To Silver Glass (September 3010) - [Calrein]
Apr 8, 2019 8:48:13 GMT -5
Post by Odothel on Apr 8, 2019 8:48:13 GMT -5
The ellon was looking at her, the depth of his eyes distant, yet familiar. Odothel felt at once that tug, that pull, upon her heart; she tried to read the face that she had known, the one whose features had been more recognizable than her own reflection for how often she had looked upon his smile, seen the starlight in his eyes, and drank in the softness, the wisdom, that he had so often shared with her.
”It seems best, my lady. For were you to step away, I fear…”
It was her fear as well, and the elleth stepped forward. “I will not go,” she breathed, her voice a music beneath her sigh. A promise made, and one to keep. Long ago had it been made to him, that she would run away with him, sail to the West, and leave behind her family. Her Calrein, once thought lost, yet now returned to her; once more she knew she could hold true to that promise she had made. The one that had said she looked to him above her family, above all others, save the Valar themselves. “Calrein, I will not leave you again.” They had been parted too long already, and if his mind was plagued by memories lost, then she knew she could be nowhere else.
“Odothel,” Rhossalas tried to protest, feet shifting uncomfortably. The dark-haired elf maiden did not answer, nor even look upon the face of the one she thought a friend. Her eyes were on another.
”Please…lead me to one you would put your trust in, as I shall put my trust in you.”
She smiled to him, the motion soft as a sun’s rise over the waters, yet it was no less brilliant. “Come, then,” she said. She looked to Círdan, the elf that stood nearby in silent question, and with a motion of his head he showed her the way. Odothel’s long fingers wrapped gently around his hand, the warmth and shape enough to near draw the woman to sob. Yet, her heart merely welled with it and did not let it free. Her voice turned to kinder, lovelier things, and so it was the minstrel began to turn once more to song.
“Joy! Joy! I triumph! Now no more I know
Myself as simply me. I burn with love
Unto myself, and bury me in love.
The centre is within me and its wonder
Lies as a circle everywhere about me.
Joy! Joy! No mortal thought can fathom me.
I am the merchant and the pearl at once.
Lo, Time and Space lie crouching at my feet.
Joy! Joy! When I would reveal in a rapture.
I plunge into myself and all things know.”*
Her pace was easy, made of stars the same as the rest of her ken, and up through Mithlond she wandered, Calrein at grips, yet Rhossalas close behind. Ever his eyes peered, uneasy, narrowed, and untrusting. And though his qualms did not still when they reached the building they sought, his attention was distracted. The smell of herbs, of things fragrant beyond counting, spilled over them, and at once their presence was known.
“How may I assist you?” A healer inquired, brown hair long, and in silken braids.
“My love is ill,” Odothel lamented, a furrow upon her brow. “His memories are gone. Please, mellon nîn. Can you help him?”
The healer’s pale eye shifted to Calrein.
--
*Triumph of the Soul by Attar
”It seems best, my lady. For were you to step away, I fear…”
It was her fear as well, and the elleth stepped forward. “I will not go,” she breathed, her voice a music beneath her sigh. A promise made, and one to keep. Long ago had it been made to him, that she would run away with him, sail to the West, and leave behind her family. Her Calrein, once thought lost, yet now returned to her; once more she knew she could hold true to that promise she had made. The one that had said she looked to him above her family, above all others, save the Valar themselves. “Calrein, I will not leave you again.” They had been parted too long already, and if his mind was plagued by memories lost, then she knew she could be nowhere else.
“Odothel,” Rhossalas tried to protest, feet shifting uncomfortably. The dark-haired elf maiden did not answer, nor even look upon the face of the one she thought a friend. Her eyes were on another.
”Please…lead me to one you would put your trust in, as I shall put my trust in you.”
She smiled to him, the motion soft as a sun’s rise over the waters, yet it was no less brilliant. “Come, then,” she said. She looked to Círdan, the elf that stood nearby in silent question, and with a motion of his head he showed her the way. Odothel’s long fingers wrapped gently around his hand, the warmth and shape enough to near draw the woman to sob. Yet, her heart merely welled with it and did not let it free. Her voice turned to kinder, lovelier things, and so it was the minstrel began to turn once more to song.
“Joy! Joy! I triumph! Now no more I know
Myself as simply me. I burn with love
Unto myself, and bury me in love.
The centre is within me and its wonder
Lies as a circle everywhere about me.
Joy! Joy! No mortal thought can fathom me.
I am the merchant and the pearl at once.
Lo, Time and Space lie crouching at my feet.
Joy! Joy! When I would reveal in a rapture.
I plunge into myself and all things know.”*
Her pace was easy, made of stars the same as the rest of her ken, and up through Mithlond she wandered, Calrein at grips, yet Rhossalas close behind. Ever his eyes peered, uneasy, narrowed, and untrusting. And though his qualms did not still when they reached the building they sought, his attention was distracted. The smell of herbs, of things fragrant beyond counting, spilled over them, and at once their presence was known.
“How may I assist you?” A healer inquired, brown hair long, and in silken braids.
“My love is ill,” Odothel lamented, a furrow upon her brow. “His memories are gone. Please, mellon nîn. Can you help him?”
The healer’s pale eye shifted to Calrein.
--
*Triumph of the Soul by Attar