Mischief Un-managed [Winter 3009-3010][Fenion]
May 16, 2018 11:06:37 GMT -5
Post by MITHIEL on May 16, 2018 11:06:37 GMT -5
Tired was the sigh which drew forth, past carnation hue, heavy upon the exhale from the bosom. A hand brought to rest upon her temple and forehead with two fingers resting on her nose. Mithiel stared into the flames with absent thought. Drained already from Fenion’s presence mixed with fitful dreams. Dreams that could no longer hurt her, so far removed and was just that. A vision of the past. Yet still she dreamt of that horrible moment. The scar though hidden was hers nonetheless. She was listening and slightly would her eyes drift to Fenion. Little of him she knew and littler still did she wish to know. Mithiel wanted to be left alone in her misery, to waste away in the misery for which there was no reprieve from, for the future she had once dreamt of was gone. Lost to her, lost to her as Ost-in-Edhil was lost to both Ruivo and her. With the loss had came the death of what could have been. The death of days fair and Tirion upon Tuna remade in Middle Earth. The days of the Noldor at the height of glory once more in their crafting and the talk of fairer things, of hope for a future with one of the great smith’s of the north. Mithiel cursed Annatar for this. A bane upon the eldar was Morgoth’s scum. Fenion spoke of comparing her to a dwarf and she recoiled completely from any interest in further words. Hissing from behind pleasant lips. “Thou take Noegin back immediately. Thou has not lived through watching dwarves slay thy kin. I am no noegin whilst Ruivo may value dwarf kind, I assure thee. Their women hold not pleasure to his eye. Never upset thee have they but near death to them have I faced. Little friendship towards them, have I since such fell days in age past. Not since the fall of Ost-in-Edhil have I had dealings with dwarves.” such was the fact evident when the dwarves of Erebor came to Imladris and Mithiel found every reason to avoid Lord Elrond’s guests.
Her fingers rested on the cloak, the thick wool cloak that had been spun into thread and woven by her own hand. A gift of love from her fingers. Never worn except when she bade him try it on so that she might see how the cloak looked upon him. Drifting to the mantel above the hearth to where a small painting of Ost-in-Edil rested. Painted from memory and she stared at the white stoned city. Frowning at the bright laughter and the way Fenion was carefree. Perhaps it was envy she thought to herself, that she was envious of the young elf and his light heart which had known not the things she had witnessed. That he was able to hold what he loved most in all their world. No, she pushed that thought away. She did not envy Fenion his happiness. She was glad for him, once too she had known a happiness. Still did she know such, in a way that the young ones would never understand. She had happiness here, taken in a small form, carved out through routine and ritual. A life that was kept private between just Ruivo and Mithiel for they let no other into their world of expressions, layered words and gestures. Something that could only have been made with time. A fine art form that required no words, comfortable. Even if at times she longed to hear the words that accompanied such. Routine dictated otherwise.
You would not find it perturbing to know of the way he ventures… to your own chambers? And no, I do not mean those times he visits you during waking hours; of course I have seen that. All of Imladris has seen that, and none wonder upon it any more; for they all see the way he looks upon you.”
Her gaze rested on Fenion. Mithiel gave a shake of her head as she listened to Fenion speak upon Ruivo. Of lingering near door and listening of entering her unlocked room. “No, I would not be, Ruivo has his own routine he keeps for reasons that are of his own I am sure, even if I am included in his routine as you speak”
Fenion called her Ruivo’s Váyasilmë, head turning in the opposite direction. Averting her gaze from Fenion’s own. She could not deny that she was his Váyasilmë. Ruivo had named her such. Flashing as lightning flashed before thunder was the images. Recorded in the scroll of her brain’s thoughts and her heart soul’s memory. They sat on the hillside just outside of Tirion remade, watching Arien kiss Tilion goodnight for Arien’s time to dance had come. A shared woven light weighted blanket that she had made big enough for them both was wrapped about them as they had spent the night gazing upon at the first moon of summer together. Gazing alone as they always had since Balar. Her drawn to his chest, sitting between his outstretched legs with arms lightly wrapped about her as she asked him “Ruivo who am I to you?” not daring to tilt her head and glance up at him over her shoulder. His breath was soft upon her ear and nose had brushed her golden streaked hair for it was summer. “You are my Váyasilmë” he had whispered and buried his face into her hair. Nothing else was said, no look was exchanged. Just the tightening of her fingers on his forearm as he held her to him.
“Ruivo knows many things about my habits quite well Fenion. Time has given Ruivo such insight as well as experience.” speaking softly as her gaze came back to Fenion. There was a sadness upon her as a mantle. She wore the sadness with bravery. Mithiel should have been perturbed by the things that Fenion spoke but yet she seemed not shocked, rather sad. Sad that she had missed him coming to her in the night, sad that he had not stayed as the door unlocked was an invitation. A standing invitation that had too came from the days of old.
“And yes, did I confront him upon it; just once. I could not let it rest just as I cannot let you rest here without a few words. He does not know how many times I have seen him enter your chambers in the night; just as you do not know just how many times I have seen you enter these chambers. But I might add that the numbers are quite equal. His face came crimson as a strawberry in summer when I asked after his little tradition. Ever as flustered as even you are now. He gave mutterings of checking on your safety. Of his duty to do so,” Fenion shook his head and laughed again. “Never have I seen him given to such duty for another.”
Fenion came closer and Mithiel felt her heart quicken. Bold grew her voice and into her confidence did she take Fenion to somewhat sate his hunger, the burning curiosity that the younger elf held toward Ruivo and her. “Fenion, Ruivo and I...have not been always as you have seen us” She said slowly. “There was a time, when I was nearer the age you are now. Ruivo was different. He has always been...distant and quiet but he was not as you know him. He was...lighter of heart and less grim. The works he made in the forges of Ost-in-Edhil, Fenion. If you could have only seen some of the things that I have witness his hands make, the works he helped create. The is a fire that burns inside him.” Mithiel lightly drummed her fingers. “In those days Fenion he was not as you know him. He and I…” she gave a shrug of her shoulder with a sigh. “We were happier too in those day Fenion.” She gave just enough to sate yet what she gave could open another waterfall.
“I suggested, of course, that you would be safer yet to be taken to his own bed; of course, little did he answer me but to brighten his shade of red. I suggested to him then, that I doubted you would mind the change of scenery. And no, it seems to me you do not, do you, Noegin?”
There was another shake of her head. “There are some things that not even I can give answers for Fenion.” she was quiet as in long days past she had often asked her own self similar questions that Fenion asked and could give only no answer for she had none. “Something will never come to pass Fenion, no matter if we desire them or not. Do not see that? Thou like many of our kin marry young in life. Those who marry later suffer strange or ill fate. A tragedy befalls. There must have been something in Eru’s stars that befell Ruivo and I somewhere. There will never be the pleasures and joy that you delight in for I nor for Ruivo I suspect. We of Eru’s ill fated ones” She just gave a smile that was half hearted the sadness danced in her eyes.
“There is still a time far off til dawn. Shall I ask to have your breakfast sent to your new quarters here for you? That you could relax a time longer by the hearth; with Ruivo's clothes covering you. It seems here you are most content, after all.”
“No, it is of Sovalle” Mithiel replied. An old tradition that few kept. “I can not do such.”
Her fingers rested on the cloak, the thick wool cloak that had been spun into thread and woven by her own hand. A gift of love from her fingers. Never worn except when she bade him try it on so that she might see how the cloak looked upon him. Drifting to the mantel above the hearth to where a small painting of Ost-in-Edil rested. Painted from memory and she stared at the white stoned city. Frowning at the bright laughter and the way Fenion was carefree. Perhaps it was envy she thought to herself, that she was envious of the young elf and his light heart which had known not the things she had witnessed. That he was able to hold what he loved most in all their world. No, she pushed that thought away. She did not envy Fenion his happiness. She was glad for him, once too she had known a happiness. Still did she know such, in a way that the young ones would never understand. She had happiness here, taken in a small form, carved out through routine and ritual. A life that was kept private between just Ruivo and Mithiel for they let no other into their world of expressions, layered words and gestures. Something that could only have been made with time. A fine art form that required no words, comfortable. Even if at times she longed to hear the words that accompanied such. Routine dictated otherwise.
You would not find it perturbing to know of the way he ventures… to your own chambers? And no, I do not mean those times he visits you during waking hours; of course I have seen that. All of Imladris has seen that, and none wonder upon it any more; for they all see the way he looks upon you.”
Her gaze rested on Fenion. Mithiel gave a shake of her head as she listened to Fenion speak upon Ruivo. Of lingering near door and listening of entering her unlocked room. “No, I would not be, Ruivo has his own routine he keeps for reasons that are of his own I am sure, even if I am included in his routine as you speak”
Fenion called her Ruivo’s Váyasilmë, head turning in the opposite direction. Averting her gaze from Fenion’s own. She could not deny that she was his Váyasilmë. Ruivo had named her such. Flashing as lightning flashed before thunder was the images. Recorded in the scroll of her brain’s thoughts and her heart soul’s memory. They sat on the hillside just outside of Tirion remade, watching Arien kiss Tilion goodnight for Arien’s time to dance had come. A shared woven light weighted blanket that she had made big enough for them both was wrapped about them as they had spent the night gazing upon at the first moon of summer together. Gazing alone as they always had since Balar. Her drawn to his chest, sitting between his outstretched legs with arms lightly wrapped about her as she asked him “Ruivo who am I to you?” not daring to tilt her head and glance up at him over her shoulder. His breath was soft upon her ear and nose had brushed her golden streaked hair for it was summer. “You are my Váyasilmë” he had whispered and buried his face into her hair. Nothing else was said, no look was exchanged. Just the tightening of her fingers on his forearm as he held her to him.
“Ruivo knows many things about my habits quite well Fenion. Time has given Ruivo such insight as well as experience.” speaking softly as her gaze came back to Fenion. There was a sadness upon her as a mantle. She wore the sadness with bravery. Mithiel should have been perturbed by the things that Fenion spoke but yet she seemed not shocked, rather sad. Sad that she had missed him coming to her in the night, sad that he had not stayed as the door unlocked was an invitation. A standing invitation that had too came from the days of old.
“And yes, did I confront him upon it; just once. I could not let it rest just as I cannot let you rest here without a few words. He does not know how many times I have seen him enter your chambers in the night; just as you do not know just how many times I have seen you enter these chambers. But I might add that the numbers are quite equal. His face came crimson as a strawberry in summer when I asked after his little tradition. Ever as flustered as even you are now. He gave mutterings of checking on your safety. Of his duty to do so,” Fenion shook his head and laughed again. “Never have I seen him given to such duty for another.”
Fenion came closer and Mithiel felt her heart quicken. Bold grew her voice and into her confidence did she take Fenion to somewhat sate his hunger, the burning curiosity that the younger elf held toward Ruivo and her. “Fenion, Ruivo and I...have not been always as you have seen us” She said slowly. “There was a time, when I was nearer the age you are now. Ruivo was different. He has always been...distant and quiet but he was not as you know him. He was...lighter of heart and less grim. The works he made in the forges of Ost-in-Edhil, Fenion. If you could have only seen some of the things that I have witness his hands make, the works he helped create. The is a fire that burns inside him.” Mithiel lightly drummed her fingers. “In those days Fenion he was not as you know him. He and I…” she gave a shrug of her shoulder with a sigh. “We were happier too in those day Fenion.” She gave just enough to sate yet what she gave could open another waterfall.
“I suggested, of course, that you would be safer yet to be taken to his own bed; of course, little did he answer me but to brighten his shade of red. I suggested to him then, that I doubted you would mind the change of scenery. And no, it seems to me you do not, do you, Noegin?”
There was another shake of her head. “There are some things that not even I can give answers for Fenion.” she was quiet as in long days past she had often asked her own self similar questions that Fenion asked and could give only no answer for she had none. “Something will never come to pass Fenion, no matter if we desire them or not. Do not see that? Thou like many of our kin marry young in life. Those who marry later suffer strange or ill fate. A tragedy befalls. There must have been something in Eru’s stars that befell Ruivo and I somewhere. There will never be the pleasures and joy that you delight in for I nor for Ruivo I suspect. We of Eru’s ill fated ones” She just gave a smile that was half hearted the sadness danced in her eyes.
“There is still a time far off til dawn. Shall I ask to have your breakfast sent to your new quarters here for you? That you could relax a time longer by the hearth; with Ruivo's clothes covering you. It seems here you are most content, after all.”
“No, it is of Sovalle” Mithiel replied. An old tradition that few kept. “I can not do such.”