the shining light,
Over the waves peaceful at night.
There among the stars glowing in the dark
You watch over me,
Smiling down patiently.*
--
Rhossalas said not a word more as they passed under the great stone arches and into the grey walls of Mithlond. Eyes found them, newcomers, unannounced yet not unexpected. Many of the Eldar were turning now to the sea, taking to the Undying Lands to return to their promised place. None stopped Odothel as she made direct the path to the harbor.
Music filtered through the air, voices scattered amidst the pathways and structures lifting their voice in song for the sea. A few ships were being loaded at the docks, another, smaller vessel, coming in to port. The salt and spindrift of the gentle, lapping waves carried upon the wind, hearty so funneled through the valley. Odothel drew a deep breath, the sea air drawing her heart to light. Toward healing.
“Brennilen,” my lady, a low voice said to her. “Welcome. You come seeking a ship?”
Odothel pulled upon Nenloth’s reins, looking upon the man of dark dress. With his silver hair, he looked akin to the white-caps she could make out at the mouth of the bay. His beard, an unusual feature upon the face of the Eldar, was of similar color, close-kept and clean. “I do. I am Odothel, Alpalindë, of the Woodland Realm. Saelon, can you aide me?” Wise one.
The elf’s eyes glimmered, and he looked for a moment to Rhossalas who sat dark and silent yet before turning his attention back to Odothel. “Singing swan,” the elf murmured to her. “I rejoice ever to hear the tongue of my birth. I am Círdan, Shipwright of this Harbor. Come, Alpalindë. I shall see you settled myself.”
* Lyrics from "Carry Me" by Eurielle
She had seen the water, the far horizon, and cities upon shores in her dreams. She had watched the birds that swooped from wall to water, white like foam, carrying a song of laughter as they chased the spindrift and lapping sails of the ships pulling from harbor with eyes that were not her own; visions of lands she had not walked, memories she had not made. A long count of years Odothel had remembered and pined for things she had not herself known, yet now she felt fulfilled.
A shimmer came upon her gaze like a veil, and the elf maiden pulled her eyes away from the proud and perfect Mithlond in the valley below only for the promise of something far fairer. “We have made it at last, hobas nîn,” she whispered to him. He was beside her, as he had been all steps of the journey, the curl of his lip gentle as the breezes. Her Calrein. Her love. With her yet, though no hoof or boot-print had been made by his company.
Heavy as the anchor of the ships below Odothel felt a press of sorrow upon her. Calrein should have been there with her; she should have seen first the sea with him at her side. When I find you once more, we shall sit upon the shore together, and listen to the Song that Ulmo has kept.
“Thilia,” Rhossalas said. Sparkles. Named for the way her eyes had glistened when first he had seen her under the starlight. He pulled his dappled stallion up beside her, casting his slivery eyes first to Odothel, then beyond her, as if seeking what it was she saw. There was little there but tree and root, below them sprawling what remained of the once might Mithlond. Grey Havens.
Odothel blinked her tears and dream away, looking to the tall figure beside her. Perhaps she should sing a song to Elbereth that she had not needed to make the journey all alone. Rhossalas, her friend, had been there from the moment she had passed from The Great Gate of the Woodland Realm, and he was here with her at journey’s end. Celebros, too, though he had parted their company as soon as the song of the water had begun to reach them upon their horses. Not all the Eldar were so willing to look upon the Western Shores; some could not yet acknowledge the time of the elf was fading.
“Yes, mellon?” Friend. She asked him.
“Are you well?” He inquired. Rhossalas’ face seemed bent in a frown, lip almost severe. His face had been darkening as the distance closed between them and the last harbor; Odothel could feel the tumult within him. Ever loyal, he was leading her where she had asked of him, though in her heart she knew the elf was not fully thrilled with the thought of seeing her off upon the ships.
Odothel smiled for him, a small, quiet motion that sat comfortably upon her lips. “I am,” she assured him. “I have felt no better in many a year now.” Not since the battle for the Mountain. Not since he had been taken.
“You do not need to leave, Thilia,” Rhossalas said after a moment of silence seeped between them.
Odothel laughed, though the sound was quiet and low, gentle like that of a brook. “You are wrong, mellon. I have never needed to do anything more than this. Now come. My ship awaits.”
The elf maiden heeled Nenloth, the dark, brownish-black mare complying immediately. Odothel did not notice the way Rhossalas looked upon her, his hesitation in following. Instead, she looked toward Mithlond, eyeing the horizon peeking through the rocky precipices that jutted from the harbor. Soon, she would set off for the West. To Valinor. To the Undying Lands, and to her Calrein.
A song she drew to her lips as she rode onward, Rhossalas slowly setting out to follow.
While you sleep, dream of me,
I’ll be keeping our memories.
Living in my heart and soul,
Waiting for the day
When we will be together again.
Carry me to my love,
O’er the sea to the clouds above,
Where I know he’s waiting for me.
Carry me to my love,
O’er the sea to the clouds above.
Take me away to the shining light,
Over the waves peaceful at night.
There among the stars glowing in the dark
You watch over me,
Smiling down patiently.*
--
Rhossalas said not a word more as they passed under the great stone arches and into the grey walls of Mithlond. Eyes found them, newcomers, unannounced yet not unexpected. Many of the Eldar were turning now to the sea, taking to the Undying Lands to return to their promised place. None stopped Odothel as she made direct the path to the harbor.
Music filtered through the air, voices scattered amidst the pathways and structures lifting their voice in song for the sea. A few ships were being loaded at the docks, another, smaller vessel, coming in to port. The salt and spindrift of the gentle, lapping waves carried upon the wind, hearty so funneled through the valley. Odothel drew a deep breath, the sea air drawing her heart to light. Toward healing.
“Brennilen,” my lady, a low voice said to her. “Welcome. You come seeking a ship?”
Odothel pulled upon Nenloth’s reins, looking upon the man of dark dress. With his silver hair, he looked akin to the white-caps she could make out at the mouth of the bay. His beard, an unusual feature upon the face of the Eldar, was of similar color, close-kept and clean. “I do. I am Odothel, Alpalindë, of the Woodland Realm. Saelon, can you aide me?” Wise one.
The elf’s eyes glimmered, and he looked for a moment to Rhossalas who sat dark and silent yet before turning his attention back to Odothel. “Singing swan,” the elf murmured to her. “I rejoice ever to hear the tongue of my birth. I am Círdan, Shipwright of this Harbor. Come, Alpalindë. I shall see you settled myself.”
* Lyrics from "Carry Me" by Eurielle